Once upon a time there was a mountain, and there was a temple on the mountain. In the temple there was an old monk and a young monk.
The mountain doesn’t know what the mountain is, and the monk doesn’t know what the monk is. All I know is that the mountain is shrouded in clouds and mist, and an old tree blocks out the sky and sun.
The old monk often sits under the tree and tells the young monk stories about the mountains and the rivers and lakes.
Occasionally, when the old monk talks about something emotional, he gets up, breaks off a branch, faces the long sky, faces the flowing clouds, walks on the long green grass, and keeps waving and whispering. Literally, like crazy.
At this time, the young monk will sit quietly aside, looking at the old monk and the branches in his hands. The wind rises from a distance, and the sunlight penetrates the leaves, as if the river of time is ringing. Moving.
The young monk didn’t know why there was a tomb behind the temple. It was a tomb with no tombstone and an almost invisible outline. It was so messy that it was covered with weeds.
The old monk gets up every morning, comes here, stands quietly, and waits until a white fish belly appears in the east, then turns around and leaves. Before leaving, he took off the beads, put them aside, and asked to the tomb: "How can we live together but not die together when I only have a shadow in the world?" He spoke softly, feeling sad and self-pitying. It seems that the six roots are not broken, and the world of mortals is not over.
Finally one day, when the old monk took off the beads again, the young monk couldn't bear it anymore and asked: "Master, do you have any thoughts that you can't let go of?
The old monk seemed to have expected that the young monk would ask him this question. He lowered his head, looked at the young monk, and gently passed his palm across the scar on the young monk's head. Then he raised his head again and turned his sight to the distant horizon. His eyes were deep, and his thoughts went back to many, many years ago.
The old monk did not answer the young monk’s question. Instead, he said to the young monk: “You have grown up, so go down the mountain tomorrow. Remember, the Buddha is in your heart. If you don’t have enlightenment, don’t come back. ”
The little monk went down the mountain. This was the first time he went down the mountain alone. He walked a long way, passing through forests, lakes, deserts, and the laughter and crying of many people. .
The young monk became a homeless man.
Maybe it is not homeless. The old monk said that the sky can be a house and the earth can be a shop. Home is everywhere you go, and being born in this mortal world is just a practice.
The little monk just walked like this, not knowing the purpose or time.
Everything. Wherever he goes, whenever he encounters someone who bullies the weak and deceives them, he will teach them a lesson.
The old monk said that where there are people, there will be grudges, and where there are grudges, there will be rivers and lakes. He knows what Jianghu is. As for grievances, he only knows that Buddha does not distinguish between good and evil, right and wrong, only about cause and effect.
He has saved murderous bandits and defeated superior generals. He also scolded the villains in the market and enlightened the bullies of the ordinary people.
The little monk walked step by step in his world and wandered throughout his years.
He still eats fasts and chants Buddha's name, still goes out to the fields in the morning, and returns to the mountains and rivers at night. He does not stop and is not tired.
The little monk has grown up, and he has experienced many things. There were many things that were unfair, unaskable, and unthinkable.
He understood a lot of truths, but he still didn't find the answer from the master, and he still didn't understand when the old monk was dancing crazily under the tree. What is he chanting? I don’t understand why the old monk takes off his prayer beads every day, just to ask a question.
The years are like a passing carriage, running over the old monk’s face, leaving behind curves. The outline of the song.
The old monk was old.
He stood under the tree, looking at the village below the mountain, asking himself again and again whether it was right or wrong to let the young monk go down the mountain. , Why haven’t you come back?
Finally one day, the young monk came back, carrying a woman on his back, who was dying and looking like he was about to die. He knelt in front of the old monk and cried: "Master, Please save her, please save her, she is dying. ”
The old monk looked at the young monk. Now he has long hair shawl, and his face is as chiseled as a knife. The childishness of his childhood has long faded, but his eyes have lost the brilliance of that time.
Looking at his red eyes, the old monk was in a trance, as if he had seen himself when he was young. In an instant, he seemed to understand what his master had said.
It turned out that he was wrong.
"I can't save her," the old monk said, "her strength is exhausted."
"No!"
The young monk was heartbroken, He rushed into the herbal medicine hall with the woman in his arms, rummaged through the boxes and took out all the life-saving medicines. He didn't want her to die.
However, the woman died after all.
The little monk cried from morning to night, his eyes as red and swollen as peaches. He buried the woman in the back hill, the grave was high, and he also removed all the weeds within a radius.
He came to the grave every day, recalling the horse and whip in the arena, chanting heart-piercing sentences, and missing the face that could not be erased.
The old monk stood behind without saying a word or asking a question.
Soon, the old monk left.
That day, as usual, he took off the beads and put them aside, standing there not knowing what he was thinking. The little monk was in front of the grave not far away, watching him, watching him slowly sit down, watching him slowly lower his head, until there was no more movement...
Perhaps, only the little monk The monk knew what the old monk was thinking before he died.
There is another tomb in the back mountain.
After a long time, the young monk shaved his head again and added the ring scar again.
But he would come to the back mountain every day to look at the old monk, the woman, and the tomb that was almost missing.
Later, the little monk went down the mountain again, but soon came back with a child behind him.
From then on, his life consisted of taking the child, chanting sutras, chanting Buddha's name, eating fast and meditating.
The young monk became an old monk.
Once upon a time there was a mountain, and there was a temple on the mountain. In the temple there was an old monk and a young monk.
The mountain doesn’t know what the mountain is, and the monk doesn’t know what the monk is. All I know is that the mountain is shrouded in clouds and mist, and an old tree blocks out the sky and the sun.
The old monk often sits under the old tree and tells the young monk stories about the mountains and the rivers and lakes.