A Quiet Night

The night is truly quiet, especially after midnight. Such a mysteriously distinctive time, I almost don't want to waste it. I haven't written anything in a long time. Suddenly I am afraid that I will go silent forever, so I clutch at tonight as if grasping a straw, only to find that what I want is no more than this much. A person who is constantly purifying their soul will always have threads of something like a net pulling them deep. Rushing along the path of cultivation, one can brush off the scorn of the crowd, only to discover that the Way lies in the heart—something entirely unexpected. What is love, in the end? What can love do? It can be said that all the evils in the world come from love and return to love; love is almighty. They say love for the sake of love; perhaps love is the true Way. Then all confusion arises and perishes in the mind—what is there to be confused about, and why be confused? Love is like the present night: it begins in the day and ends in the day. Why love, and why not love? Everything that cannot be understood has its own reasons for being so. Just as only in the darkness of night can one see the twinkling stars, some things are simply beyond the reach of ordinary effort. Why does a person become vain? Perhaps it really does start with love, so it must also end with love. The imagined virtual reality truly exists, yet its life has always been overlooked; can it be that some things are destined to be obscure and unknown? True transcendence is neither love nor non-love, so there are still things that exist beyond opposites. Night and day are opposites, but at which precise moment does the night oppose the day, and which moment of the day? Opposites have asymmetric points. Perhaps a coin has more than two sides—this seems to defy common sense.