Threads of the Mortal World

It is as if, while eating meat, you accidentally bit into a slice of ginger — your body and mind convulsed in that instant, unable to say a word, yet you know with perfect clarity: this is heartbreak.

As if a stone had been thrown onto a calm lake, the ripples spread out and fold back, rising and falling without end.

Outside the window the overcast sky roars unrestrained, swallowing the mountain, swallowing the house, swallowing the sorrowful, tangled, troubled human heart. Little Miss Wind — where, and at what time, are you now?

Such a person under heaven — how could another be allowed to lay a finger on them! Or are you the one who started it all?

In truth, the sky is most beautiful when it rains, because it has learned how to let go — because it knows the earth needs rain, and rain can only find peace in the embrace of the earth. Even if such happiness lasts only an instant, even if that instant of happiness is paid for with life itself, it is still without regret, without hesitation. So it weeps — it weeps for why the raindrops are so foolish, it weeps for why it itself is so powerless, it weeps for all the unfairness in this world: why do moths fall in love with fire, why do shooting stars fling themselves forward so recklessly. It is love — love makes us devoted in our giving and devoted in our letting go.

I love rainy days; I love even more the quiet of strolling through the rain, that abandon that seeps into every pore. I love rainy days because I can hear the sky's roar of anguish, and I can smell the faint bitterness in the tears it sheds. I love rainy days; I love watching the rain seep into the ground with that wild joy tinged with a hint of resolve — I love the earth at such moments, weighty and profound.

In this rolling mortal dust, what is love after all?

Look at the branches in the wind, swaying and drifting, nodding now and then, softly humming — what a self-possessed picture. Perhaps this is love: not asking for grand passion, only for a lifetime of leaning on each other.

The beauty of nature is so beautiful it brings tears to the eyes, yet it does not adorn itself and does not keep people at a thousand miles' distance — like a dictionary, every word has its own given meaning, and if you know how to pair them, you get a whole new scene. It reminds me of a word I heard not long ago — "rounded harmony" (圆融) — truly something that can be grasped only by the heart, never fully explained in words. That is the real realm of being human.