Chapter 8 8

61 Be still, my heart, and make the time of parting sweet. Let it be not a death, but a fulfillment. Let love melt into memory, pain into poetry. Let the flight through the sky end in folded wings on the nest. Let the last touch of your hands be as tender as flowers in the night. Stand still for a while, ah, "beautiful ending", speak the last words with silence. I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light your way home. 62 On the dim path of dreams, I went to find the love of my previous life. Her house is at the end of a cool street. In the evening breeze, her beloved peacock was sleeping on the shelf, and the pigeons were silent in their corner.

She put the lamp by the door and stood before me. She raised her large eyes into my face and asked wordlessly, "How are you, my friend?" I want to answer, but our language is lost and forgotten. I thought about it and couldn't remember our names. With tears in her eyes, she held out her right hand to me.I stood silently holding her hand. Our lamps fluttered and went out in the evening wind. 63 Pedestrian, must you go? The night is still, and darkness sleeps on the woods. Our balconies are brightly lit, and full of flowers, and the eyes of youth are still awake. Is it time for you to leave?

Pedestrian, must you go? We have not embraced your feet with entreating arms. Your door is open.Your horse standing outside the door is also saddled. If we want to stand in your way, it's only with our songs. If we ever tried to keep you, it was only with our eyes. Traveler, we have no hope of keeping you, we have only tears. What unquenchable fire glows in your eyes? What restless heat runs through your veins? What call from the darkness draws you? What dreadful incantation have you read from the stars in the sky, That night came into your heart silently and strangely,Brought news of that sealed secret?

If you don't like the bustle of meetings, if you need quiet, sleepy mind, we'll blow out the lamps and silence the harpsichord. We shall sit silently in the darkness with the sound of wind and leaves, and the weary moon shall shed pale light on your window. Oh, on the way, what kind of sleepless spirit contacted you from the heart of Zhongye? 64 I've spent the day on the hot dust of the road. Now, in the evening coolness, I knock on the door of a small temple.The temple has been abandoned and collapsed. A sad linden tree stretches its hungry claws from the cracks in the broken wall.

Once upon a time passers-by came here to wash their weary feet. They spread out mats in the courtyard in the twilight of the new moon, and sat talking about the scenery of foreign lands. In the morning they are refreshed, and the song of the birds cheers them, and the friendly flowers nod to them from the roadside. But no lights were waiting for me when I came. Only the smoky traces of the remaining lamps stared at me from the wall like the eyes of a blind man. Fireflies flicker in the grass beside the dry pond, and bamboo shadows sway on the barren path. I was a guest without a host at the end of the day.

There is a long night before me, and I am weary. 65 Are you calling me again? Night comes, and sleepiness wraps its arms around me like a plea of ​​love. Did you call me? I have given you all my days, cruel housewife, will you rob me of my nights? There is an end to everything, and the dark silence is personal. Must your voice pierce the darkness to sting me? Is there no music and no sleep at your door at night? Have the silent stars never climbed above your tower of inhumanity? Shall not the flowers of your garden fall to the ground in soft death? Will you call me, you restless one?

Then let the sad eyes of love weep in vain hope. Keep a lamp burning in an empty room. Let the ferries take those sleepy workers home. I left behind my dreams and came to my calling. 66 A wandering lunatic is looking for the philosopher's stone.His brown hair was matted and covered with dust, and his body was as thin as a shadow.His lips were tightly shut, like the closed door of his heart.His red-hot eyes are like the lamps of fireflies looking for his mate. The boundless sea roared before him. The tumultuous waves talk of hidden jewels, and mock the fool who does not understand them.

Perhaps now he has no hope, but he will not rest, for seeking has become his life--like the ocean stretching out its arms forever to ask for the unattainable--like the stars go round and seek A goal that can never be reached - on that lonely seaside, that disheveled lunatic still wanders in search of the philosopher's stone. One day, a village boy came up and asked, "Tell me, where did that gold chain around your waist come from?" The lunatic was startled—the chain, which had been iron, had really turned into gold; it wasn't a dream, but he didn't know when it did. He tapped his forehead frantically—when, oh, when did he succeed without his knowing it?

It has become a habit to pick up a pebble, touch the chain, and throw it away without seeing the change; and thus the madman found and lost the philosopher's stone. The sun was setting and the sky was golden. The madman retraces his steps to find his lost treasure.His strength was exhausted, his body was bent, and his heart was like an uprooted tree, drooping in the dust. 67 Though the night creeps on and silences all song; though my companions go to rest and you are weary; though terror is in the darkness and the sky's dangers are veiled; but, bird, my bird Son, listen to me, don't hang your wings.

This is not the shadow of the leaves in the forest, but the sea overflowing like a black dragon snake. This is not the dance of jasmine in full bloom, this is the sparkling foam. Oh, where is the green bank under the sun, where is your nest? Bird, oh, my bird, listen to me, don't hang your wings. Long nights lie by your roadside, dawns sleep behind misty mountains. The stars count the time holding their breath, and the weak moon floats in the night. Bird, oh, my bird, listen to me, don't hang your wings. For you, there is no hope here, no terror here. There are no messages here, no whispers, no calls.

There is no home here, no bed to rest in. There is only your own pair of wings and a pathless sky. Bird, oh, my bird, listen to me, don't hang your wings. 68 No one lives forever bro, nothing lasts forever.Keep that in mind and enjoy yourself while you can. Our life is not that old burden, our path is not that long journey. A single poet does not have to sing an old song. The flowers wither; but the wearer need not mourn forever. Keep this in mind, brother, and enjoy yourself while you can. There must be a complete pause in order to weave "fullness" into the music. Life descends toward its twilight, to be immersed in golden shadows. "Love" must be called back from the game, to drink the wine of sorrow, and to be born in the sky of tears. Brethren, keep this in mind and enjoy yourself while you can. We were busy picking flowers, afraid of being stolen by the passing wind. To snatch fleeting kisses that make our blood run and our eyes shine. Our lives are eager, our desires are strong, because time is ringing the bell of parting. Brethren, keep this in mind and enjoy yourself while you can. We don't have time to grasp a thing, crush it and throw it on the ground. Time passed quickly, hiding the dream under the skirt. Our life is short, only a few days to fall in love. If it is for work and labor, life becomes endlessly long. Brethren, keep this in mind and enjoy yourself while you can. Beauty is sweet to us, for she dances with the quick tunes of our lives. Knowledge is precious to us because we never have time to complete it. All is done in the eternal heaven.But the flowers of the phantasm of the earth are kept ever fresh by death. Brethren, keep this in mind and enjoy yourself while you can. 69 I want to chase the golden stag. You may laugh, my friend, but I pursue the illusion that eludes me. I have traversed mountains and valleys, I have traveled through many nameless lands, for I will chase the golden deer. You go to the market to buy, and you go home with a full load, but when and where a wind of homelessness blows to me. I have nothing in mind; I leave everything behind. I have traversed hills and valleys, I have traveled through many nameless lands—for I am chasing the golden deer. 70 I remember as a child, floating a paper boat in a ditch one day. It was a dank day in July, and I was happily playing alone. I float a paper boat in a ditch. All of a sudden, the clouds gathered, the wind howled, and the rain poured down. The muddy water overflowed like a small river and washed my boat away. I thought sadly in my heart: This storm is deliberately trying to destroy my happiness, and all its malice is directed at me. Today, the long cloudy July day, I meditate on all the games in my life where I was the loser. I complain of fate, because it has played tricks on me so often, when I suddenly remembered my paper boat sunk in the ditch. 71 The day is not over, and the market on the river bank is not over. I fear my time is wasted, and my last penny lost. But no, my brother, I have some left.Fate didn't cheat me of everything. The deal is done. The handling fees on both sides have been collected, and it's time for me to go home. But, janitor, do you want your hard-earned money? Don't be afraid, I still have a little left.Fate didn't cheat me of everything. The sound of the wind announced the threat of the storm, and the low shadows of the clouds in the west heralded evil omens. The silent river awaits the storm. Afraid of being overtaken by the night, I hurried across the river. Oh, boatman, you charge! Yes bro, I have some left.Fate didn't cheat me of everything. A beggar sat under a tree by the roadside.Poor thing, he looks at my face with timid hope! He thought I was carrying a day's profits in abundance. Yes bro, I have a little left.Fate didn't cheat me of everything. The night was getting darker, and the road was silent.Fireflies flicker in the grass. Who is following me quietly? Heh, I know, you want to rob me of everything I have.I will not disappoint you! Because I still have some left.Fate didn't cheat me of everything. Arrived home in the middle of the night.I am empty-handed. With longing eyes, you waited for me at the door, sleepless and silent. Like a shy bird, you flew to my breast with love. Sigh, alas, my God, I have much left.Fate didn't cheat me of everything. 72 With days of hard work, I built a temple.There are no doors and windows in this temple, and the walls are built thickly with layers of stone. I forget everything, I hide from the world, I gaze raptly at the idols I have placed in their niches. It is always night inside, illuminated by lamps of sesame oil. The constant cigarettes wound my heart in a heavy spiral. I stayed up all night, carving strange shapes on the walls with twisted and chaotic lines—winged horses, flowers with human faces.A woman with limbs like snakes. I leave nowhere a thread of path through which the song of a bird, the murmur of a leaf, or the bustle of a town may enter. On the darkened dome the only sound is the echo of my praise. My mind became intense and calm, like a sharpened flame.My senses are swooning in orgy. I don't know how the time passed until a huge thunderbolt struck the temple and a sharp pain pierced my heart. The lights looked pale and ashamed; the portraits on the walls were like chained dreams, staring meaninglessly as if to hide. I looked at the idol on the altar, and I saw it smile, and in living contact with God, it came to life.The night that was imprisoned by me spreads its wings and flies away. 73 The immeasurable riches are not yours, my patient black dust mother. You labor to fill the mouths of your children, but food is scarce. Your gift of joy to us is never complete. The toys you make for your children are not safe. You cannot satisfy all our desires, but can I turn my back on you for that? Your smile, with its shadow of pain, is sweet to my eyes. Your insatiable love is kind to my heart. From your breast you fed us with life and not with immortality, so your eyes are ever watchful. Years and ages you have worked with color and poetry, but your heaven is not yet built, only the melancholy of heaven. Your beautiful creation is clouded with tears. I will pour my poetry into your wordless heart and my love into your love. I will worship you with labor. I have seen your kind face, I love your sad dust, Mother Earth. 74 In the audience hall of the world, a simple blade of grass sits on the same rug as the sun and midnight stars. And so my poetry and the music of clouds and forests have a place in the heart of the world. But you rich man, your riches have no share in the simple splendor of the sun's joyful golden light, and the brooding moon's soft light. The blessing of the all-encompassing sky is not sprinkled upon it. When death comes, it pales and withers, and crumbles to dust. 75 In the middle of the night, the self-proclaimed ascetic declared: "The time has come to abandon my home and pray to God. Oh, who held me in delusions for so long?" God whispered, "It's me." But the man's ears were plugged. His wife lay with the nursing child, sleeping peacefully on the other side of the bed. The man said, "Who has lied to me for so long?" The voice said again, "It's God." But he couldn't hear it. In the dream the baby cries and leans against his mother. God commanded, "Don't go, fool, don't leave your house." But he still couldn't hear. God sighed and said aggrievedly, "Why did my servant leave me and look for me everywhere?"