he multitude are merry, as though feasting on a day of sacrifice, Or like ascending a tower at springtime. I alone am inert, showing no sign (of desires), Like an infant that has not yet smiled. Wearied, indeed, I seem to be without a home. The multitude all possess more than enough, I alone seem to have lost all. Mine is indeed the mind of an ignorant man, Indiscriminate and dull! Common folks are indeed brilliant; I alone seem to be in the dark. Common folks see differences and are clear-cut; I alone make no distinctions. I seem drifting as the sea; Like the wind blowing about, seemingly without destination. The multitude all have a purpose; I alone seem to be stubborn and rustic. I alone differ from others, And value drawing sustenance from Mother (Tao).
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