On the north screen of my study, on the right side of the painting of ink and wash galloping horses, I wrote, "Why not be afraid of the autumn wind rushing towards the thunder, and laugh at the world of mortals and walk freely?" Hunting for blood, I finally converted to the Zen realm. Dou Yun's hard ice is easy to melt, and it must be a volcano that can wait for thousands of years. In the interstellar fire, in the smoke haze of dreams, I still have my sword teeth. Although Haizi died, I still have my sword teeth.
When it is cool in autumn, people learn to keep warm for their hearts, walk along the coast of time with the heart of enjoying the moon and the charm of watching the waves, compete with the years, carve shadows with dreams, have bright eyes, look forward to the warmth on the white deer cliff of words, and catch the rhythm of the sun ...
A sea of people gathers to forget Sichuan, a happy exit.
Mo Daojun suffered, and the world suffered more. This is the same as before. Today people love the ancients. It means that the word "truth" is good. People Cao Zhi used the word "resentment" to conceive Luo Shenfu, but today people mostly failed. Our lives are easy and we regret it. You have no intention to fly outside the window. When you were young, the dream of Sahara was called aftertaste because it was a dream. We don't really understand until we are old, hurt and hurt. The so-called swan song of a thousand years is mostly a quatrain, and few people care about it. Most of them are chapters with no ending, but the wind and frost are full of eyes. Otherwise, how can there be a monk who wears a knot and is willing to wander around the lonely cliff in Leng Xue, listening to the Sanskrit singing and falling into the dust?
Because I know, I cherish it, maybe I am silent, maybe I seem indifferent, and I only keep a beautiful poetic feeling in a small corner of my heart. Because I see the uncolored and gentle and pure flower of life, I choose to sit still or listen, as the Buddha said. If I smell it, I will say that I am ignorant and rooted in a warm soil. If I see the morning star for a moment.
Without solitude and purity, you can't see crazy songs in the snow, sharp swords in rivers and lakes, and you can't be quiet, let alone a gift of money. You can be free and unfettered, the moon flutters, and you can watch the crane dance. It's not easy to walk in the thin and cold world and lose the childlike innocence. Whoever has a clear heart will carry more than others, and it's cool in late autumn, and only wishes the bright moon in Cangshan. The frost and cold river leave a sublimated moonlight, and the joys and sorrows in the moonlight are interpreted from generation to generation, and the embodiment is endless. The answer is known, and no one wants to decompose it. Because, only life and nature are the poems that people can't get tired of writing, the great love background of eternal books, and the most bitter taste in poetry. Because of the original sin, people choose to put the camera back, or mistake happiness for a long-term vision, and the pain becomes a sad surprise, and the distortion of the picture has never existed since ancient times. If there is, it should be in Xiaolin.
Listening to the piano, watching the snow flying and listening to the rain strings under the cliff is a kind of spiritual baptism. Yes, listening to the flute across the water, isn't it a great situation? Isn't the moonlight in the lotus pond the scenery in my heart? Listen, frogs are like jade, and the sound of water is gurgling. Only the wheatgrass flowing from the heart is fresh and lasting. On the bank of gurgling springs, I caress the nature with my hands, write the spring and autumn, and get back to the deep and quiet.
No matter whether Kuanglu listens to Panasonic in wind and rain, or Bai Xueyue doesn't think about it, the scholar who lives in the mountains, the traveler who moves away from home on the road of life, are all struggling to find poetry, harmony and balance the realm of Bodhi, and live in harmony with the dust. This degree requires wisdom too much. The purpose of life is to give Dongpo a sigh and more poetic comments, and to decorate Taibai feather with pure moonlight, instead of adding merits and demerits for no reason. Shut the river and lock it empty, where is the ancestor? I went there in the past, and the white clouds were leisurely, and the law code could not speak. People who can really understand him laugh, but they don't know why. The smile of the monk in the bag is natural, perhaps because he has suffered enough. Sorrow is put into his pocket, and the smile is blooming on his face. The negative side turned to the positive side, like a well-known picture of fortunes.
People want to surpass a common word, but they can't avoid it. When they talk about happiness, they make more mistakes that don't exist, and they put more burdens on preparation. Why don't you play a happy role in front of the mirror? I think it's not simple to be lonely. You see a sword dance, and there is no sword in the poem. I clearly feel that. But the late old boys named Jin Yong really drank a few cans of beer outside the recording studio for the sake of laughing at the sea, and then he put down the dust on the shore. Therefore, his smile in that song is no longer far-fetched, which is my favorite song.
there are many tides in the world, and it is most regrettable today. The so-called Bodhi land does not cause dust, so we can only travel freely in Zhuangzi, with smoke and water around the moon, and write nursery rhymes for innocence, but if we walk alone outside the party, we need a sword to do martial arts, because it is difficult to help our drunken bones, and only our unique pride can support a man's ` heaven, a dragon dying on the moon and riding a thousand miles alone, which is a letter of righteousness, more resentful than a carved fence and jade, and better than a heavy boat in Shuangxi. After covering the Spring and Autumn Annals, mention Mo Xie, cut the dust lock between the eyebrows, and have a happy twilight, and you will be heroic on the rivers and lakes in the rainy night. Qu Zi is gone, and all the philosophers have become legends. Only the autumn moon is still there, and there are you, me and him, looking at the misty Milky Way, and the indescribable poems of surging waves. In fact, nothing will last forever, and eternity is called a dream.
When the grass is setting in the sun and the pavilion is shorter, the stone beach of vines and Wu Gou are horizontal, and the carp is standing. I saw a poem that overwhelmed the prosperous Tang Dynasty, with tassels covered on it, horizontal waves and parasitic grass. This is my misinterpretation of the word "". If you are wise, you can also use Sanmao's rolling world of mortals and blurred music to sing cause and effect.
Mr. Dongpo used "a bottle to return the moon to the river" to wrap up his Chinese New Year. He worshiped and doodled his words for more than 2 years, but he didn't use the essence and macro, and he lacked his heartfelt respect for Jiang Yue. Therefore, his respect for the moon could not be learned by future generations. The peak of Tang poetry and Jin characters was still thousands of years ago, so that later, those who really knew the taste of life were mostly left with gentle, gentle and silent songs. The bright moon is tall and full of wine. I don't know how to drink it before I can reach Dongpo.
I hope that during the voyage of life from the guest boat to the monk's lodge, in the joys and sorrows that people can see or can't see, and in Leng Xue's solo journey in which the geese are blown by the north wind, we will become more and more determined, because we are willing to forgive others again and again with compassion, but we will bury our heads, check ourselves in fear, and write down our forbearing thoughts silently, so as to better understand how easy a lush life is to be destroyed.
In the garden of streamer, the depth of field is wide. In the bamboo forest, Yang Liuan, which rain butterfly can distinguish Zhuang Zhou. When we were young, we were always willing to say who this school was, and we were used to the loss of our ancestors' humanity. In order to assign new words, we missed a few times, and when we learned the mystery, we were also born early.
The sentimental poet among flowers, the graceful scholar of Qingdeng scrolls, and the flowery soil of Langyuan, which nourishes us, stubbornly seek the gossip of time and the dialogue of vicissitudes of life. After knowing yourself, I will hold the world in the sword ring of Ma Ce and drift my fate and boat across the river and lake dream. Then, when you can laugh, you can listen to the sound of the waves in the world of mortals. Then, again and again, Ren Xia's laughter will slowly disperse with the moonlight and the smoke.