Once, while walking past a lotus pond in the rain, I saw a vast expanse of green clouds stretching out, with only a single, half-bloomed red lotus standing proudly amidst them.
I stopped in astonishment. It was a red lotus that seemed neither fully open nor closed, hesitant to speak, neither fully red nor yet fragrant.
The rain fell in a chaotic yet indifferent flurry. Amidst the boundless grey, there stood such a red lotus! It was like a cluster of fire about to ignite, like a vessel of color ready to be spilled. Standing by the pond, though I had no intention of reaching for the moon, I nearly lost my footing.
Is life not like a rainstorm? You have leaped joyfully through it in ignorance, and murmured pensively within it—but more often than not, you must endure the cold and the damp, the helplessness and the loneliness, living only on the fantasies of sunny days.
Yet, look at that lotus, how self-absorbed and solitary it remains in the rain! When there is no sunlight, it becomes the sunlight itself; when there is no joy, it becomes the joy itself! Within a single lotus lies such a perfect and self-sufficient world!
If there is a lotus in the pond, and a lotus in the heart, what fear is there in a long rainy season?