August 26^th, 2015

In the mountains all is pure, all is calm;
All complication is cut off.
Rare are they who know to listen;
Happy they who possess wisdom

If the cold wind stings and bothers you,
Sit in the sun: it is always warm there.
Its hot rays burn like flames,
While, opposite, in the shade,
All is frost and snow.

One pauses on ledges,
One climbs to the foot of high clouds;
One sits in the depths of a gorge,
One passes windy grottos.
Here is the realm of harmony and joy,
Where the past and the present become eternal.