The essence of time is movement.
The movement of the self, the movement of everything around.
When my exercise stops, it is my ashes.
This is the beginning of his movement.
And so on and on. It's just that I'm not in this world anymore. Of course, no one knows what is unknown after the ashes.
Some people say: why do you always think about these useless things?
But I want to live more clearly.
Buddha said: If I persist, there will be no liberation.
Buddha is a wise man who understands. Don't be bound by "I hold". I can always get self-satisfaction in the wonderful thought of liberation.
Buddha cultivates himself.
Now, there is no Buddha. Leaving only vague shadows swaying in the sun. Some people imitate the Buddha in the shadow, but there is only darkness. ...
But I still think about the ultimate meaning of people.
Do you want nothing, abandon "I hold", or cling to something that is the meaning of human beings.
So I fell into a cycle and couldn't escape.
So I can't become a Buddha.
I can't abandon worldly desires after all.
The so-called reason is just another manifestation of persistence.
Science and religion are both extensions or contractions of secular desires.
People come from the universe. After all, I want to go back to Xing-hai Chen. It's just a matter of time.
Back to the question of time, the essence of time is movement. What is the essence of sports?
Isn't it fun? Everything is in a cycle, and there is no exit in a closed circle. So someone must stand up from the circle and stick his head out to see the distance. But he found that it was not a flat circle, but a sphere. Very smooth, borderless.
Every point is the center.
Every point is the end.
……
We live in sports,
When we recall the beginning of the movement,
When the exercise stops slowly, we are afraid of helplessness and weakness.
(Postscript)
Looking from a distance, the stars shine.
The red mark in the distance has not dissipated,
My hair is gray and I'm stumbling.
The moon rises and sets, and endless separation gathers again.
Waiting silently for impermanence in the dark.
The fanaticism of dreams overflowed the boundary of the brain,
Drift into the endless void far away,
Whose words tell the past,
Wandering in the desolate years without attachments.
The missed beauty is scattered into endless loneliness after all.
From emptiness to reality, but never see the true face.
From the unknown, looking for nothingness,
The red shadow is swaying, and everything will be silent.
Everything is endless, waiting for another rage. ...