山中看奇岩

告別繁忙緊繃的一週，又逢週六。清晨微雨，帶來幾許秋的蕭瑟。中午雖然放晴，桌山上的雲仍未離開。原本想去獅頭山，途中見纜車午後開放，便起了再上桌山的念頭。上週在藍天下邂逅帝王花，翠谷之中花隨風搖曳。今日雲霧未散，又會見到怎樣的風景？

纜車緩緩升空，十二使徒峰隱在雲霧之中，豪特灣亦若有若無。山上遊客不多，沿木橋而行，偶然發現一條小徑，沿西岸峭壁蜿蜒。遠望使徒峰綿延，大西洋翻湧其下。途中幾處高低落差，須順鐵梯攀行。

山岩忽然多了起來。

岩石形態奇特，有的如獸伏崖邊，有的如古塔孤立，有的層層疊疊，如時間沉積的頁頁書頁。微雨初歇，石面仍濕，陽光穿過雲隙，在岩石上投下深淺不一的陰影。那些紋理與裂縫，宛如歲月留下的刻痕。

忽然想到心齋居士一句：

樓上看山，城頭看雪，燈前看月，
舟中看霞，月下看美人，另是一番情境。

誠哉斯言。山中看奇岩，亦有情境。

蒼茫山色，岩石兀立峰巔。微雨過後，石面猶濕，光影之間深淺可辨。浮雲在天地間瀟灑流浪，而山岩默然佇立無語。桌山之岩，多為古老砂岩，原是遠古海底沉積之沙，歷億萬年壓實而成，又經風雨侵蝕，遂化為今日嶙峋之形。細看岩層紋理，層層如頁，彷彿歲月頁頁翻過。

山岩之美，歲月化石也。

立於山岩之前，不禁感歎生之短促。人之一生，不過數十寒暑；而這些岩石，卻見過多少雲起雲落、海潮往返，多少雙悲憫的眼睛，注視著人間歲月。而悠悠歲月，永恆究竟可否？

望天，觀海，問岩。何謂剎那即永恆？

風過無言，岩亦無語。

忽然心中自答：

放下永恆戀，但守真實念。

山風忽起，抹來雲濃，方才清朗山水頓時朦朧。秋風微冷，霧氣濕衣，不宜久留。遂折返，回望歲月悠悠，磊磊桌山雲霧中。

Watching Strange Rocks in the Mountain

(Revised 2026)

After a week of tense and relentless work, Saturday arrived again. A light rain in the early morning carried with it a touch of autumnal desolation. Though the sky cleared by noon, the clouds upon Table Mountain had not yet departed. I had intended to go to Lion’s Head, but on the way I saw that the cableway to Table Mountain would reopen in the afternoon. The thought arose—why not ascend the mountain once more?

Just last week, beneath a blue sky, I encountered the king protea, its blossoms swaying in the emerald valleys with the wind. Today the mist still lingers. What kind of landscape awaits me now?

The cable car rose slowly. The Twelve Apostles were veiled in drifting cloud, and Hout Bay appeared only faintly, as if half erased. There were not many visitors on the summit. Walking along the wooden walkway, I happened upon a small trail that wound along the western cliffs. From there the Apostles stretched endlessly, while the Atlantic surged below. In several places the height dropped sharply, and iron ladders had to be climbed to continue.

Suddenly the rocks began to appear in great numbers.

Their forms were strange and varied: some crouched at the cliff’s edge like beasts, some stood solitary like ancient towers, others layered upon one another like pages of time sedimented into stone. The rain had just passed; the rock surfaces were still damp. Sunlight slipped through the gaps in the clouds and cast uneven shadows across them. Their veins and fractures looked like the marks carved by passing ages.

I suddenly recalled a line by Master Xinzai:

To view mountains from a tower,
snow from the city walls,
the moon by lamplight,
rosy clouds from a boat,
or beauty beneath the moon—
each offers its own realm of feeling.

How true these words are.

To watch strange rocks within the mountains is another such realm.

Amid the vast mountain hues, the rocks stood upright upon the peaks. Clouds wandered freely across heaven and earth, while the rocks remained silent. Clouds came and went; the rocks spoke nothing. These rugged stones were once grains of sand settled upon an ancient seabed. Through countless millennia they endured wind and rain: sea winds eroding them, water seeping into their cracks, heat and cold alternating—until inch by inch the cliffs were carved into the forms we see today.

If time had a shape, it would be these rocks.

The beauty of rock is the fossil of time.

Standing before them, I could not help but sigh at the brevity of human life. A human lifetime spans but a few decades, yet these rocks have witnessed innumerable clouds rising and dissolving, tides advancing and retreating, and countless compassionate eyes gazing upon the passing years of the world.

But in this long flow of time—can eternity truly be attained?

I looked upward to the sky, outward to the sea, and asked the rocks.

What is the instant that becomes eternity?

The wind passed without answer.

The rocks remained silent.

Then suddenly, within my own heart, an answer arose:

Let go of the longing for eternity;
guard only the sincerity of the present.

At that moment the clouds opened slightly. Sunlight emerged, and Hout Bay appeared again in the distance. A pale silver shimmer spread across the sea.

A mountain wind rose, drawing clouds back over the sky. The clear landscape quickly faded into mist. The autumn wind was cold; the fog dampened my clothes. It was not a place to linger.

So I turned back.

Looking once more behind me, the long ages of time seemed to settle quietly into the drifting clouds of Table Mountain.