| I always believe all that exists has a reason for being, both visible and invisible. Some things can be controlled, but most of them are intangible or unknown. I love the mystery of things and believe its holiness, sacredness, and marvelousness. Oh, songs of spiritual practitioners! How amazing life is! When I realize it, how could I not focus and experience more. Sometimes I overlook things and what I overlook might be more enriching than what I pay attention to. Listen with your heart to the silence and enjoy life’s imperfections. I often feel a force behind my back, pushing me forward like the wind, pursuing the songs of spiritual practitioners. What is lost is all I have. What could fill the feeling of loss when we do have it? Standing on the top of a mountain, when the chilly wind comes, I never feel cold with red threads in my hands. There is always a strong hand supporting me when I’m weak. |  |
Shen Lu
I always believe all that exists has a reason for being, both visible and invisible.
Some things can be controlled, but most of them are intangible or unknown.
I love the mystery of things and believe its holiness, sacredness, and marvelousness. Oh, songs of spiritual practitioners!
How amazing life is! When I realize it, how could I not focus and experience more.
Sometimes I overlook things and what I overlook might be more enriching than what I pay attention to.
Listen with your heart to the silence and enjoy life’s imperfections.
I often feel a force behind my back, pushing me forward like the wind, pursuing the songs of spiritual practitioners.
What is lost is all I have. What could fill the feeling of loss when we do have it?
Standing on the top of a mountain, when the chilly wind comes, I never feel cold with red threads in my hands.
There is always a strong hand supporting me when I’m weak.
Why do I still need to live? Because it is this being who grows, wraps, and melts in silence.
Inside me half is him, and I cover his eyes and ears.
My love, please do not cry or shout for me and please listen to the singing.
In my life, loneliness is a luxury, like the happiness that solitude brings.
Facing the cruelty and ugliness of reality, I shed tears with a merciless smile.
Why am I always speechless? It’s not that I could not speak; it is because the rigid air cannot carry the silent words.
I might not say anything but I have to do something. There is no boundary in my mind. My heart is fit to entangle and my fingers are good at making cocoons.
My feet are big and rough, but all the existing ways are not suitable for me to take.
I am destined to roam, making my own way out.
I am heading toward—the heaven? Or the grave?
Toward the direction of the singing.
Thanks to the force, with its wing I fly wingless.
Thanks to the force, its flowing inspiration helps me finish an intangible, perfect piece of work.
All thanks go to those existing or lost.
