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Chapter 34 - The Lake Of Autumn In Seattle, Washington, and neighboring Redmond, autumn is the season of drizzling rain. Many people know that Seattle is a city with heavy rainfall, but they might not know that most of the rainfall is concentrated in autumn. Here comes the rain again, like a thin veil, a light fog from the freeway far, far away. The sound of the raindrops is very clear, like the neighing of tens of thousands of horses who have been given free rein. On Lake Sammamish, the rain is creating more ripplings. The lake of autumn is interconnected to the rains of autumn. Lake and rain, rain and lake, they revolve inside my consciousness. Both rain and lake are in my heart, turning and turning at length. "Master, it's raining. Please take an umbrella!" "Please put on a raincoat!" But, I just smile, "I am used to the rain." Many disciples are already familiar with my habit. I liked to get wet in the rain when I was in Taiwan and now, overseas, I enjoy getting wet in the rain even more. The longer I stay in the rain, the more fulfilled I am! How can one let the rain turn into dust? What is rain? It is the tears of the gods in heavens, sweet springs sprinkled by dragons, the detergent of the land. It is also my outpouring determination to cultivate; it is my inspiration. In the drizzling of rain, I have learned and experienced a great deal. Rain at Lake Sammamish produces many ripplings and dreams. Often I go by myself to look at Lake Sammamish's rain. In autumn, the season of slight chill, all the water- playing crowds from the summer days are gone, all the yachts and speed boats are gone and, what is left is a slice of chilly fog and a slice of green water. A kind of melancholy creeps into the heart as if all these sceneries are the distant murmurs of autumn. The parading of rain on the lake seems like a sneering sound, or perhaps a kind of arrogance or, rather, a poet's reading. In any case, it is a combination of all kinds of sounds mixed together, all pervading and limitless. This rain, sometimes pouring its heart out, can wash away the dirt of the land. Tens of millions of lines of serenity fall elegantly into the heart of the lake. All around the lake, Leaves are already falling. Falling leaves dropping on me seem to fall into my heart. Leaves on a tree, losing their grasp of the branches, fall down and chill to death amid the rain and wind of autumn. What does this signify? Actually this is transmigration. Rain, descending into the heart of the lake, is turned into water and, when the water meets the sun, it evaporates and turns into clouds; the clouds become rain. This is transmigration. It is the same with men's lives. The birth and death of men are transmigrations. Birth will be accompanied by death and death will be accompanied by birth. I sit in the rain in the small park; I can also sit in the rain on my own deck. I think of my life, which is comedy, tragedy, game, laughable clown show... all rolled into one. Is the rain a kind of wish coming true? The wish of the circular ripplings has come true in the form of rain dropping into the heart of the lake. The widening circles of ripples, one after another, are fantasies which, in the end, turn back into water and disappear. When all his strength is spent, the painful life of an ordinary man will vanish like the ripples. Perhaps an ordinary man of the mundane world has to struggle all his life, and yet all those results are just like the ripplings in a lake, making no waves. I find that people of the world are very miserable. I find that people of the world are walking toward death. I find that people of the world are very hollow in their life. The Lake Sammamish of autumn belongs to the rain, with fallen leaves everywhere and a slightly chilled wind blowing. When the rain falls, I am reminded of many, many things. What is rain? It is a loyal and sincere friend of this season, an ornament of a wonderful time. Perhaps autumn is the last bit of remaining strength of life, but the lake of autumn is also a kind of melancholy beauty. The fleeting clouds are also beautiful. The drizzling rain is also beautiful. The falling leaves are also beautiful. This is not strange at all. The lake of autumn gives one a feeling of melancholy, yet melancholy is also a kind of beauty. I have travelled from far, far away and am now staying temporarily by the lakeside of Lake Sammamish. Isn't all of this predestined? How very strange is fate, was it predestined tens of millions of years ago? This dream is but a circle of rippling water, a fall of rain. Holy-Red-Crown-Vajra-Master enjoys walking slowing in the rain by himself, free and independent. Walking alone through the months of ten thousand years. I think and I walk.
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