Green grass by the river

     I followed a stream northward, not knowing where the river ended. Lost and bewildered, I simply walked aimlessly along the river.

    For eighteen years, a voice in my head had been urging me, "Keep walking along this river, and you will get everything you want." And indeed, for over a decade, I had been doing just that. But as the saying goes, "He who walks by the river will eventually get wet," and so, unexpectedly, it happened.

    With the passage of time, everyone has matured and become more composed, more settled, more refined. But this doesn't seem to include me, because I am a "prisoner" of time. I have been eliminated by myself, so I am like an outsider, standing on the edge of that circle, lost and bewildered, still wandering along that river, watching the passing boats rush by, only able to watch, feeling the helplessness of the moment, that deep sense of powerlessness, like a worm, tearing at my already wounded heart.

    Yes, that deep sense of powerlessness. "Knowing it's impossible, yet still doing it" seems to perfectly describe people like me. But sometimes, thinking too much makes me laugh. Aren't the things running in the river just grass? Perhaps it's better to quietly be a "complacent, comfort-seeking" member of the grassroots class; that wouldn't be so bad. No great storms, a peaceful and leisurely life, a liberated mind and body—maybe I could live to be nine hundred and ninety-nine?! That's what I say, but I still head north, seemingly searching for something lost, with no end in sight.

    Green grass by the riverbank, I follow the stream, heading north, going wherever my heart leads.

    Crossing mountains and valleys, winding and turning, many travelers are on the road, walking in groups, but ultimately, I can't find a companion, simply because my pace is too slow, unable to keep up. While feeling frustrated, I'm also grateful that at least I've enjoyed the scenery along the way.

    The scenery along the way is beautiful and alluring, but I seem to have lost so much more. The scenery along the stream remains the same, but sadly, everything has changed. Lost in the beauty of the scenery, lingering amidst the landscape, I quietly lost my purpose and my ideals. Too weary to concern myself with worldly matters, I yearn to transcend the mundane and become an immortal.

    Perhaps this is what life is all about; life never abandons anyone, only we abandon ourselves.

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