Separated by a line of thin bars, it is only an inch apart between these two worlds. I often watch this world from the other side - I am superstitious and very afraid of being caught and snagged by those wronged wandering souls. In this late autumn afternoon, warm sunrays gently touches the hills covered by thick motley leaves, even the most restless souls should be soothed. Walking and visiting their homes, marked by names (things seem to be more clear here), the first time I watch the other world from this side, and know for sure people are no more living in this world while sincerely wishing people really alive on the other side.
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Afterthoughts: I often study those old faces, weather-beaten, among the audience in a theatre, and see a sign of waiting - "there is not much I can do anymore." I often follow the rushing steps of middle-aged men and women on the street, and feel the unbearable heaviness of being - "I have but to fulfill the myriad responsibilities," which reminds me of Old Faithful in Yellowstone who dutifully discharges in a predictable manner. I often hear the burst of laughter from young girls next door, which may sound silly sometimes, but, still, I envy them for their overflowing energy, boldness, desire and joy. Is it possible to keep a youthful heart throughout our lives? How can we renew our passion from time to time? What does it take to transcend the tedious and ordinary to exuberance, and unhappiness to creativity?