No aroma, no sound; out of the window, maybe going down a thin rain. The street passing by, this is a noisy world.In the flashing neon street, wandering alone, looking for, then, that the original original mind, where is you? Road is long, we do not know when it will be able to reach the end, but that end and look like?We come from, but also where to go, no way of knowing.The rush came, but hurried to disappear, this is God’s blessing, suffering or torture?Our lives, vegetation of a fall, that brief time goes fast, as fleeting as never ending.In the long course of years, we drop in the ocean, along with the rolling tide away, but also with ignorance ignorant from.People just came to this world, it is white, is innocent, cherish a Conscience, with vegetarian and beauty, come to earth.However, it may not be to highlight, the need to stop in this busy world, slowly looking to get rid of all worldly strife, the original, this is me. In one afternoon, a cup of tea, along with the rising wave of Ming, opened the books in mind, this life, is pleasant.Less infighting, less Red fetters, the original can be so beautiful day.Warm sun spilled over the screens, sprinkle in the house, sniffing the aroma, as if to see his heart, saw the true self from the soul, is no time, is white, is that elusive.Nightlife net some time ago, I prefer ink painting.In gradually understand, I see a technique called blank.Little is left blank when mapping, giving space to imagination, “vain sum, but with God-shaped”, which is a master of style, is a senior realm of art.This method of creation, but also contain the pursuit of spiritual enjoyment and art.Inch of land also significantly wider world, the painting gives the impression, but it is blank people can think of many things, seemingly simple but rare.Similarly, I think, life also needs blank.Left blank, leaving a white, stand out in Manjuan in colorful, like the rushing river, like rolling hills, boundless imagination that it comes from white.To give myself this plain white bar!Looking back to Japan until all the past and present, whether the state will find blank?Whether, in the confusion of the earth will, find that lost Conscience. Once upon a time, I grew to like Mr. Xi Murong poetry.Her poem, no fancy modification, carve, but wrote the “youth” word.In the process of reading materials, I often find my own shadow, adolescent rebellion, confusion, infatuation.These vividly described by Mr. Xi Murong’s performance, as she said, sixteen year-old young only once, why not take advantage of, why not in a youthful way to spend it youth?Reading between the lines, I seem to see everything inside of me, the pursuit of desire, imagination.In the name of the poem, I found me, found, the lost boy. Out the window, I began to dim light rain.In the summer, osmanthus in full bloom.”Elegance” is the language of flowers, I think, in this Seven Mile fragrance of the season, accompanied by a touch of melody to life, but also elegant. Inside, there will always be some unknown monologue, after all, you can listen to the voices, depending on the direction of the heart. Between life off soon, we knew that many people became familiar rush the passer, instant moment, Danmu, do not have this.After thousands of years, I have been missing, I hope, original mind and leave behind the world.