Who can say how life should look?
We are like swans that walk on slushy snow,
leaving their muddy footprints,
and when they soar, go off in what direction?
The old monks died, the new pagoda’s built,
ruined walls and old inscriptions vanish.
Then why do we still recall the tumult,
long roads, exhausted travelers, crippled braying donkeys?
translated by Jiann I. Lin & David Young
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Leonard Durso 
Because it is the “the tumult, long roads, exhausted travelers, crippled braying donkeys” that shape us like the wood turner shaping wood on a lathe or the potter at his wheel.
There’s truth in that.