Life is too long

As a Wolf, I really shouldn't keep wondering: Where did this river come from?

If you focus on this problem, the next thing you think is: Where is it going?

There are many problems in the world, in fact, it is never possible to find the answer, if you do not understand this point, even as a Wolf, will make his life full of trouble.

But I happened to be such a very clear but unrepentant Wolf.

No matter who, in his life, there must be a place where he can say what he wants, and a person to whom he can say what he wants. Isn't it?

Although the Wolf's life is not long, but more than ten years, but in this never easy to alms-giving world, if you can't find such an object or place, the life will be too long, too long.

But I don't think there's anything better than a place where you can say what you want.

I should say, as a Wolf, I am lucky, in this deep mountains and forests, can meet such a vast river. I do not know what else in this world can belong to me, nor do I know what other wolves have, but I know that the river is mine and mine alone.

The river is noisy and silent.

Whenever I lead my pack along the river in search of food, I cast a glance at it, and I can't help but wonder who split the mountains of the earth so that the river can go where it wants to go, and I have to stand guard in the territory of our pack?

And when I was alone along the river, surveying the territory of our pack, I would stop in my haste and sit for a long time on the bank, watching him go away unrestrained and unrestrained, always thinking that he would carry away my confused thoughts, which are not what a Wolf should be...

It doesn't matter where.

My restless heart, at least for a moment, was able to settle down as I silently watched my topsy-turvestiges of my thoughts and the faint words I had spoken to them go away with the water.

I stood still looking down at the rushing river, wondering if it had doubts, troubles?

And what drives it on, day after day, relentlessly, without asking or saying anything, to a place that may or may not have a result, may or may not have a purpose, may or may not have an end, may or may not have an end?

Does it have a home, and if it does, it doesn't mind going away? Or is it willing to wander?

Where does it come from, and even if it comes from, how did it come from?

Perhaps omniscient humans can answer these questions. But all human answers are so irrelevant, so irrelevant, just like their explanations to us.

They can't even tell their own story, so how can they tell ours? But then again, who has ever met a man who can explain himself?

I made a mistake, almost put the impossible answer to the answer, on something else's answer.

If certain beings, already unable to face the awkwardness of their world, embolden themselves by the representation of something seemingly stronger than themselves, their world is on the verge of collapse.

Has anyone seen us wolves or lions or leopards... Will use this hidden untold secrets deduction, to give themselves courage, to cross over themselves, to get out of their own predicament?

No, we never do that. We wolves, leopards, lions, when we feel that the world is hopeless and that we have no future, we will choose to leave, rather than linger on in this way.

...

My searching eyes penetrated the river, even to the bottom. It turned out that underneath the seemingly palpable river was nothing but unfathomable darkness and emptiness, and that the so-called river was nothing but a groundless flow suspended above the darkness.

I could see how it had changed, how different it had been, how it could not help being worn away by the streamer. Of course, it would have been hard to notice how narrow, decayed, and overburdened it seemed to be, if I had not watched over it every day. It was as if the promontory had been blunted, not as sharp as before. Do I want it to still be sharp? Isn't it bad to be dull?

Great river of time! To change everything that seems immutable, to turn everything perfectly on its back...

The river of time or the river in front of me, which makes me more enchanted? I think I'd rather give up time. But don't I often want to reclaim the river of time that has passed?

It was as if I was caught in the middle of these two rivers.

After all, is the river not free from the world? No matter where it goes, it's still stuck in this boring world.

So, the question I once wondered: Will rivers ever grow old? Will there ever be a day when you get tired of living... This is nonsense.

As a lead Wolf, I knew I was the best at wading our pack, leading their hunt, organizing and controlling them.

The way I waded out was rich in prey, the shortest distance from all the targets, and the most important thing was safe and less rough.

I ran as fast as the wind. It was not running, so to speak, but lightning, sky light, thunder.