On one occasion, the Buddha said to the monks this:
"No other form do I know, O monks, that so persists in obsessing the mind of a man as the form of a woman. The form of a woman persists in obsessing the mind of a man.
Mounting the bull, slowly I return homeward.
The voice of my flute intones through the evening.
Measuring with hand-beats the pulsating harmony, I direct the endless rhythm.
Whoever hears this melody will join me.
Comment: This struggle is over; gain and loss are assimilated. I sing the song of the village woodsman, and play the tunes of the children. Astride the bull, I observe the clouds above. Onward I go, no matter who may wish to call me back.