Pick a bright moon to wash away the dust, taste a cup of tea, lean against the railing and wait for a lotus to bloom...
——Inscription
The misty rain is misty, the misty rain is misty, The pink flower mist is hazy. I stood on tiptoe and got close to the tranquility and tranquility. At this time, my dust-laden heart was as clear as a wash, and my thoughts were wandering in the field of flowers...
A person's life is like a city wall, and days are like a wall. Brick by brick, life is a beam and a pillar. It seems that one's life is just to watch a cicada grow from birth to old age, to watch an autumn leaf quietly go to its beautiful death, to watch a white fox escape into the mountains and forests. Life does not need to be vigorous all the time. Occasionally make a cup of tea, sit at the desk in the afternoon, take a nap, look at the sky, and think quietly.
One day, I looked up and saw tung flowers falling. I suddenly thought of Zhang Dai, that talented man from the late Ming Dynasty. His birth was like the full bloom of the tung flowers, extremely beautiful. On the Zhangtai Road, he galloped with his whip raised, the tents were red with candles and he played the flute every night. At that time, he could not say enough about "the light shakes the red doors and the gold pavement, and the snow shines on the beautiful windows and the jade makes the palace." Who would have thought that decades later, he would be living alone by the West Lake with a broken bed, broken tripod, and sick harp. It snowed heavily for three days and was extremely lonely. A cloud, a cauldron, and a pavilion in the middle of the lake, living alone by Xiyuanzi, shocked thousands of years with a short essay. If Zhang Dai had spent his whole life in the White Jade Hall, behind the carved screen, how could his writing be so precise? The true nature of life is like this. Only when everything returns to tranquility can the true nature of life be revealed.
"It is better in cold places. It has no roots and buds. It is not a flower of wealth in the world." Nalan Ruorong's poem, in the season of snow, the hexagonal crystal, with his lonely heart, waiting Flowers bloom, flower blooming is a painting, and flower falling is a poem. Strolling in the garden is not watching the flowers falling in front of the garden, looking at the sky like rolling clouds. A person with good nature and virtue lives in a high-rise building and is always blessed by mountains and rivers, fish and birds. So after hundreds of years, he burst into tears for his true love. Life sometimes requires a short-term self-exile.
Destined to be a soldier, he decided to live in seclusion in the mountains and forests after seeing the yellow bells destroyed and the cauldrons thundering. If you want to kill a thief, you can't save him. When the war broke out, the life in Jiangshanwang no longer belonged to him. Here you can hear the birds chirping in the bamboo forest, the distant bells of the mountain temple, the fallen flowers falling here, and the late cold tobacco smoke. One draw can determine the outcome of Chu and Han. Only with a small boat can we reach the other side of Zen.
The essence of life is that when everything returns to dust and everything becomes the smoke of the past, the true nature of life can only be seen after the dust-laden heart has been washed away.
The bustling city, the confusing life, looking up at the sky above us that contains hundreds of millions of years of life, what exactly does it bring to people's thoughts? Thoughts are gods, they can be prosperous or overgrown. Life also needs a kind of short-term self-exile. You can dance alone gracefully without leaving the hustle and bustle.
Pick a bright moon to wash away the dust, taste a cup of tea, lean against the railing and wait for a lotus to bloom...