A flower on a lonely cliff
Walking on the mountain road, I saw a red flower on the cliff, which was gorgeous and dazzling, and greeted passers-by with a smile. Looking closely, I can't help but sigh that it was originally rooted in stone. To build all kinds of temples, it is necessary to live and die, but we must do what we can. It is the nature of flowers to blossom, cried the tree. It doesn't matter if someone looks at it or not. As a result, the flowers bloom in the busy fields, let the flowers bloom in Shan Ye, even on the top of the lonely cliff, and the flowers that nobody cares about bloom. Fragrance is the nature of orchids. If it is too fragrant, it can be spread by butterflies. If it is not fragrant, it can also be spread by butterflies. They are loyal to their nature and have a tendency to stop. If it is forbidden to blossom, it will die. It's human nature to speak frankly. Even if Wang Ting's temple is closed and there is nothing to say, people will still go to Shan Ye to shout. Qu yuan obviously wants to vote for Miluo, but he still wants to lament. Laozi rode a green cow, and obviously passed the Hangu Pass and avoided the world, but he still left a karma of 5,000 words. Can Guan Yinzi really compete? The ancients wrote books and made statements spontaneously. Economic articles are not helpful to the world, and they will not be lonely enough to write novels. Although writing novels in ancient times was anonymous, unprofitable and even fatal, there was a tendency not to say anything unpleasant. China's literary works are all such anonymous novels, not priceless epitaphs. This also belongs to a flower on a lonely cliff and so on. Therefore, it is human nature to speak as a literary and artistic picture and all its manifestations. "Cats call spring, and spring calls cats", but the old monk didn't dare to call in front of people because he was bound by human civilization and brushed his nature. In fact, although he is not called Chun, he still steals women. Knowing this, it is not entirely possible to tell people not to talk. Flowers have only a little vitality, and they have to bloom on a lonely cliff.
Soul and body
The most obvious fact that philosophers don't want to admit is that we have bodies. Our missionaries are tired of seeing our human shortcomings and savage instincts and impulses, so sometimes they want us to be born like angels, but we can't imagine what life is like for angels at all. We either think that angels have the same body and shape as us-except for a pair of wings-or that they have no body. About the shape of angels, the general idea is that they have the same body and wings as humans: this is very interesting. I sometimes think that having a body and five senses is beneficial even to angels. If I were an angel, I would like to look like a girl, but if I have no skin, how can I get a girl's charming appearance? I will still like to drink a glass of tomato juice or iced orange juice, but how can I enjoy iced orange juice if I don't feel thirsty? Besides, how can I enjoy food when I don't feel hungry? How can an angel draw without paint? How can you sing when you can't hear the sound? How can you smell the fresh air in the morning without a nose? If his skin won't itch, how can he enjoy the supreme satisfaction of itching? What a great loss is the ability to enjoy happiness! We should have a body, and all our physiological desires can be satisfied, otherwise we should become a pure soul and be completely unsatisfied. All satisfaction comes from desire.
I sometimes think that ghosts or angels have no bodies, which is really a terrible punishment: seeing a clear running water with no feet to lean down and enjoy a pleasant cold feeling, seeing a dish of ducks in Beiping or Long Island-no tongue to taste, scones without teeth to chew, and seeing the lovely faces of our dear people, but having no feelings for them. If one day our ghost comes back to this world, sneaks into our children's bedroom and sees a child lying in bed, and we have no hands to caress him, no arms to hug him, no chest to feel the warmth of his body, no round bend between cheeks and shoulders, so that he can be next to him and no ears to listen to his voice, how sad it will be.
If someone defends the theory of "angel without body", his reasons must be extremely vague and inadequate. He might say, "Ah, yes, but in God's world, we don't need this kind of satisfaction." "But what can you do to replace this satisfaction?" The answer is complete silence; Perhaps it is: "empty-flat-static." "What can you get in this situation?" "No pains, no gains, no pains, no gains." I admit that such a paradise has great attraction to the prisoners on board. This negative ideal and happy concept is too close to Buddhism, and its source is not so much Europe as Asia (here, Asia Minor).
Of course, this theory is useless, but I can at least point out that the concept of "a god without feelings" is very unreasonable, because we increasingly feel that the universe itself is a thing with feelings. One of the characteristics of the gods may be action, not stillness. The happiness of an angel without a body may be like the positron in the yang nucleus rotating at a speed of 20,000 or 30,000 cycles per second. Angels may get great happiness here, which is much more interesting than taking a small train to visit places of interest in the playground. There must be something here. Perhaps an angel without body will be like light or cosmic light, emitting around a curved space in etheric waves at a speed of 183000 miles per second. There must be spiritual pigments so that angels can paint and enjoy some form of creation; There must be fluctuations in the ether, and angels feel it with tones, sounds and colors; There must be an etheric breeze blowing on the angel's cheek. If not, God himself will be stagnant like water in a sewage pool, or as people feel on a sultry summer afternoon without any fresh air. If there is life in the world, there must be actions and emotions (no matter what form);
It must not be a state of complete rest and no feeling.
The taste of autumn
In autumn dusk, sitting on the sofa, smoking a cigarette, watching the red light under the white ash of cigarette butts, slightly revealing the heating, the mood in my heart will follow the blue smoke, as relaxed and free. In an instant, the smoke turned into wisps of filaments and slowly disappeared, but at that moment, the mood in my heart was suppressed in the world, so I didn't say the mood at that time, only the mood at that time. I want to strike another match and light the cigar that has been lit three or four times, but I can't light it because of the accumulation of white ash. Another light shot, soot quietly fell on the copper stove. It's as silent as writing on China paper with a brush at this time, and there is no sound at all. Then I lit it again. I smoked one by one, and the aroma was fragrant, just like the warm fragrance leaning against red and green. So I thought of smoke, its warmth, the hazy mist in the room and the meaning of autumn. Only then did I remember that the meaning of autumn in poetry is not like this. Reminiscent of Sha Xiao, desolation, autumn fans, red leaves, barren forests and weeds. However, autumn does have another meaning. It is not as vigorous as spring, not as intense as summer, and not as withered and withered as winter. I like the fine weather in Lin Qiu. Some people swear in the same way, which shows that they don't know the taste of Lin Qiu antiques. Among the four seasons, I have a preference for autumn. Let's talk about it. Autumn represents maturity. It is not surprising that the beauty of spring and the depth of summer are all experienced people. So its color is light, its leaves are yellow, and it has an antique charm, which not only wins glory with lush green. This is what I call autumn. Maybe I love not late autumn, but early autumn. The air disappears, the moon is full, the crabs are plump, and the osmanthus flowers are brilliant. I am not in a bleak state, but I enjoy it most. The tenderness at that time was like the red ash on my cigarette, just a mellow smell. In other words, the literati have lost their amazing writing style, and gradually become proficient and firm, and their words are meaningful to read. This is the solid meaning of Zhuangzi's so-called "Qiu Lai, everything will succeed". This is the most enjoyable thing in life. For example, alcohol is better than aging. Smoke can also be divided into fierce and fierce. Cigars are better than cigarettes because they taste better. If you burn it properly, smoke one slowly and look at the red light, which has infinite meaning. I don't know about opium, but I feel very poetic when I see people burning on smoke lamps and listening to the slight peeling sound. Probably all the old, exquisite, smoked and exquisite things give me the same pleasure. For example, when a black earthenware pot stews pork with slow fire on the stove, the tone of Xu Yin in the pot makes me feel as interesting as watching people burning huge smoke. Or like a dictionary that has been used for 20 years, or a desk that has been used for half a century, or an old-fashioned signboard that has been blackened in the street, or the vigorous handwriting of all calligraphers, people have the same happiness. Life is like four years, and you must go through this mature period. If a woman develops well and meets Anshun, she will also have the charm of being old for a while in Xu Niang, which is beyond the reach of 28 beauties. What I admire most is Duncan's famous sentence: "It is really unreasonable that the world only sings about spring and love. It should be noted that the scenery in autumn is more gorgeous and magnificent, while the happiness in autumn is ten thousand times as magnificent, amazing and beautiful. I pity those women's intolerance and let them miss the grand gift of love autumn. " If Duncan is a man, it can be said that he has a background.
Qing Xue
The sound of turtledoves in the bamboo forest is immersed in my hazy consciousness. If everything is strange, it's ridiculous. This is my second day in Gaojian, a sunny morning.
I was lying on a big bed carved with nanmu, wrapped in a new quilt, and smelled of hay and dried fruit. Exquisite white linen curtains are like a square city with a roof. I have slept sweetly for ten hours in this square city. I walked 40-50 miles on the mountain road when I came to Zita Law from two feet yesterday, and my fatigue has recovered. The white copper brazier in the middle of the room, the charcoal fire covered with hot ash last night, I don't know when it has disappeared, and some new chestnut charcoal has been added. From the happy explosion of small Mars in the charcoal basin, I gradually crossed from obscurity to full consciousness. I see, I am living in a modern legend again.
Before coming yesterday, several people and dogs chased the fox in a snow-covered stream, and * * * rushed up to kick up a ball of snow powder. The low howling of cheering animals formed a rhythm of life, which matched the calm scenery of sunny afternoon. When that touching scene reappeared in my impression, it was like a bizarre nightmare. In addition, when I first entered the village, I bypassed the mill and oil mill from the path with snow melting and mud, crossed half a stream with snow melting chill, and turned into this festive villa. In the brightly lit drum-bang competition, I sat with several attendants and attended the host's wedding banquet, which gave me another impression and increased my confusion about the real situation. Therefore, impressions will inevitably overlap. Although the impressions overlap, they are not confused. Just like a piece of music in performance, it is both delicate and magnificent. Every sound made by every instrument, even if it is low, is extremely clear. If each musical instrument has its own place and exists independently, it can be taken from the newly developed sweet rice wine, carried to the guest table according to the rules, unveiled in public and soaked for a while, but never called in the yard. The owner of the house, the old lady, the big camellia with hairpins in her silvery white hair is still clearly discernible in the reflection of the bride's twelve red crepe skirts. There are also those female guests who are mature and waiting for the New Year. * * * has dark and bright eyes saturated with youthful enthusiasm. There is no difference between them, and they have different weights in my memory. In my eyes, a sunflower with purple velvet and Phnom Penh is formed by the light reflected from the snow outside. It is always changing in the swaying situation, and I can't grasp it. I hope it won't stop even if it stops a little. The impression of the past is also turbulent, bright, gorgeous and flickering, swaying with this.