There was a bird flying through the air. He came back in a moment. But it was not the bird ahead.
This is the day.
Days are the birds that never return, and days are the same birds.
Only when it is gone is it cherished. It is only similarity that leads to leisure.
Zhu ziqing wrote a book called "don't hurry", describing the day as a little urchin. The day is a bud in a garden that seems not to open.
The day is a dewdrop upon the fruit that will not slip. Days are the sun that goes between the clouds.
Time is short. It is not frightened or disturbed.
It has the appearance of heaven and earth, the heart of the sage.
It doesn't run because you run, it stops when you stop, it flies when you fly.
It's an eternal flow. Whether you climb a steep hill or fly over a dangerous stream, it takes the same attitude, natural and serene.
Suddenly, let the world's ups and downs, the glory and shame, all into a fleeting cloud.
The days are the smallest and the greatest. The shallowest and deepest; The lightest, the heaviest; The most mighty and the most impassive.
Days are a troop, an ant troop, a funeral procession, a troop of light cavalry who patrol day and night.
One day, a super rich person to catch up with a big business, drilling into his super luxury car, the wind and electricity rush to the destination.
But at the intersection, the speeding car was overturned by a heavy, slow truck.
The rich man lay in a pool of blood with golden teeth. Through this golden mouth the day issued the message: life has no destination.
Life is a process. Why don't you all take it easy?