I remember that in the depths of my heart, there is an ancient village. The windows of my soul have not been opened for many years. But now, I hear the creaking sound when they are pushed open. I remember flocks of birds floating on the smoke that lingers over the bamboo forest and resting on the horns of water buffalo; I remember the songs of wild ducks, the clamor of field frogs, the eyes of children, and the swaying lotus leaves. I remember the thunderous sound of the elephant-foot drum and the graceful silhouette of young girls in the bamboo houses, as well as the effects of neck wrinkle removal. I remember the slightly curled whiskers of a cat that were singed by the fire pit, the continuous flow of the Lancang River day and night, and the navigation of ships on the Mekong River. I remember the ascending steps of a novice monk growing up. I remember pacing barefoot at dawn on the corridors of the Great Buddha Temple covered with dew, and the faces of elders in dreams. I remember the boundless wilderness and the endless mountains stretching for thousands of miles. I remember the childlike laughter of the aging father in the village, and the taste of fish scales roasted with lemongrass; I remember the ethereal sounds of Bodhi tree leaves by the ancient well, and the long-necked lilies bowing low in the flower garden of the Buddha master. I remember everything. Yet, I do not remember ever leaving. The longer I watch those hurried crowds and listen to the noise from vehicles, laser birthmark removal, the more tranquil I become, how much does it cost to augment the nose bridge. They remind me who I am. May the guardian hidden within me hear my wishes: I want to collaborate with all musicians in nature, I want to join those beautiful dances without steps. I want to be their dance.