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“Picture a wave in the ocean,” he says to her. “You can see it, measure its height, the way the sunlight refracts when it passes through… You know what it is. It’s a wave.

And then it crashes on the shore and it’s gone. But the water is still there. The wave was just a different way for the water to be for a little while. That’s one conception of death for a Buddhist. The wave returns to the ocean, where it came from, and where it’s supposed to be.”