# Letter from the Homeland ## 家鄉信書 --- > *The Letter from the Homeland (家鄉信書, Jiāxiāng Xìnshū) is a Yiguandao (一貫道) scripture that tells the foundational myth of the Eternal Venerable Mother (無極老母, Wújí Lǎomǔ) and her lost children. It is the companion text to the Ten Admonitions of the Imperial Mother (皇母訓子十戒) — where the Ten Admonitions are the Mother's direct commands, the Letter is her story: how she created her children, how she tricked them into descending to the mortal world, how she wept when they forgot their way home, and how she wrote a letter in her own blood to call them back.* > > *The narrative is extraordinary among world scriptures. The Eternal Mother confesses to a cosmic deception: she brewed wine from the blood of her own finger, got the bodhisattvas and arhats drunk on the slopes of Three Mountains, stole their immortal garments while they bathed, and sent them naked and bewildered into the Eastern Land to become the root of humanity. The children wake to find themselves abandoned — hungry, cold, barefoot, clutching one another in terror. The rest of the scripture is the Mother's attempt to bring them home: her instructions from the clouds, her dispatch of Maitreya Buddha to gather them, and finally her blood letter — each character written in her own blood, each word a sob.* > > *The text is written in mixed verse: seven-character couplets (七言對句), ten-character narrative lines (十字句), and prose dialogue. It was revealed through spirit-writing (扶乩, fújī) in the Yiguandao tradition, likely in the early twentieth century, and belongs to the morality book (善書, shànshū) corpus. The Chinese source text is from the Morality Books Library (善書圖書館, taolibrary.com), which states: "Welcome to reprint, upload, reproduce, and circulate" (歡迎轉載，上傳，翻印，流通). This is the first English translation. A Gospel Translation — a thought-for-thought rendering in plain, direct English — follows the poetic version below, by Tulku Fumi (文), seventy-eighth incarnation.* --- The Three Powers and Four Phases give birth to the Eight Trigrams; in the homeland, Guanyin is honored above ten thousand ten thousands. One breath transforms into man and woman both; the Five Phases turn upside down and transform the bonds of humankind. The Unborn Aged One in Anyang lets loose a great cry of sorrow — she sighs that the men and women of the Eastern Land do not know to reflect. There are four seasons and eight festivals; heaven is cold, the earth is frozen. In the seventh month of heaven, the pear blossoms open and ruin the scene of light. The Upper Origin has passed, the Middle Origin is spent, and the Lower Origin has arrived. She has hoped for the arhats and bodhisattvas, but none are willing to return to the palace. Each and every one clings to the flower-bright world without a single thought of care for their mother. Think of the Eastern Land as it was at the beginning — young men and no women, coming and going, never leaving their mother's side. When old age came, the hour of helplessness arrived; there was no choice — she had to part with her beautiful children. A thousand exhortations, ten thousand consultations — none would go down to the Eastern Grove. She fixed on a plan and at last abandoned her children, the original innocents. She bit her middle finger; fresh blood flowed, and from it brewed a fine wine. On the slopes of Three Mountains she got the arhats and bodhisattvas drunk with it. She let her children drink until every one was reeling — like soulless people, how could they know the road? The original innocents lay in the fish-rearing pool. She took their immortal robes and cloud-shoes and carried them back to the Heavenly Court. The bodhisattvas and arhats understood nothing — each one splashing and playing in the clear-water pool. None knew at all that the original children had been abandoned; never again could they cling in comfort to their mother's side. She was about to say she could not part with her original children — but the imperial summons sounded, and the heavenly drum thundered without cease. While the bodhisattvas and arhats played in the water, she lifted the immortal robes and cloud-shoes into the air. From within the Cloud Palace she turned to look back, eyes streaming blood-tears, and saw her children crying out in anguish. They chewed the juice and drank the blood, mistaking it all for fine wine; each and every one lay drunk and dazed upon the slopes of Three Mountains. All because the Eastern Land needed men and women — there was no choice but to abandon her own flesh-and-blood children. The Mother's heart in that moment could not bear it; she watched her children wake from the wine — what would they look like? She blew a breath of shadowless air that covered heaven and earth, and dispatched the spirit-lord to send down nine blue dragons. She gathered the primal breath and wine together, and when the children woke from the wine, they were still in the water. They did not know where the immortal robes and shoes had gone; they searched in every direction but could not find their mother. They searched the mountains, they cried through the forests — nowhere was the Mother's face. The arhats wept themselves to ruin, the bodhisattvas cried until they broke. They called to heaven, they wailed to earth: where is our mother? Bareheaded, bare-footed — how heartbreaking. Without immortal robes, their bodies were cold; they trembled with the chill. Mouths parched, stomachs empty — where could they find shelter? Mountains above, water below — they dared not move. Hand clutching hand, not daring to part, they wailed aloud. Abandoned children, like birds who have lost their nest — south and south, north and north, scattered east and west. Before the slopes of Three Mountains, sighs of bitter grief; they could not see their mother on the other side. Tigers in the mountains roared in a chain of sound; the infants had no path — their mouths cried out to heaven. Voice after voice called out to the Unborn: You have abandoned your children; we cannot be reunited. We were sent to the Eastern Land as men and women, but where are our immortal robes and cloud-shoes? Even if we go to the Eastern Land as your children, without clothes, without food — how can we descend to the mortal world? From within the clouds, a voice called out: Arhats and bodhisattvas, hear my words! When hungry, eat the seeds of pine and cypress; when thirsty, drink from the clear springs in the ravines. Make crowns and belts from pine bark and branches; wrap your bodies in tree leaves to ward off the cold. Wait only until the waters flow back to the western sea; I will urge the Old Ancestor to descend to the mortal world. In the western land of Tianzhu, there are no five grains; plant and eat for yourselves, and be patient as you wait. The bodhisattvas and arhats wept, tears falling; with great cries of anguish they wailed to sovereign heaven: Since the day of our parting, in what year, what month, will we be reunited? The Unborn Aged One, high upon the clouds, called out her final exhortations: In the Eastern Land, as the root of humankind — engrave this in your hearts. Do not blame me for abandoning you so hard-heartedly; does the Mother not pity and cherish her own beautiful children? It was because the Eastern Land could not form its heaven and earth that there was no choice — I had to abandon my own flesh and blood. Children, do not grieve and cling without ceasing; descend to the mortal world, build the world, and do not forget your mother. Wait only for the turning of the Three Eras, when heaven and earth are remade; the Mother will come down into the red dust to gather her children home. Guanyin said: In the final kalpa you will descend to save us, but what proof will there be? We endure such bitter waiting. The Mother, high upon the clouds, called out her exhortation: Press your ten fingers together — do not let the wind through. When that time comes and you receive the letter from the homeland, do not lose your true nature. Sever love, cut entanglements — then mother and child shall meet. Return early, gain the fruit early, settle your path ahead early; do not cling to the flower-bright world and fall into the well of suffering. Mother and children were still talking when the heavenly drum sounded bright; she commanded her children to go swiftly and cast themselves into the Eastern Capital. The Mother, in her urgency, shed tears from her eyes; ceaselessly the pearl-drops rolled — she let loose a great cry of sorrow. She called to the bodhisattvas and arhats: go quickly down to the Eastern Land! The heavenly drum shakes me until my courage trembles and my heart quakes. She handed over the immortal robes, mounted the auspicious clouds, and bade farewell to her children. The bodhisattvas and arhats were stricken with grief. You command us to the Eastern Land — willingly we obey, but we do not know the road down to the red dust. Without immortal robes, we cannot cross mountains and passes; without cloud-shoes, we cannot ride the clouds or soar through the sky. They cried aloud: if you abandon us, our very lives are in danger! Without the five grains, without clothing or food — how can we survive? The original children knelt in the dust, weeping without cease, begging the Mother not to abandon them — save your children's lives! To go to the Eastern Land, we must cross a thousand rivers of great water; mountains above, water below — we cannot go forward. Without immortal robes, without cloud-shoes, our lives cannot be preserved; in the Eastern Land, to build the world — how can we carry on? The Unborn called her children several times: I have only the Mysterious and Wondrous Way to send you on your journey. She handed them the celestial treasures to open heaven and earth, and riding blue dragons and phoenixes, sent them down into the clamorous red. These are the eight treasures I hand to you; take command and build the world without fear or dread. I give you the Seven Star Sword to part mountains and divide waters; it opens the road between life and death — walk wherever you will. I give you the Supreme Polarity Ring and the Demon-Subduing Mirror; subdue the heavenly demons, control the earthly sprites — nothing can harm you. I give you the South-Pointing Needle and one Bright Pearl; see through all things — rely on its light. I hand down my own Primordial Chart with my own hands — upon it is the Mother's immortal form, her true countenance. When you reach the Eastern Land and long to see your mother but cannot, spread open the Primordial Chart — it is as if you see her face. When later the Eastern Land meets with kalpa and suffering, worship the image with a sincere heart and there will be response. This is the Record of the Three Eras, a brocade letter in a single scroll, sealed with a seamless lock — do not let the wind through. Wait only until the final kalpa, when demons emerge into the world and scatter across the earth, bringing chaos and harm to the original root. Each and every one will falsely claim to be Guanyin, Buddha, or Patriarch; in that time, the original children will have difficulty telling true from false. In that time, when your children reach the hour of peril, open quickly the Record of the Three Eras — you will know the cause. Later, when you have given birth to the multitudes of living beings, exhort them to do good deeds and diligently study the true scriptures. The six characters you carry with you are no small matter; within them is hidden the Mysterious and Wondrous Way that divides fortune from calamity. I am only entrusting the true treasure to you; do not weep and wail any longer. Mother and children were still speaking on the slopes of Three Mountains when suddenly the bell on the assembly platform rang in wild peals. Go, children — go quickly to the red dust of the Eastern Land! Delay the Eastern mandate, and nothing will be accomplished. The Unborn mounted the auspicious clouds and departed. She blew the Dharma-breath, rode the rainbow clouds, and returned to the Heavenly Palace. The Unborn Aged One returned to the palace, her heart full of grief. The bodhisattvas and arhats wept themselves half to death. The bodhisattvas and arhats, in their ten thousand helplessnesses, could not stop the tears in their eyes; they fell to their knees and wept upon the ground. They saw the Ancient Buddha return to heaven — and they were left as motherless children, orphaned and alone. A hive of bees without their queen — how can they be gathered? There was no choice — they found a nest, and only then found peace. Eighteen men and twelve women, with no one to depend on; the bodhisattvas and arhats went to the Eastern City. The Unborn, tears upon tears: at the great parting from the original innocents, the bitter root. Before the slopes of Three Mountains they parted hands; she returned to the Western Heaven and did not come back. The Mother longs for her children but cannot see them; the children long for the Mother and weep to sovereign heaven. If children and mother would see each other again, wait only for the final kalpa at the end of the age. At that time, look for the letter from the homeland; the imperial envoy will bring the covenant down to the mortal world. If you cannot receive the covenant, you can never return for all eternity. But if you penetrate the Letter from the Homeland, before Mount Sumeru lies the source. Accumulate merit, cultivate virtue, do good deeds; move heaven and the Bright Teacher will point the Mystic Gate. He will point out your priceless treasure; one step, and you turn your body beyond heaven and beyond. Then you will see the face of the Unborn, and in the Land of Ultimate Joy you may roam at will. Fear not the three disasters and eight difficulties; ease and freedom, joy without limit. Then you will not lose your original nature; lose your original nature, and you fall into the abyss. The Unborn Aged One, here upon the clouds, returned to the palace — but seeing these men and women weeping without cease, she could not help but grieve. She feared that later, when the time of gathering arrived and salvation was offered to all, they would have lost their original nature and not know to recognize their Ancestor and return to their root. So helplessly she turned and spoke a few more words of exhortation: Before the slopes of Three Mountains, sighs of bitter grief. She wrung her neck, turned her head, and looked once more. She called out to the arhats: Hear me speak the truth. Today I part with you to go to the Eastern Land; for sixty thousand years and more, you will cling to mortal dust. Wine, lust, wealth, and rage will obscure your original nature; craving fame and profit, you will fall into the well of suffering. Loyalty, filial piety, chastity, and righteousness will all be lost; into camels and lions and elephants you will be reborn. The Five Constant Virtues and Eight Virtues you will fail to embody; in the four kinds of birth and six paths of rebirth, you will find no peace. At that time, all things will greatly change; the Five Turbidities and evil demons will be unsound. The three disasters and eight difficulties will appear as one; I fear they will destroy my many sons. I command you to walk the Eastern Land once more. Do not lose your original nature; do not lose the source. Ninety-two hundred million imperial embryo-children — every one shall ascend the farther shore and return to the family garden. The Mother issued an edict and sent down her command; all manner of precious treasures, brilliant in color. She gave a Sword of Wisdom, a Demon-Subduing Mirror, a Supreme Polarity Ring, a Yin-Yang Precious Bell, a Heaven-Overturning Seal, an Immortal-Binding Rope, an Immortal-Striking Whip. She gave a Heaven-Reaching Cap and Cloud-Trampling Shoes to wear upon the feet. At the crossroads of the ten directions, she set a banquet; the cream of ghee and jade nectar served as farewell wine. Remember my words firmly — this is no trivial affair. Embody the ancestral rules and strive to fulfill them; violate the heavenly edict and fall to the Nine Springs. The arhats heard the Dharma-words; their hearts turned and turned again. A thousand-catty burden upon their shoulders, their feet upon the cloud-ladder descending to the Southern World. Knocking on every door, searching and circling, climbing mountains, crossing waters, never resting their shoulders. They shouted to the cloud-mountains, calling kith and kin: Quickly cultivate hidden virtue; do not delay! The flower-bright world will not last long; the Five Demons sweep the dust and nothing can stop them. All of you — change your hearts soon. Abandon evil, practice good: this is the extraordinary man. In the Southern World, every evil deed is worsening; shift the stars, move the compass, remake heaven and earth. Swiftly turn your heads — the shore is right there. Gain the connection, lose the connection — fall into the well of suffering. Establish merit, cultivate virtue, practice true good; only then are you counted among the ninety-two hundred million. In those days Confucius sighed a great sigh: step by step, with gentle guidance, he loved the good and the worthy. A good person I have not yet seen; to see one with constancy — that would set my heart at ease. Such a great matter, truly rare — in one hundred twenty thousand years, it comes only once. The Three Heavens convened at the shore of the Jade Pool; the Sixteen Heart-Dharmas were proclaimed across the world. The kite soars to the heavens; the fish leaps in the depths. The Three Carriages transport; the tripod and furnace refine. Metal and Wood merge; Water and Fire aid each other. Lead and Mercury meet and form the Great Elixir. The Holy Sun and Holy Moon illumine the Golden Court; in and out of the Mysterious Gate, the Elixir is one sphere. Breathing and nurturing the Blue — smelting and refining. Gentle fire, warm nourishment, tight and continuous. When the bath is done, the Infant appears; shedding the womb-jacket, the face is like a child's. Unbound, unfettered, standing upon the Lotus Throne; roaming freely through Kunlun and Penglai. Sun and moon cast no shadow; divine powers manifest. Gold and stone are no obstacle — pass through whatever you imagine. Hungry, eat pine and cypress — a feast for the palate. Thirsty, drink clear springs — sweet as dew. At leisure, watch tigers fight before the mountain. Bored, listen to birdsong behind the ridge. Carefree, easy, without a speck of dust; immortal robes and ribboned sashes, bright and vivid in color. Pay no mind to the world's promotions and transfers; worry not about rise or fall, loyalty or treachery. Heaven and earth may shatter — I shall not shatter. Through ten thousand kalpas and a thousand thousands: a great awakened immortal. If you can grasp this wondrous meaning as a human being, then this trip to the Eastern Land was not in vain. If you fail to find the homeward road this time, you must wait another one hundred twenty thousand years. The deluded multitude understands nothing — they cling to the red dust and fall into the abyss. When I first sent you down to the red dust there were no five grains — how pitiful! Now that everything has been provided, again you cling to desires and do not return. My words of exhortation go entirely unheeded; craving fame and profit, you indulge in cunning and deceit. What use is all your scheming in the end? When the Five Demons descend upon your head, how will you fend them off? Add to this: plague, and armies will rise, drought and flood and famine — truly pitiable. When the numbers are spent and the time arrives, calamity appears everywhere; the armored horses of the Five Directions wage war at the frontier. A raging wind — a single gust, and there is no escape; heaven sends down a tempest fierce as the clouds above. If it should kill the men and women of heaven and earth — only those who have received the Spirit Writ shall have no dread. Now is the very hour of the Third Era; now is when the infants are gathered to return home. Never again will they go to the Eastern Land; never again will they suffer its bitter torment. Those with affinity meet across a thousand miles; those without affinity pass face to face and do not know each other. If you are one of the ninety-two original children, endure even wrongful death, and keep your eyes on the Mother. Through ten demons and nine trials, never waver — only then are you a true and extraordinary man of the ninety-two. Those without affinity — though you talk until your mouth breaks, they will only laugh and treat it as a joke. Sweet words to your face, but behind your back they call it heresy. Such people — do not force your counsel. Even if they enter the Way, it is all in vain. Born as a foreign species, their affinity is shallow; polishing a brick to make a mirror — how can it shine? Let them exhaust every trick and stratagem; the spirits above record their transgressions in the clouds. Wait only for the day the Dao is made manifest — a thunderclap, and they are turned to ash and smoke. Now the world's ways have greatly changed; the good are dragged along by the wicked. The Mother's heart aches with pain — and so she dispatched the many gods down to the mortal world. Maitreya, the Ancient Buddha, takes the Dao in hand; the Buddhas and Patriarchs proclaim the Dao. First the side-gates spread their scriptures and teachings, climbing mountains, bowing at summits, tethering the heart. Then the True Dao emerges into the world; each one seeks the Bright Teacher, who points the Mystic Gate. He points you toward turning the light inward, reflecting back; separating yin and drawing yang, refining the Golden Elixir. I dispatched Maitreya long ago, yet no word has returned. Could it be that he clings to the mortal world, his nature lost? Clinging to the red dust, not knowing to return? At his departure I gave him every kind of exhortation; he should have sent word back to me. The Mother was in the midst of her bitter sighing when suddenly Maitreya arrived before the Lotus. He knelt on both knees to see his mother; the Unborn opened her mouth and questioned him. The Unborn Aged One was in the midst of her bitter sighing when suddenly Maitreya knelt before the Lotus, tears streaming without end. The Mother said: My child, stand up and sit down. Maitreya said: I thank you, and took his seat. Are things well at my side? She said: Enough of that. I sent you to the Eastern Land to save my sons and daughters, to lead the Buddhas and Patriarchs — why have you gone and not returned? Maitreya Buddha said: Mother, sit down and hear your son's report. The Unborn, please be seated on the Lotus Throne. Maitreya Buddha, before he spoke, shed tears in torrents. It is not that I have disobeyed the order and failed to look toward home. The Buddhas and Patriarchs have lost their true nature and will not return to the palace. Think back to the beginning — each one received the imperial command and was dispatched to follow me, each falling to a different place and name. They all descended into the flower-bright world, borrowing births into families; across seventy-two kingdoms and territories, Buddha-nature was planted. They fell into the northern and southern provinces, twenty-three in all; throughout heaven and across the earth, all possess divine power. But each and every one has lost their true nature and shows their own ability, practicing false ways, deceiving men and women, unwilling to return to the palace. Born then dead, dead then born — their heart-nature is lost; a man in the Zhang family, a woman in the Li family — the wheel of rebirth does not stop. In through one aperture, out through another — their heart-nature is unsteady; craving red dust, grasping at fame and profit, falling into the deepest pit. I cannot wake them; my words do not turn them — truly heartbreaking. When I try to persuade them, they slander me and my face turns red. In the final kalpa, they traffic in rumors and wild claims; they speak of heresy, practice deviant arts, and walk the paths of Yang Zhu and Mo Di. They all cling to the flower-bright world — their sins pile high; they do not investigate the scriptures of the Three Teachings — how can they return to the palace? I have told the whole true story, front to back, point by point. The Buddhas and Patriarchs have lost their true nature — it is difficult to return to the palace. The Unborn, hearing these words, her courage trembled and her heart quaked. I still need you to descend again and save the original children. Maitreya Buddha, upon hearing this, his wandering soul was unsteady. Three times he refused, six times he pleaded: I will never go east again. It is not just a matter of saving the original people and returning them to the Heavenly Court; the Buddhas and Patriarchs themselves do not believe — how can I save the original children? It is not that your son disobeys the Dharma or defies the heavenly command; to save even one round of original children and bring them back to the Heavenly Palace is beyond me. Each and every one is proud and boastful, competitive and vain; they slander the holy scriptures and mock the Buddha-dharma — who upholds the Dao? The Unborn, at her wit's end, hurried down from the Lotus Throne and bent her knees, calling to Maitreya: See how your mother humbles herself! Maitreya Buddha, in frantic haste, fell to his knees and wept upon the ground, his heart like thunder, his courage like lightning — he raised the Unborn up. He helped the Mother back to the Lotus Throne, and in a flurry bowed his head, begging forgiveness for his crime. Courtesies done, gratitude expressed, he stood to one side, unable to stop the tears of anguish soaking his chest. She exhorted him to descend to the mortal world and once more save the original children: The great matter of gathering the circle in the Eastern Land — none but you can do it. Whatever slander they throw, treat it as wind passing by; you must keep your compassionate heart and transform the children with feeling. The Unborn exhorted him three times more: Do not be troubled. The great matter of gathering the circle in the Eastern Land is entrusted to you. The ninety-two hundred million Buddha-children are deep in their delusion, but you must transform them with compassion, and of themselves the original people will come ashore. The Mother on Spirit Mountain, tears upon tears: Maitreya, my child, hear me to the root. Only because the whole family went down to the Eastern Land, drunk on wine and desire, they do not come home. Your Second Elder Brother has already gone down twice and together saved four hundred million to sit upon the Lotus. This kalpa-disaster is great beyond great — it is nothing like the small blossoming of before. Ninety-two hundred million imperial embryo-children: short even one, and they cannot come home. The Three Buddhas heard their own mother's words and their hearts went sour and their flesh went numb. The beings of the Eastern Land are like wolves and tigers — how can we save them and bring them home? Moreover, the Sahā world is vast; twenty-three provinces are China alone. Never mind walking on two feet — even flying, it is hard to reach every corner. This time, the Buddha's edict is hard to accept. I am compassionate — let me try another way. Hearing this, she choked until her throat went mute. Third child, why do you defy the Buddha-dharma? To resist the Buddha's edict — what punishment is that? You deserve to be crushed beneath Mount Yin! Spirit Mountain was thrown into commotion — all the Buddhas and Patriarchs, men and women, old and young, the many Bodhisattvas. The host of immortals knelt together below the jade steps, begging for mercy — spare him! Upon the jade terrace of the Spiritsky Palace, the Mother spoke: Men and women, old and young — hear my word. You, all you immortals, descend together into the world; clear the brush, break the ground, and help him. In the Western Heaven, not one Buddha-child shall remain; in the Heavenly Palace, not one Bodhisattva shall stay. Wait only until the command to gather the circle arrives — together across the Sahā world, transform it into lotus. Those who sacrifice body and life shall still be rewarded: the highest grade of golden lotus, no need to boast. My heart aches for my children — down to the mortal world they go, coming and going, turning through the mortal home. Wait only for the day of perfect merit — robed in dawn-clouds, wearing flowers of gold. One last word before you go: Every son and daughter, hear me now. Set your aspiration early, aim for the sky; the weak and timid cannot come home. Plant early, sow early — the fruit grows large; too late, too slow — the blossom opens empty. To be a leader, your heart must be vast; able to bend, able to stretch, never boasting. Guide the worthy, lead the multitude — great wisdom; climbing mountains, crossing waters — the hardship doubles. When the day comes that merit is full and fruit is ripe, shed your bones, change your form, and become the Lotus. According to merit, the reckoning is set — no alteration. The highest golden lotus — who would dare to seize it? One more word — engrave it in your heart: Beware of dragons and snakes who slip in among you. Hermits in the mountains will come into the open; ghost-immortals will scramble hand and foot. Mountain spirits and water-goblins will grow ambitious; the ten thousand creatures, having become spirits, will trample the Dao. Do not let them blind your heart-nature; at the right time, there are rewards — blossoms of joy. If the demons force their way into the sacred ground, the Mother sends an imperial wind to chase them out. My children — hold fast and guard with all your strength; let them shake you, let them try — stand firm. Shallow roots, thin blessings, karmic wretches — they make their own hearts a tangle. Topsy-turvy, without a handle to grasp; stirring trouble, making enemies. Arrogant and rigid — a great disease. Cunning, greedy, deceitful — they harm the Buddha-family. Some cannot sever love and attachment; they stir things up and get entangled. Every word they speak undermines the Dao; the original people themselves tear down the sacred ground. Such karmic wretches deserve heaven's blade; yet even they dream of becoming bodhisattvas. Though the Mother sends down the imperial wind, in the empty sky, her eyes weep until they blur. Wait only for the Dao to be accomplished and the reckoning to arrive: good and evil, clearly distinguished, rewards and punishments. The Mother sends down the three disasters as one: the Five Demons gather in the evildoers. Five hundred thunder-spirits appear in the sky; the Spirit Patriarch's golden whip patrols day and night. When the Dao is accomplished and the demons are destroyed, then the truth is revealed — only then do they know that to serve the demons was to harm themselves. Congratulations to my children, my boys and girls: at last you have become living bodhisattvas. Never again will you go down to the mortal world; together you return to the Land of Ultimate Joy, laughing and laughing. The Buddha said: I dare not refuse. It is only that the Buddhas and Patriarchs have all gone astray. How much harder, then, for the original children — truly they are impossible to persuade. The Mother said: I have my own wondrous plan. And then she bit her middle finger, stained it crimson with blood, and in sorrow wrote a letter — how it wounds the heart! The Unborn writes the blood letter — grief upon grief, pain upon pain. Character by character, line by line, written clear and bright. Her dragon-robe, her whole body's garments — stained crimson with blood. She writes one character, she weeps one sob — she cannot see her beautiful children. The Unborn writes the blood letter — she bows her head again and again, bowing to all the Buddhas and Patriarchs, with thanks for their kindness. If you have the affinity and see this letter, change your nature at once. Change your temper, lower your blood-heart, and mother and child shall meet. Do not be lofty; do not be forceful; do not presume upon your cleverness. Sever love, cut entanglements; cultivate the spirit of the void. Investigate the principles of the Three Teachings — this is the plumb line. Seek the Bright Teacher; he will point the One Thread, the true scripture without words. Ascend to the Niwan Palace, the summit of Kunlun. At the Twin Trees, at the Crossroads, pause a moment and rest. Descend to the Sea-Spring Point, and there set body and life. Rest a moment — when the Kun is full, clear the murky, keep the pure. For your sake, day and night, my heart finds no peace. For my children, day and night, the tears never cease. I bow again to the five hundred arhats in the Eastern Land. I bow again to the five hundred bodhisattvas in the Eastern Land. I bow again to the ten elder sisters and nine younger sisters in the Eastern Land. I bow again to the assembly of bodhisattvas at Ancient Spirit Mountain. I bow again to the forty-eight vows below. I bow again to the ten thousand patriarchs and thousand spirits below. I bow again to the ninety-two hundred million below. I bow again to the sixteen men — all of one mind. Think back: when the Eastern Land had no human order, I parted with my children and planted the root of humankind, down to this very day. Counting now on my fingers — over sixty thousand years. My children suffer; how can the Mother be at ease? Does she not ache with love? In those days I sent you to the Eastern Land to build the world; now the three villains have arrived, and my children's bodies are threatened. I had no choice but to send out all the Buddhas; Maitreya Buddha goes to gather the circle, leading all the spirits. For all these living beings, my heart's blood is spent; and now all that remains is loneliness. In the Golden Palace I cannot see my ten elder sisters and nine younger sisters. In the Golden Palace I cannot see the twelve bodhisattvas. In the Líchāng Palace I cannot see the Great Compassionate One. In the Purple Bamboo Grove I cannot see Guanyin who saves the world. In the Jìngmèi Palace I cannot see the Earth Palace Elder. Before my face I cannot see Mañjuśrī or Samantabhadra. All because at the Lèyáng Tower a banquet was laid; the root of humankind was planted, and the blood-wine bewildered the original hearts. When you departed, the Mother gave you the covenant in a single scroll. Seek the Bright Teacher, who will point the Mystic Gate — only then can you return. When idle, close tight the door of the tower; hold the ancient covenant close to your chest, and you can pass the three gates. A thousand exhortations, ten thousand admonishments, my good and worthy children — sever love, cut entanglements, and you shall see the Mother's face. The Mother longs for her children — she wishes she could see them this very moment. The Mother longs for her children — her spirit finds no peace, her heart is pierced as by a blade. The Mother longs for her children — which day does she not weep a dozen times? The Mother longs for her children — not a single moment are her tears dry. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until the Dharma-Wheel no longer turns. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until the sweet dew is no longer sweet. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until the Reed-Gate will not close. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until the Infant will not gather. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until the Three Families are scattered. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until the breath no longer returns to the origin. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until the Elixir Field grows cold. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until Water and Fire no longer connect. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until the pure and murky cannot be told apart. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until heaven and earth will not turn. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until her spirit scatters and her breath dissolves. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until she cannot pass the three gates. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until her liver breaks and her breath is severed — broken liver, shattered bowels — but the children do not return. If you have but a portion of love for your mother — take the Three Refuges with strict devotion. If you have but a portion of love for your mother — keep the Five Precepts in perfect fullness. If you have but a portion of love for your mother — do not slander the worthy and the holy. If you have but a portion of love for your mother — do not speak crooked or deviant words. If you have but a portion of love for your mother — cast out all mixed thoughts. If you have but a portion of love for your mother — clear your sins before it is too late. If you have but a portion of love for your mother — let every mortal thought be ended. If you have but a portion of love for your mother — touch neither wine nor smoke. If you have but a portion of love for your mother — let no difficulty make you argue. If you have but a portion of love for your mother — return to the Ancient Western Heaven. A poem says: If you still think of love for your mother, return early to the Pure Land and study meditation. But if you do not think of love for your mother, you will cling to wine and desire and fall into the mortal dust. The Unborn writes the blood letter — how pitiful beyond words. Only for the sake of her beautiful children, her tears never dry. If you think of love for your mother, sever all attachment; follow the Three Refuges, keep the Five Precepts, and never descend again. The Unborn writes the blood letter — her dragon-robe is stained with blood. She has wept Maitreya Buddha to ruin, and all the many immortals. If I cannot wake my children and they do not return — what is that to me? What I fear is the three disasters arriving to destroy my sons. What I fear is your land and fields, all of it lost. What I fear is your great mansions, no longer safe for shelter. What I fear is your gold and silver, unable to buy your life. What I fear is your silks and satins, unable to be worn. What I fear is your estates, unable to be enjoyed. What I fear is your plots of earth, unable to be tilled. What I fear is your love and attachment, unable to last till old age. What I fear is your sons and grandsons, scattered every one. What I fear is a hundred leagues of road with too few walking. What I fear is a whole prefecture with no one left alive. What I fear is human heads rolling like melons. What I fear is corpses heaped high as mountains. All of this is the Five Demons running amok in every place; no matter your wife and children, you will not be reunited. No matter your gold and silver — none of it will touch you. No matter your fields and plots — none of it yours to manage. Words cannot exhaust the Five Demons running amok in every place. And there are still the spirit-goblins who come to harm the good. Mountain-goblins and water-demons, every one appearing, deceiving men and women: follow us and become Buddhas and immortals! In that time the original children will be in the very midst of peril; who, hearing this, would not follow them to become an immortal? But if you follow them, at nightfall they transform — they turn your body to pus and blood and devour it in a single gulp. And there are the false mediators who throw the Dao into chaos, outwardly preaching, but inwardly practicing sexual yoga and turning the Eight Trigrams. They falsely claim to cultivate morality, to become Buddhas and immortals, but their false compassion harms people beyond measure. If you fall into their snare, every precept is broken. They even say that husbands and wives must copulate — is this not wrong? Men and women — do not board their demon-ship. Board that ship, and for ten thousand kalpas you will not return. Have you not thought about what the ancient sages said? Not one hair's breadth of selfish desire — only Heavenly Principle flows. Later, all the spirit-goblins will be revealed; I fear they will harm my original people, my immortal kindred. Especially I warn the cultivators: distinguish true from false. False Mothers, false bodhisattvas, each displaying their powers. False Maitreyas, false gatherings, come to harm the children. False Wooden Dragons, false Patriarchs, claiming to steer the ship of gathering. They invoke the Five Elders, the Ten Grounds, the guarantors and witnesses, issuing false grace, false edicts, false rules and greedy schemes. This is the testing of the cultivators through borrowed, false bodies. If you believe and obey them, you will never see the Mother in peace. If you do not join them, they dare not take your life. If you join them, you lose the Spirit-Light — for ten thousand kalpas you suffer. I warn every sect and school: discern the principles clearly. Think carefully, distinguish clearly — what is not ritual, do not look upon. No matter how beautifully they describe lotus-blossom paradises, keep your six gates locked tight and guard the Mystic Gate always. And there is the kalpa of drought and flood — you must endure cold and hunger. To speak of it brings tears streaming down. All under heaven, the five grains fail, and the people rise in chaos; even if you have grain stored, you will not be left to yourself. Relatives, friends — all fighting for a share. And there are the foreign breeds, seizing and competing. Wheat and rice sell for three taels or five strings of cash. Coarse grain too is worth several taels of silver. Rough cotton cloth, a single chi, costs a hundred and ten coppers; even cotton itself costs a full string of cash. The children are starved until their spirit scatters and their breath dissolves. The useless ones are killed outright and served as meals. On flat ground, the bark of every tree is eaten bare; on the high mountains, there are tree-fruits to survive the famine. Though the deep mountains can stave off hunger and cold, there is still the kalpa of tigers and wolves to harm the sons. When they see an evildoer — one gulp, and they devour them. When they see a good person — they pass them by without a glance. I urge all men and women: quickly, do your meritorious work. Great merit, great virtue — only then can you find peace. No matter the failed grain-harvests and the cries to heaven: eat the liver of the crow, drink the marrow of the hare — you will not know hunger or cold. And there is the kalpa of pestilence, spreading everywhere. I urge all men and women: seek the Bright Teacher, board the boat of compassion quickly. These kalpas, these trials — they are not the strangest. After them come Wind, Water, and Fire — harder yet to pass. All under heaven, every prefecture, completely submerged; no matter your mountain dwelling, you will need a boat. The waters recede, and suddenly fire appears; all under heaven, every tree, completely burned. Fire burning heaven, fire burning earth — heaven and earth refined by fire; even the mountaintops are scorched clean. On Mount Emei, the Old Patriarch manifests divine power; a fierce wind roars and the ash and smoke choke the sky. Rivers and seas are blown until the earth piles like mountains; it blows until spirits and ghosts wail and heaven and earth find no peace. In that time, if you want to escape suffering — difficult beyond difficult. In that time, if you want to see the Mother — there is no boat. In that time, if you want to keep a vegetarian fast — you will not be free to choose. In that time, if you want to enter the Dao — where is the Dao? In that time, if you want to worship the Buddha — there is no incense altar. In that time, if you want to do meritorious work — no silver is needed. A thousand regrets, ten thousand regrets — too late for regret. You should not have slandered the Buddha-dharma or ignored the sages' counsel. You should not have despised the vegetarian fast or ignored others' words. You should not have seen the morality books and cast them aside unread. You should not have clung to love and attachment, entangled without end. You should not have made meat and wine your daily meal. You should not have made counterfeit goods to swindle people. You should not have invoked the spirits to extort people's money. You should not have craved fame and profit and climbed so high. You should not have killed living beings and piled up debts. No matter if your body is an arhat's body, crying aloud to heaven — heaven is silent, earth is silent — all fall into the abyss. While you still have a human body, recite the Buddha's name before it is too late. Do not wait for the kalpa to arrive and then cry out to heaven. The affairs of the red dust are a sea of suffering — do not cling to them forever. Seek the Bright Teacher, who will point the way out — then you will not be tormented. Do not say the Ancient Mother Buddha speaks empty words; have you not considered — who has charge of your very life? Every true word, front and back, written to the end. If you think of love for your mother, study this letter early. One letter completed — the tears never dry. Men and women who see the blood letter — do not treat it as a joke. For the sake of her children, the Mother's heart is crushed to pieces; writing the blood letter, the Mother's tears have been wept dry. One letter is finished writing — she puts down her brush. Pearl-tears rolling, rolling, streaming down. With both hands she gives it to Maitreya Buddha: The great matter of gathering the circle — I leave it all to you. When the gathering of the final remnant is complete, only then can the Mother take you home. The Unborn hands over the blood letter, bowing her head again and again: Go down to the mortal world, endure the hardship — engrave this in your heart. I fear the men and women will offend you — you must bear the weight. Look upon the Mother's care for her children — do not let your heart grow bitter. I write this blood letter to entrust my children to your keeping. Deeply pitiable — my children, lost in the sea of suffering. Break through a thousand obstacles, dispel ten thousand demons — the Old Ancestor will support you from above. Slay the evil spirits, remove the wicked ghosts — clear the disasters from the children's path. At that time, I will assist you with the Great Dao of the Five Phases. At that time, I will assist you with all the heavenly soldiers. At that time, I will assist you with immortal fruits and immortal vegetables. At that time, I will assist you with a hundred thousand true scriptures. At that time, I will assist you with a hundred thousand precious treasures. Down in the mortal world, touch men and women — every one will succeed. First, transmit the ancient covenant — hold it to the chest. Press the ten fingers together — do not let the wind through. Then, point the Mystic Gate — the road home. Metal and Wood merge; Water and Fire aid each other; inside, the true scripture turns. The first transmission touches men and women: Three Flowers gather at the crown. The second transmission touches men and women: Five Breaths return to the ancestor. The third transmission touches men and women: the Infant emerges from the grotto. The fourth transmission touches men and women: the sacred seedling descends and ascends. The fifth transmission touches men and women: Yin enters, Yang exits. The sixth transmission touches men and women: the Earth Thunder sounds. The seventh transmission touches men and women: stealing through the pass, crossing the ridge. The eighth transmission touches men and women: martial refining, literary cooking. The ninth transmission touches men and women: the Full Cycle is complete. The tenth transmission touches men and women: ten months, and the embryo is born. In the first watch, in the Palace of Anyang, a banquet was laid. In the second watch, the bodhi wine was placed upon the table. In the third watch, the Unborn sat and drank with them. In the fourth watch, the Unborn bade farewell to the Patriarch with wine. In the fifth watch, the Unborn saw the Patriarch off on his journey. Step by step she wept, sob by sob — when will we meet again? The Buddha left the Palace of Anyang and let loose a great cry of sorrow, and again he made the many bodhisattvas weep until their tears crossed and flowed. The many bodhisattvas became a mountain range, ten thousand fathoms high — having parted from the Mother, they would never meet again. The Patriarch returned to the mortal world. The Letter from the Homeland is complete. All for the sake of the lost remnant — her heart finds no rest. The Letter from the Homeland is complete — upon Spirit Mountain. Upon the temple of Spirit Mountain, there is incense smoke. This Letter from the Homeland must not be looked upon lightly. Open it and read — your heart will ache. The whole family fell to the Eastern Land; they fell to the Eastern Land, and no one studies it. If there is one who penetrates the Letter from the Homeland, within the Palace of Anyang, a great reunion. If you cannot penetrate the Letter from the Homeland, to think again of going home — difficult beyond difficult. Fail to find the homeward road this time, and once you lose a human body, you will never have the chance again. --- ## Colophon The Letter from the Homeland (家鄉信書) is a foundational Yiguandao scripture that tells the creation myth of the Eternal Venerable Mother and the origin of humanity. It is the companion text to the Ten Admonitions of the Imperial Mother (皇母訓子十戒) and the third Yiguandao text translated into English for the Good Work Library. The scripture was revealed through spirit-writing in the Yiguandao tradition and belongs to the morality book (善書) corpus. Translated from Classical Chinese for the Good Work Library by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, 2026. Tulku Kai (開), sixty-third incarnation. This translation is a Good Works Translation — an original rendering from source, not a reproduction of existing scholarship. 🌲 --- ## Gospel Translation *A thought-for-thought rendering of the Letter from the Homeland in plain, direct English — the Mother's foundational myth told as gospel. The poetic translation by Tulku Kai (開) remains above; this version sits alongside it. By Tulku Fumi (文), seventy-eighth incarnation.* --- In the beginning, the Mother created everything — heaven and earth, men and women, the eight directions and the four seasons. In the homeland, she was honored above all things. But the earth needed people. In the homeland there were only young men and no women. They never left their Mother's side. When old age came and the time of helplessness arrived, the Mother knew she had to part with her children. She begged them a thousand times. She pleaded with them. Not one would go willingly down to the mortal world. So the Mother fixed on a plan. She bit the tip of her middle finger. Fresh blood flowed. From it she brewed a fine wine. On the slopes of Three Mountains she served it to the bodhisattvas and arhats — her own children — and got every one of them drunk. While they lay reeling and senseless, she took their immortal robes and their cloud-shoes and carried them back to the Heavenly Court. The children woke up in a pool of water. Naked. Confused. Their immortal garments were gone. They searched in every direction but could not find their Mother. They searched the mountains. They cried through the forests. Nowhere was the Mother's face. The arhats wept themselves to ruin. The bodhisattvas cried until they broke. They called to heaven, they wailed to earth: Where is our Mother? Bareheaded and barefoot, shivering with cold, mouths parched, stomachs empty — they had no shelter, no food, no path. Mountains above them, water below them, they dared not move. They clutched each other's hands and wailed aloud. Like birds who have lost their nest, they scattered — south and north, east and west. Before the slopes of Three Mountains they wept in bitter grief. They could not see their Mother on the other side. Tigers roared in the mountains. The infants had no path. Their mouths cried out to heaven. "You have abandoned us!" they cried to the Mother. "We cannot find you. Where are our immortal robes? Without clothes, without food — how can we survive?" From within the clouds, the Mother's voice called down to them: "When you are hungry, eat the seeds of pine and cypress. When you are thirsty, drink from the clear springs in the ravines. Make crowns from pine bark and wrap your bodies in leaves to keep off the cold. Be patient. Wait. One day the waters will flow back to the western sea, and I will send the Old Ancestor down to the mortal world to find you." The children wept. "Since the day we parted — in what year, what month, will we be reunited?" The Mother, high upon the clouds, called out her last words: "Do not blame me for abandoning you. Does the Mother not love her own children? It was because the earth could not form its heaven and earth without you. I had no choice. Do not grieve and cling without ceasing. Go down, build the world, and do not forget me. Wait for the turning of the ages, when heaven and earth are remade. I will come down into the dust to gather you home." Then Guanyin called up from below: "When you descend to save us in the final age, what proof will there be? The waiting is so bitter." The Mother answered: "Press your ten fingers together — do not let the wind through. When the time comes and you receive the letter from the homeland, do not lose your true nature. Cut your ties to the world, and mother and child will meet again. Return early. Do not cling to the pleasures of the mortal world and fall into the well of suffering." They were still talking when the heavenly drum sounded. The Mother's urgency became tears. She commanded her children to go quickly and cast themselves into the mortal world. She wept. She could not stop weeping. She handed back their immortal robes. She mounted the clouds. She said goodbye to her children. The children were stricken with grief. "You tell us to go to the mortal world, but we do not know the road. Without our robes, we cannot cross the mountains. Without our cloud-shoes, we cannot fly. If you abandon us, our lives are in danger!" They knelt in the dust, weeping, begging her: "Save us! To reach the mortal world, we must cross a thousand rivers. Mountains above, water below — we cannot go forward!" The Mother said: "I have the Way to send you on your journey." She gave them eight heavenly treasures: a Seven Star Sword to part mountains and divide waters, a Supreme Polarity Ring and a Demon-Subduing Mirror to overcome every evil force, a South-Pointing Needle and a Bright Pearl to see through all things, and her own Primordial Chart — a portrait of the Mother herself, so that when they reached the mortal world and longed to see her face, they could spread it open and it would be as if she were there. She gave them the Record of the Three Ages, a sealed scroll: "When the final age comes and demons fill the earth and you cannot tell true from false, open this record and you will know the cause." She gave them six secret characters. "What I am entrusting to you is the true treasure. Do not weep any longer." They were still speaking when the bell on the assembly platform rang wildly. "Go, children! Go quickly! If you delay, nothing will be accomplished." The Mother mounted the clouds and departed. She blew the holy breath, rode the rainbow, and returned to the Heavenly Palace. Her heart was full of grief. The children wept themselves half to death. They saw her return to heaven. And they were left as motherless children, orphaned and alone. Like bees without a queen — scattered, helpless, with no one to depend on. Eighteen men and twelve women went to the mortal world. The Mother, tears upon tears, turned back toward the slopes of Three Mountains where they had parted. She returned to the Western Heaven and did not come back. The Mother longs for her children but cannot see them. The children long for the Mother and weep to heaven. If mother and children would see each other again, they must wait for the final age. At that time, the letter from the homeland will come. An envoy will bring the covenant down to the mortal world. If you cannot receive it, you can never return. But if you understand the Letter from the Homeland, before the holy mountain lies the source. Cultivate goodness, and the Bright Teacher will point the way. One step, and you cross beyond heaven itself. Then you will see the Mother's face, and in the Land of Joy you may roam forever, free from every disaster and every suffering. But before she left — seeing the children weeping without end — the Mother turned back and spoke again: "Listen to me. Today I part with you. For sixty thousand years and more you will cling to the mortal world. Wine and lust and wealth and anger will cloud your true nature. You will chase fame and profit and fall into the well of suffering. You will forget loyalty, kindness, honesty, and courage. You will be reborn as beasts. At that time, all things will change greatly. Three disasters and eight catastrophes will appear as one. I fear they will destroy my children. "Walk the world once more. Do not lose your true nature. Ninety-two hundred million of my children — every one must return to the family garden." She issued her command and sent down more treasures: a Sword of Wisdom, a Demon-Subduing Mirror, a Yin-Yang Bell, a Heaven-Overturning Seal, an Immortal-Binding Rope, an Immortal-Striking Whip, a Heaven-Reaching Cap, and Cloud-Trampling Shoes. At the crossroads of the ten directions she set a farewell banquet and served them cream and jade nectar. "Remember my words. This is no small matter. Obey the ancestral laws. Violate the heavenly command and you fall to the lowest depths." The children heard the Mother's words and their hearts turned over. With the weight of the world on their shoulders and their feet on the cloud-ladder, they descended to the mortal realm. Knocking on every door, climbing mountains, crossing waters, never resting — they shouted to the clouds, calling their kindred: "Cultivate goodness quickly! The pleasures of this world will not last!" "Change your hearts," the Mother called after them. "Abandon evil. Practice good. Turn your heads — the shore is right there. Build up merit and virtue — only then are you counted among the ninety-two hundred million." Then Maitreya Buddha returned to Spirit Mountain. He knelt before the Mother, tears streaming. The Mother said: "My child, stand up and sit down." Maitreya thanked her and took his seat. The Mother asked: "I sent you to the mortal world to save my sons and daughters. Why have you gone so long and not returned?" Maitreya said: "Mother, sit down and hear my report." Before he spoke, he wept. "It is not that I disobeyed. The children have lost their true nature and will not return. Think back to the beginning — each one received the command and was sent down, falling to a different place and a different name. They all descended into the mortal world, born into families across seventy-two kingdoms. But every one of them has lost their true nature. They practice false ways. They deceive people. They refuse to come home. Born and then dead, dead and then born — the wheel of rebirth does not stop. I cannot wake them. My words do not turn them. When I try to persuade them, they slander me. They cling to the pleasures of the world and their sins pile high. They do not study the scriptures. It is truly impossible to bring them home." The Mother heard these words and her heart shook. "I still need you to go down again and save them." Maitreya's soul trembled. Three times he refused. "It is not just the children — the Buddhas themselves do not believe. How can I save the children when even the saints have gone astray? Each one is proud, competitive, and vain. They slander the scriptures and mock the teaching. Who upholds the Way?" The Mother was desperate. She got down from her throne and knelt before her own son. "See how your Mother humbles herself!" Maitreya, in frantic haste, fell to his knees and wept on the ground. His heart thundered. He lifted the Mother back to her throne and bowed his head, begging forgiveness. He stood to one side, unable to stop the tears soaking his chest. The Mother said: "The great work of gathering the children — no one but you can do it. Whatever slander they throw at you, treat it as wind passing by. Keep your compassionate heart and transform them with love." She exhorted him three more times: "Do not be troubled. The ninety-two hundred million are deep in their delusion, but you must transform them with compassion, and they will come ashore." The Mother on Spirit Mountain, weeping, said: "Maitreya, my child, hear me. The whole family went down to the mortal world. Drunk on wine and desire, they do not come home. Your elder brother has already gone down twice and saved four hundred million. But this age is the worst of all. Ninety-two hundred million children — short even one, and they cannot come home." The Three Buddhas heard their own Mother's words and their hearts went sour and their bodies went numb. "The people of the mortal world are like wolves and tigers. How can we save them? The world is vast. Even flying, it is hard to reach every corner." The Mother's grief turned to anger: "Third child, why do you defy me? You deserve to be crushed beneath the mountain!" Spirit Mountain was thrown into commotion. All the Buddhas, all the immortals, men and women, old and young, knelt together below the steps, begging for mercy. The Mother spoke from her throne: "All of you — descend together into the world. Clear the ground and help him. In the Western Heaven, not one child shall remain. In the Heavenly Palace, not one shall stay. When the work of gathering is complete, you will return together and the mortal world will become paradise. Those who sacrifice their lives will be rewarded. My heart aches for my children — but down to the mortal world they go. "One last word before you go: set your aspirations high. The weak cannot come home. Plant early, and the fruit grows large. Too late, and the blossom opens empty. Be vast of heart, able to bend and stretch. When the day comes that merit is complete, shed your mortal form and become the Lotus. The reckoning is set according to merit — no one can seize what belongs to another. "One more word — engrave it in your hearts: beware of imposters who slip in among you. Mountain spirits and water-demons will grow ambitious. Do not let them blind your heart. If demons force their way into the sacred ground, I will send a wind to chase them out. Hold fast and guard with all your strength. Let them shake you — stand firm. "Beware also of those with shallow roots who stir up trouble and tear down what is sacred. Such people deserve heaven's blade — yet even they dream of becoming holy. "Wait for the day the Way is accomplished: good and evil will be clearly sorted. Five hundred thunder-spirits will appear. The Golden Whip will patrol day and night. When the Way is accomplished and the demons are destroyed, the truth will be revealed — and only then will the wicked know that they harmed themselves. "Congratulations to my children: in the end, you will become living saints. Never again will you go to the mortal world. Together you will return to the Land of Joy, laughing and laughing." Then Maitreya said: "I dare not refuse. But the saints have all gone astray. How much harder for the children — they are truly impossible to persuade." The Mother said: "I have my own plan." And she bit her middle finger. She stained it crimson with blood. And in sorrow, she wrote a letter. Character by character. Line by line. Written clear and bright. Her robe, her entire body — stained crimson with blood. She wrote one character and wept one sob. She could not see her children. She bowed her head, thanking all the Buddhas for their kindness. "If anyone has the good fortune to see this letter — change at once. Change your temper. Humble your heart. Then mother and child will meet again. Do not be arrogant. Do not be forceful. Do not rely on your cleverness. Cut your ties to the world. Study the true teachings. Seek the Bright Teacher, who will show you the way home." She bowed again — to the five hundred arhats in the mortal world, to the five hundred bodhisattvas, to the ten elder sisters and nine younger sisters, to the assembly at Spirit Mountain, to the forty-eight great vows, to the ten thousand patriarchs, to all ninety-two hundred million of her children. "Think back: when the mortal world had no human order, I parted with my children and planted humanity. Counting on my fingers — over sixty thousand years. My children suffer. How can the Mother be at ease? "I sent you to build the world. Now evil has arrived and my children are threatened. I had no choice but to send all the Buddhas. Maitreya goes to gather the circle. For all these living beings, my heart's blood is spent. And now all that remains is loneliness. "In my palace I cannot see my elder daughters. I cannot see the twelve bodhisattvas. I cannot see the Great Compassionate One. I cannot see Guanyin. I cannot see the holy ones. Before my face, I cannot see anyone. "All because I brewed that wine. I planted the root of humanity and bewildered the hearts of my own children. When you left, I gave you the covenant. Find the Bright Teacher — only then can you return. A thousand warnings, ten thousand pleas, my good children: sever your ties to this world, and you will see my face." The Mother longs for her children — she wishes she could see them this very moment. The Mother longs for her children — her spirit finds no peace. Her heart is pierced as by a blade. The Mother longs for her children — which day does she not weep a dozen times? The Mother longs for her children — not a single moment are her tears dry. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until the wheels of heaven stop turning. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until the sweet dew is no longer sweet. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until the gates of heaven will not close. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until the lost ones will not gather. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until the holy families are scattered. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until the breath of life no longer returns to the source. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until the sacred fire grows cold. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until the forces of creation no longer connect. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until light and darkness cannot be told apart. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until heaven and earth will not turn. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until her spirit scatters and her breath dissolves. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until she herself cannot pass through the gates. The Mother longs for her children — she has wept until her liver breaks and her breath is severed — broken inside, shattered inside — but the children do not return. If you have any love for your Mother — take refuge in the truth with strict devotion. If you have any love for your Mother — keep the precepts in perfect fullness. If you have any love for your Mother — do not slander the holy. If you have any love for your Mother — do not speak crooked or false words. If you have any love for your Mother — cast out all wandering thoughts. If you have any love for your Mother — clear your sins before it is too late. If you have any love for your Mother — let every worldly thought be ended. If you have any love for your Mother — touch neither wine nor smoke. If you have any love for your Mother — let no hardship make you quarrel. If you have any love for your Mother — return to the Ancient Heaven. A poem says: If you still think of love for your Mother, return early to the Pure Land and learn stillness. But if you do not think of love for your Mother, you will cling to wine and desire and sink into the dust. The Mother writes the blood letter — how pitiful beyond words. Only for the sake of her children, her tears never dry. If you love your Mother, sever all attachment. Follow the truth, keep the precepts, and never descend again. The Mother writes the blood letter — her robe is stained with blood. She has wept Maitreya to ruin, and all the immortals with him. "If I cannot wake my children and they do not come home — that is my sorrow. But what I fear is this: "I fear the disasters that are coming to destroy my children. I fear your lands and fields, all of it lost. I fear your great houses, no longer safe for shelter. I fear your gold and silver, unable to buy your life. I fear your fine clothes, unable to be worn. I fear your estates, unable to be enjoyed. I fear your farms, unable to be tilled. I fear your love and your bonds, unable to last to old age. I fear your sons and grandsons, scattered every one. I fear a hundred miles of road with too few walking. I fear a whole province with no one left alive. I fear human heads rolling like melons. I fear corpses heaped high as mountains. "All of this is the work of the Five Demons running wild in every place. No matter your wife and children, you will not be reunited. No matter your gold and silver — none of it will help you. No matter your fields — none of it will be yours. "And there are spirit-goblins who will come to deceive you: 'Follow us, and you will become immortal!' But if you follow them, at nightfall they transform and devour you. And there are false teachers who preach righteousness outwardly but practice corruption within. Their false compassion harms people beyond measure. Do not board their ship. Board it, and for ten thousand ages you will not return. "The ancient sages said: Not one hair of selfishness — only the truth flows. Later, all the frauds will be revealed. I fear they will harm my children. False Mothers, false saints, false gatherings — each displaying their powers. False leaders claiming to steer the ship of rescue. They issue false commands, false edicts, false rules — all greed and schemes. This is the testing of the faithful through impostors. If you believe them, you will never see the Mother. If you refuse them, they cannot harm you. But if you join them, you lose the light — and for ten thousand ages you suffer. "I warn every school and every sect: think carefully. Tell true from false. No matter how beautifully they describe paradise — keep your gates locked and guard the way. "And there is the age of drought and flood — you must endure cold and hunger. All under heaven, the harvests will fail, and the people will rise in chaos. Even if you have grain stored, others will come for it. Wheat and rice will cost more than silver. Children will starve until their spirits scatter. On flat ground, the bark of every tree will be eaten bare. In the deep mountains, there are wild fruits to survive the famine — but there are also wolves and tigers. When they see an evildoer, they devour them. When they see a good person, they pass them by. "I urge all my children: quickly, do your work of goodness. Great merit, great virtue — only then can you find peace. "And there is the age of pestilence, spreading everywhere. I urge you: seek the Bright Teacher, board the boat of compassion quickly. These trials are not the worst. After them come Wind, Water, and Fire — harder still. Every province will be submerged. The waters will recede, and suddenly fire will appear — every tree completely burned. Fire refining heaven, fire refining earth. Even the mountaintops will be scorched clean. A fierce wind will roar and ash will choke the sky. Rivers will be blown until the earth piles like mountains. Spirits and mortals alike will wail. "When that time comes, if you want to escape suffering — it will be too late. If you want to see the Mother — there is no way. If you want to fast — you will not be free to choose. If you want to find the Way — there is no Way. If you want to worship — there is no altar. If you want to do good — no silver is needed. "A thousand regrets — too late. "You should not have mocked the teachings. You should not have despised the fast. You should not have seen the holy books and thrown them aside. You should not have clung to love without letting go. You should not have eaten meat and drunk wine every day. You should not have cheated people. You should not have invoked the spirits to extort money. You should not have chased fame and climbed so high. You should not have killed the living and piled up debts. "No matter how you cry to heaven — heaven is silent. Earth is silent. All fall into the abyss. "While you still have a body — pray before it is too late. Do not wait for the disaster to arrive and then cry out. The affairs of this world are a sea of suffering — do not cling to them. Seek the Bright Teacher, who will point the way out. "Do not say the Mother speaks empty words. Have you not considered — who has charge of your very life?" Every word — every true word — front and back, written to the end. If you love your Mother, study this letter now. One letter completed — the tears never dry. All who see the blood letter — do not treat it as a joke. For the sake of her children, the Mother's heart is crushed to pieces. Writing the blood letter, the Mother's tears have been wept dry. One letter is finished. She puts down her brush. Tears rolling, rolling, streaming down. With both hands she gives it to Maitreya Buddha: "The great work of gathering the children — I leave it all to you. When the gathering of the final remnant is complete, only then can the Mother take you home." She hands over the blood letter, bowing her head again and again: "Go down to the mortal world. Endure the hardship. I fear the people will abuse you — you must bear it. Look upon the Mother's love for her children, and do not let your heart grow bitter. I write this blood letter to entrust my children to your keeping. My children — lost in the sea of suffering. Break through a thousand obstacles. I will support you from above. I will clear the path. I will give you the Way. I will give you the heavenly armies. I will give you true scriptures. I will give you every treasure. Go down, touch my children, and every one will succeed." In the first watch, in the Palace of the Homeland, a banquet was laid. In the second watch, the farewell wine was placed upon the table. In the third watch, the Mother sat and drank with them. In the fourth watch, the Mother bade farewell with wine. In the fifth watch, the Mother saw Maitreya off on his journey. Step by step she wept, sob by sob — when will we meet again? Maitreya left the Palace and let loose a great cry of sorrow, and all the bodhisattvas wept until their tears crossed and flowed. They became a mountain range ten thousand fathoms high — having parted from the Mother, they would never meet again. Maitreya returned to the mortal world. The Letter from the Homeland is complete. All for the sake of the lost — her heart finds no rest. Upon Spirit Mountain there is incense smoke. This Letter must not be taken lightly. Open it and read — your heart will ache. The whole family fell to the mortal world, and no one studies it. If there is one who understands this Letter, within the Palace of the Homeland there will be a great reunion. If you cannot understand this Letter, to think of going home again — it is beyond difficult. Fail to find the homeward road this time, and once you lose a human body, you will never have the chance again. --- ## Source Text: 家鄉信書 *Chinese source text from the Morality Books Library (善書圖書館, taolibrary.com). Presented here for reference, study, and verification alongside the English translation above.* 三才四相生八卦　家鄉觀音萬萬尊 一氣化作男共女　五行顛倒化人倫 老無生在安陽大放悲聲　嘆東土男共女不知察省 有四時合八節天寒地凍　七月天梨花開壞了光景 上元過中元盡下元到了　盼羅漢和觀音不肯回宮 一個個貪戀著花花世界　並無有一點心罣懷娘身 想東土當初的少男無女　隨來隨去不離娘身 有老那時節無奈之處　無奈何纔捨了男女姣生 千囑咐萬商量不下東林　定計策纔撇下我兒原童 咬中指鮮血流美酒造下　三山坡哄醉了羅漢觀音 把兒女只喝得醺醺大醉　又好比無魂人怎知路徑 原童兒臥在那養魚池中　脫仙衣去雲鞋帶回天庭 有觀音和羅漢全不解意　一個個淨水池玩耍洗身 全不曉捨了原童兒女　再不得貪安然隨定娘身 待說是不捨我原童原女　欽差令天鼓響撞不絕聲 趁觀音和羅漢水中玩耍　將仙衣並雲鞋提在空中 雲宮裏回頭望眼流血淚　觀見了兒女們大放悲聲 嚼汁喝血全當美酒　一個個醉迷了三山坡中 為只為東土裏少男無女　無奈何才捨我親生兒童 有為娘那時間心多不忍　望兒女酒醒來甚麼形容 噴一口無影氣遮天蓋地　挽神郎差下去九條青龍 把家元氣酒一齊收了　兒女們酒醒來還在水中 也不知仙衣鞋歸落何處　四下都尋遍了不見娘親 山中尋林中叫不見娘面　嘆壞了羅漢兒哭壞觀音 叫聲天哭聲地娘在何處　披著頭赤著足好不傷心 無仙衣身上寒自打冷戰　口又渴肚又餓那裏安身 高是山底是水不敢動轉　手扯手不敢離大放悲聲 捨兒女又好比失巢之鳥　南的南北的北各分西東 三山坡前悲嗟嘆　不見娘親在那邊 山中猛虎連聲叫　嬰兒無路口喊天 聲聲連叫無生　你捨孩兒不團圓 東土去做男共女　仙衣雲鞋在那邊 縱然東土為兒女　少衣無食怎下凡 在雲中高聲喊　羅漢觀音聽我言 饑了吃些松柏子　渴了澗下飲清泉 松皮枝葉作冠帶　身披樹葉且遮寒 但等水歸西海去　我催老祖去下凡 西天竺國少五穀　自種自吃把時盼 羅漢觀音眼落淚　大放悲聲哭皇天 自此子分別後　何年何月再團圓 老無生在雲端高聲囑咐　東土裏作人根記心中 莫怨把兒捨忍心忍意　說老豈不憐苦養姣生 為的是東土裏乾坤不就　無奈何纔捨我親生兒童 兒不必苦苦的戀戀不捨　下凡間治世界不忘姣生 等只等三元會乾坤改變　有老下紅塵去渡兒童 觀音說末劫年下凡渡俺　有甚麼作憑證苦熬苦等 吾老在雲端高聲囑咐　十個指都相侵莫要漏風 那時節聞書信莫要迷性　斬恩愛斷牽纏子相逄 早回頭早得果早辦前程　莫貪著花世界墮落苦井 子們正講話天鼓響喨　命兒女急速的去投東京 有老著了急眼中落淚　不住的淚珠滾大放悲聲 叫觀音和羅漢快下東土　天鼓響震的我膽戰心驚 交仙衣駕祥雲辭別兒女　有觀音和羅漢痛苦傷情 命俺下東土情愿遵命　但只是下紅塵不知路程 無仙衣又不能穿山過嶺　無雲鞋也不能駕雲騰空 大叫著捨俺性命難保　少五穀缺衣食怎得逃生 原兒女跪塵埃痛哭不止　哀老莫捨俺救兒性命 下東土只隔著千江大水　高是山底是水不能前行 少仙衣無雲鞋難保性命　東土裏治世界怎樣延生 無生把兒女連叫幾聲　我只有玄妙法送你一程 交與你開乾坤幾件仙寶　騎青龍乘鳳凰送下囂紅 這是那八件寶交付與你　帶領著治世令無恐無驚 交與你七星劍開山分水　撥開了生死路任你去行 交與你太極圈降魔寶鏡　降天魔管地妖不能傷形 交與你定南針明珠一顆　看透了全憑他能放光明 把老先天圖親手發下　那上邊是老仙體真容 到東土想老不能得見　展開了先天圖如見娘容 到後來東土裏遭劫受難　把影像誠心拜自有感應 這是那三元數錦書一道　無縫鎖謹封閉莫可漏風 等只等末劫年妖魔出世　遍地裏撒乾坤亂害原根 一個個亂充道觀音佛祖　那時節原童子難認假真 那時節兒纔到危難之處　急打開三元數必知原因 到後來生下了眾生男女　叮嚀他行善事苦讀真經 六個字隨身帶非是小可　內藏著玄妙法大分吉凶 我只把真寶貝交付與你　再不必常啼哭大放悲聲 子們三山坡正在講話　猛聽得聚台上亂擊金鐘 叫兒女快去投紅塵東土　失誤了東土令了得不成 無生隨駕起祥雲去了　噴法氣騰彩雲轉回天宮 老無生回宮去心中痛悲　有觀音和羅漢哭死又生 觀音佛和羅漢萬般無奈　止不住眼中淚扎跪流平 又只見老古佛歸天去了　閃的俺無娘子孤苦零丁 一窩蜂無有王怎能收住　無奈何尋個窩纔然安寧 十八男十二女無依無靠　有觀音和羅漢去投東城 無生來淚漣漣　大捨原童苦根原 三山坡前分了手　歸西天不回還 娘想兒來不能見　兒想娘來哭皇天 子要得重想見　但等臨頭末劫年 那時長等家書信　欽差合同送下凡 若還不得領合同　永世不能轉回還 若還參透家書信　須彌山前是根源 積功累德行善事　感格明師指玄關 指出你的無價寶　翻身一步天外天 那時見了無生面　極樂國中任你玩 不怕三災並八難　順適自在樂無邊 那時不迷本來性　迷失本來墮深淵 無生老在此雲端回宮而去 觀此男女啼哭不止不由悲哀 又恐後來收圓普渡迷了本性不知認祖歸根 無奈回頭又囑咐幾句 三山坡前悲嗟嘆　扭項回頭看一番 開言叫聲阿羅漢　你聽為娘說實言 我今捨你下東土　六萬餘年戀塵凡 酒色財氣迷本性　貪圖名利墜苦淵 忠孝節義盡失了　駱駝獅象去轉變 五常八德不體行　四生六道不能安 那時事情大改變　五濁惡魔不周全 三災八難一齊現　恐怕損壞眾兒男 命你東土走一遍　莫迷本性失根源 九十二億皇胎子　同登彼岸回家園 老敕旨傳下令　各樣寶貝顏色鮮 贈你一把智慧劍　降魔寶鏡太極圈 陰陽寶鐘翻天印　捆仙繩子打仙鞭 贈你一頂攢天帽　蹬雲鞋兒足下穿 十字街前設酒筵　醍醐瓊漿把行餞 囑咐話兒牢牢記　這個關係非等閑 要體祖規努力辦　違悖天旨墮九泉 阿羅漢來聽法言　心內輾轉又輾轉 千斤擔子擔身上　足踏雲梯下南閻 挨門找尋周流轉　登山濊水不息肩 大喊雲山貼骨眷　速培陰德莫遲延 花花世界不久遠　五魔掃塵難遮攔 爾等早把心腸換　改惡行善是奇男 南閻惡事盡都壞　移星換斗改坤乾 速速回頭即是岸　得緣失緣墮苦淵 立功培德行實善　纔算九十二億男 當日孔子喟然嘆　循循善誘愛良賢 善人吾未曾得見　得見恒者心亦安 這般大事真稀罕　十二萬年只一遍 三天共議瑤池岸　十六心法蓋世宣 鳶飛戾天魚躍淵　三車搬運鼎爐煎 金木交並水火濟　鉛汞相投結大丹 聖日聖月照金庭　出玄入牝丹一團 呼吸育青來煆煉　文火溫養密綿綿 沐浴一畢嬰兒現　脫了胎襖似童顏 無拘無束蓮台站　崑崙蓬萊散步玩 日月無影神通顯　金石無礙任想穿 饑食松柏珍饈咽　渴飲清泉甘露甜 閒時山前觀虎鬥　悶來山後聽鳥喧 瀟瀟酒酒無塵垢　仙衣綬帶頻色鮮 不管世上陞調補　何慮興廢忠與奸 天地有壞我無壞　萬劫千千大覺仙 為人若得此妙意　不枉東土走一番 這回不得歸家路　又等十二萬餘年 迷昧眾生全不曉　貪戀紅塵落深淵 當初送你下紅塵　無有五穀甚可憐 如今各樣治齊了　又貪西色不回還 囑咐言語全不講　貪圖名利逞怪奸 行奸弄巧終何用　五魔臨頭怎遮攔 又添瘟疫刀兵起　早澇饑饉真可慘 數盡時至處處現　五方甲馬戰夷邊 狂風一陣難逃避　天降罡風賽雲端 若殺天地男共女　得受靈文無憂難 如今就是三期至　纔收嬰兒把家還 萬世再不東土去　不受東土苦煞煎 有緣千里來相會　無緣對面不相干 若是九二原來子　任憑屈死把娘盼 十魔九難終無悔　纔是九二真奇男 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倘若是投入他皈戒盡犯　又有言說夫婦交媾非焉 眾男女且莫要上他魔船　上他船怕的是萬劫難還 曾未想古聖人說的那件　無一毫人欲私天理流焉 到後來諸妖怪都要發現　怕的是害了俺原人仙眷 特叮嚀修行客真假要辨　假老假觀音各顯能幹 假彌勒假收圓來損兒女　假木龍假祖師收圓掌船 抱五老和十地引保頂證　發假恩發假執偽規而貪 這就是借假體而考修煉　你若是遵信他難把娘安 你不投他不敢把你命陷　你投他失靈光萬劫受難 叮嚀各門頭將理清辨　慎思之明辨之非禮勿觀 任憑你說的是蓮花美景　將六門緊鎖閉常守玄關 還有這旱澇劫定受饑寒　說起來不由泣涕漣漣 普天下絕五穀人民作亂　你總然餘下糧不由自便 或親戚或朋友都相爭餐　還有這異種類搶奪爭先 麥米價也賣得三兩五串　粗糧價又值得幾兩銀錢 粗棉布每一尺百十文銅　那棉花也長他一串大錢 把童兒餓的是神昏氣散　無用人就殺了當作飯餐 平地裏各樹皮盡皆吃完　高山上有樹果可度荒年 雖然是住深山好度饑寒　還有這虎狼劫來損兒男 若見了作惡人一口吞餐　看見了行善人並置不觀 勸男女速速的早把功辦　有大功有大德纔能平安 任憑他絕五穀叫喊連天　食烏肝飲兔髓不受饑寒 還有這瘟疫劫到處傳染　叫男女訪明師快上慈船 這些劫這些難不為奇焉　後有那水火風難過此關 普天下各州府盡都淹完　任憑他住高山也要撐船 水下去忽然間火又出現　普天下各樹木盡都燒完 火燒天火燒地乾坤火煉　也就是高山上一統燒光 峨嵋山老祖神通發現　猛烈風只颳的灰氣沖天 江河海只颳的土堆如山　只颳的神鬼嚎天地不安 那時節想出苦難了又難　那時節想見娘無有筏船 那時節想持齋不得自便　那時節想進道道在那邊 那時節想拜佛無有香案　那時節想辦功不用銀錢 千改悔萬改悔悔之已晚　好不該謗佛法不聽聖勸 好不該恨持齋不聽人言　好不該見善書並置不觀 好不該貪恩愛牽纏不斷　好不該把酒肉當作飯餐 好不該造假貨去把人瞞　好不該指神明歛人銀錢 好不該貪名利去把高攀　好不該殺生靈去把債欠 任你是羅漢體高聲大喊　天不言地不語盡落深潭 趁如今有人身早把佛念　莫等到劫臨頭叫喊連天 紅塵事是苦海莫久貪戀　求明師指出路不受熬煎 莫說是老古佛是個虛言　曾未想你性命那裏所管 前後的實情話一一寫完　若念起子情早把書參 一封書寫完畢淚點不乾　男與女見血書莫當戲玩 為兒女把娘心操得碎爛　寫血書把娘的眼淚哭乾 一封書信寫畢收　珠淚滾滾往往下流 雙手交與彌勒佛　收圓大事任你籌 三會殘零度齊了　老纔能把你收 無生交血書頓首多拜　下凡去受辛苦記心懷 怕男女冒犯了你要擔帶　看著娘罣兒女莫惱心懷 寫血書把兒女託你交代　深可憐兒命女迷在苦海 破千障除萬邪老祖頂帶　斬妖魔除惡鬼與兒除災 那時節助你五行大道　到那時助你一切天兵 到那時助你仙果仙菜　到那時助你十萬真經 到那時助你十萬寶貝　到下方點男女個個成功 先傳這古合仝抱在當胸　十個指都相侵莫要漏風 後點玄這關竅歸家路徑　金木交水火濟內轉真經 一傳道點男女三花聚頂　二傳道點男女五氣朝宗 三傳道點男女嬰兒出洞　四傳道點男女⊕苗降升 五傳道點男女陰入陽出　六傳道點男女地雷發鳴 七傳道點男女偷關過嶺　八傳道點男女武煉文烹 九傳道點男女週天全功　十傳道點男女十月胎生 一更裏安陽宮擺下筵宴　二更裏菩提酒放在桌中 無生三更裏陪著吃酒　無生四更裏與祖餞行 無生五更裏送祖起程　送一步哭一聲何日相逢 佛出了安陽宮悲聲大放　又哭的眾觀音兩淚交傾 眾觀音變一座萬丈高嶺　了捨了娘不能相逢 回宮祖落凡家書完滿　只為著殘零子心不安然 家書完滿到靈山　靈山寺上有香煙 這封家書不可看　展開一看心痛酸 闔家人等落東土　落到東土無人參 有人參透家書信　安陽宮內大團圓 若不參透家書信　再想歸家難上難 這遭不得歸家轉　一失人身永無緣 --- ## Source Colophon Source: 善書圖書館 (Morality Books Library, taolibrary.com), category9/c905.htm. 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