Until walking on the sea, observing the islands, I find myself.
On the edge of the lands, extending into the sea, those are the islands.
Being detached when the tide is in, and come back with the lands during subsiding.
They embrace the broadness of the land, and also the dear minds of the sea.
If being covered up, the islands will read the heart of the sea.
If not, they will look down its own reflection, look up at the sky, overlook the lands and gaze at the glimmering waves and shimmers.
The islands remain still, while the tides always rise and fall with diverse messages.
Continually, they get further wisdom.
Never follow the tides, nor be separate from the land.
But the islands take the lives from the land into the distance, also feel the far.
Lives come, lives go.
For the islands, extricating oneself is fool.
Because positive or negative, are standards made and judged by people themselves.
No defiled, no pure.
Form itself is emptiness, emptiness itself is a form.
No one, then no the other.
Never in and never out.
Never immerse and never escape.
The islands are there, just exist then exist.
Settle yourself, balance the mood.
——“Yet no one can belong to these rocks, nor can one ever truly return to them”
