A little sunshine this morning has been an elixir for the soul. We have had a few days of cloudy, drizzly weather, with washing piling up and little opportunity to work in the garden. That's nothing to complain about, of course, because we desperately need rain and lots of it. So I hope it begins again soon, never mind the first world inconvenience. A greater good is served.

Wang Fan Chih (Mr Fang, Buddhist layman) lived during a period of turmoil during the late Tang in the 9th Century. Like many before and after, the Tang lost the "Mandate of Heaven", as insurrections, natural disasters and court intrigues took a toll. As a result Wang may come across as a little cruel or even cynical, but writers are creatures of their times. He seems to have been keen to prove the Noble Truth that "life is suffering" and in doing so, sounds a little like the original angry man. Or men, since he is probably representative of a group of writers at that time.

XIX

Life, death, like falling stars,
can flash so fast, or else come
floating, slow and silent, down.
First comers, dead ten thousand years,
in a finishing flash of sparks.
Next those dead just a thousand years, the Ma
and the bones they thought were stones are just
dirt, now.
And coming on, this flesh of mine, flown on ahead
of me
a hundred years and in the tomb, already