Classic Poem

In the year dan-e ,
Fourth month, first month of summer,
The day gui-zi , when the sun was low in the west,
An owl came to my lodge
And perched on the corner of my mat,
Phlegmatic and fearless
Secretly wondering the reason
The strange thing had come to roost,
I took out a book to divine it
And the oracle told me its secret:
" Wild bird enters the hall;
The master will soon depart. "
I asked and importuned the owl,
" Where is it I must go?
Do you bring good luck? Then tell me!
Misfortune? Relate what disaster!
Must I depart so swiftly?
Then speak to me of the hour! "
The owl breathed a sigh,
Raised its head and beat its wings.
Its beak could utter no word,
But let me tell you what it sought to say:
All things alter and change,
Never a moment of ceasing,
Revolving, whirling, and rolling away,
Driven far off and returning again,
Form and breath passing onward,
Like the mutations of a cicada
Profound, subtle, and illimitable,
Who can finish describing it?
Good luck must be followed by bad,
Bad in turn bow to good
Sorrow and joy throng the gate,
Weal and woe in the same land
Wu was powerful and great;
Under Fucha it sank in defeat
Yue was crushed at Kuaiji,
But Goujian made it an overlord.
Li Si, who went forth to greatness, at last
Suffered the five mutilations
Fu Yue was sent into bondage,
Yet Wu Ding made him his aide
Thus fortune and disaster
Entwine like the strands of a rope.
Fate cannot be told of,
For who shall know its ending?
Water, troubled, runs wild;
The arrow, quick-sped, flies far
All things, whirling and driving,
Compelling and pushing each other, roll on
The clouds rise up, the rains come down,
In confusion inextricably joined
The Great Potter fashions all creatures,
Infinite, boundless, limit unknown
There is no reckoning Heaven,
Nor divining beforehand the Tao
The span of life is fated;
Man cannot guess its ending
Heaven and earth are the furnace,
The workman, the Creator;
His coal is the yin and the yang,
His copper, all things of creation
Joining, scattering, ebbing and flowing,
Where is there persistence or rule?
A thousand, a myriad mutations,
Lacking an end's beginning
Suddenly they form a man:
How is this worth taking thought of?
They are transformed again in death:
Should this perplex you?
The witless takes pride in his being,
Scorning others, a lover of self
The man of wisdom sees vastly
And knows that all things will do
The covetous run after riches,
The impassioned pursue a fair name;
The proud die struggling for power,
While the people long only to live.
Each drawn and driven onward,
They hurry east and west
The great man is without bent;
A million changes are as one to him
The stupid man chained by custom
Suffers like a prisoner bound
The sage abandons things
And joins himself to the Tao alone,
While the multitudes in delusion
With desire and hate load their hearts
Limpid and still, the true man
Finds his peace in the Tao alone
Transcendent, destroying self,
Vast and empty, swift and wild,
He soars on wings of the Tao.
Discarding wisdom, forgetful of form,
Borne on the flood he sails forth;
He rests on the river islets.
Freeing his body to Fate,
Unpartaking of self,
His life is a floating,
His death a rest
In stillness like the stillness of deep springs,
Like an unmoored boat drifting aimlessly,
Never looking on life as a treasure,
He embraces and drifts with Nothing
Comprehending Fate and free of sorrow,
The man of virtue heeds no bounds
Petty-matters, weeds and thorns —
What are they to me?