Coming empty-handed, going empty-handed -- that is human. When you are born, where do you come from? When you die, where do you go? Life is like a floating cloud that appears. Death is like a floating cloud that disappears. (Korean poem) See, I am the whitest cloud that strays Through a deep sky: I am your senses’ crossroads, Where the four seasons lie. (Philip Larkin) In my room, the world is beyond my understanding; But when I walk I see that it consists of three or four hills and a cloud. (Wallace Stevens)