Thousands of Pearls Spilling Onto a Glass Plate

Perhaps I should refrain from trying to understand "God" or the universe or the human condition. Maybe I should spend less time agonizing over why life can at one moment be so beautiful and the next moment be so damn unfair. Maybe I should simply focus on understanding the sound of spring rain on the river at night. 
Or maybe not.
(Thanks to Donna Parks for sharing this poem with me)
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Night Rain at Kuang-K'ou
by Yang Wan-li

The river is clear and calm;
a fast rain falls in the gorge.
At midnight the cold, splashing sound begins,
like thousands of pearls spilling onto a glass plate,
each drop penetrating the bone.

In my dream I scratch my head and get up to listen.
I listen and listen, until the dawn.
All my life I have heard rain,
and I am an old man;
but now for the first time I understand
the sound of spring rain
on the river at night.