4096

Primordial qi first stirred in the primordial haze;
all things form and fall of themselves.
The Great Ultimate gives rise to emptiness—
this is called the master of primordial unity.
Between the closing and opening of the qi's pulse,
ears and eyes are unharmed.
Formed things each stand on their own—
who lords over this single mass?
There must be folk of mountain and forest,
drifting free, their hearts roaming far.
This Way is daylong without a word;
wandering near, one needs no other.
The sky is cold, the night water-clock sinks low,
window shadows of plum branches spread a canopy.
Propped on a pillow, sleep will not come—
awaiting dawn beyond the sound of voices.
White clouds carry no news;
green mountains endure, never ruined.
Bells and drums sound in the hush;
in the dark, human affairs keep changing.
Who can remember the true mechanism?
The dusty realm cannot alter it.
Together we await the spring of youth,
forever whistling beyond the white clouds.
Gazing up and down across a thousand years—
what thing is worthy to cover and carry?
Should one blend and yet emerge,
a single speck, mixed yet unobstructed—
each inborn nature is of itself so;
movement and use leave nothing unencompassed.
Once the spring wind blows,
all things rejoice in great peace.