Long ago there was an immortal man
Who lived on the slope of Shooting Mountain.
Riding clouds and commanding flying dragons,
He did his breathing and supped on precious flowers.
He could be heard, but not seen.
Sighing sorrows and full emotions,
Self-tortured, he had no companion;
Grief and heartbreak piled upon him
"Study the familiar to penetrate the sublime"
But time is short and what's to be done?
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