Prose of a monologue from the depths of the soul

In daily study, work or life, everyone knows prose, right? Prose has the highest demands on the author's subjective emotions among all literary styles, second only to poetry. Do you know what the essence of writing prose is? The following is the prose of a monologue from the depths of my soul that I compiled. You are welcome to read it. I hope you will like it. Prose of a monologue from the depths of the soul Part 1

Tonight, sitting alone in a corner, tearing apart the masks that disguise oneself, sinking on the edge of reality and pursuit. I am used to the bitterness of coffee, and I long for something as pure as water, to be with others lightly, and to be close to my heart. This is good.

Don’t talk to me about interests, I just want to be honest; don’t talk to me about scheming, I just want to be pure and simple; don’t talk to me about power, I just want to be calm and comfortable...

Surviving in this real society, there is a lot of helplessness that is devouring our souls. Life does not require a gorgeous appearance. Faced with today's complicated world, many times we dare not talk to others about our inner world. Having seen through the hypocrisy and flattery in this world, I long for reality, fantasize about reality, and imagine a kind of transparency that is neither concealed nor covered. It is a kind of openness without masks and hypocrisy, which can make the heart calmer and purer.

A person, quietly, surrounded by the fragrance of a cup of tea, abandons all the worldly affairs and lets his mind spread with the wisps of smoke. Thousands of threads, thick or light, flow freely in my mind. All the heartbeats, or the feeling of heartache, flooded in the bottomless sea of ????heart. However, some feelings have become numb deep in my heart and soul. Have I forgotten how to feel pain and how to cry?

Some words are very hurtful. However, I forget when it started. I forgot the feeling of pain. I just listened numbly and didn't say a word. It's not that I'm weak, it's not that I have no temper, but no matter how much I say, it won't help. No matter how many reasons there are, when someone is unreasonable, it's like a scholar meets a soldier. All, I became more and more silent. Only silence can make yourself hurt less.

Some scars are very painful. However, I forgot when it started. I forgot the feeling of crying and just looked at it numbly. Then, I had no tears. It’s not that I am strong or cold-blooded. , but I have no more emotions. When I could shed tears, I forgot how to shed tears with my eyes. I am used to being sarcastic, used to being just a woman who knows nothing, used to not being treated as a treasure, which makes me very independent. Perhaps, facing the injury and pain, I was really numb and silent.

"Love Is You and Me" was played on a loop in the speakers, this touching and heart-wrenching song. Listening, listening, I found my true self, the one who can feel heartache and shed tears. A deep, vicissitudes of life, heavy music, integrated into life, cleansing away the pieces of dust floating in the bottom of my heart, hitting the softest corner of my soul, tears, at this moment, pouring down, it turns out that I will cry ...

A piece of painful and tough music washed away my soul. At this moment, there is a feeling of the most true, the most good, and the most beautiful blooming in my heart. Truth, goodness, and beauty. , is like an unbalanced flower, although it is not as enchanting and gorgeous as the flower, nor is it as fragrant as the flower. However, it is a subtle fragrance that blooms in the soul, enveloping the fragrance of this season.

A little touching words and some words of concern will inadvertently enter your ears, eyes, and heart, and your heart will feel warm and heartwarming, and your tears will flow uncontrollably. Flooding. Sometimes, I really don’t know what kind of woman I am. Faced with pain, I am stubborn enough not to shed a tear; but faced with warmth, my heart is so soft that I can squeeze out water.

The faint inner words on this page are rippling in the moonlight, soothed by the night wind, listening to the monologue deep in the soul. In the mist of tea, in the light fragrance of tea, taste the clear and light bitterness; think about the thick and light thoughts. The long-lost elegance and clarity, along with the tea, slowly infiltrate every corner of the soul, forgetting all the worldly things, and having more reverie.

"Even if life gives me endless pain and torture, I still feel more happy." Yes, just like in the lyrics, there will be more happiness, happiness will be very simple. A heart-warming greeting or a pair of deep eyes will envelope me so warmly and illuminate my bleak life. Prose of a monologue from the depths of the soul Part 2

The room is empty, the room is dark, the room is empty, and there is only my crying in the room. Huddled in a corner, only this corner belongs to me.

You suddenly said you were leaving, and I was stunned. Panic spread throughout his body, making him weak and paralyzed. I want to keep you, but I find that I am speechless. I was left holding my head with weak hands, and tears were flowing endlessly. It turned out that the tears were so painful, and they kept flowing deep in my heart.

I said clearly that I would not cry, but I couldn’t hold it back; I clearly said that I didn’t care, but I held on desperately; I clearly promised that I would leave alone, but I was afraid of being alone. Only then did I realize how weak I was. How I wish you wouldn't leave, don't leave me alone on the street, don't leave me when it rains again, don't let me face everything cold alone.

It was raining outside, so I ran out and got wet. But nothing can erase that memory.

How wonderful it would be if life were just like the first time we met. In this way, there will be no missed banquets; in this way, there will be no sadness and pain; in this way, we will not care so much. Or you shouldn’t see it in life. It’s just that I’ve seen it, it’s just that I’ve taken it into my heart.

I am pursuing, I am calling, I am nostalgic, I am waiting, but everything becomes gloomy. Everything is illusion, everything is misty, everything is empty thoughts, everything is so sad, everything is so powerless.

The phone is always on, and there is still a little extravagant hope in my heart, hoping that you can make a call or send a text message. It has always been so quiet, always so cold. My heart was completely cold. There shouldn't be fantasies, there shouldn't be expectations. More hope only brings endless sadness. My hopes have never been realized. What I should know is that I don’t want to believe it. I just deceive myself again and again and refuse to wake up. In the end it's just empty. Damn the anticipation, damn the pain.

It’s just a bubble. Ha, just bubbles.

It’s so cold. Why is it so cold? Cold to the bones, cold to the depths of the soul.

But who can warm me now?

At this time, I was cold. At this moment, my heart breaks. This night, I have no sleep. Prose of a Monologue Deep in the Soul Part 3

Strange lights gradually filled the crowded dance floor, and the lead singer with a lonely face in the center of the stage, which no one noticed, kept humming something in confusion. The noisy crowd each had their own happiness, so the bartender in the forgotten corner looked particularly lonely.

I walked over and pulled out a chair and talked to him casually. I spoke to a man who was no longer young, had long messy hair, and a pale face, but there was a deep light in his eyes.

And he smiled at me, his silver-grey smile, as elegant as a gentleman. But his eyes were indifferent.

What would you like to drink. The voice is deep but warm.

I don’t know. Feel free to mix something for me. I heard your craftsmanship is very good.

So, this.

He took out a glass of pure water, and then like magic, a cup of Blue Mountain coffee appeared.

This is the real Blue Mountain coffee, growing lonely on the water island. The grid is rare.

I dipped my finger in it and put it in my mouth. The childish behavior made him smile.

I think of a person. Hackberry.

Once he was as simple and clear as a glass of pure water.

He has a direct and real voice, which always makes me feel that he is living silently beside me. Just like when I raise my head, I can vaguely see his dazed eyes and childish smile, which are sometimes bright and sometimes dull.

I don't know why every time I always hear his heavy breath gradually extending from the headphones, which makes me clearly feel his inner struggle and helplessness, his deep sadness when he misses the past, and the bright future and use he believes he will eventually have. He was truly moved and yearned for the beauty.

Any language is pale in front of his music, except for his equally clean lyrics. When the knife sees blood, it burns its flowers. In those intermittent sentences is the huge pain that I have but can never express clearly. But he can talk to us clearly, or more to himself.

It’s just that at that time, many things had nothing to do with love. He only sings about his fear and panic.

Because once pure water is contaminated, it can no longer become clean, transparent, and free of impurities.

The strong wind sounds like it didn’t happen, too many memories. How about letting go of your hand. I'm afraid you will say that those days blown by the wind tighten my heart in the middle of the night.

The child who once grew up lonely on the guitar strings has grown up, and his eyes are full of bright and painful love. So he uncontrollably sang to us his fragmented but beautiful feelings. The confused child has his own thin and bright love. Then I think of those memories that have gone with the wind, those past events that cannot be reached, and the wounds that have scabbed in my heart.

And now he looks like this cup of Blue Mountain coffee. It has a smooth silky texture and a soft touch. Every word and every sentence is filled with warmth. His love is so beautiful that it can make people sing it over and over again like a man possessed. His heart was completely trapped in the quagmire of love, unable to extricate himself, nor did he want to extricate himself. Perhaps his perseverance, like coffee beans, was once ground carefully by a woman with her slender fingers, and what came out was a wonderful and fragrant feeling.

Because the real Blue Mountains are rare and lonely, they grow on lonely islands. After Pu Shu fell in love, he was still the same talented but reclusive person, but he changed his way of communicating with us.

And the only thing we can do is to taste it quietly. Prose of a monologue from the depths of the soul Part 4

The arrival of every rising sun heralds the beginning of a new day, and every night’s wind gathers the temperature of the past day. Facing the morning sun and night, I always have endless thoughts. Think of time as water, which seems to flow quietly but is filled with vicissitudes of life, ups and downs.

Looking at the decline of things around us, life, old age, illness and death, I often feel frustrated. Although I know that this is inevitable, I still can't let it go. I don't want to believe that this world should not have such pain. I thought to myself, even if the world is a river rolling eastward, it should still be flowing with spring water, and it shouldn't be so cold.

Living in the world always feels like floating in the world, there are too many things that cannot be controlled. When experiences overflow the scale of life, I don’t know how to interpret the meaning of life. Therefore, I often spend time alone to let my thoughts fly, looking for the space for my soul to fly, longing to transcend certain limitations and become a wise man. Facing the rolling world, even if it is a cold-current river, I still have to catch a river of flying snow and write my life. A meaningful chapter.

I often find that after living in a place for a long time, many things will lose their original color, and many scenery will no longer be beautiful. One day, when I meet an old friend again and ask about old things, I will inevitably feel a little nervous. Although I respond lightly, the door of memory will open, and those bright colors and happiness will come. I suddenly understood that there are some beauties that I often overlook. In fact, they have never gone away. They are within reach or somewhere in my heart. It’s just that I haven’t noticed or discovered them. Think about it, many of the beautiful things in life may be missed and ignored like this!

On the road of life, we get older with time. Looking back, the turbulent past is like a tide washing the bank of life, but some memories have always been shining with a warm luster in life, like fireflies in midsummer, flickering and fading, and the bright flashes have given me the courage and faith to face the reality. .

Although there have been sweetness and smiles, sadness and tears in the past, it is no longer enough for me to stop and regret and reminisce, because life never stops moving forward, so my soul must move forward bravely. go.

Looking at the prosperous world, the four seasons reincarnate, there will always be different thoughts in each mainstream season, that is, these thoughts have become the main thread of my life, densely intertwined, and stitched together to form the soul. The coat made me a world of my own. In this world, my thoughts are running wildly, hoping to overcome certain limitations and achieve some immortality in life. But a person's world is inevitably a little narrow, so there will be many gains and losses, as well as joys and sorrows in life. In fact, if you think about it carefully, this kind of life is particularly real and beautiful, and it makes life full of mystery and Zen. Because of these pains, my soul is no longer numb and decadent.

Some people say that the realm of life is the relief and insight after one's own realization. Some people also say that life doesn't matter anything else, and living is the great realm. I don’t know what is right and wrong, but I believe that people’s mainstream thoughts dominate people’s life destiny, because I believe that mainstream thoughts are the cornerstone of building people’s souls.

When you look through history, there is always one or a few things that shock you. There is always one or a few people whose thoughts shine through the sky and illuminate my life. They are like old friends who chat with me, making me intimately familiar with them. So I was immersed in a different kind of emotion, and my heart was full of warmth and gratitude.

I have always believed that the color of a person’s soul reflects the color of his life, just like I have always believed that there must be beauty beyond the physical world in the snow world. Therefore, I often sketch a scene in my mind, a world where snow dances, there is no noise, only the wind blows gently, the mountains stretch into the distance in the sight, and a river flows quietly from the distance, although there are no waves. But it shows the strange beauty of nature. In a certain corner of the river or at a certain ferry, there was only one small boat, and I was the only one on the boat fishing with my pole. At that time, I knew that I did not have the courage and leisurelyness of Jiang Ziya. What he was fishing for was the realm of life, but what I was fishing for was just a state of mind, maybe a fish, maybe it was snow, because in the blink of an eye, I had to enter the world and become a mundane person. a member of.

I have always been a person who pays attention to the soul, so I pay too much attention to and outline pure and transcendent things, just like thinking of someone in the dark night. Maybe I can’t meet each other in this life, but I have already met him. Reach the soul and never forget it until death. Just like when you suddenly meet a glance in a crowded street, and smile knowingly, the moment of warmth will make you forget the time.

In fact, even if the world is in a cold state and no one in this world can really reach anyone's heart, I would like to think this way. As long as my soul has passed by this world, regret will follow the undercurrent. The moving river water has become the dust of history, sinking to the bottom of the river over time, waiting for the next reincarnation.

I have always believed that life without a soul is cold. He will definitely miss a lot on the road of life, so in countless times of exile and gathering of his own soul, there will always be joy that trembles in the soul, so he longs for it in his soul. Meet or encounter another "me" in the flying world. In the unity of mind and heart, in a certain world or ferry, sit alone in a corner and catch a river of flying snow. Let thousands of artistic conceptions reach the depths of the soul, open the door of wisdom, and let fly. One brilliant and wonderful tomorrow after another. Prose of a monologue from the depths of the soul Part 5

More than ten years ago, on a day of heavy rain, my father passed away with illness, all concern and reluctance. From then on, my father and my relatives were separated by heaven and earth; from then on, I could only look for the comfort of my father's love in front of the portrait and in the painful memories; from then on, the pair of flying birds in the sky, my mother's heart was lonely in loneliness and pain. Lost and wandering, until she finds you and is with you in heaven. At this time, tears of longing lingered in my eyes again.

Father’s love is like a mountain! Only after losing my father can I truly feel: My father is my mountain, and I am the small pine or grass on the mountain.

After receiving the news of my father’s death, I hurried home before dawn. When the car was still a few hundred meters away from home, I stumbled and got out of the car in a hurry, completely forgetting about my wife and young son behind me.

When I saw my father lying quietly on the door panel, I burst into tears. I know that my father will never come back after he leaves. I know that my father must have gone to heaven in pain and reluctance. My mother said: My father passed away calling my name. Even now, when I think about it, I am still filled with grief and tears.

Hey, is there any deeper relationship in the world than between father and son and mother and son?

Let him be laid to rest, the folks said. The strange thing is that it was raining heavily just now, but the sky suddenly cleared up. After my father was buried, it started to rain heavily again. The villagers said: This is God’s manifestation. Your father must be very good over there. I don't believe in superstition, but I really hope that my father will be in the kingdom of heaven: no pain, no poverty, and a happy life! Prose of a Monologue from the Deep Soul Part 6

According to the old people, my father was given up for adoption. That year, my grandparents fled to this small town in the south of the Yangtze River; grandma held one in her arms, and grandpa carried three in a basket. I could no longer support myself, so I left my eldest son, my father, and was adopted by a landowner. I hate that the landlady has no conscience at all. She beats and scolds my father all the time, and even burns him with red-hot pokers and pours boiling water on him. My father survived the ordeal and suffering. One eye was burned and a little blind.

The first thing that is deeply engraved in my memory about my father is a white plain cloth-lined coat that I wore when I was in elementary school. At that time, the primary school of the brigade had a literary propaganda team and a table tennis team, which often went to the fields and villages to perform for farmers, and the school also often held table tennis competitions. I was a member of two teams, but I didn't even have a decent shirt. During the day, he had to work for the production team, and his father used his evening time to help the production team in a neighboring village. Because the pay was so low, no one in that team wanted to work. When my father found out, he did it and went home at dawn every day for a whole week. Not to mention how happy I was when my mother put that white gown on me. In the surprised eyes of the teacher and the envious faces of my classmates, my face shone brightly. When I learned from my mother that it was my father who worked so hard to get a white coat, my young heart shed tears of sadness! Later, whenever I had performances or competitions, my father would come over and watch from a distance behind the crowd. After the performance, my father would take out a half-worn towel and wipe the sweat off my face and body. My father smiled slightly, and I smiled slightly.

Thinking about it now, although my father was poor and illiterate, he was so loving and kind-hearted.

I am in high school and I go home once a week. Every Saturday afternoon when I go home, there is always a bowl of fresh food. That was what the father prepared for a week, leaving the best for the children to eat. I will never forget that Wednesday evening when my father suddenly came to the school and brought a large tea tank with fish and meat. I saw the sweat on my father's face, the mud on his feet, and his hurried look. The father said: "Finish the food. This is for you to eat." When I was about to ask, my father said: "Study hard." He left in a hurry. Later I found out that it was my father who was working for someone else and deliberately refused to eat their sumptuous dinner. The family was polite and filled some food for my father to take home, and my father gave it to me. The mother said: When my father came home, he almost fainted from hunger. It turns out that I always felt that my mother was attentive, but my father, who was reticent and taciturn, was also a very attentive person.

Thinking about it now, I can only bury my father’s deep love deep in my heart. I can only hold back the tears in my heart and move forward in the light of father's love! Prose of a Monologue from the Deep Soul Part 7

In my memory, my father also served as a "cadre" in the village. At that time, village cadres were no different from ordinary people. They just did more and took more responsibility. Although that era was poor, the glory of humanity shone brightly.

I remember one time when the production team dug peanuts. I accidentally brought home half a basket of peanuts and no one knew it at the time. We were so poor at that time that half a basket of peanuts was enough to last for several days. When my father came home and saw it, he couldn't help but scolded me severely and asked me to send the peanuts to the production team immediately.

He also said: This is a collective thing. Everyone is like this, so wouldn’t all the collective things be taken away? Criticize me for reading the book and having such backward thinking! When I came back after handing the peanuts to the production team, my father smiled. I saw my father’s kind and honest smile! Although my father smiled sadly and there were clearly tears about to shed quietly, this smile was so beautiful and majestic. Isn’t this spirit exactly what our nation needs and lacks now?

Although my father was poor, he was a cheerful and loyal man. In the era of "going to the mountains and rural areas", a student who was sent to the countryside lived in my family. My father vacated the largest and cleanest room and drove us children into the foot room. The devolved student was very interesting: he used the newly grown wheat seedlings as leeks, cut them back and made scrambled eggs, which tasted bitter and astringent. While our children were laughing, my father quietly cut leeks from the vegetable garden, gave a few eggs to the decentralized student, and taught him how to scramble eggs with leeks. You know, at that time, a few eggs had to be exchanged for oil and salt in a small store. As a result, our children didn’t even eat egg drops that week. Later, this devolved student returned to the city and became a city official. One day, this former decentralized student went to my house to visit my father and paid for it. My father said to me: In life, you should still do good deeds. Good people will be rewarded. Good people will be rewarded. This earthy belief or desire must be paved with a kind heart. In my memory, my father never paid for helping neighbors. In my father’s words: Who’s next door neighbor doesn’t have difficulties? It’s right to help. My father has a lot of strength. Prose of a Monologue from the Deep Soul Part 8

One day, my father suddenly suffered from unbearable stomach pain. Let him go to a big hospital in the city, no matter what. After a few days of treatment by the village doctor, my stomach began to swell. Under the force of his children, his father was admitted to a larger hospital. It was diagnosed that his father's schistosomiasis was not completely cured when he was young, causing a ruptured spleen, and he had to undergo two surgeries. The originally thin father's face became even more haggard, his body became even thinner, and his movements were a bit slow.

At that time, I had just started working, and my father refused to spend a lot of money. My father said: Go home for treatment, you can be cured just like you are at home. I know my father is worried about money. Every time the doctor came for rounds, my father didn't ask about the condition, but how much it cost. One day, my father simply ran out of the hospital by himself. There was really nothing I could do, but my condition improved a little and my father was discharged from the hospital. From then on, my father's illness and health became my concern and heartache.

My father still does manual labor and is still busy all day long. Every time I go home and see my father losing weight, I force him to rest. One day, my father got really angry: If you want me to wait for death, why not let me die now? My father said: For a person who is used to working, being idle is more uncomfortable than being sick. The children had no choice but to let him do some leisure work, hoping that their father would gradually get better. I hope that the mountain and spiritual pillar of my family will not collapse.

My father’s health is deteriorating. The mother said: "Your father wants to have a grandson." That moment was the happiest time in my father's life! When the grandson really appeared in front of his father's eyes, his sallow face showed a bright smile, and he burst into laughter! The father did not kiss his grandson affectionately. The father said: I am sick, so don’t infect my grandson; just keep him away and take a look.

My father cried, and so did I. These are tears of pain and happiness! This is the most sincere and beautiful emotion in the world! These tears are bitterer than coptis and sweeter than honey!

My father left, completing his short 69-year life; my father left forever, wearing a straw hat and cloth shoes, reluctant to leave, with pain and torture. But the father's voice, smile, and love will always be engraved in the children's hearts, engraved in the children's life trajectory, and flowed into the children's blood.

May my father be healthy and happy in heaven! Your children will miss you forever! Prose of a Monologue from the Deep Soul Part 9

The world is full of lies, but not every lie hides evil. Deception sometimes comes from a kind and loving heart.

In fact, everyone is equal before the truth, as long as you have enough patience, as long as you are willing to see what you see before making a decision.

Freedom is not about doing whatever you want, but having the ability not to do what you want.

If you want to know what a person lacks in his heart, look at what he shows off if you don’t look at anything else; if you want to know what a person is inferior to, look at what he hides if you don’t look at anything else.

God has two residences, one in heaven and one in the hearts of grateful people.

Fate is the excuse for losers, luck is the humble words for winners.

Privacy, sharing with one person is a confidant, sharing with a group of people is a blog, and sharing with the whole country is an "artistic life".

There are two kinds of emotions between men and women, one is called mutual affection, and the other is called forgetting each other in the world. Surround yourself with those who can love each other, and forget each other in the world with those who cannot love each other.

If a person lives according to his heart, he will either become a madman or a legend.

In countless dawns, evenings, and late nights, how many painful processes have been performed. Those hardships and unbearable pains will all be exchanged for the first meeting in this world.

Is failure bad? Every failure brings me closer to success. Successful people are like this. They keep failing, constantly reflecting, evolving again and again, and ruminating into wisdom.

When many children grow up, they also begin to pursue the visible happiness, and forget the invisible, huge, and simple happiness they had in childhood.

Life is such a strange process. We pursue fiercely, but the more we lose, the more we lose.

Even if the sky does not make people grateful, it will still stay there forever... Although we have not done anything that ordinary people think is great, even though our work is so insignificant, we still want to look at the sky . In order to remember it, in order to no longer be confused. Prose of a Monologue from the Deep Soul Part 10

The moonlight shakes the shadow, and I plant the flower of my soul under the moonlight. Thinking of the days passed, the flowers bloomed in the years. Maybe these flowers have a soul in my body.

Looking back, in the days when I was above the pure dust and moving forward selflessly, I lived a simple life with a smile, lightly recalled, and lightly told stories related to me. The scenery along the way left one after another. No matter beauty or sadness, regret or warmth, sadness or joy, they are all deeply or shallowly imprinted in the heart, and the fluff flows down to form the story situation.

A tender moonlight opened the door to my heart, and all the colors warmed under the moonlight, but my heart trembled in the wind.

The moonlight is like water, quietly flowing through the bamboo forest surrounded by flowers and plants, and everything is cast in a psychedelic color. The soul is swimming in a green dream, but I don't know if this dream has a blooming period. Perhaps at some time in the years, the fragrance of the flowers will be carefully treasured. The falling of flowers is also an indispensable part of life, so we must accept the pain of life calmly.

The slightly cold rain soaked the bluestone and my clothes, but it made me leave soberly. Walking in time, I am still me, without any change, just as fragrant as before.

Why do the same stories have different tastes when told by different people? Walking together through the bamboo forest and rain alley, the story of sinking is so cold and desolate. It's like the mess after a feast, with people scattered everywhere. Thinking of it now, I can still feel the indifferent coolness and feel a lingering fear in my heart. But my story is so simple, like the pure moonlight passing through my heart, with the slightest warmth. Pure beauty and childishness dance in the depths of my memory, just like those flowers in the valley, blooming shyly.

Flowers bring freshness and coolness of the night, calming the hustle and bustle, exuding a faint fragrance, and savoring the unique fragrance. Telling the same story, I just want to touch real people.

The Phoenix has reached nirvana, but I am helpless in the face of the cold desolation.

I was at a loss. Some of the longed-for beauty suddenly passed away and lost its original taste. What was left were just some inexplicable and unnecessary incomplete fragments, which became the pain that my soul could not touch. My memory is in disarray, preventing me from settling my feelings of exile. The sky is still so blue and deep. At this moment, I just want to embrace beauty and a world with clear water and bright mirrors. When I was tired, I took a nap in the rain pavilion of the deep bamboo forest, drank a cup of coffee, and savored the joys and sorrows of the world.

Practice. Forget about the world, plant a flower of the soul to water, cultivate it purely, and wait silently for the spring to bloom.