Long ago there lived a forest sage named Suchi, whose whole life had been quiet and clear. He woke before dawn, swept his little hut, fed the deer that came to his door, and sat in stillness watching the sun climb. His mind was like a clean pond — you could see all the way to the bottom.

One winter his body grew old and frail. His students gathered, sad, sure that the end was near. But Suchi was not afraid. He asked to be carried to the open hilltop he loved, where the morning light spilled over the valley.

"Why do you smile, teacher?" a young student asked, holding back tears.

"Because of how I feel," Suchi said softly. "There is no fog in me, no grabbing, no fear. Only a great, bright calm — like this very morning. The sages say that how you are at the end is the door you walk through. A heavy, dark mind walks into heavy, dark places. A grasping, restless mind walks into restless places. But a clear, calm, shining mind —"

He paused and looked at the brightening sky.

"— a clear mind walks into the spotless worlds of the wise, where there is nothing but light. I can feel that door opening even now."

The students watched as the sun crested the far ridge and poured gold across the hilltop. Suchi closed his eyes, his breathing slow and easy, a faint smile still on his lips. There was no struggle, no gasp — only a calm letting-go, like a lamp flame slipping quietly upward into the bright air.

The young student would say, years later, "I have seen many people die. But I never saw anyone leave so gently, like stepping from one bright room into a brighter one. He had spent his whole life keeping his heart clear. And at the end, that clearness carried him home."