Interestingly enough, for all his rather traditional Ch'an sentiments and admonitions, he was much more in touch with human concerns than were most followers of Ch'an. For one thing, he lived alone in the mountains, an isolated ascetic cut off from human contact, and the resulting loneliness was something those caught up in the riotous give-and-take of a Ch'an monastery never knew. He gives voice to this loneliness in a touching poem. _I look far off at T'ien-t'ai's summit, Alone and high above the crowding peaks. Pines and bamboos sing in the wind that sways them Sea tides wash beneath the shining moon. I gaze at the mountain's green borders below And discuss philosophy with the white clouds. In the wilderness, mountains and seas are all right, But I wish I had a companion in my search for the Way.30 _ The admission of loneliness and near-despair in many of his verses has always been a troublesome point for Zen commentators. The enlightened man is supposed to be immune to the misgivings of the heart, focused as he is on oneness and nondistinction. But Han-shan worried a good bit about old age, and he also missed his family, as he admits, albeit through the medium of a dream: _Last night in a dream I returned to my old home And saw my wife weaving at her loom. She held her shuttle poised, as though lost in thought, As though she had no strength to lift it further. I called. She turned her head to look, But her eyes were blank--she didn't know me. So many years we've been parted The hair at my temples has lost its old color.31 _