Friday, October 17, 2014

What Love Means (情为何物?)

I am in no position to give advices concerning love affairs for I am only an occultist. Having said so, there are just too many people with love problems came to me in the hope to call back their lost loves.


Before I go on, let me quote two famous sentences form the work “catching fish-remarks from goose grave” (摸鱼儿·雁丘辞) by a famous writer, Yuan Haowen (元好问) from Jin and Yuan Dynasty:



“I ask the world: what love means? It is a binding affair until the death.”


Poets and writers normally described loves as poignant and enchanting, but for an astrology standpoint; love cannot be kept by whatever means. When love comes, one has to embrace it; when love turned sour, then we will have to let it go. There is no other means to retain a lost love. The more we grasp onto the faded love, the sadder we shall become and hence loosing sights of further coming opportunities. Regardless of if what religion said, we only live once and most of the time, there is no second chance.


In case of anyone wanting to bring back lost loves, I would advise just to let go: if the person is destined to be his/hers; then he/she shall come back by his/her own. To me, there is nothing such as ‘die together’ or ‘fatal love affairs’. My worries are that too many people who came to me showing a tendency of hurting themselves and their lost loves.


In fact, embracing and letting go is part of our life learning; without letting go, then we shall simultaneously lose sight of coming opportunities too. If you wonder the full posting of “catching fish” is as below:




问世间、情是何物,直教生死相许。 天南地北双飞客,老翅几回寒暑。 欢乐趣,离别苦。就中更有痴儿女,君应有语, 渺万里层云,千山暮雪,只影为谁去。 横汾路,寂寞当年萧鼓。荒烟依旧平楚,招魂楚些何嗟及。 山鬼自啼风雨,天也妒。未信与、莺儿燕子俱黄土。 千秋万古。为留待骚人,狂歌痛饮,来访雁邱处。


Catching Fish


Asking this world, what love means? It is a thing that binds even to the death.

The guest that flies to and fro from the southern sky to the northern earth,

With these aged wings repeatedly for a few winters and summers.

The happiness is fun while the separation is sorrowful.

There are yet some silly men and ladies;

You would say:

“In the remote miles of clouds,

after thousands of mounts and evening snows;

for whom this lonely silhouette heading towards?”

The road that cross the river,

The loneliness of deserted war drums,

Isolated smoke still rises on the piece of vast ground,

Even that I have summoned lost souls of previous battlefield,

No one had come.

The howling of mountain spirits transforms into wind and rain,

Even the sky has shown its jealousy.

If you do not believe, then look at the orioles and swallows;

Aren’t they already buried into the yellow soil?


Over thousands and millions of years,

All that only waits for a poet,

Come here to sing wildly and get drunk,

Come and visit the grave of goose.

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