The composition about Buddha is 600 words

I am a woman who believes in Buddhism. I believe in past lives and wait for reincarnation. "It's wonderful to hear someone say that.

But I am not a Buddhist after all.

As long as I can remember, God has been branded in my memory. Cheng Nan Catholic Church used to go there every week, because grandma lived there and she was a devout believer.

"By the orders of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen", which I have never understood, is always repeated in my ears. I don't know the origin of faith, but some people say that God exists as long as I believe.

The church is not big, but it is high enough for me to look up. I like the feeling of looking up. Standing under the lush green trees, I looked up at the top through the gaps between branches. There were flocks of birds, clouds and flowing mist. There is a row of straight deciduous Chinese fir planted outside the church, which provides shade for the low house and is a gray color. There is a flower planted under the Chinese fir tree, which can be used to paint nails after being crushed. I didn't ask.

Walking out of the whole yard is the Minjiang River. The river flows rapidly but not violently below, taking away clusters of water plants like lotus leaves, and occasionally seeing small eddies trembling with the river. When the tide is low, you can boldly go down to the hillside to pick the small pumpkins planted there, which always makes you covered in mud.

Jesus, who often kneels in church, prays to grandma, and grandma says, God is with you as long as you are sincere.

Then I have been to the Buddhist rock temple many times, and different people have different feelings. Memories are stacked and accumulated. When you see the repeated scenery, you will think of those smiling faces that really existed on a certain day in a certain year.

There is not much smoke, there is no faint cigarette around, and heavy bells are rarely heard. Along the road are wall carvings destroyed during the Cultural Revolution, which bring people wordless sadness.

The last time I went with a good friend, we walked slowly up the mountain, listened to music, looked at the bamboo sea and took some familiar scenery along the way.

Near the top of the mountain, we went to touch the red blessing carved on the rock wall. I closed my eyes and walked straight ahead, and then I touched it easily. She smiled and said that she was blessed. I have always been a blessed person in her heart. But what she didn't know was that I couldn't help opening my eyes at the last moment before touching it. I saw the burning red blessing in front of me. I went to it and put my hand gently on it.

I met an old fortune teller at the top of the mountain. I hate superstition, but I don't know why I want to go. I knelt in front of a Buddha statue and closed my eyes again. The tube shook loudly, and the old man knocked on the iron bowl several times-clang, clang .. I carefully pulled out one.

Middle and lower signing.

I untied the sign, took a few more photos and went down the hill along the path.

I still didn't go to worship Buddha. Since I saw the monk talking loudly on PHS, I stopped praying considering my grandmother's feelings.

When grandpa left, grandma wanted to burn Buddha paper for grandpa. But grandma said that grandpa had always been a believer before his death and would hold a funeral in accordance with Catholic customs. Grandma resolutely disagreed, and finally broke up in discord. But grandma insisted on reading the last scripture to her followers.

I still believe in Buddhism, past lives and reincarnation, the immortal soul, and Jesus Christ and God are with us.

Sincerity is the spirit, grandma said.