Obsession is a Cage. An Unburdened Heart Finds Freedom.

Obsession is a cage. When your heart holds no attachments, you walk free.

All the profound mysteries of the world boil down to how we perceive things with our minds. Most people see life and death as an uncrossable chasm. But life and death are merely the passing of our physical bodies. What truly traps us is never the shadowy afterlife — it is the greed and bonds we refuse to let go of in our hearts. The study of fate and divination is not meant to predict good fortune or disaster. Its purpose is to awaken people through universal truths and ease inner strife.

One early autumn, a wandering Taoist priest traveled abroad. On a clear, calm day, he strolled along a lakeshore until he reached a remote spot, where he found an abandoned garden. Bamboo grew thick within it, old trees twisted their roots deep into the earth, and not a soul could be seen anywhere. The priest rested under a covered corridor in the garden. Weary from his journey, he soon fell into a deep sleep.

In his dream, a figure dressed in ancient robes stepped forward and bowed deeply to him. “This lonely place rarely receives honorable guests,” the figure said. “Meeting you today eases the loneliness I have endured for ages.”

The priest knew at once this was no living person, and asked about his story.

“I fled to this land during the chaos at the end of the Yuan Dynasty,” the figure replied. “When I died, I was buried right here. I fell in love with these waters and hills, and I never wished my spirit to return to my hometown. This garden has passed through more than a dozen owners, yet I remain here, unwilling to leave.”

The Taoist asked: “All living people fear death and cling to life. Why do you alone have no desire to be reborn as a human, to chase fame and wealth in the mortal world? Why choose to stay in this realm of spirits?”

“Life and death only change outward form,” the ghost answered. “Our true inner spirit remains unchanged, and the mountains, rivers and scenery stay the same. The setting sun over mountains, the clear wind and evening glow — living people can see them, and so can spirits. We may climb high to gaze far and recite poems to express our feelings, just as humans do. In that sense, what makes humans superior to spirits? There are deep, dangerous hidden lands that ordinary mortals can never reach, yet spirits may roam them with their soul. There are quiet, breathtaking nightscapes most people will never witness, which spirits can admire peacefully after dark. Sometimes spirits are freer than the living.

People fear death and cling to life because their hearts are chained by desire, tied to family and worldly affairs. To abandon everything and depart for the afterlife feels like a powerful official being forced to resign and retreat into the wilderness, filled with sorrow. But if a person is content with simple rural life, calm and unburdened, then facing life and death brings no grief at all.

The heart is the root of all things; obsession is our shackle. Our physical bodies are born and perish, yet our pure inner spirit does not vanish when flesh dies. Heavy obsessions trap us in mortal troubles. Without craving, one can find freedom even between the worlds of the living and the dead.”

The Taoist questioned again: “The cycle of rebirth is governed by divine beings, and good and evil follow fixed karmic laws. How have you escaped these bounds to stay here for so long?”

“Those who desperately seek rebirth are like officials chasing rank and glory,” the ghost said. “Every move they make is bound by the laws of the underworld. But those who have no wish to reincarnate are like hermits who turn away from empty fame. They follow only their own hearts. If your soul does not yearn to be reborn, the gods will not force you.”

The Taoist said: “Your mind is so broad and open. I imagine you have written many poems.”

“When inspiration comes, I may think of a line or two,” the ghost replied. “Most never become complete poems. Once the moment and scenery fade, the lines slip away, and I do not strive to recall them. Only a few fragments remain, worthy to share with a learned man.”

With that, he recited aloud: The last sunlight falls on empty hills; dim mist merges all in somber gray.

The Taoist listened, full of admiration. He was about to speak, when shouts from fishing boats and the banging of oars echoed across the lake. He woke abruptly, and the dream dissolved completely.