Lingyan Workshop

The mortal world is a shifting haze; all its myriad colors fade to ash before our eyes. The ends of the earth lie far away. When all the splendor has passed, listen to the morning bells and evening drums. One thought becomes an obsession, yet meet it with calm acceptance. Through bitter years of study, young masters and noble sons roam the world in pursuit of fame and fortune. The pain of longing wastes the years; flowing water and falling blossoms drive longing deep into the bones. Though your hair turns white and your face grows old, may you never fail the one whose tenderness could move the world. Flowers bloom with two faces; life lies between Buddha and demon. In a fit of rage, a scholar makes one mistake: he draws his sword for a beauty and spends a fortune in the pleasure quarter. The years pass peacefully, the splendor fades. Regard gains and losses, honor and disgrace with detachment. By the lamplight, who is it that writes of the world's turmoil, lamenting its cold ways, yet longing for its splendor? Countless blossoms fall, but in the end, nothing can keep us from this: live to the fullest, die without regret.