When You Reach the End of the Road, It Is Time to Turn Back—Life Sketches
These are some short sketches I picked out from the WeChat Moments I have now cleared.
They are basically things I wrote on the spur of the moment; deleting them would indeed be a pity.
Cherishing one's old broom, when it truly comes to throwing it away, one still cannot bear to. So, when I have occasional free time, I organize and save them, to keep as a memento for myself.
In my early years, favored by my beloved teacher and repeatedly polished by him, what I wrote was passable; to throw it away after writing would also betray my teacher's careful cultivation.
As someone who loves writing, in work and life there are always some circumstances that trigger my desire to write, producing these sketches.
From now on I will organize my sketches in this form, for the enjoyment of readers.
1
I often urge my son to read through the finest works, ancient and modern, Chinese and foreign; to forge a talent enough to look down upon the world; to temper a character neither arrogant nor impetuous; to uphold an attitude neither servile nor overbearing; and to live a life of no desires and no cravings. I humbly believe this is the best way to dispel illness, prolong life, and delight the mind and body. The world seeks only to take more, sparing neither body nor life. Only when accumulated toil becomes illness, and one can neither live nor die, does one regret a lifetime of recklessness, all one's cravings being mistaken—but too late to repent.
2
In my heart there is quiet, with nothing much at all; before my eyes, only a wisp of cloud.
Let the winds blow from east, west, north or south; a single hut is enough to be at peace.
3
Having climbed the mountain, there is no business at all; he who forgets the ways of the world is a free man.
Why wait for another day to retire? The moment one thought is let go, one returns to truth.
4
If I can live past forty-five, after forty-five I would like to live like this: between green hills and clear waters, a small cottage, qin, books, a medicinal garden, a vegetable plot, a bamboo grove, a beloved woman, a Chinese Shiba dog, and myself. A simple life, contending with no one, bearing no grudge against anyone, treating disease as fate allows—what joy!
5
When my life ends, my heart will have no more clinging,
no kindness owed, no grudge borne, no way, no karma,
no fear, no dread—that is called great freedom.
Awakening and practice fulfilled, I seek no rebirth.
How to attain this? Treat the precepts as a teacher.
Far from all desires, every step is pure.
Reflect that life and death lie but in impermanence.
Even great wealth only hastens the end.
Only precepts, samadhi and wisdom keep disaster away.
When one has cultivated the arhat's body, why worship gods?
6
In this life I have been quite out of luck with fine tea and good wine; no sooner does it enter my belly than trouble follows. I am no glutton for fine food either, so I usually live on simple fare and plain water. I do not like socializing; only the qin and books beside me can relieve my loneliness. My luck with women is thin; when young I confessed to several, only to be politely refused.
Fortunately I am not single, though neither do I have a harem. But I am quite obsessed with fine mountains and waters; the closer I am to nature, I feel, the farther I am from human desire. So all I have sought in life is to read ten thousand books, travel ten thousand miles, treat a few patients, write millions of words, and love a lifetime's romance.
Heaven has not favored me: birth, aging, illness, death, and parting from loved ones I cannot escape. Nor has it treated me meanly: my wishes have been granted, and I have not known the sufferings of "meeting the hateful," "not getting what one seeks," or "the firing of the five aggregates." Of the eight sorrows of life, I have escaped three. I am content!
7
Everything in the world is for my use, not my possession. West Lake, Wuzhen, Huangshan—each has its own beauty; though none belongs to me, I can still feast my eyes on their splendor. That I can finally carve out time from my busy work for one long, splendid outing is truly no small thing.
Gibran said that possession beyond need is a kind of sickness. In modern life we all pursue possession beyond need and consume beyond need, until body and mind are exhausted and a hundred illnesses spring up. To stop occasionally and examine what one has done—who dares say he is wiser than a pig?
I, nearly driven mad by busy work, have finally caught my breath. I only want to be my true self: whoever I like, I am with; whatever life I like, I live; whatever I like to do, I do. No longer kidnapped by empty fame and profit, no longer bound by any worldly convention. What drives me forward can only be love, nothing else.
8
Such scenery should exist only in heaven, and today I am fortunate to behold it. Suddenly I understand Zhang Liang's withdrawal at the height of his success, and his going to cultivate the Way with An Qisheng and Chisongzi. The world has its peerless fairylands, yet people drown in fame, wealth, sex and profit, unable to pull themselves out. When you reach the end of the road, it is time to turn back. The sea of suffering has no shore, but turning back is the shore. Do not, for empty fame, betray this life.
9
Buddhist Chant — Taiwan, Zheng Chouyu
Wandering for three thousand years
at last he leaves his cloud-walkers on the westernmost peak
while the door stands shut, beast-rings holding scattered notes
who returns, upon the front steps
who comes begging his bowl back along every star
then we hear an aged, ancient man's voice
rise in the tinkle of the guiding chime
since he has already returned to the mountain gate, let him enter a little late
let him recite some crossings, some drinks, some pecks
let him turn and contemplate again
that world of six times seven
(ah, bell and drum, the forty-two-syllable glorious dhāraṇī)
the first evening service begins with the offering of incense
following the wooden fish, a lotus emerges from beneath the tongue
my soul,
neither near nor far.
On the way back from paying New Year calls, I thought of this poem by the Taiwan poet Zheng Chouyu. A beautiful, poetic world blossomed before my eyes. At this moment, my hometown was beautiful.
Bus after bus roared past, and I did not board a single one; I chose to leave the cars and walk. An incurable romanticism always makes happiness come so easily.
I want to thank the teachers and mentors who shaped my soul; it is they who let me so easily find the beauty in life. Happiness is always within my reach. No stimulation of wealth or sex is needed; a single blue sky, a few white clouds, three or four fine trees, and I can linger on, forgetting to return.
I am a happy person, because, relative to the vast majority in this world, my happiness comes more easily. I can always find beauty, not ugliness, in life.
On the second day of the New Year, though, with the times changing, the poetic life of "an old friend prepared chicken and rice and invited me to his farm," and "evening comes, snow is about to fall—can you spare a cup?" is hard to find again. But a person walking through the hills, on a road where a hundred birds sing, finds every blade of grass and every tree full of poetic feeling.
The greatest sorrow is a soul drained dry, no longer able to feel life's beauty. That woven lie about the good life, made of fame, wealth and sex, has lured too many people. As for me, this simple natural scenery is enough to intoxicate me.
Let me go back a little late, and look at another ancient tree or two, letting my thoughts wander beneath it. In the setting sun, in the cooking smoke, in the chattering of homeward birds, taking poetry as wine and heaven and earth as friends, I drink deep and enjoy the moment to the full.
10
Every inch of time is precious. Because the dream is not yet realized, I must set sail every day. Beyond the road ahead lies a farther road ahead.
Life goes on, and striving never ceases; all my life I am a middle-school student who must rise early. I expect no miracles; I only believe in deep accumulation and slow release. The highest way of learning is but the single word "diligence." Diligent and untiring, ten years of cold windows, then another ten years of cold windows—such a cycle is not bad; it beats scheming and clashing with others in the human world.
11
Yesterday, before lunch, my father asked a neighbor who knows fruit-tree pruning to trim the peach, plum, pear, jujube and orange trees behind our house. The two of us watched and learned.
These fruit trees had been planted for several years, and because they had never been pruned, none of them bore fruit except the orange tree. When the neighbor arrived, he pruned vigorously, cutting away more than half the branches.
When a tree has too many branches, it bears no fruit. When a person's learning has too many branches, he likewise bears no fruit. In study, what is valued is singleness of purpose; in conduct, what is valued is perseverance.
12
The rivers and mountains are so enchanting, the scenery here alone is fine.
Though the years are relentless, a calm heart can make the spirit serene.
Poetry lies not in the distance; raise your eyes and you may enjoy it to the full.
Why not sing aloud for joy? The wish to speak has already forgotten words.
13
In front of and behind the house, plant a row of organic green vegetables; living this way is also very good. The city's ceaseless traffic cannot bring inner peace. I am lucky: I am a countryman. My life in the countryside taught me one thing: living is actually very simple. Eat your fill and keep warm, and there is no need to worry; as long as one is diligent, one will have enough food and clothing.
14
The winter midday sun on one's body is especially warm. The outside world is bare, yet the balcony is still a patch of verdure.
Sitting here reading a book, basking in the sun, identifying Chinese herbs against specimens, listening to the noisy chirping of sparrows outside the window—at this moment the mortal world is far from me, and my heart is calm and at ease. I prepare and sun a batch of pills for my elderly father with back pain, to ease his suffering. The New Year is almost here; slowing my steps, everything is just fine.
15
Yesterday I trimmed the tendrils of my flowers and plants. Today I sit on the balcony, basking in the sun, reading a book, and drying herbs. In this life, the greatest blessing is a "pure blessing," and the most peaceful and lasting joy is a "pure delight." Zhuangzi said that a person is at his best when he stands between the useful and the useless. I wish to follow this idea, to be someone sometimes useful, sometimes useless, lingering on in the world, enjoying a little pure blessing and a little pure delight.
16
Life lasts but a hundred years. Before I was born, the world had no me; after I die, the world will again have no me. While we live, we feel as if everything in this world has some great bearing on us—truly, too ridiculous for words.
Time is long, but we see it as too short; the world is vast, but we see it as too small; the self is tiny, yet we see the self as too great.
Yesterday I said to my wife: before forty-five I will still work conscientiously, fulfilling my duties as son, father, husband and teacher. After forty-five I will withdraw completely from this vulgar world and fulfill my own life's ideal.
Laughing aloud, I will leave the mortal world, roam the vast sky, strike the waves midstream, moving freely, and pour out all my talent into research and writing.
The universe is great, heaven and earth are broad, the rivers and mountains are grand. I will set sail in a small boat, carrying thousands of scrolls and a seven-string qin, hiding away in the vast sea of people, and live out my days exactly as I wish, to my heart's content.
Though not in an empty valley, there is still the quiet beauty of the orchid; the qin's sound need not delight others' ears, but it can comfort my heart; my books, when done, may not be fit to pass to later ages, but they will not have been a wasted life. On ordinary days, sitting motionless on the cold bench is exactly what I love; in my leisure I climb heights and gaze far, opening my chest wide. In the piles of old paper I seek the Way, and in the fragrance of brush and ink I forget my sorrows. To live out a state of "cold ends, and I know not the year," and to die with a hearty laugh—what joy!
17
Flowers, once open, must eventually fade; a person at his peak must decline. Such is the law of nature, and to violate it is inauspicious. He who seeks eternal prosperity will surely wither early; he who knows when to withdraw may long endure.
The Suwen "On the Qi-Transformation Great Discourses" says: "The one who possesses the Way knows, above, astronomy; below, geography; and in the middle, human affairs—and so can long endure." The Way: the wise practice it; the fool violates it.
The way of heaven is to diminish the surplus and supplement the deficient. Middle age is like the sun at its zenith; before middle age one should think of advancing, after middle age of withdrawing. Follow the way of heaven, and cast aside human desire!
18
The sun shines on my behind,
my behind sits on the bike seat,
the two wheels beneath the seat
fly along the cement road.
A gale of force-seven blows,
and I ride against the wind.
Am I in your heart,
or am I not?
You ask whether I can still write poetry,
wanting to know whether, in my eyes,
you are still graceful.
I am already a middle-aged uncle,
and my kid is not merely old enough to buy soy sauce—
he could practically go to heaven!
Your question is truly hard for me to answer.
Dusty-faced,
pedaling hard,
I smile but do not answer.
On the ground lies a five-yuan note,
trampled out of shape.
I run forward,
bend down, pick it up, face wreathed in joy,
then walk into the lottery shop
and buy two bets of the Double-Color Ball,
with no time to consider how to answer your question.
Today is Wednesday,
tomorrow is Thursday,
tomorrow night the Double-Color Ball is drawn,
and the day after I will know whether I've won.
But you, the day after tomorrow,
will still not know what is on my mind.
19
A very crude way of growing flowers and plants: the wild-pruning method. If aphids appear on the leaves, don't spray—prune the branches and leaves. If the flowers don't bloom well, don't ask why—prune the branches and leaves. If the plant is on the verge of dying, too lazy to figure out what's wrong—prune the branches and leaves. Prune whatever you don't like. And just by pruning like this, they somehow grow better and better.
20
One dish, one porridge, one steamed bun—once finished, it's time to get to work. The New Year is finally over, and I have returned to my regular life: early to bed (sleeping at eight or nine at night), early to rise (getting up at four or five in the morning), and early to work (starting work at seven or eight). Food should be light, the dwelling should face the sun, with flowers and plants, no smoke or wine, plain water instead of tea, books as friends, and ease and freedom.
21
I sigh at how short life is, and envy the long stretch of the years; I pity the many ills of living beings, and am ashamed that my skill is not enough. May the medicine on my shelves gather dust, and may the common people know no illness.
Life is bounded, yet knowledge is boundless; to use the bounded to pursue the boundless is perilous. May I, in this life, still have a day when I am free of burdens, can retire to the springs and forests, and roam at ease among qin and books.