The World of Mortals Inquires About the Heart: Zen in Short Stories

The world of mortals is like boiling tea, the floating foam carries obsessions, and the clear smoke supports Bodhi. The cry of a baby is wrapped in the past, and the old man's sleep is leaking stars. Begonia on the temples and Broken Jishuang are all scriptures written with the blood and tears of sentient beings. The broken jade is the moon, and the dead branches are boiled into dust. The girl's rouge fell into the lotus pond, and the wanderer's nostalgia formed moss lines. The emperor smashes the fleeting years, the fishing net leaks all the floating life, and there are Zen opportunities everywhere. The spring breeze sweeps the ancient temple, and the autumn rain soaks the embroidered houses. When the book is turned over and the mirror falls, the snow falls, and the words of Yan turn into verses. Love and hate are like bells on the eaves, knocking on the door when obsession is entangled, letting go of time and space. Life and death are like the tears of a candle. When it burns, it illuminates the eight sufferings. When it burns out, it returns to the void. This scroll does not save people, it only asks questions about the heart. The song ends and everyone disperses, the mountain breeze removes makeup, and in half a cup of cold tea, the shadows of the clouds and the light of the sky are swaying.