One Thought, a Mortal Life · Above and Below, All Connected · 72 / 102
· New Life
On the green peak a cup is poured, half warm, half cool. How many times have I plucked at the floss of yellow flowers? Who governs fortune and disaster and watches over all beneath heaven? Clear frost without regret, feelings hidden away in the pillow, a white moon brimming in the valley of the spirit.
The orchid oil burns out and leaves lines of verse behind; pine-leaf wine, and the fragrant carriage casts off its soft jade. Paying no heed to how the wind blows, I keep to the right road. Ground down and broken, I have worn smooth and round; a sidelong glance, a ; the water rises, and the wind-gourd drifts 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 Shixi Lin; 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.