First I argued with my heart. Then I listened to my heart. Then I rested in my heart. Then I dissolved. Now there is only a plum blossom.
But a vague memory lingers, the memory of a story; it seems so long ago. The story of a journey, a struggle, a mountaintop. Such melodrama! A tale of struggle and quest affirmed by countless ancient books, myths, saints, prophecies, rituals. All over now, like a dream.
What remains is the radiance of the heart, the grace of the heart molding figures out of light, dissolving figures into light. Selah. No quest, no struggle, no mountain top: only the miraculous opening of a plum blossom.