That was 20 years ago. I remember it clearly now, because it was one of the most profound impressions in my life. One summer I was travelling on the north-west coast of Scotland, at a place called Ayotia, to visit the cottage of the peasant poet Burns. That part of the landscape like the inland sea of Japan more twists and turns. The bay juts out into the mountains into numerous lakes with green water and green hills. The lake and the mountains were always quiet and desolate, and it was not easy to come across a village for miles, full of mountains, valleys, woods, and lawns. When I reached the shore of a lake, I suddenly saw a sea of people -- men and women, young and old, dressed in dark blue and red, the ragged, shambling, creeping, and shaking the earth. It was a famous bathing place. It was Sunday, and people came here to have a good day after six days as oxen and horses in the city. They are showing off their clothes, their hobbies, their flesh, their love, their elegance and village customs. Like the billows of the lake, they all threw themselves into the wild waves of life, enjoying the joy of the day. It was on such an occasion that a preacher, who appeared to be a shoemaker, set up a platform in a nearby lawn and preached to the pleasant-seekers. He also draws a crowd. He shouted, the crowd shouted, the lake shouted, and his words were indistinct except for the familiar words "Heaven," "God," "repentance," and "sin." The crowd was always on the move, sometimes climbing up from the lake to see the priest, and sometimes walking down from the priest. Swimming swimming, listening to the way, in short, are joining in the fun. In the midst of all this, as I stood reflecting, I was suddenly filled with a feeling of emptiness and loneliness, and I wondered about life. What lies before us is clearly life. The first thing that struck me was the incongruity of this life. In the midst of such a quiet lake and mountain, there are so many noisy people laughing and enjoying themselves, just like ants in a Buddhist hall snatches the corpse of insects, which is not enough to be called; Add to this the fact that two priests speak of "heaven" and "repentance" to men and women who drink, smoke, and wear bathing suits with naked arms and legs to make eyes, and it is a strong irony to life. When John the Baptist shouted in the desert that the Savior was coming, his voice was cast into emptiness. What does the Scottish clergyman have to offer John? He is not necessarily knowledgeable in the Word, but is it not empty and empty to steal some of the language of the church and throw it into the ears of the empty-minded? By extension, everything in this world, is not the same? The swimmers, for example, were enjoying themselves, fervently but blindly, mechanically driven by the demands of the living animals. When the sun went down, they returned home, and the beach returned to its original silence, like a song's feast. I felt like the empty and lonely I was right here. But like that large group of people, I also pleased to catch a lively, that day is not wasted, in retrospect, still feel that it is very interesting. Life is like that on the beach, with what painters call Yin and Yang, you jump in to play a part, or just stand by and watch, should make you happy. Who has the right to despise them, or even pity them, when in that instant life is convulsed among those who have received it and are content? Half the world-weary are self-important, and I am ashamed that I am sometimes not immune. Confucius looked at the water, made a deepest sigh forever, he said: "The dead like Sifu, do not give up day and night!" Life is fluid, and the "passing" aspect alone can not help but remind us of destruction and emptiness; But this is not to have to come, but to go if you do not go, you can not come, endless, to read always new. Shakespeare's remark that life is "a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, and without meaning," is an argument, but not an argument. Life is a storyteller, always holding on to so stale "motifs," and every moment of the story is fresh, its own meaning. In this moment there is a new and meaningful story, in this moment we are satisfied, in this moment life is not empty. Life is an instant after an instant to realize, fortunately, it "day and night." When you add up layers of real numbers in a ledger, they never add up to zero. To look for past causes and future causes, rather than seize every moment of life that is being realized, is like looking for the sum of the sum of the numbers. To investigate the initial cause and the most consequences, we should go to "reductio ad infinitum". Philosophers ought to know this, and they are the ones who love to look into the causes and consequences. It is not only immodest, but also unwise. When a thing is realized, its form is there, and its cause and purpose are there. There is fruit in the seed, and there is seed in the fruit. There is no seed and fruit without a plant, and there is no plant without seed and fruit (as my friend Mr. Fei Ming explained in his Theory of Alye Knowledge). For example, a painting, what reason and purpose! Is it not its life, its cause, its object, that it assumes a fresh and perfect form? And compare this picture to a life. Our past life is like painting a picture. Now what we need to focus on is not what fate this picture will have after it is painted, ascribe to eternity or ascribe to destruction, but how to paint it into a picture, with the form and life that a picture should have. Asking for an uncertain future, rather than a grasping present, is just like begging others while carrying pearls and jewels. But in fact many people are counting on future eternity or destruction. When the Great Persian was crossing Hellerspun with a million men on a westward expedition to Greece, he was standing on the platform watching his great army flowing across the strait on the bridge of a ship, when he said to his uncle with a burst of tears, "I think of the shortness of life, and seeing so many men that after a hundred years no one will still be alive, and my heart is suddenly filled with pity." "But there is more to lament in life," replied his uncle. "Our time here is short, and there is not a man, in or out of this great army, who is so fortunate in his life, that at several times he would rather die than live." Both men are right, or at least reflect how most people feel about life. Too short life, so set a variety of methods for eternity. Qin Emperor and Han Wu believed in scholars, seeking gods, and later Taoist alchemy and qi, are the so-called "eternal life" delusion. "It is better to drink fine wine and be a blanket and vegetarian than to seek the immortal by taking food and drinking water." This is the poet's angry words, but the irony can be taken seriously. Perhaps, to be fair, there is a deeper implication.