Practitioners should meditate

I was still a child, and my name was Ziyue. My father and the masters always said that I was gifted and they didn’t give me toys to play with since I was a child. I was so envious of those little friends. They said that I was born noble and could not play with them, but I felt that they all had hands, feet and heads. What was the difference?

I am only 5 years old this year, and I am still smiling so much. They all have toys to play with, so why don’t I?

But my father was very kind sometimes. He would personally teach me calligraphy, teach me how to play the piano, and how to play the flute. These are the honors that others can only dream of.

Especially the concubines, as long as their father takes a look at them, their hearts will be filled with joy and their eyes will be full of joy. Looking at their watery eyes, the father seemed to have never been moved or distressed.

I once asked my father: "Do you have a heart?"

When I asked this question, my father told me that I should meditate when practicing cultivation, otherwise it would be easy to go crazy and the consequences would be disastrous. Thinking about it this way, I understand my father.

"But why can't I practice?"

My father told me profoundly: "Because I am still young and my body is still baby-like, so I cannot practice. If you force me to practice, my body may explode and die. If Ziyue explodes and dies, then I am really dead." I’m all alone.”

After hearing what my father said, I knew that I was different from others. Although I was confused, I still vaguely understood the meaning.

I just want to grow up quickly, practice quickly, and don’t let my father have any weaknesses!

"But Father, how can I grow up quickly?"

My father answered me thoughtfully: "If you want to grow up and practice cultivation, you have to cut off your heart, cut off your life veins, break your bones, waste life and death, and defy heaven...

But I am obviously fine by my father's side. My father is so powerful, and I can also take care of other things for him.

Father smiled slightly, touched my head, and strolled away without saying a word.

I also wrote the word "quiet mind" with a brush.

I stared at it for a long time, so long that I fell asleep on my stomach. In my sleep, it seemed as if my father had come again.

I rubbed my eyes, looked around with my peripheral vision, and fell back to sleep.