October 30th, 2019
Changoa (d. 874)
At an ancient temple, I lean on a balcony rail,
And hear the Wondrous Function rise.
In the empty courtyard, the pure color of the moon;
As night advances, chime sounds move.
The water clock turns: cold watches ring faster;
Lamps sputter: cool flames die away.
The Primordial Void and the Ten Thousand Things
Are telling each other the Mysterious Secret.