A Mortal Life, Born of One Thought · Above and Below, All Connected · 72 / 102
Qing Yu An · New Life
On the green peak, one cup poured warm and then cool. How many times have I plucked at the floss of the yellow flowers. Who governs disaster and blessing and looks after all under heaven — clear frost without regret, feelings hoarded in the pillow, the white moon filling the valley of the spirit.
The orchid oil burns out and leaves the lines of a poem behind; pine-leaf wine, and the fragrant carriage casts off the soft jade. I cannot see which way the wind sets, to follow the right road. Grinding and breaking come round again; a sidelong glance, a crested ibis; the water rises and the wind-gourd floats away.
Glosses—
plucked (miè): to pick at or rub with the fingers;
clear frost: used as a figure for hair gone white;
the pillow: a pillow hollowed out so that things can be hidden inside; hence, to treasure something up;
orchid oil: in antiquity, an oil rendered from the seeds of the marsh orchid; it could be burned in lamps;
pine-leaf: standing here for pine-leaf wine;
wind-gourd: a water dipper; in antiquity often used to stand for the life of a recluse.
*This piece is an original work. If you repost it, please credit the original author Guang Zhi Shiyi; any infringement, once discovered, will be pursued to the full extent of the law. In addition, the accompanying illustration comes from the internet and belongs to its original artist, Yichui Wuyue.