Listen to Rain Ji Xianlin
It started raining early in the morning. Raining is not a rare thing, but this is spring rain. As the saying goes: "Spring rain is as expensive as oil." And in the midst of a rare severe drought, you can imagine how precious it is.
"Moisturizing things silently", the spring rain originally made a very small sound, so small that it was "nothing". However, I am now sitting on the balcony that is divided into a small house, with a big iron sheet on top. The eaves dripping from upstairs hit the iron sheet and made a sound, so it was no longer "silent". According to common sense, I was sitting there, working hard on the same dead text. I should have needed a very quiet environment and a very quiet mood in order to calm down, enter the role, and interpret this book-like thing. This sound of rain hitting iron sheets should be extremely annoying and must be quickly gone.
However, the reality is exactly the opposite. I sat there quietly and heard the sound of raindrops above my head. At this time, the sound was louder than the silence. I felt infinite joy in my heart, as if I had drunk the fairy dew and inhaled the ecstasy, and I felt as if I was in a state of ecstasy. This sound is sometimes slow and sometimes urgent, sometimes high and sometimes low, sometimes loud and sometimes deep, sometimes intermittent. Sometimes it is like the sound of gold and jade vibrating, sometimes it is like a yellow bell and a big cloud, sometimes it is like big and small beads falling on a jade plate, and sometimes it is like red coral and white coral. Sinking in the sea, sometimes it's like playing a plain harp, sometimes like dancing with thunderbolts, sometimes like a hundred birds chirping, sometimes like a rabbit falling and a falcon rising, I'm thinking about it, I can't help myself, my heart is full of joy, and my writing is full of wind. The dead words seemed to come to life, and I seemed to be overflowing with youthful vitality. I have rarely been in such a spiritual state in my life, and it is even more difficult for me to explain it to outsiders.
In China, listening to the rain is originally a matter for elegant people. Although I consider myself not a completely secular person, it is hard to say whether I can be considered a refined person. I am probably an animal between the refined and the vulgar. In ancient Chinese poetry, there are quite a few works about listening to the rain. By the way: it seems to be rare in foreign poetry. My friend Zhang Yong recalled his cousin's poem in a poem: "I often dream of the spring pond and add beautiful lines, and every time I hear the rain at night, I recall our bed together." It is quite poetic. Even Sister Lin in "A Dream of Red Mansions" likes Li Yishan's line "Leave the lotus leaves to listen to the sound of rain". The most famous song about listening to the rain is of course "Poppy Beauty" by Jiang Jie of the Song Dynasty. The poem is not long, so I will simply copy it:
The young man listens to the rain song upstairs, and the tent is dimly lit by red candles. A young man in his prime listens to the rain in a boat. The river is wide and the clouds are low. The wild geese cry out in the west wind.
Now I am listening to the rain at the foot of the monk’s hut, and there are already stars on my temples. The joys and sorrows are always ruthless, dripping from moment to moment until dawn.
Jiang Jie’s mood when listening to the rain was quite complicated. He used the incident of listening to the rain to summarize his life, from boyhood to adulthood to old age, reaching the state of "sorrows and joys, partings and reunions are always ruthless". However, there is a considerable gap between the ancient and modern concepts of oldness. He has "starry hair" and some white hair. He seems to be no more than fifty years old. From today's perspective, he is just somewhere between middle-aged and old. Compared with me, I have reached the age of nine, and my temples are no longer "stars", but the top of my temples are already "Tongshan Tuozuo". When it comes to reaching the state of "the joys and sorrows are always ruthless", I am more qualified than him. I have been able to "ride the waves, neither happy nor afraid"③.
But why am I so happy listening to the rain today? There is not much elegance here, I am completely a "layman" here. What I think of mainly is wheat, the young wheat seedlings in the vast wilderness. I was born in the countryside. Although I left when I was six years old, I could not do any farm work. However, I picked up wheat and beans, cut grass, and split sorghum leaves. The blood of farmers flows in my veins. Until today in my old age, I have had deep feelings for farmers and rural areas throughout my life. The highest hope of farmers is to harvest more grain. A drought threatens the growth of crops. Even though I have lived in the city for a long time, when it rains a little, I will look at the clouds and say that I am as anxious as a farmer. In spring in the north, there is a drought nine times out of ten years. This year it seems that the drought is causing another evil. I listen to the weather forecast every day and observe the clouds in the sky. Burning with worry, nothing can be done. What I also saw in my dream was drizzle.
This morning, my dream came true. I was sitting on the balcony, which was only a few feet long and wide. When I heard the sound of rain above my head, I couldn't help but feel transported for thousands of miles, feeling relaxed and happy. In the large and small wheat fields, some square and some skewed, every leaf seems to have opened its small mouth, sucking in the sweet raindrops heartily, like nectar falling from the sky. It was originally a little yellow, but now it has become Green. It was green before, but now it's even greener. The universe was filled with warmth and peace out of thin air.
My heart was taken back again, to Yanyuan, to the hill next to my building, and to the lotus pond in front of my door. My favorite February orchid is in bloom. They struggled desperately out of the soil, withstood the drought, and reluctantly bloomed small red and white flowers. The color remained the same, but bright and without a trace. Looking at it gave people a feeling of being alone. In the lotus pond, the lotus flowers that have just woken up from hibernation are preparing to hit the water with force. Of course there is no shortage of water. However, the fine raindrops drew small circles on the water surface, which were fleeting and reborn. This is something that poets among humans would appreciate. The little lotus became happy and became more energetic after seeing it. It will definitely get out of the water soon.
My heart is one level closer. It is on this balcony and in my own voice. The jingling above my head is still there, and I feel very happy. But I'm constantly worried that it will suddenly stop. I concentrated on praying silently, wishing that the sound of rain would continue to sound for a long time and never stop. (April 13, 1995)
[Notes: ①Ji Xianlin: In 1911, he went to Linqing County, Shandong Province. Professor at Peking University, famous scholar. Proficient in multiple languages. The "dead script" in this article refers to the lost Tocharian script. ②Tí hú: In ancient times, it refers to the essence extracted from milk. ③In the midst of great waves, neither joy nor fear: refers to a thorough view of life and death. ]