Street of old town by peaceful-jp-scenery
Via Flickr:
Tsumagojuku inn town 妻籠宿 Tsumago-juku is an old inn town of Nakasendo. It was not so cold because there was no snow. 中山道の宿場町、妻籠宿にて。 雪もなくて寒さも感じませんでした。 Nagiso-machi, Nagano pref, Japan
Trước đây tôi từng cho rằng "dịu dàng" là một loại tính cách, nhưng sau này tôi mới nhận ra thực ra "dịu dàng" là một loại năng lực. Nó tồn tại xuyên suốt quá trình tu luyện và nhận thức của một người. Tất cả những "dịu dàng" trên thế gian này, đều phải trải qua mưa gió bão bùng mới có thể nở hoa. Khi mặt trời lặn thì có ánh trăng lên, khi mặt trăng lặn thì có mặt trời mọc, ánh nắng của ngày hôm qua không làm khô được quần áo của ngày hôm nay, mưa của ngày mai không làm ướt được bản thân của ngày hôm nay, nên quên thì quên, nên buông thì buông, tâm có biển trời, (im) lặng mà không tranh (giành).
Hoằng Nhất đại sư từng nói: “Mục đích của việc mài dũa tâm trí, là để sau này dù cho có gặp bất cứ ai hay việc gì, bạn cũng vững vàng như núi; mài dũa tài vận của bạn, là khiến bạn sau này không tham lam, không vì lợi ích làm mê muội tâm can; mài dũa những mối quan hệ là để giúp bạn buông bỏ những chấp niệm, nhìn mọi việc một cách nhẹ nhàng.”
Thân không khổ, phước không lớn, tâm không nhọc, trí không thông. Đằng sau mọi sự điềm tĩnh đều từng trải qua sự giằng co và cuồng loạn trong đau khổ. Tất cả những người đã được giác ngộ đều từng nếm trải cơn đau về thể xác lẫn tinh thần.
Chỉ khi trải qua sự tôi luyện của tinh thần mới nghiệm ra được chân lý của cuộc sống, chỉ khi học nhiều quan sát nhiều, hiểu nhiều, đi nhiều hơn, cọ xát nhiều hơn mới hiểu được muôn vàn hình dáng của bản chất con người, đừng nhìn bầu trời từ đáy giếng, cũng đừng đánh giá mọi việc qua một khía cạnh nhỏ. Mọi nỗi đau đều có thể chinh phục bằng một tinh thần phi thường!
We all have to leave one day, he just hopes it won't be too soon
//This wasn't meant to make me cry, why did I cry writing this. This is probably all over the place. Poem is 离思 by 元稹.
曾 经 沧 海 难 为 水, 除 却 巫 山 不 是 云
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
For you to so freely partake in drink should have tipped Jingyuan off to your emotional state much earlier than it did. Albeit, when you were under such lovely lighting and garbed in attire he could only, pathetically, describe as undoubtedly becoming, he found it hard to think of little else, caught up in the sight of your very being.
Your fingers wrapped around your cup of wine, curling into cold ceramic and bringing it to your painted lips, soft and inviting. His eyes keenly follow along the movement, watches your throat bob as you swallow, how when you lower your cup, a bright smile pulls across your face in response to something someone said. He does not think there is anything more beautiful than that smile, and though you have always told him you hated how wide it is, how you keep smiling with too much teeth and how it always happens when you least like it to, Jingyuan adores that smile of yours. It is yours, so wonderfully yours and so wonderfully a symbol of your unadulterated joy. And whenever he sees even the slightest hint of it, that flush that always threatens to expose him starts to tinge his cheeks.
You turn briefly to take a glance at him, that smile of yours still on your lips and he feels it once more. If only for a moment, you turn away and he does not know whether to thank or curse the aeons for having that sight so fleetingly.
Another refill of your cup, you drink once more, then another refill. You have come to your fourth cup since the wine has been served, and he worries that at this rate, you will be passed out drunk before the event ends. Jingyuan moves to take your cup away from you, something you respond with a non-committal glare before you slump by his side. Resting your head against his shoulder, he watches your eyes scan the room absentmindedly, as though looking for something, someone.
It is when his lieutenant returns to your side that he properly comes to the revelation of your drinking. He had just received his military commission, and for someone such as you who has spent the past few years practically raising him as your own, this was a far earlier call than most parental figures experience. The sudden realisation that one day, you may no longer see him at the breakfast table with his horrid bed hair, no longer have him begging for food and pocket change, they surely were not thoughts anyone would like to have so soon (he is not sure whether it is just you feeling as so).
Your eyes seem to focus on the child’s presence, waving him over as a milder smile now decorated your lips. Yanqing comes to your side, and in a move he clearly did not expect, you wrap an arm around him to pull him close to you, his standing form pressed against your seated one.
“Qing’er, you’re so big…” You sigh, speech just the slightest melancholic. Reminiscing of days long gone, he thinks he can catch the hint of tears welling at your eyes. “I remember when you were still so small, you always loved it when I would carry you around.”
Yanqing’s cheeks flush at this comment, especially in public, and he splutters to retort back, to say something to brush past the sappy notion. Still, you do not let that stop you, turning your gaze to face him entirely as you hum, “I’m so proud of you, y’know that?”
He only nods, and though it is clear he does not quite know how to respond to your sentiments, he lets you hold him just a little longer, his hand on yours.
Jingyuan watches on, the quiet moment enhanced by the fact that with so many eyes looking away, the two of you had only looked all the more poignant. He wonders how long this has been weighing on your mind, how much it ached you to keep it inside in fear of the child’s reaction. And though he would love for nothing more than to comfort you, what you needed was not him but to reaffirm Yanqing’s presence.
It is not long until the festivities die down and the two of you are left with only each other as company. Now certainly allowed more freedom than before, you lay in his embrace, his arms wrapped around you as the Luofu’s simulated moon hangs high in the sky.
“He’s so big now,” Your voice is hushed, barely a whisper and seemingly meant for only your ears.
“That he is,” He hums, feeling your fingers play with his hand as though distracting yourself from speaking more. A soft, practically inaudible breath escapes him, his eyes remain on you as he murmurs, “My love, what has gotten you so sentimental?”
There is no response out of you for a moment, merely the sound of your breathing, just the slightest laboured and all too preoccupied with keeping your emotions under lock and key. Yet when he meets your eyes, the dewlets clinging to your lashes and the strained quality of your voice only tortures that heart of his that so ardently belongs to you.
“I hate thinking about the day you’re no longer with us, or I’m no longer with you two.”
How can he bear to think of such a future as well? Though the two of you are more than aware that it may one day come (after all, neither of you are green in your years), it has been a thought he pushes away every time it surfaces. He has plans for if he is to become mara-struck, plans for if he goes peacefully, but for you, it is different. He would have to strike you down should the former occur, but he does not know whether he would be able to live with it.
So he pretends it will not happen. He pretends that the two of you have all the time in this world, all the time to watch the moon and lay together side by side.
All the time in the world for him to memorise your face so that if one day it should really happen, he may be reminded of the joy you brought him, and not the grief your passing will cause.
“All the better for us to spend what time we have together,” Jingyuan mutters, pulling you closer to him as he nuzzles against you.
You sniff, that smile of yours, bittersweet but still, always, so beautiful presents itself to this world. Your eyes flutter open and close, and eventually he is left with nothing but the slow rise and descent of your chest, soft breathing his lullaby for the night. He traces along the curve of your jaw, the wrinkles of your lips, the marks upon your face, everything that made you.
You are still clinging to him, so tightly it was almost as though you were afraid that he would leave when your eyes opened in the morning. He does not blame you.
Looking to the moon, he prays, the first time he has done so sincerely, so desperately, that the three of you will not be ripped apart so soon, that at the very least, make it so that he will be the last to go once more.