Past and present life (I don’t know the author)
Belated reunion is a kind of pain. An indescribable pain. A pain that will never heal. Because we meet each other, because we know each other. You must be able to feel it, and you must have the same mind. God's will is this, An Fu forced it? Now that we have met, why are we late?
Over and over again, looking up to the sky and asking.
Among thousands of people, thousands of years later, in thousands of future lives, I will meet you again. Meeting each other is already a gift from God.
We met in the previous life by the Naihe Bridge, with catkins dancing all over the sky. The drizzle is like silk, and the wine flag is flying in the wind. You can vaguely see the curved stone arch bridge, where you stand with the wind, your long hair flowing, your bright eyes and white teeth, your charming smile.
The young man is chivalrous, with an upright blue shirt, long hair shawl, and is unruly. The spring breeze becomes a sword, and the sword becomes a dragon's roar. I went to the Naihe Bridge for a distant dream, I went to look for plum blossoms in the snow for a bright poem, I went to a beautiful girl's smile with fresh clothes and raised eyebrows, I went to despise life for a river and lake of pleasure and hatred.
Wine is as green as bamboo leaves, drunkenness is as red as daughter’s red. In the Mingyue House, the wind is as good as the water, the scenery is infinite, the love is like a dream, the sound of the piano is in the room, and there is no one to see.
The smoke curls up, and the long piano sheds tears. In the quiet sound of the piano, the ancient ballads were performed one by one.
The bond between life and death is broad, and I will tell you when I am born; I will hold your hand and grow old together with you.
The beauty plays the flute and the flowers move her face, and the young man is like a jade sword like a rainbow.
Do you know that I have been kneeling before the Buddha for five hundred years? Five hundred years of green lanterns and ancient Buddhas, five hundred years of morning bells and evening drums, are just for today. Just to meet and smile.
Even though I am like this lonely falling leaf or that solitary bird; even though I want to ask for wine for a bright moon or ask for the moon for a pot of sad wine; even though I often ask for the dreams of the past. Regret or dreaming of regrets in vain; even if I leave a lamp and listen to the windy night, even though...
Then, I will pick the most beautiful flower and give it to you, so that it will be good for me After you are far away, I can play the piano and sing songs; only then can I miss your single and delicate face under the bright moon at the end of the world; only then can I be full of people thinner than yellow flowers in the wind and rain of green, fat, red and thin.
We met in a hurry and said goodbye in a hurry. Later, in a war in which the country was destroyed and the people were in chaos, I was shot to death by a stray arrow. When I was dying, I realized that the everlasting mountains are no better than the short-lived roses. So I smiled...
When I raised my head again, I was greeted by the bright sunshine, which made me feel like I was in another world. Someone was playing a piece of music that was once familiar to me, but I couldn't remember it. Unfortunately, I forgot its name. I picked up a bottle about memory and smelled the scents of different periods inside. Maybe it was dry, cold and dark after drifting for too long. It was a stalled displacement, it was a hesitant concern, it was a wind-flowered sadness, it was a beautiful encounter. The passionate eyes, the romantic whispers, the telepathy, the vicissitudes of the music. Finally he suddenly understood, laughed, and became a monk immediately.
For whom are you making green apricot wine? To whom do you raise a toast to the moon? Who brings wine to the wind for? For whom are the plums cold in the rain?
Don’t say that you have no chance in this life, and you will only wait for the next life. It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s not that I don’t believe me. What I don’t believe may be just the unpredictable tomorrow, the irresistible fate, and the unpredictable expectations. Understand that fate may only be a kind of sadness. Expectation may be too extravagant.
The past life is far away.
In this life, will this same reincarnation happen again? In this life, can I really only repeat the waiting in my previous life across a distance of time and space? In fact, it’s not that I’m unwilling, it’s not that I’m unwilling to kneel before the Buddha for a long time and spend five hundred years praying to meet again in the next life.
In this life, I just want to be transformed into a flower, blooming a season of beauty for you on the roadside you must pass. However, I am afraid that time cannot withstand waiting for too long and too long, and I am afraid that missing out again and again will turn into eternity.
And your life must be a painting, a peerless mural in the Dunhuang Grottoes. The dancing and overflowing soul is smiling, without any words, just dancing and laughing. Let the time in the wind flow through reincarnation after reincarnation.
It is said that the eminent monk has been looking at the wall for thousands of years, just to understand the smile that dances with the soul. The stick of incense in front of the temple was also burning, accompanying this eminent monk in his quiet time for thousands of years.
And I must be a deaf-mute monk.
I begged and begged before the Buddha. The Buddha smiled and was speechless, but still clicked a little with his finger. Then, the sky was filled with shooting stars and snow fell in June.
Life after life, there are similar stories. When you came, I left. When I walked under the flower tree, your flowers fell, and the rain of flowers fell on my back. When I looked back, I only saw the haggardness of spring. When I use my life's blood to dance into a sunset, you are singing on the other side of the mountain and the other side of the water. When the stars came out, I realized that the last cloud was waiting for me in this life. When I gallop across the grassland, you are the red dust under my hooves, vainly dyeing my journey with the fragrance that has been hidden all my life. When you were picking lotuses in the south of the Yangtze River, I was the helpless water wave under your wrist, leaving you with a face as white as snow.
Time goes by reincarnation after reincarnation. Just interpret in the missed encounter, silently recall in the care. The heaven and earth were moved, and the goddess scattered flowers all over the sky.
The Buddha moved his fingers and said, no, there are still regrets in the world, how can you be so perfect.
I finally spoke, finally listened, finally realized, picked up the flower, smiled, and left the world.
The Buddha also smiled, and crystal tears flowed down from the mottled clay sculptures...