Mists of Turmoil, Leisurely Stroll

Upon waking from a dream, one realizes the arduous path of the Dao. A bald monk, having returned from the consciousness of a small world, rubs his head and murmurs 'Wuliang Tianzun.' Looking at the transmission talisman beside him, he recalls his incarnation's journey from infancy to a spirited youth, through turbulent struggles in young adulthood, and then seemingly forgetting his middle age, finding himself in confusion and hardship in old age. His incarnation lived a lonely and muddled life, leaving behind only a regretful poem that is barely coherent: 'Year after year from infant to this, moment by moment gain and loss. Straw weighs down a thousand pounds, silent turn how to hold. Gods mixed with nature, good and evil, seven emotions and self, people and people turn white to ash. Self-knowledge many mistakes misjudge years, instant wasted seventy infant.' And another reflection from old age back to youth: 'What thought what foolish what neglect, seventy infant fifty young thirty bright. Sky long empty people age, Dao exists things exist time does not, up and down empty things compete heaven and earth extinguish, things fit people's thoughts ten thousand in one not found. Whose child takes firecrackers as fireworks to play a tune, diving without desire and without seeking after seeking not seeking. Bitterness useless how is lost life.'