Enter the colorful temple from the right and exit from the left.
Inside the gods stand in a row, with their gentle gazes.
I offer a long red incense stick and pray across the smoke.
Prayers must never be selfish.
Young girls, so serious about their fate,
Toss two red crescent-shaped wood pieces.
Their hearts soar and sink with each combination of heads and tails. 
All of this takes place under the gaze of the Heavenly Empress.
Smoke billows up, turning into an inaudible language.
My head and the shrine become one.
Mazu, Mother of the Sea,
Iemanjá, Maria Kannon, Nanã.
All the goddesses become one,
Scolding our sins with compassion.
Prayer must not be self-centered.
Sing silently to celebrate Life.

Sanzimen is a beautiful mountain village.
Here I witnessed a Paiwan wedding.
What sophisticated attire!
Blue and red threads are woven in black, their colors
and patterns remind me both of the Haida and the Sami.
At a table were two strikingly beautiful sisters.
The bride was their cousin, the only one
wrapped in a pure white Western-style wedding dress.
Wordlessly I took a leave of the feast with song and dance,
set off up the mountain.
The mountains in this area are incredibly rugged.
If you look beyond the ridge line you notice
a bigger mountain looming like a massive screen,
towering, swaying.
When the wind through the valley carries pure white clouds,
on those clouds travels the bride in white.

All the wetlands by the sea
have become fish ponds or duck farms.
Fishing boats enter the harbor one after another,
unload tons of tuna and sea bream.
A small private fishing boat was detained by the Coast Guard.
All of these were scattered by the evening breeze
and wandered through the night streets.
There are almost no people, and not a sound can be heard. 
The lights of the empty arcade shine brightly
Accompanied by varied fishes swimming through the air.
By and by I arrive at the river.
Many flowers float on the quiet surface of the night water.
Yeah, I’ve seen this scene somewhere before.
The flowers are white, the flowers are pink,
The river’s surface is the pure land, Sukhavati.
Everything floats dimly in a light with nowhere.