Occasionally, on a certain road, I see the dead branches of the kapok leaves fall out, dark brown and lonely standing side, there is a kind of depressed posture, then I will think, the kapok has fallen again, the life of the beautiful kapok can see the opening of the kapok how many times it can be? Occasionally in the roadside café, see the green light, a plainly dressed old woman, holding a small granddaughter as gorgeous as the spring flowers, hurriedly crossing the road, then I would think, that old woman was once a flower like a beautiful young girl, and that young girl will one day become an old woman holding her granddaughter. Occasionally, I would stop at the pedestrian bridge on the road and look down at the endless stream of cars running in all directions under the bridge, but I felt that the Mercedes-Benz seemed to be a static picture, and I would think, "Where is the starting point? And where is the final stop? Occasionally back home, turn on the faucet to wash your hands, see the gushing water, the rapid flow, suddenly made me stand there, with a deep tremor, then I thought: the faucet seems to flow out is not water, but the time, the mood, or a kind of thoughts. Occasionally in the country lane, I found a forgotten butterfly flower, shaped like a phoenix flower, but more elegant than the phoenix flower, I leaned over and smelled the flowers when a butterfly flower suddenly floated down, making me surprised, then I would think, this flower is the phantom of the butterfly, or the butterfly is the predecessor of the flower? Occasionally, in the stillness of the night, I hear the cats kept by the neighbors chasing each other for lust on the roof, hissing miserably to each other, which makes the hairs of human beings stand up, and at that time I would think, the lust of animals is so rough, but if we stand at the high point of comparative subtlety and look at the human beings, aren't human beings also that rough animals? Occasionally in the mountain in the small pond, see a red water lily, from the shallow ground of the mud swamp draws up, opened a beautiful note, as if ignoring the periphery of the dirt, at this time I would think: yah! Yikes! Just how much experience do we need to be like this lotus of purity? Occasionally ...... Occasionally we live the same way as everyone else, but when we keep our minds as calm as a wave-free lake, we are able to illuminate the boundless complexity of this world with clarity and lucidity, and find wisdom in the midst of all the beauty, corruption, clarity, and defilement. If we are wise, all troubles bring enlightenment, and all small things enable us to perceive its meaning and value. Seeking wisdom on earth is not that difficult. The most important thing is to make our own soft heart, so soft that when we see a petal fall from a flower, it moves us to tremble, as to know its significance. Only by being soft can we be sensitive; only by being soft can we be tolerant; only by being soft can we be refined; and only by being soft can we transcend our ego and even embrace our wounds when we are hurt. The soft heart is the seedling of great compassion, the soft heart is also the seed of bodhicitta, the soft heart is the fountainhead of self-clearance that we can perceive from time to time even when we live in the mundane world. The petals of the most beautiful flower are soft, the greenest grassland is soft, the vastest sea is soft, the boundless sky is soft, and the clouds that fly freely in the sky are the softest! The softness of our hearts can be more beautiful than flower petals, greener than grass, wider than the ocean, more boundless than the sky Lin Qingxuan
Worshiping the Buddha
, more at ease than the clouds, the softness is the most powerful, and the most constant. And let us bloom the soft and pure lotus of wisdom on the humble and wet sludge of the earth!
The Makeup of Life
I know a makeup artist. She is known as one who really knows how to do makeup and is known for it. For this person who lives in a completely different field from me, I added a few moments of curiosity, because in my impression , make-up and then learned, but also only in the skin on the effort, is really not the wisdom of the people should be pursued. Therefore, I could not help but ask her: "You study makeup for so many years, in the end, what kind of people will be considered makeup? What is the highest state of makeup?" In response to such a question, this makeup artist, who has gradually aged, revealed a deep smile. She said: "The highest state of make-up can be described in two words, that is, 'natural', the most brilliant make-up, after very careful make-up, make people look as if they have not been made up, and this make-up matches the owner's identity, and can naturally express the personality and temperament of that person. Secondary makeup is to highlight the person, so that she stands out and attracts the attention of all people. A poor makeup is one that one stops out and others notice that she is wearing a very heavy makeup, and this layer of makeup is meant to cover up her shortcomings or age. The worst kind of make-up, is made up after the distortion of their own personalities, but also lost the coordination of the five senses, for example, small eyes of people actually made a thick eyebrow, big face of people actually made a white face, wide mouth of people actually made a red lip ......" I did not realize that the highest state of make-up is actually no make-up, is actually natural, which can make me I'm not sure what I'm talking about, but I'm not sure what I'm talking about. The make-up artist saw me listening to the attention, continued to say: "This is not like you write articles? A poorly written article is often a pile of words and phrases, distorting the author's personality. Better essays are radiant and appealing to the eye, but others know you're writing an essay. The best writing is the natural flow of the writer, who does not pile up, and when you read it, you do not feel that you are reading an article, but a life." What a wise man! But, "In the end, those who do make-up are only working on the surface!" I exclaimed. "No," said the make-up artist, "make-up is only the last branch; it changes very few facts. A deeper level of makeup is to change the physique, to make a change in a person's lifestyle. Getting enough sleep, taking care of exercise and nutrition so that her skin improves, her spirits are high, is much more effective than makeup. A deeper level of make-up is to change the temperament, read more, appreciate art more, think more, be optimistic about life, have confidence in life, be kind-hearted, care for others, self-love and dignity, such a person is not make-up, but also no place, face make-up is just a small thing at the end of the make-up. I use three simple words to explain, third-rate make-up is the make-up of the face, second-rate make-up is the make-up of the spirit, and first-rate make-up is the make-up of life." The makeup artist then made made this conclusion, "Aren't you people who write articles also makeup artists? A third-rate article is the make-up of words, a second-rate article is the make-up of spirit, and a first-rate article is the make-up of life. In that case, do you understand makeup?" I stood up and saluted this female makeup artist for her wisdom, y humbled by my initial view of makeup artists. After bidding farewell to the make-up artist, I walked in the darkness of the night on my way home, and had this profound realization: all appearances in this world are not independent and self-existing, and must have their deep inner meaning; then, the best way to change appearances is not to work on them, but to reform them from within. Unfortunately, people who work on appearances often don't understand this.
Golden rat
At the night market on Raohe Street, I saw a golden rat with long hair that trailed all over its body, the back part of which was golden, and the end of its tail was silver-white. Its long hair was parted in the middle, not a hair out of place, and had obviously been carefully groomed. The golden and silver-colored golden mouse caused crowds of people strolling through the night market to gather around, most of them talking, "Never seen such a beautiful mouse ah." People couldn't help but marvel even more when they saw that it could hide food in its gills and clean its long hair. According to the vendor who sells golden rats, golden rats are mostly short-haired, native to Europe, good-natured, and generally gray or earth-colored, he said, "Since the Middle Ages, golden rats have been the pets of European aristocrats, and now they are the most fashionable pets of Taipei people." He gently grabbed the gold and silver golden mouse, said: "This one is even more rare and valuable, this is a variant of the golden mouse, will have long hair, and two of the most precious color ah!" Someone asked, "How much does this one cost to sell?" The vendor smiled and said, "Only 1,800 yuan for one." "Too expensive, how can any rat be sold for so much." The man who asked shook his head and walked away. "That's a fair price, because it's really, really rare!" The vendor said to the onlookers. "Eighteen hundred dollars?" I, who was standing on the sidelines, also thought I had misheard and asked again. "Yes, it's only 1,800 yuan." The vendor strengthened his tone and said, "If you want to buy the cheaper ones, there are also which, the ones in this box are 150 yuan each, and the smaller ones in that box are 100 yuan each." I am still surprised, in front of this rare golden rat is a mutation, and long hair, but also still a rat, a rat sold to 1800, in my imagination is incredible. I walked through the golden rat stall, next door just to sell mainland ceramics stalls, a rice-burning porcelain cup sold 20 yuan, a very good Yixing pottery pot sold 500 yuan. Looking at these items from the other side of the world reminded me that the price of a long-haired golden mouse is exactly 360 yuan, and that the salary of many mainlanders who work for two months is less than the price of a mouse. Thinking this way makes me feel a kind of ghostly pain. People who live in Taiwan, play with dogs, birds, cats are not enough to play with red dragons, play dollfish, now you can spend 1800 yuan to buy a rat. A few days ago, I read the newspaper and learned that Taipei's pet stores are full of wonders, with crocodile lizards and chameleons costing more than $7,000 a piece. Some people even import frogs as pets. A clown frog costs 2,500 yuan, a green tree frog 700 yuan, and the most common red-bellied frog costs 400 yuan. I cannot understand why some people have to spend a lot of money to keep these wild animals as pets. Is it for the sake of fashion, curiosity or because they have nothing else to do? As I was thinking this way, I had already walked to the end of the night market without realizing it, and I saw a pile of garbage, surrounded by two or three dogs and four or five cats foraging for food from the garbage. I watched them carefully from the side. The dogs were relatively unconscious, oblivious to my gaze, or rather lazy. But the sensitive cats soon realized it, and raised their heads alertly to look at me for a long time, realizing that I had no intention to drive them away, and then continued to bury their heads in the garbage to eat. One of them, especially beautiful in appearance, took one look at me, and immediately jumped off the garbage pile a little shyly, and its elegant and agile movements when it jumped down seemed to be déjà vu, ah! It was the white Persian cat with long hair that I used to keep. I was not sure that a Persian cat would stray into the garbage to collect food, and I was not sure that the Persian cat known as "Prince of White Cats" did not have a loving owner, so I followed it for a while, and it was not until under the bright streetlights that I dared to be sure that there was no mistake! It was a Persian cat! Is it old age? Or sick? Or was it lost? Or maybe the owner got tired of keeping it? This purebred Persian cat with beautiful white fur was abandoned by its owner and became a stray cat on the street. While I was thinking, the white cat, Prince Garbage, quickly crossed the street and disappeared into the dark alley across the street. The right and wrong of human beings are so difficult to judge. The long-haired golden mouse is treated as a rare pet at a price of 1,800 yuan; the Persian cat, which has always been treated as a pet, wanders in the garbage of the night market in search of food, and this opposite situation of life makes me feel a profound sense of absurdity. Cats and mice do not have a fixed value, but are only valued because of people's likes and dislikes. When an elegant Persian cat searches for food in the garbage, does it not have the same lament in its heart? Of course, I am not qualified to assess the value of animals, but I know that no matter what animals we are facing, we should have the heart to cherish them. I believe that those who cannot cherish a cat can never cherish a mouse; I am also sure that those who cannot cherish frogs and lizards in the field can never have a true love for chameleons or clown frogs. Even if they are not pets, like the cows, goats, chickens and ducks that provide us with food, they keep on giving up their lives and dying, have we ever felt a trace of love and affection in our hearts? When we buy a $1,800 rat, do we really love that rat or do we value the price? If a long-haired golden mouse costs $18 a piece, will we still love it? When we buy a frog for $2,500, do we value the frog because of the price, or do we really love a frog? If we really love a frog, there are plenty of frogs in the market, and a catty is only $40! Isn't it the same when we value a person in the human world? Often the importance is attached to the person's fame, fortune, power, and even clothes, only a person can see through the external delusion, into the inner illumination and quality, is the real wise man ah!
Sea lion's collar
San Francisco's Fisherman's Wharf, there is a place where sea lions gather, tourists can only be viewed from a distance, the wharf is posted on the bulletin: "This wharf belongs to the U.S. Navy, feeding, throwing or intimidating the sea lions, to be brought to justice." The United States is indeed an advanced country in the protection of wildlife, and even "terrorizing" animals will be brought to justice! While watching the sea lions, a group of small children walked to the pier, led by two young female teachers, who turned out to be kindergarten teachers bringing children to see the sea lions for outdoor teaching. Adults on the pier gave up the best viewing spots for the children - the U.S. is also an advanced country in terms of being courteous to the elderly, the infirm, and the young. I heard the kindergarten teacher say to the children, "Do you see that sea lion on the right with a ring around its neck?" "Yes!" "That's not its necklace, but its wound. When this sea lion was a child playing in the sea, it saw a collar and it got into it to play, not realizing that it couldn't get it out when it got in, the little sea lion kept growing, and the collar got tighter and tighter, and it sunk into its flesh and bled and suffered, and just before it was about to be strangled to death it was discovered, and it was only when the coil was cut off that it was saved." The children listened intently, all with very painful expressions on their faces. "So, in the future, you should never throw anything into the sea, it could kill a sea lion." The teacher walked away with the children. I was y moved by the early morning at Fisherman's Wharf, this is education at its best, and I wish all our teachers would teach our children in this way. The sea lion's collar is a collar of ignorance and savagery, and many of our adults wear such collars without realizing it. If we want to teach our children to love and care for all beings, we must first remove our collars of ignorance and savagery!
White Butterflies on the Beach
I went to the beach with two friends to take photos and sketches. One of my friends is a photographer and the other is a painter, and they were simultaneously moved by the beauty of the deserted villages, ruined ships, and withered branches on the seashore in awe, and the white, long sandy beaches were ignored instead. As I watched them take out their cameras and sketchbooks and sit at the head of the hulk, working with such deep emotion and concentration, it occurred to me that we usually feel beautiful for things that are alive, but why do we still feel beautiful for things that have long since lost their vitality in front of us? I'm afraid we feel the beauty of time, of impermanence, of loneliness! Then, I came to a conclusion: If one is willing to keep the heart to search for beautiful feelings, then in the change of things, whether it is full of vigor or withered and silent, one can see the beauty, and the root of that beauty is not in the things, but in the heart, the feeling, and even the eyes. While pondering, the photographer exclaimed, "Yikes! Butterflies! A flock of white butterflies." As he screamed, he immediately jumped up and ran toward the shore. Looking in the direction he ran, there were really seven or eight white shadows chasing on the beach, which also surprised me, where did the butterflies come from on the beach? There were neither plants nor flowers, and the wind was so wild. But those white butterflies fluttering up and down are really very beautiful, no wonder the photographer ran so fast, if I can get a picture of white butterflies fluttering on the beach, it will not be in vain. I got to the point where the photographer stood gazing at the white butterflies and didn't raise his camera as he swooped down to grab one of them, and the images seemed like a movie, silent, slow-motion silhouettes. Then the photographer walked back in slow motion, the white butterflies on the beach still flying behind him. "Did you get the shot?" I asked him. He disheveled and opened his right hand to the butterfly he had just caught. The three of us laughed at the same time, it turned out that what he had caught was not a white butterfly, but a piece of white paper. The piece of paper was originally the trash on the beach, by the sea breeze dancing, from a distance, like a group of white butterflies fluttering in the sea. The truth is often so unforgiving. I said to the photographer, "If you hadn't run over to see it, we would have thought it was white butterflies by now!" Indeed, visually, the trashy piece of paper and the white butterfly are identical and indistinguishable. Our sense of beauty comes not so much from our vision as from our imagination. When we see "white butterflies flying over the sea" and "garbage paper flying over the sea," no matter whether the picture or the optics are the same, the difference is in our imagination. The difference is in our imagination. This reminds us that the senses are not real, and that we are often deceived by our senses. In fact, in life, it is not uncommon to see a piece of paper as a white butterfly! Before we get married, our girlfriends are white butterflies, but after we get married, we realize that they are just pieces of paper. Good friends are white butterflies, but when they break off their friendships and turn against each other, they realize that they are pieces of paper. Unwritten poems, relationships without endings, awakened dreams, misty manor houses on mountain tops, and stories with unfinished business are all white butterflies fluttering on the seashore of life, and you don't necessarily have to run fast to see them. As soon as it is expressed, and there is an end to it, and it ceases to flow with longing, it stops then and there, and becomes a piece of paper. I returned home and sat in my study looking away in the direction of the North Sea． I thought, just this afternoon, we were sitting on the shore of the North Sea bam sea breeze, see white butterflies -- oh, no! White pieces of paper fluttering in the wind． Now, all these seemingly real experiences have become phantoms with the wind. Or, it will fly in a dream, or, in a certain seaside, in a certain life, there will be the feeling of butterflies． Alas! A real white butterfly is now sucking nectar from a pot of purple jasmine I planted! Do you believe it? If you believe, then you are a person with a sense of beauty, and you will see white butterflies flying in and out of the sea of life from time to time. If you don't believe it, then you are a person of practicality, and on the great sea of life you will walk fast and furious from time to time to find the truth about the paper and the butterfly.
Warming a pot of wine under the moonlight
Boiling snow If it is true, other things can be left behind, we can use an empty bottle to put the fragrance of tonight's osmanthus flowers, and when the osmanthus flowers are gone, and the autumn is over, then we can open the cap and savor it. The warmth of the first love with an exquisite glazed box, wait until the end of youth dying of old age, lift the lid of the box, a stream of hot water, enough to make us old and comforting. There are many unexpected interest, such as the moonlight in the wine pot, with the fire together with the warm not drink ...... this has the true meaning, is the realm of the wine fairy. Once with a friend living in the Lion's Head Mountain, every day at dusk in the carved "that is, the heart is Buddha" under the boulder to drink, often drink until the moon is full of cloth before returning to the monk temple to sleep, living like a fairy life. The last day we all drank a little drunk, with a wine pot down the mountain, walked down the mountain when the chest are mountain incense cloud gas, wine gas do not know where to run, only to realize that the original drinking such a realm. Sometimes abstract things can let us perceive, sometimes the entity of things can also turn into invisible, the years when it is clear evidence that we live when we really feel that they exist, the footsteps of the years a go by, in the twinkling of an eye, such as clouds and smoke invisible. However, these faded in the invisible past, but can be used to wine, wine will emerge. Drinking is philosophical, prepare a lot of dishes, drink a cup and plate is the inferior method of drinking; a few peanuts and plate of dried tofu, and three or five friends is the middle method of drinking; a person to drink alone, raise a glass to invite the moon, to the shadow of the three people, is the superior method of drinking. On the superior drinking method, in the spring you can face the garden full of rhododendron blossom fine drinking five plus skin; summer time, in the tree full of wild flowers in the beer; autumn twilight, with chrysanthemum boiled bamboo leaf green, people and begonias are drunk; winter season is facing the fence between the Lonicera japonica, with the wax plums, warm pot of dacquoise. All these things, to the realm of nothing can not drink. Of course, poetry can also be drunk. Yu Wenbao talked about a story in "The Poetry of All Ages", mentioning that Su Dongpo was once in Yutang Day, and one of the actors was good at singing, so Dongpo asked, "How am I as good as Liuqi (i.e., Liu Yong) in my lyrics?" Shoushi said: "Liu Langzhong words, only with 17 or 18 girls, holding a red tooth plate, singing 'Yang Liu Bank, the dawn wind and the waning moon'. In the words of a bachelor, a big man from Guansi, with a copper pipa and iron hawsers, sings 'Eastward the Great River'." Dong Po was overwhelmed. This story can also be quoted to drinking, drinking light wine, it is appropriate to read Li Qingzhao; drink sweet wine, it is appropriate to read Liu Yong; drink strong wine is a big song Dongpo words. Others, such as Xin Qiji, should drink sorghum small mouth; read putong, should drink big mouth big song; read Li Houzhu, to use Matsu old wine boiled ginger juice to the best out of the bitter taste of complaints; as for Tao Yuanming, Li Taibai is suitable for both thick and light, wild drink can be tasted. Drinking pure wine naturally has a true flavor, but the wine is not mixed with other things also has its own interest. Fan Chengda mentioned in the "Junluan Records": "Panyu people make heart incense, with vegetarian jasmine unopened, with a clean vessel, thin split incense, layers of interlocking seals, the day one easy, do not wait for the flowers to wilt, the flowers over the incense into." I think, should do jasmine heart fragrance of the law is also mixed with the law of the wine, sometimes do not have to straight mixed, S can have the true flavor of pure wine, there is no pure wine residual fragrance. I have a friend good at making wine, brewing wine in the fall osmanthus flowers around the plug, wine into the occasion, osmanthus curls, like heavenly products. We read the poetry of the Tang and Song dynasties, we know that drinking is not an easy thing, think of Li Bai when he saw a hundred poems about wine, the momentum like thunder, poetry is like a whale sucking a hundred rivers, you can know that this year's drinkers really have no vigor. Modern people drink wine to talk about style, not to talk about poetry and wine. Yuan Mei in the "with the garden poetry" mentioned Yang Chengzhai words: "never talent low clumsy people, good to talk about style, but do not understand the fun, why? Style is an empty frame, easy to describe the mouth with a cavity, the style is specialized in writing the spirit, non-genius can not be identified." Drinking in the Qin Lou Tavern, this is the style, can be last year's moonlight warm to this year only under the wine, this is the fun, but also the nature of the spirit, which is a few points of talent. The Vimalaya Sutra has a record of the heavenly maiden scattering flowers, it was the time when the Bodhisattva was preaching for the disciples of the General Sutra, the heavenly maiden appeared and sprinkled flowers all over the place between the Bodhisattva and the disciples, and the flowers scattered on the Bodhisattva all fell on the ground, but the flowers scattered on the disciples were like sticky sticking on them, and the disciples were embarrassed to use the power of the gods to make it fall off, but not to fall off. The fairy said, "Those who see that the flowers of the Bodhisattvas do not fall, have broken all thoughts of separation. For example, when people are afraid of it, non-people can get it. If a disciple is afraid of life and death, then color, sound, smell, taste, and touch are also accessible to him. When one is free from fear, all the five desires are inaccessible. When the habit is not yet finished, the flower clings to the body. When the habit is over, the flower does not come." This is also not about style, but about spirituality. Although the Buddhists talk about wine, color, wealth, gas four empty, I think, drinking everywhere a few Buddhist realm, ask, if you can bear to put the floating name, for shallow drinking and singing, even if the heavenly maiden to scatter flowers can not be in the body, honor and shame are forgotten, the past into a wisp of smoke, all into the karma, is not precisely the Buddhist so-called bitter cultivation of the deep cultivation of the realm?
The sound of a broken heart
How does it feel? In the alley walking alone, by chance to look up, other people's courtyard wall of the phoenix flower poking out clusters of red, and that kind of flower is a few years have not seen, hometown growth of the plant. Phoenix flowers this plant like to show their red color, as if he was born for the parting. When I was young, I liked to stick a phoenix flower into a butterfly, climbed a tall building to go with the wind to spread, she rotated and fell posture once won many children's laughter, the past is also like a butterfly floated away, even if they spin down the posture of the different, will eventually fade away. Thinking of the phoenix flower, then think of life's unfinished business; think of the phoenix flower, then think of non-wu not perch phoenix. Phoenix flower why should the name of the phoenix? In this way, always call people in the overflow of emotions, will fantasize that they are flying phoenix, in the night will be close to spread wings? "Poetry - Daya" said: "The phoenix is singing, in his high hill; wutong is born, in his sunrise." Inadvertently, a scene of distinctive images came to mind; a bird of God stood tall and lifted its wings; the sycamore, a symbol of purity, showed its face in front of the sunrise. A teenager, always like sycamore always adore the phoenix, suddenly raised his eyes, looked at the phoenix blossom away from the period will be, they can not help but fantasy fantasy into a sycamore facing the sunrise, or a phoenix in order to cold stand on a high hill; or even thought they have been a phoenix, stood on a high hill sycamore tree; or yes! A clear spirit of the phoenix a spreading wings will break the sky blue. But if there is a distant intermittent song of the black dragon repeatedly sang, as a ballad harmony, so clear and mysterious meandering in the main song, know that it is not important, that a song sung more than a thousand days of the song, if there is no end of the small section of the harmony, will also be eclipsed. So the phoenix flower stirred not only the memory of childhood into a butterfly, but a young man dreaming of the phoenix into a phoenix of a period of pity. The impression of the fire of the flower with the soft singing of the sound of the black dragon, knocked the young man's dream, and realized that he is neither the Phoenix God bird, nor the sunrise sycamore. Finally in the broken dream to see his face, the original is just a teenager, the original is just a dream. A number of years of life and death to life is going to be the past, without the slightest trace, just as the big Hong over the place, the cry is still in the ear, even if the cry has been broken,. But left a piece of touching bleak. And a dream phoenix into the phoenix of the young man, but also just like others quietly waiting for separation, in the sunset before the hill stood, to the slanting sun to stand into the night, only the dark night and only the dark night, in order to subtract the red color of the remaining shadows of the phoenix flower in the daytime, right?
Down full of Go
In the park to see the two old men playing Go, they play very slowly, so that the onlookers are impatient. The first old man, amused, says: "Hey! Are you guys playing Go, or am I? Ten minutes is fast enough for us to think about a chess game. Do you know that it takes more than an hour for Lin Haifeng to play a single piece?" The old man next to me coaxed, "I don't see the joke! Compare yourself to Lin Haifeng." The second old man, who looked very cultured, said: "You don't know that Go should be played slowly, but if you play fast, you will not look like a friend playing Go. Besides, when the first piece falls, the game starts to die. Step by step, when the pieces are full, the game is dead and the board has to be removed. It's better to play slowly, as slow play leads to slow death." These words, which seemed to have a meaning, made all the old people nearby fall silent, and after watching that game, no one rushed or talked to them anymore. A good game of Go should be played slowly, and a good course of life should be savored; don't be in a hurry to fill up the board, and don't walk the path of life in haste. The Lilies of the Heart In a remote, faraway valley, there was a cliff thousands of feet high. I don't know when a small lily grew up on the edge of the cliff. When the lily was first born, it looked exactly like a weed. However, it knew in its heart that it was not a weed. Deep in its heart, it had one pure thought: "I am a lily, not a weed. The only way to prove that I am a lily is to produce beautiful flowers." With this thought in mind, the lily worked hard to absorb water and sunlight, rooted y, and straightened its chest. Finally, one spring morning, the top of the lily produced its first bud. The lily was very happy, but the weeds nearby were very disdainful, and they laughed at the lily in private: "This guy is obviously a grass, but claimed to be a flower. I don't think it's a bud on top, but a tumor in its mind." In public, they then sneer at the lily, "Don't you dream, even if you do blossom, in the middle of nowhere, your value is still the same as ours!" The lily said, "I want to blossom because I know I have beautiful flowers; I want to blossom in order to fulfill my solemn mission as a flower; I want to blossom because I like to prove my existence with flowers. Whether anyone appreciates it or not, no matter what you think of me, I will bloom!" Under the contempt of the weeds, the wild lily struggled to release its energy. One day, it finally bloomed. With its spiritual whiteness and showy poise, it became the most beautiful flower on the cliff. At this time, the weeds no longer dared to mock it. The dew of the night, known only to the lily itself, is the tear drops of very deep joy. Year after year in the spring, the wild lily endeavored to blossom and set seed. Its seeds fell, with the wind, on valleys and cliffs, and everywhere bloomed with white wild lilies. Decades later, countless people, from the city, from the countryside, traveled thousands of miles to see the lily bloom. People were moved to tears by the beauty they had never seen before, touching the pure and tender corner of their hearts. Regardless of how others appreciate it, the lilies that fill the mountains remember the teaching of the first lily: "We have to blossom silently with all our heart and soul, and prove our existence with our flowers."