Wishing Readers, Relatives, and Friends a Happy Mid-Autumn Festival of the Year of the Ox

In the blink of an eye, eight and a half months of the Year of the Ox have passed, and over these months I have been pestering you all with an article a day for more than two hundred days.

Today is the Mid-Autumn Festival, a traditional festival of reunion for families throughout the Chinese-speaking world. Because of the times and the pandemic, I believe many families, like mine, cannot be together; many of us can only exchange greetings by phone or video. Other families, because some member has left this world, can never be reunited again.

The greatest meaning of reunion is that it meets our emotional needs. Though each of us must in life inevitably grow accustomed to solitude, occasional gatherings release the ill feelings accumulated in lonely days, and festive celebrations drive away the gloom within. Not being able to gather is ultimately a great regret of life, but while the green hills remain, there will be firewood. Though we cannot yet see the end of the pandemic, I believe that with science's help, the day when society returns to normal is not far off. In the waiting, I hope every one of us can keep on loving life.

Humans are highly adaptable creatures; we respond to changes in our environment. Fate can deprive us of part of our joy, but it cannot take all of it. And as long as we love life, we can always keep finding new sources of joy. I will not linger in lamentation over misfortune; I will never stop seeking and discovering new beauty.

I have not been home for two years. Besides missing my relatives, I miss every blade of grass and tree of my hometown, and especially a near-derelict temple I used to visit. That temple was built in honor of the Medicine King, Sun Simiao, so it is called the Medicine King Temple, on the hill behind the village next to ours. Every time I go home I go there to spend some time; the longest I stayed was about a month.

The temple is in two parts, at the foot and halfway up the hill. At the foot, a few monks still live; the small temple halfway up has been unoccupied for years. I liked to read in the small temple halfway up; during my days at home, every day I would carry a few books and some dry rations and make my way up and down the hill at fixed times.

A dog adopted by the temple at the foot grew very fond of me; it would follow me up the hill each time and lie at my feet, keeping me company. On the mountain the pines sighed in waves and a hundred birds sang together; the wind chimes under the eaves rang out from time to time in clear, pleasant tinkling, like someone murmuring in my ear. The world on the mountain was not lonely at all. This is the best hermit life I could want, and I have already lived it.

Now, on top of my own windowsill, I have also hung a string of wind chimes. When a breeze passes, their clear, pleasant sound is equally refreshing. Outside, in the small grove beyond the window, all kinds of birds chirp. On the balcony bookcase, my small Buddhist ornaments form a little spiritual world of their own. When not reading or working, I now and then strike the singing bowl or play a little on the guqin; the sacred sounds indoors blend with the sounds of nature outdoors, and they help me forget all the worldly cares of human life.

I still tend my little vegetable garden at the foot of Fragrant Hill. Autumn has come; the cabbages and radishes thrive, and white clouds drift lazily across the blue sky over the ridges. I ride my bicycle fast along the dry river road and swing my hoe in my garden. I do not find the toil bitter; I often, from the bottom of my heart, praise the beauty of life. I am grateful to be alive in this world as one of the sentient beings, grateful to perceive all the beauty in this wonderful world. It satisfies me so completely that I no longer wish to seek fame, wealth, or position in the human world, and I have no interest in arguing with others over right and wrong, rank and standing. this noisy, dusty world of mortals has thus grown ever more distant from me. Other people are hell; the secret to happiness is keeping a safe distance from hell.

Whether by temperament or by experience, I now live with detachment. I like reading across several fields; such reading keeps one from being rigid and dogmatic. I also like writing and living like flowing water; I dislike any constraint, so I live very independently and cannot become a follower of anyone — even my favorites, Zhuangzi, the Buddha, Tao Yuanming, Su Shi, Sun Simiao, and Li Yu, cannot make me their devout disciple.

I like Jefferson's saying that "every man's religion is his own affair" — my world is my own to rule, and spiritual freedom is something no one can take away. We live in this world where natural disasters and human conflicts constantly threaten and trouble us. But as long as our responses are sharp enough and our hearts strong enough, we can largely avoid most disasters and disturbances, and live within our own world. People may manufacture all kinds of hollow meanings and values for their lives, but as biological beings, our most important innate gift is adaptability. If our adaptability is good enough, the external environment cannot hurt us.

I also hope that everyone can adapt to the changes of life, adjust their state, and live each day in good cheer. After all, once this day is gone, it never comes back.