Night Walk Talk

The temperature doesn’t feel as frigid. Even at night, it remains high – at least twenty degrees, I presume.

Indeed. This city has witnessed the advent of summer – always as early, always as close. Spring is always a transiency, for which you expected for long, yet it passed, unaware.

So comes the summer, more of vibrancy. Days before, clouds appeared, painting the sky. Soon it shattered, torn, vanished. And as you once said, the man set out for another journey, another dream.

He has always been meditating. So as we are now.

My friend, how have you imagined the man on his journey? How have you depicted the figure?

I remember he spoke to many sages of the world. It was when he spoke to the firmament that he wore the hallowed robes of white. And he wielded ebony staff on his right hand, his right arm wrapped in cloths of white; and he handled a thousand-paged book on his left hand – a book that tells many.

No much can be told from his facial expression, though. But there is one notable feature of his, that his voice has dated back to the ancient times, heard only among the greatest ones. It has been said that the voice is the purest, most innocent.

So has he become the sage of his own. Imageries have not arisen from nowhere; that you have depicted yourself upon his own.

You might have acknowledged that as well.

The point is… Your mind is yet matured to undertake the knowledge. Be careful of yourself.

I will.

And what is the purpose of the night walk? Once you said you hate being nocturnal, yet you now seem to embrace the walk, alone.

For the purpose of summer, as said before. Nights of summer, breeze of summer. I was once torn apart – my vision was. Yet at the further back of my own, summer had been my memory, source of meditation.

Feel the breeze of summer – breeze of warmth, breeze of comfort. It reminds me of some recent past… my past in Macau.

Seldom have you travelled, yet it made every journey more than precious. Must have you cherished that piece of memory for more than twice.

Imageries of summer; what are they? Not merely the winds and the warmth; more have been aroused from it. It has evoked a particular feeling of my own, from my past, five years ago. It was then when I strolled across the streets under yellowish lights and swinged willows, at somewhere southern. Yes… for a night walk, at roads in the south. And it contained much of my happiness and delight, much of remembrance and rejoice. Only through the means of such could it be once again retrieved. Nevertheless, they are lost, no longer can be revived.

Too many have been lost.

Truly have they. Quite hard to imagine Macau has been two months ago… The test, the journey, they took place two months ago…

As you said, the lost ones are no longer resurrected. But they might once appear in your mind, for a short moment.

Indeed. Barely any one is present on this road. We are the lone walker.

It reminds me of the road of suffer, the road toward the sunrise – a dream you had two months ago… again the two months.

Indeed. The two months have been literature and poems, of many tales, many stories. And look, upon the corner of the train station; it’s an empty field.

I could witness the sky as dark, yet it seems to glow, expecting a beam of light that approaches.

And the light illuminates the entire firmament, into a greenish glint – it was the dawn.

It is the dawn, my friend, the dawn that dwells in your mind. It has appeared throughout the years, should you remember.

For many years. And I rewrote them as the Tower and the Sunrise, from the words of my own. Yet the words failed to be original.

Those scenes are never recorded with words. As you once said, words failed to describe your inner self – it must be experienced.

Perhaps you shall distract from the outer world for a brief moment; meditate on your own.

My vision has been enriched. And it says that it observed a lone man under the sky, three years ago. And it says that it observed a lone man in the villa, two years ago. And the same man appeared five years ago, six years ago.

Surely has there been many things to tell. We shall return.

Yea… I’m still curious about that kind of experience. Maybe tomorrow I should walk at somewhere southern. Nevertheless, it has been an inspiring night walk, a night walk talk.

Thus spoke the lone thinker, wandering by a train station at late night.