Waterfall and the Rock

Xu Daran

　　In my vivid and dramatic landscape, you are the aloof and pure white waterfall yet unknown to others. It is just because of your aloofness that you fall so miserably, vainly trusting yourself to the valley. You tumble and rumble, then form a clear pond. You play with the foam you make. When the pond can no longer bear you, it pushes you aside; and then you gurgle all the way to the sea where you ripple away.

　　Early in the morning sunlight, streaming down through a dark place, ties you up and makes shadows for you to jump in. No matter how hard you try, you can not free yourself from it. The sunlight even thinks your surroundings are still not splendid enough; thus, it tints you with colours. This is still unsuitable for your character. You mean to avoid this trouble at night, but sometimes as the moon beams do reach you with dim and soft streams of light, that makes your folk song brightened.

　　Your folk song is always overflowing with enthusiasm, but even at night you can’t get anywhere with it. Although your folk song is exciting and full of the indignation of a marching song, it just makes the trees around you sigh while they swing back and forth. Since living in such a boisterous sounding environment, the trees continue to sigh day in day out.

　　The birds have been here, but they can not peck at your aloofness or rest upon your foam of purity and no matter how they sing in chorus, they can not match you. Besides, your clatter makes the pond fishless. Birds don’t like to build their nests in trees that rustle all the year round, so they fly away.

　　The wind is always here. It can’t carve anything on you, for you are always excited and it can’t take you away, either. As soon as it exerts itself, you would fight with it and become tangled together. If wind comes here angrily and brings rain, after being showered for a long time, you become excited as well. Thus, you fall down regardless of the flood you make below, for you feel yourself not heroic enough.

　　As you are water, you can’t fall to your death; thus, you are always heroic. Actually, you don’t have yourself. It is just because you are constantly pushed ahead by hind water, so you have to forever march forward. And when you can’t march any further, you jump down with cries and shouts. You are always dancing, you have no time to think and you feel you have nothing to praise.

　　What can’t be praised is just anger without knowing what you are hollering for! You fall into your own cries and shouts. You hear your own claps. Although your excitement can’t move the indifference of the mountains, you still persist in displaying your power. However, you feel lonely; for you haven’t yet been discovered for the power you are so eager to generate.

　　In your wordless description, what you refuse to accept is being a waterfall in seclusion. You would prefer to be a stone in the brook without a bridge. It’s hard and not afraid of the furious currents. It’s small but protrudes from the water and becomes a stepping stone. It does not value nobility or magnificence, nor does it care whether it’s ever discovered or not.