These past two days in Shenzhen the rain has come so suddenly, and when the rain comes, the wind grows wild as well. Beneath the vast firmament, these clouds, these black, oppressive clouds, are like a few scraps of torn cloth trying to hold back an assault surging in from beyond the sky. A thousand troops and ten thousand horses come galloping in, trampling the living things upon the earth. The wind has long since seen how the battle is turning; it has thrown itself under the command of the rain, shouting with all its strength. In an instant, heaven and earth have already become chaos. Who can still tell cloud from rain? The clouds have long since turned traitor, attacking the earth in frenzy. Only the thunder, from the heavens down into the ground, tears through time and space with a rustling violence; the sky is already ruined beyond repair, tottering on the verge of collapse. How arrogant the rain is, this rain that believes itself certain to win, trampling without the slightest scruple, thinking it can destroy everything between heaven and earth. Yet it never imagined that the sun, hidden behind the clouds, would seize its moment and emerge, using a boundless long ribbon woven from ten thousand rays of light to roll the rain up and fling it far away, then gathering those innumerable rays into a long spear and shattering the clouds to pieces. Ah, that thunder is so frightened it dares not make a sound, and the wind hides trembling behind the trees. I raise my head and look at him, seeing his boundless power twined around the mountains and rivers, dissolved into the soil, diffused between heaven and earth. I know that he has always kept his promise, held fast to his guardianship, never left, always been here, unconquerable!
Recently I bought many books, some by Tagore and some by Gibran. I am also applying for the school’s summer practice program to do a STEM roadshow. I will be leading this activity myself, which is rather difficult for someone like me, who has hardly ever led an event before. I am not good at delegating authority, nor at assigning tasks to others. But every ability is a matter of practice; learning while doing is not something entirely beyond mastery.
Last night I read Gibran’s The Prophet. In it he speaks of freedom, saying that the pursuit of freedom itself can become a shackle that binds us. Among all bonds, do not mind them too much: if I can come and go, then I come and go; if I cannot, then I will remain here, send down my roots, grow my leaves, and remember my stories. Pain is the garment of knowledge, and that knowledge waits for you to hatch it, to break through the shell. To be alive is to have all difficulties and all exhilarations come and go. The crossing matters, and the far shore matters too. I follow the crossing toward the far shore, while the water goes on flowing of its own accord. Thinking of that farther bank, I cross with care, walking and pausing along the way.