South China 2020/2021

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I am drawn to desolate, uninhabited lands. Their pervasive bleakness awakens an unconventional kind of beauty. This rare sensation is something subtle, vaguely familiar yet utterly unaccountable, defying all words. All my life I have wondered: what would the farthest place my feet could reach look like? I long to travel and to shed, to cast aside every possession I carry until nothing remains. With the passage of time, the value of things shifts drastically across space and time — yet few are able to truly realise this truth. Those who race onward through life act out of necessity, and so they travel, always haggard and worn. I have run along smooth paths for so long that open ground ahead has turned into a pitted, tangled wilderness overgrown with thorns. Will my unprotected limbs endure the journey forward? Swarms of insects, venomous serpents, and thorned roses lie in wait. Standing atop the last knoll of life, I gaze at what little I hold: water and food, perhaps the most trivial things of all. Early in my journey, as I passed through humanity’s greatest cities, I reluctantly discarded possessions worth a hundred‑fold more than the food and water I carry now. I have threaded through humanity’s intricate traps; I have fallen, lain flat at the bottom, tempted to surrender all futile resistance. Still, I journeyed past prosperity toward desolation. This longing for bleakness may spring from deep, unknowable sources. A primal force drives us onward, fuelling every step. I understand I must abandon my last remaining belongings. They will become a burden as I cross this wilderness, and letting go shall become my impulse to advance.

No trace of humankind lingers across these open reaches. City din, the rigid straight lines and complexities of man‑made things vanish entirely. In their place lies untamed nature in total disorder: broken boughs and scattered foliage, nameless flowers blooming one after another. Their hues are steadily dissolved by dark, fetid soil. Radiance and colour are fleeting; transience defines every living thing. Brief as they are, blossoms and brilliant shades press boldly to the outermost tips of branches. I strive to remember these nameless flowers through their colours. In an instant, a flood of tones surges into my sight. Once they blazed so brilliantly, their glow like the very first sunlight of existence — incomprehensible, unforgettable. Darkness must be absolute, for only utter darkness can make light blaze forth, letting sunlight traverse time and space. I still recall the moment before my eyes opened: light pierced the skin covering my lids, burning them like searing flame. That burn is a pain I cannot forget. When my eyes flew open and light streamed through my pupils, the familiar darkness was transformed. I watched it recede beneath sunlight, and that single shaft of light stays etched in my mind. Regrettably, I can never hold onto endless myriad hues. I reduce them to abstractions: red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue, violet. Form complements colour; I remember them by their shapes. Yet all of them shall return to the earth, to decay and stench.

Beneath my feet rise swathes of purple blossoms, surging outward from their roots amid layers of green foliage. They bear a strange form: trumpet‑shaped blooms veined through which fluid rushes swiftly toward the rim of each petal. Though their outward curl seems patterned, no two petals curve identically. Up close, every flower is utterly unique. Stems and branches channel vital force, fashioning incomparable beauty at each petal’s edge. Just as I think I have grasped the full truth of life, thread‑like stamens eject with agonising slowness from the heart of each bloom. Upon each tip rests something like a projectile. Launched forth, they arc toward the void of outer space — the direction where darkness retreats. The tips still tremble. I peer sideways into that black emptiness. Do these flowers yearn for darkness, or fire life’s final, ultimate projectile into it?

My legs are trapped within this purple sea. Having discharged their final vital burst, the flowers begin their descent. Branches and leaves slowly yellow; vivid purple fades into dusky blue, sinking back into the black earth. Yet they do not vanish entirely. Beneath my skin I feel the writhing force of life, urging me forward. Ahead, life in countless colours blooms without cease. Yellow sunflowers stand there, bearing the strength I know well.

When the world turns sallow, I sink from standing to lying flat. The Milky Way unfolds above me. Cool winds settle over all, bringing tranquillity. All the nameless flowers that struggled through the day now bow low. Like me, they rest upon the earth, watching the Milky Way spin its tales, awaiting the full moon to pour forth its power. A melody drifts from afar, the promise of moonlight yet to come. Under its spell the flowers will slumber, their colours gathering strength anew. No need to grieve fading branches or draining colour. The Milky Way rules the night; its stories outshine all fleeting brilliance. It eases the agony of loss for all living things. Meteors streak across the firmament, their rush merging with night‑wind’s rhythm. My eyes grow soft and hazy. It is a familiar tenderness, yet like the petals, though it recurs, every instance bears fresh meaning. Stems and blossoms brush gently over my body stretched across the ground. Drowsiness draws me to merge with them. In my final glance I behold the Milky Way after the meteors pass. Every glimmering star unfurls a nameless flower of distinct hue, blooming in such breathtaking splendour that I lose all sense of self.

Flowers are spirits.

They need no names.

Their radiance craves no praise.

Like the Milky Way in the dark,

let the darkness deepen still further —

for only darkness makes light visible,

and colours burn all the brighter.

Do not fear sudden outbursts,

nor question where life shall go.

Boundless energy teaches us:

all things move along the wheel of rebirth.

I would be a nameless purple flower.

Let my radiance dwell within unreasoning shadow.

Abandon material things, even the very source of energy.

Do not let form confound you.

Flowers have no fixed shape; fragrance is a soft delirium.

Let everything fall.

Streak across the night sky.

Burn brightest.

Purple.