Either Let Nature Take Its Course, or Let It Fall Silent

For the past month or more, I have spent most of my time in a temple halfway up a mountain.

The temple has very few worshippers; on most days not a single pilgrim comes the whole day, and the temple is left untended, so I can read and think here in perfect solitude.

But though I have left the jianghu, the jianghu will not leave me; though I am no longer in the world, its grudges and passions have not been entirely cut off from me. Watching over the life and death of so many people, it is impossible to be completely free from outside interference.

From time to time people climb the mountain to find me, and from time to time I go down the mountain to find others. Real-world life can hardly stay without a ripple.

The ancients said, "After a hundred battles, return to your books," and also, "Having weathered the storms of years and still survived, one smile at the meeting dissolves old enmities." My present life is something like that.

Retiring to such a small temple, leaving behind all the storms of these years, and quietly reading a few books. When thirsty I drink mountain spring water, when hungry I eat some dry rations, and I have the birds of the mountain for company. Though trivial matters still trouble me, it is far cleaner and quieter than the world below. As time went on, I actually no longer wanted to go back down the mountain.

This morning I chatted with the monk from the temple down the mountain, and for a moment I envied him his monastic life. In truth, being a monk is not so bad: once you have left home, the world outside has little to do with you.

I am a person who has charged headlong through this world for forty years, daring to love and to speak my mind. But I have never been attached to this mortal world, nor do I harbor resentment toward it. What I love are people—my family and my beloved. Though the world is gorgeous and bustling, I do not love it; though people have hurt and wronged me, I bear no grudge. I contend with no one and hold no grievance against anyone. If the world contends with me or resents me, that is their own affair, and has nothing to do with me.

The only reason this mortal world can still keep me is love. If one day my emotional life becomes a blank sheet of paper, that will be the time when my worldly bonds are ended and I withdraw into the mountains and forests.

When I first came up to the mountain temple, it was a season of endless rain. In Hubei, after the autumn and winter rains have fallen for a while, the weather turns damp and cold. At the time I wrote a poem:

Beneath the temple eaves I listen to the autumn rain; the garden is all green, only the oranges are yellow.

In the old monk's quarters, facing the bonfire, the Shiba Inu hears the sound and barks busily at the guest.

When I first arrived, a small dog kept by the temple down the mountain barked at me nonstop. After staying here a while, it grew familiar with me. Every time I came, it would play with me for a bit and walk a stretch of the mountain path with me, sometimes even accompanying me up to the mountain temple and staying half the day. When the old monk in the temple saw me, he always liked to exchange a few pleasantries.

A few days ago I wrote another poem up in the mountain temple:

Having come up the mountain, there is nothing at all; forgetting worldly affairs, I am an idle man.

Why wait for another day to withdraw? The moment you let go, you return to the truth.

Though I am not a monk now, I live each day by the morning bell and evening drum, and spend far more time among birds and beasts than among people. Over time, I have all but reached the state of the Four Empties.

When a person withdraws from this mortal world and then looks back at the world he once inhabited, he gains a different kind of insight, a feeling of "now I know I was right, then I was wrong," and much settles in the course of reflection.

At the very least, many things I once cared about have become insignificant. And the few things that remain unshaken in my heart are what matter most. For me, that unshaken thing is love, care, and companionship; next comes my ideal. Everything else can be lost.

What will my future life be like? I cannot even be bothered to think about it. Everything that belongs to me today may not belong to me tomorrow. What I lack today, I may possess in the future. Coming and going, what changes is appearance; what does not change is the heart.

Grasp what you truly need; as for the rest, either let nature take its course, or let it fall silent! Life is short; do not seek too much. Whether in hardship or in ease, as long as there is a clear wind and bright moon, the greatest matter is no more than "holding the head before a white blade as though slicing the spring breeze."