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This Ocean of Return - 返本归原, Fǎnběn guī yuán
(ambient waves, soft wind, distant seabirds, slow deep gong tone)
Opening: Settling the Body
Let your body soften like tidal flats after warm rains.
Feel the weight of your breath… returning to you.
Inhale - rising. Exhale - receding.
Like the sea, you do not cling. You rise. You return.
[Visual: tide brushing over footprints, softening edges; breathing synced with ebb and flow]
Wave: What Comes, Returns
Before you, a wave lifts from the wide sea. It crests - not to conquer - but to complete its arc.
You watch it rise, translucent and trembling - gold at the edges - and then it falls.
Not broken.
Not lost. Simply returned.
Each breath mirrors this. Form drawn from formlessness - and, in its time, falling back again.
Inhale - rising. Exhale - receding.
This…
is 返本归原, Fǎnběn guī yuán Return to the root. Return to the origin.
Your thoughts also rise like waves. Let them.
And let them return.
[Visual: a golden wave building slowly, breaking, dissolving beneath the surface; camera lingers underwater as bubbles rise and fall]
Bird: The Sky and the Ground Are Not Separate
A seabird soars - wings outstretched like brushstrokes of intention.
The Sky welcomes its turning. The Wind cradles its flight.
The Sun lights its every swoop and arc.
The salt air carries its every call.
But the seabird does not stay in flight forever. It circles… and glides downward. Landing is not failure.
It is fidelity.
This…
is 返本归原, Fǎnběn guī yuán. Return to the root. Return to the origin.
Each breath: Form drawn from formlessness - and back again.
Inhale - rising. Exhale - receding.
You too may glide into stillness and know it as your nature. The Sky does not mourn the bird’s return to Earth.
[Visual: seabird silhouetted against clouds, circling wide, landing on driftwood; feathers ruffling in the breeze]
Fish: The Beauty of a Brief Ascent
From the deep, a fish leaps - a silver flash, trailing waterlight.
For a moment... it is Sky-sworn.
Then the arc softens, and it slips beneath the blue again.
No triumph.
No regret.
This…
is 返本归原, Fǎnběn guī yuán. Return to the root. Return to the origin.
Each breath: Form drawn from formlessness - and back again.
Inhale - rising. Exhale - receding.
You too contain moments of surfacing - clarity, longing, reach.
And you too are allowed to return.
There is wisdom in surrender.
[Visual: shimmering fish breaching the surface in slow motion; droplets frozen in the sun, then fading into ripples as it vanishes below]
Boat: The Journey is the Circle, Not the Line
A boat, long at sea, is nearing its home harbor. It's nets at rest.
A lantern swings.
It left port with hunger - It returns with understanding.
The dock emerges from fog, unchanged, but something within the boat is different.
This is not going back.
This is coming home.
This…
is 返本归原, Fǎnběn guī yuán. Return to the root. Return to the origin.
Each breath: Form drawn from formlessness - and back again.
Inhale - rising. Exhale - receding.
You too carry the sea in your wake. Let your arrival be gentle. Let yourself dock without apology.
[Visual: old skiff gliding through gentle mist, lantern casting soft halos, figures onshore welcoming with stillness]
Tide: What Was, Becomes
The tide does not take. It exchanges.
What one shore releases, the other receives.
See how the tide rises - creeping into crevice, barnacle;
Submerging limpet, algae.
See how it withdraws - revealing pools of glinting memory;
Reviewing new dunes of seashell.
Breath is just the same:
Each inhale - gathering. Each exhale - offering.
Give and receive.
Each side of the ocean is the same ocean.
Return is reunion.
This…
is 返本归原, Fǎnběn guī yuán. Return to the root. Return to the origin.
Each breath: Form drawn from formlessness - and back again.
Inhale - rising. Exhale - receding.
[Visual: high-tide time-lapse overtaking rocks, light shifting as clouds pass overhead, stars blinking into view]
Closing: Dwell in the Root
Now all things return -
The wave.
The bird.
The fish.
The boat.
The tide.
All dissolve into silence.
Your personality has also risen -
like the wave, the bird
Like the fish, the boat
Like the tide.
Let it.
And, in its time, let it return.
A Life is just the same:
Each lifetime - a gathering. Each life - an offering.
Here in this stillness - there is no wave.
No self.
No sea.
Only breath. Only origin.
無極, Wújí - that which is not yet anything - because it is everything...and nothing.
This is where you rest.
Beneath form.
Before beginning.
Return to the root.
Inhale - rising.
Return to the origin.
Exhale - receding.
Return to yourself just as Sky returns to dawn.
[Visual: final dissolve to mirrored ocean and sky, still horizon line, all motion suspended - nothing moving but the breath]
Thank you.
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