How many thoughts does it take to make the self of yesterday, today, and tomorrow?
Is growing up like a mathematical problem that never has an answer?
Yesterday is fit only for memories, tomorrow is far beyond reach. Today, be yourself; do not dwell, do not speak, be free.
The old locust tree hangs its shade, its kindly gaze offering shelter; the young man roams the wilds, treading green mountains.
The golden goblet swallows the moon; the jade mountain leans and falls. Tear-streaked remnants of makeup reflect a joyful dance in fluttering sleeves.
Feet tread the frozen wastes, wishing for peace and health; the heartbroken man stains his old blade with blood.
The Song of Parting rings through an iron-boned zither; the traveler of broken dreams is plagued by nightmares all year long.
When a thought is born, stars well up from the earth; all things in this world reflect the Milky Way flowing east. A lone sail traces back to the source; the unfinished endgame remains...
