当我们说到“乾元之动”，我们通常想到的是那些宏大的、深不可测的瞬间：一个创意的诞生、一场重要决策之前的直觉、一句触动人心的话语。但其实，它也可以非常平凡，非常日常，比如——尿尿之前的那一念。

这听上去或许有些不敬，但身体的机制恰恰是最诚实的老师。想一想：当你身体积攒了一定的尿意，某一刻突然浮现出“我得去厕所”的念头，这个起念，从哪里来？在你还没有刻意思考它之前，它已经在身体里动了起来。这一动，正是乾元的节奏在身体层面上的自然显现。

乾元不是只存在于冥想里，也不是只在重大时刻才降临的神秘力量。它也在每一个自然的流动里。你看到一棵树摇曳，你会心一笑；你饿了，走进厨房做饭；你累了，身体自然而然地想坐下歇一歇。这些都不需要你费劲去计划，它们就是顺势发生的。这就是“无为而无不为”的深意。

那我们再回到尿尿的例子。有人会问，那一股尿液的排出，也算是乾元之动吗？这时候可以放下“是否”这种判断方式，而去感受整个过程是否顺畅、是否自然、是否让你觉得“嗯，就是这个时候”。如果是，那它就带着乾元的气息。不是尿液本身有神性，而是那一整套顺势而为的动机链里，没有刻意、没有挣扎，它就是那么地应时发生。

而一旦我们开始过度干涉，比如觉得“我现在不该上厕所，会不会被别人误会我逃避会议”，或者“尿意来了不舒服，是不是我身体有问题”，这时候，第二念、第三念、乃至之后的思虑就加入了“我”的干涉。它并不代表乾元被切断了，而是那种原始的流动被人心的杂音打扰了。你还是可以去尿尿，但可能就不再那么顺了，甚至会开始怀疑“这是不是该控制、该压抑”。

乾元其实不会和人的判断相冲突，它只是走得比人的判断更早一步。它像晨光未亮之前，天边先有了一点泛白。你觉察到了，它就在那里；你没觉察，它也并不停止。那第一念：“我要尿尿”，是乾元动了。后面那一连串想法，有些是顺着它去理解身体的节奏，有些则是社会教化、恐惧、羞耻等层层叠叠的“习性”起了作用。

所以，并不需要划一个明确的分界点说，“这里是乾元，那边是人心”，因为它们没有泾渭分明的两岸。它更像是一条河流，原始的水从源头流出，沿路会经过岩石、树根、倒影、泥沙。有的部分清澈、有的部分混浊，有的部分滞缓、有的部分湍急。但整体来说，它都是水的流动，都是乾元在这具身体与意识里留下的痕迹。

真正的智慧，不是要去分辨每一个念头“到底是不是乾元”，而是学会听见那个最初的动念，在杂音未起之前，在情绪还未翻涌的时候，轻轻地、温柔地和它在一起。像一个老人静静地坐在门口，等着黄昏的风吹来。

一旦你熟悉这种动的质感，你甚至可以在想法还没成形前，身体已经先动了。比如手自然伸向水杯、脚自然走向窗前，脑子里没有剧本，但事情就发生了。这种“先动再懂”的节奏，是生命最本真的节奏。

而当我们越来越多地生活在这个节奏里，很多内耗其实就会消失。因为你不再强求自己“想明白才能行动”，也不会害怕“冲动就是魔鬼”。你知道有些动机不来自逻辑，而是那种微妙的“该了”的感觉。它不是推你去做，而是你在“刚好”的时机，就那么顺地走了出去。

所以说，尿尿这件事，其实是乾元的一堂隐秘课程。它提醒我们：别急着判定什么有意义、什么无意义；别急着在每一个念头上贴上“好”或“坏”的标签。当你愿意用同样的尊重去看待这些平凡的身体欲望，它们就不再是羞耻、也不再是琐碎，而是让你练习“顺着走”的一次机会。

乾元不挑舞台，也不挑时机，它就在你一呼一吸之间，在你起身、坐下、睁眼、闭目的每一个当下。

它只是等着你回头，听见那一声轻微的召唤：走吧，到了。

如夜话，至此。

英文版：

Let’s talk about something as ordinary as urinating. It might seem funny to bring this into a conversation about Qianyuan, but that’s precisely where the beauty lies—understanding the profound through the everyday.

Before you decide to urinate, there's usually a subtle sensation in the body, a pressure in the bladder, a signal from the body to the mind. Then comes the thought: "I need to go to the bathroom." That moment, that instant of awareness, is not separate from Qianyuan. It’s a ripple, a movement, a natural flow arising before your mind even names it. The body sensed something, and the mind followed.

Now, once the decision is made—once you actually go and the urine flows out—that, too, belongs to Qianyuan. Not because it's some sacred act, but because it's part of the uninterrupted flow of life. Qianyuan doesn’t only express itself in deep insights or big decisions. It’s just as present in digestion, in a breath, in the spontaneous shifting of your weight when you stand.

Many people ask, “Is there a point where Qianyuan stops and ‘I’ begin to interfere?” That’s a useful question, but it's also a slippery one. Because the very moment you start asking, the mind is already splitting one flow into two: natural vs. artificial, pure vs. polluted. But what if we drop that division? What if even the hesitation, the doubt, the layered thoughts—what if all of them are still waves on the same ocean?

When you feel the urge to pee and a thought follows, then another—"should I wait?", "is this a good time?", "there’s no bathroom nearby"—those are all expressions, too. They aren’t interruptions. They're just more texture. Sometimes Qianyuan moves like a stream in spring—smooth, open, effortless. Other times it curls in on itself, creating eddies, swirls, and loops. But it’s all water. It’s all flow.

The key is not to chase a dividing line that may not actually exist. It’s more helpful to ask: “Can I feel this moment as part of a continuous movement, even if my thoughts are busy?” When we stop obsessing about whether we’re ‘aligned’ or ‘off-track,’ we become more sensitive to the current beneath our thoughts. Even hesitation can have its rhythm. Even contradiction can carry warmth.

Qianyuan is not an ideal state you reach. It’s not that first pure impulse while everything that follows is suspect. That would be like saying the first note in a song is the only real music, and everything afterward is noise. But no—it’s all part of the melody, the build-up, the pauses, the tension, the release.

So yes, the thought "I need to pee," the pause, the negotiation with yourself, even the act of urination itself—they all ride on the same current. You don’t need to dissect the act to find its origin. Just let yourself feel it in full. Let your body be honest. Let your awareness stay close, without commentary.

There’s no need to over-spiritualize. Qianyuan is not a thing far away, hiding behind thoughts. It’s here, in your shifting body, in your biological urges, in how your foot finds balance when you stand up. It's how life quietly carries you before you even know where you're going.

And if you really want to listen, you’ll notice something beautiful: the body never lies. Even when the mind wavers, the body speaks. It might whisper, it might shout, but it always points to what is needed right now. And that honesty—that soft insistence—is Qianyuan expressing itself without needing to explain anything.

So the next time you catch yourself analyzing something as simple as peeing, smile. You’re not stepping away from the path. You’re on it. Right there. That’s the path walking itself, through you.