I appreciate Shi Tiesheng and Ditan. He is a writer. In the most brilliant season of his life, fate gave him the heaviest blow-his legs were disabled. For an instant, he was "stunned by fate" and felt that "he is the most unfortunate one in the world". As a result, the Ditan near his home, this deserted ancient garden, became "another world where he can escape from one world" and he "spent all day in this garden".
Shi Tiesheng has been in this ancient garden for 15 years. No one knows everything here better than him, and no one has more feelings for the garden than him. Ditan and I are the crystallization of his soaking and thinking here. The excerpt text 1 * * consists of two parts, writing about yourself and your mother, paving the way for writing about your mother and expressing the author's painful, complicated and profound feelings.
First, love Ditan deeply and realize life.
The first part is about Ditan, from my fate with the ancient garden to the ancient garden itself, and then to my own thinking here and my understanding of life from thinking.
At the beginning of his disability, the author described his grief-stricken mood and bleak future, so that he lingered on the brink of death again and again, and then accidentally walked into a garden as barren as himself. This ancient garden reflects the author's life, can feel the author's inner pain, understand the author's confused mood, and also let the author get inspiration from life. The sunset at Shimen is quiet but serene; Sing a fast, desolate but colorful life; Children's footprints in the snow seem to tell a fairy tale of youth. And those small insects, the vegetation all over the garden, although growing in this lonely garden, have tenacious vitality, so the author said: "The garden is barren but not declining." It is this immortal garden that has become a part of the author's life and caused him to think about life for a long time.
What does he think? First, I am physically disabled. Is my life over? Is it just a matter of death? Second, why was I born? Third, how should I live? For the first two questions, in this quiet ancient garden, the author "thought for hours" and "thought for years" and finally figured it out, so the question of life and death was relieved. Next, the most crucial question is how to live and what kind of mental state to live in. On this issue, life in the garden inspired him, from which he realized the true meaning of life, and a positive outlook on life overcame negative and decadent thoughts, prompting him to embark on the road of literary creation and firmly embark on a new life path.
This part of the description is meticulous, deeply touched, deeply written and heartbreaking, and persistence leads to people's respect and love for life.
Second, love your mother deeply and feel affection.
The second part is about mother. He loves Ditan and his mother more, especially after realizing her pain and endless care.
The author didn't understand his mother at first, but kept thinking about his unfortunate fate; By the time he really understood his mother and knew that "the misfortune of his son is always double that of his mother", his mother had left him forever. So there is the author's re-examination of the mother and a more detailed observation of maternal love.
The author's love for his mother is profound and painful. Mother is destined to live the hardest, because she has a son who was suddenly paralyzed at the age of twenty. Although she would rather be paraplegic herself, the fact cannot be changed. So she had to bear it silently and contain everything about her son with selfless maternal love; She had to endure it day by day and wait slowly, waiting for her son to come out of the shadows. But she didn't make it. How I long for my son to share his success, and my mother can feel his happiness! My son thinks so for his mother for the first time, but her mother is gone. So he came to this ancient garden in a wheelchair. He repeatedly thought, why can't mom wait another two years? He complained about God's injustice; He thought about the same thing over and over again: his mother left, just as he thought about life and death over and over again. At this time, his mother's suffering and greatness "penetrated deeply" in his mind, while his mother's hard fate, perseverance and unassuming love "became more vivid and profound" in his impression, which made him have a deeper understanding of selfless maternal love and a deeper thinking about life and the future.
Me and Ditan Original 1
I have mentioned an abandoned ancient garden in several novels, which is actually an altar. Many years ago, before the rise of tourism, this garden was as barren as a field, and few people remembered it.
Ditan is close to my home. Or my home is close to the Ditan. In a word, I have to think that this is fate. Ditan was there more than 400 years before I was born. Since my grandmother came to Beijing with her father when she was young, she has lived not far from it-she has moved several times in more than 50 years, but she has always been by its side and is getting closer and closer. I often feel that there is a taste of fate in it: it seems that this ancient garden has been waiting for me for more than 400 years after many vicissitudes.
It waited for me to be born, and then when I lived to the most arrogant age, I suddenly crippled my leg. For more than 400 years, it has eroded the grandiose stained glass at the eaves of the ancient temple, faded the scarlet displayed on the door wall, collapsed high walls and scattered jade carving fences. The old cypress trees around the altar are becoming more and more hidden, and weeds and vines everywhere flourish freely and openly. I think I should come. One afternoon fifteen years ago, I pushed the wheelchair into the garden. It prepared everything for an irrational person. At that time, the sun grew bigger and redder along the eternal road. In the quiet light of the garden, it is easier for a person to see the time and his own figure clearly.
I haven't left for a long time since I accidentally entered the garden that afternoon. I immediately understood its intention. As I said in a novel: "In a densely populated city, it is like God's painstaking arrangement to have such a quiet place."
In the first few years after my leg was disabled, I couldn't find a job, couldn't find a way, and suddenly I couldn't find anything. I rocked my wheelchair and walked all the way to it, just because there is another world, I can escape from another world. I wrote in that novel: "I have nowhere to go, so I spend all day in this garden." Just like commuting, I always come to work in a wheelchair. The garden is unattended, and some people who cut corners pass by it during commuting hours. The garden was active for a while, and then it was silent. ""The walls of the garden are cut diagonally in the golden air-it's cool. I put the wheelchair in, put the chair back, or sit or lie down, read or think about things, beat the branches left and right, and drive away those little insects who don't understand why I came to this world like me. " "Bees are like a small fog, firmly stopping in mid-air; The ant shook his head, stroked his tentacles, suddenly figured something out, turned around and ran away; The ladybug crawled impatiently. After a tired prayer, it spread its wings and took off in a flash. There is a cicada on the trunk, lonely as an empty house; Dewdrops rolled and gathered on the leaves of grass, bending the leaves and hitting the ground, breaking thousands of golden lights. ""The garden is full of the noise of plants and trees competing to grow. I have known this for some time. "These are real records. The garden is barren but not in decline.
I can't get in except a few temples. I can't go up there except the altar. I can only look at it from all angles. I have been under every tree in the altar, and almost every meter of grass has my wheel marks. No matter what season, weather and time, I am in this garden. Sometimes I go home after a while, and sometimes I stay until the moonlight shines all over the earth. I don't remember where it is. I spent hours thinking about death, and I used the same patience and way to think about why I was born. After thinking for several years, I finally figured it out: when a person is born, it is no longer a debatable question, but just a fact given to him by God; When God gave us this fact, he has guaranteed its result by the way, so death is not a hurry, and death is a festival that is bound to come. I feel much more at ease after thinking like this, and everything in front of me is no longer so terrible. For example, when you get up early and stay up late to prepare for the exam, it suddenly occurs to you that there is a long holiday waiting for you. Will you feel relaxed? And be grateful for this arrangement?
The rest is the question of how to live, but at a certain moment, I can't fully figure it out and can't solve it at the moment. I'm afraid you have to think about it all your life, just like a devil or lover who will accompany you all your life. So, fifteen years later, I still want to go to that ancient garden, sit quietly, think, push aside the noise in my ears, sort out my confused thoughts and peep at my soul. In fifteen years, the shape of this ancient garden has been carved by people who can't understand it. Fortunately, there are some things that no one can change. For example, the setting sun in the stone gate of the altar, with silent brilliance, reflects every bump on the ground brightly; For example, in the most lonely time in the garden, a group of swift will come out and sing loudly, shouting the desolation of the world; For example, the footprints of children in the snow in winter always make people wonder who they are, what they did there, and where they went; For example, those dark Cooper, when you are depressed, they stand there calmly, when you are happy, they still stand there calmly, they stand there day and night, from when you were not born to when you were not in this world; For example, a sudden rainstorm in the garden aroused a burning, pure smell of vegetation and soil, which reminded people of countless summer events; For example, the autumn wind suddenly comes, and then there is the first frost, falling leaves or swaying songs and dances or lying down calmly, ironing all over the garden, and the pain is sweet. The taste is the least clear. You can't write the taste, you can only smell it, and you have to be there to smell it. The taste is even harder to remember. Only when you smell it again can you remember all its emotions and meanings. So I often go to that garden.
two
Now I realize that I always go to the altar alone, and what a problem I have given my mother.
She is not the kind of mother who loves her son but doesn't understand him. She knows the anguish in my heart and should not stop me from going out for a walk. She knows that if I stay at home all the time, the result will be worse, but she is worried about what I think all day in that lonely garden. At that time, I was very bad-tempered. I often ran away from home like a madman and came back from the garden like a demon without saying anything. Mother knew that there were some things she shouldn't ask, so she hesitated to ask, and finally dared not ask because she didn't have an answer in her heart. She expected that I wouldn't ask her to go with me, so she never asked. She knows I have to be alone for a while. She just doesn't know how long this process will take and what the outcome of this process is. Every time I want to leave, she silently helps me prepare, helps me get into a wheelchair and watches me swing out of the yard; What will happen to her after this? I never thought about it at that time.
Once, I staggered out of the yard, remembered something, and then turned back. I saw my mother still standing in the same place, still seeing me off, watching me turn out of the corner of the yard, but she didn't respond to my return for a while. When she sent me out again, she said, "Go out for activities and read in the Ditan. I said it was good. " Many years later, I gradually realized that my mother's words were actually self-consolation, a secret prayer, a reminder, a plea and an instruction. Only after her sudden death did I have time to imagine. I've been away from home for a long time, and she's fidgeting, miserable, panicking, a mother's minimum prayer. Now I can conclude that with her wisdom and perseverance, on the night after those empty days, the day after that sleepless night, she must have said to herself at last: "I can't stop him from going out anyway." The future is his own. If something really happens to him in that garden, I have to bear the pain. " During that time-it was several years old. I think I must have prepared for the worst, but she never said "think of me" to me. Actually, I really didn't think about her. At that time, her son was too young to miss his mother. He was stunned by fate and thought he was the most unfortunate person in the world. He doesn't know that his son's misfortune is always doubled with his mother. She had a son who was suddenly paraplegic at the age of twenty. This is her only son. She would rather have her son paraplegic, but this is irreplaceable; She thinks that as long as her son can live, even if he dies, she is convinced that a person can't just live, and his son must have a way to make himself happy. And this road, no one can guarantee that her son will finally find it. -such a mother is destined to be the mother who lives the hardest.
Once I was chatting with a writer friend, I asked him what was his initial motivation for learning to write. He thought for a moment and said, "It's for my mother. Make her proud. " I was shocked and silent for a long time. Looking back on my motivation for writing novels, although it is not as simple as this friend's, I have the same desire as him, and once I think about it carefully, I find that this desire also accounts for a large proportion of all motives. The friend said, "Is my motivation too vulgar?" I just shook my head, thinking that vulgarity is not necessarily vulgar. Maybe this wish is too naive. He added: "I really wanted to be famous at that time. I was famous to make others envy my mother." I think he is more frank than me. I think he is happier than me because his mother is still alive. I think his mother is luckier than mine. His mother doesn't have a lame son, otherwise it wouldn't be so simple.
When my first novel was published, in those days when my novel won the first prize, I really wish my mother was still alive. I can't stay at home anymore. I go to Ditan alone all day. My heart is full of depression and sadness. I have traveled all over the garden, but I don't understand why my mother can't live for another two years. Why can't she stand it all of a sudden when her son is on the road? Did she come to this world just to worry about her son, but shouldn't she share my little happiness? She was only forty-nine when she left me in a hurry! For a moment, I even hated and hated the world and God. Later, I wrote in an article entitled "Acacia Tree": "I sat in a quiet forest in a small park, closed my eyes and thought, why did God call my mother back early? For a long time, I vaguely heard the answer:' Her heart was too bitter, and God saw that she couldn't stand it, so he called her back.' I seemed to get a little comfort. I opened my eyes and saw the wind passing through the Woods. "Small park refers to the Ditan.
Only at this time, all kinds of past events became clear before my eyes, and my mother's suffering and greatness deeply penetrated into my heart. God's consideration may be right.
Walking slowly in the garden in a wheelchair is a foggy morning and a sunny day. I only think about one thing: my mother is gone. I stopped by the old cypress tree and the decaying wall on the grass. It was the afternoon when insects were everywhere and the dusk when birds returned to their nests. I only said to myself: but my mother is gone. Put down the back of the chair, lie down, as if sleeping until the sun is gone, sit up, in a trance, and just sit there until the ancient altar is full of darkness, and then the moonlight gradually comes, and then I realize that my mother can never come to this garden again.
Many times, I stayed in this garden for too long, and my mother came to see me. She came to me and didn't want me to find out. As long as she sees me still in this garden, she will turn back quietly. I saw her come back several times. I saw her looking around several times. Her eyesight is poor, and wearing glasses looks like looking for a boat at sea. I saw her when she didn't see me. Seeing her and me, I won't go to see her. After a while, I will look up at her and see the back of her slowly leaving. I just don't know how many times she hasn't found me. Once I was sitting in the bushes, which were dense, and I saw that she didn't find me; She walked alone in the garden, walked past me, walked past some places where I often stayed, and walked blankly and eagerly. I don't know how long she has been looking for it and how long she will look for it. I don't know why I decided not to call her-but this is by no means hide-and-seek as a child. Maybe it's because an adult boy is stubborn or shy? But this stubbornness made me lose my pride. I really want to warn all adult boys not to be stubborn to their mothers, let alone be shy. I see, but it's too late.
The son wants to make his mother proud. After all, this emotion is so real that the notorious idea of "wanting to be famous" has changed his image a little. This is a complicated problem, leave it alone. As the excitement of winning the novel faded, I began to believe that at least I was wrong: the road where I collided with paper and pen in the newspaper was not the one my mother expected me to find. I come to this garden year after year, and year after year, I want to think about what my mother wants me to find. My mother didn't leave me any meaningful philosophical words or teachings that I should abide by, but after her death, her hard fate, unyielding will and unobtrusive love became more and more vivid and profound in my impression as time went on.
One year, the October wind raised the quiet leaves again. I was reading in the garden and heard two old people walking say, "I didn't expect this garden to be so big." I put down my book and thought, how many anxious roads did my mother take in such a big garden before she found her son. For the first time in many years, I realized that this garden is not only full of my ruts, but also full of my mother's footprints.
three
If the time of day corresponds to the four seasons, of course, spring is morning, summer is noon, autumn is dusk and winter is night. If musical instruments are used to correspond to the four seasons, I think spring should be trumpet, summer should be timpani, autumn should be cello, and winter should be horn and flute. What if the sounds in this garden correspond to the four seasons? Then, spring is the whisper of pigeons floating above the altar, summer is the long cicada chirp and poplar leaves make fun of cicada chirp, autumn is the wind chime under the eaves of the ancient temple, and winter is the random and empty pecking of woodpeckers. In the four seasons corresponding to the scenery in the garden, spring is a path that is sometimes pale and sometimes dark, sometimes the sky is bright and sometimes dark, and a string of flowers is swaying; Summer is a dazzling and hot stone bench, or a cool and moss-covered stone step with a peel under it and half a crumpled newspaper on it; Autumn is a bronze clock. In the northwest corner of the garden, a huge bronze clock was discarded. The bronze bell is the same age as this garden. It is covered with green rust and the words are not clear. In winter, it is a few furry old sparrows on the ground in the forest. What about the four seasons in the mood? Spring is the season of illness, otherwise people will not easily find the cruelty and longing of spring; In summer, lovers should be lovelorn in this season, otherwise they will be sorry for love; Autumn is the time to buy a pot of flowers from outside and go home, put the flowers in the long-lost home, open the window and put the sunshine in the house, and slowly recall and sort out some moldy things; There are stoves and books in winter, one; Time and time again, determined not to die, write some letters that are not sent. You can also use art forms to correspond to the four seasons, so that spring is a painting, summer is a novel, autumn is a short song or poem, and winter is a group of sculptures. What about dreams? What about the four seasons with dreams? Spring is the weeping on the treetops, summer is the drizzle in weeping, autumn is the land in the drizzle, and winter is the lonely pipe on the clean land.
Because of this garden, I am often grateful for fate.
I can even see clearly now how much I will miss it, how much I will miss it, how much I will dream of it, how much I will never dream of it, because I dare not miss it.
four
Now let me see, who have been coming to this garden for fifteen years? It seems that it's just me and an old couple.
15 years ago, the old couple were only middle-aged couples, and I was a real young man. They always come for a walk in the garden at dusk. I'm not sure which door they came in from. Generally speaking, they walk around the garden counterclockwise. The man is very tall, with wide shoulders and long legs. He walks with his eyes open, above his hips until his neck is straight. His wife climbed his arm, but didn't let his upper body relax a little. Women are short and not beautiful. I have no reason to believe that she must come from a wealthy family with a poor family. She clung to her husband's arm like a delicate child. She always looks around in fear. She spoke softly to her husband, and when someone approached, she stopped timidly. I sometimes think of them because of Jean Valjean and Cosette, but this idea is not solid. They knew at a glance that it was an old couple. Both of them are well dressed, but due to the evolution of the times, their clothes can be called simple. Like me, they came to the garden almost rain or shine, but they were more punctual than me. I can come at any time, but they must come at dawn When it is windy, they wear beige trench coats, and when it rains, they wear black umbrellas. In summer, their shirts are white, their trousers are black or beige, and in winter, their wool coats are all black. Presumably they only like these three colors. They circled the garden counterclockwise and left. When they passed me, only men's footsteps sounded, and women seemed to stick to tall husbands and go with the flow. I'm sure they must remember me, but we didn't talk, and neither of us wanted to be near each other. Fifteen years later, they may have noticed that a young man has entered middle age, but I watched an enviable middle-aged couple unconsciously become two old people.
These people don't come to the garden now, and the garden is almost completely different-a group of new people. Fifteen years ago, it was just me and the old couple. For a while, one of the old ladies suddenly didn't come. At dusk, only a man came for a walk, and his gait was obviously much slower. I was worried for a long time, afraid that something would happen to that woman. Fortunately, after a winter, the woman came again, and the two men still turned around the garden counterclockwise. A long figure and a short figure are like two hands of a clock. The woman's hair is much whiter, but she still crawls on her husband's arm and walks like a child. The word "climbing" is not appropriate. Maybe we can use "mixed". I wonder if there is a word that has both meanings.
five
I haven't forgotten a child-a beautiful and unfortunate little girl. I saw her when I first came to this garden that afternoon fifteen years ago. At that time, she was about three years old, squatting on the path to the west of Zhan Mu Palace to pick up "little lanterns" falling from trees. There are several big pear trees there. In spring, clusters of tiny and dense yellow flowers bloom. When the flowers fall, countless small lanterns are produced, like three leaves stacked together. Small lanterns turn green first, then white, then yellow, and fall all over the ground when they are ripe. Small lanterns are exquisite and precious, and adults can't help but pick them up one after another. The little girl babbled and picked up a small lantern; Her voice is very good, not as shrill as a person of her age, but very round and even rich, perhaps because the garden was too quiet that afternoon. I wonder why such a small child came to this garden alone. I asked her where she lived. She casually pointed to it and called her brother. A boy of seven or eight years old stood in the grass by the wall. He looked at me and thought I didn't look like a bad person. He said to his sister, "I'm here" and bent down again. He is catching some bugs. He caught mantis, grasshopper, cicada and dragonfly to please his sister. For two or three years, I often saw them under those big pear trees, and my brothers and sisters always played together, playing in harmony and growing up. I haven't seen them for many years since then. I think they are all at school and the little girl is old enough to go to school. She must have bid farewell to her childhood and won't have many opportunities to play here. This is normal, there is no reason to take it too seriously. If I don't see them in the garden for one year, I will gradually forget them.
There always seems to be disagreement. It seems that we have to accept suffering-all human dramas need suffering, and existence itself needs suffering. Looks like God was right again.
So there is a most desperate conclusion waiting here: who will play those who suffer? Who will embody the happiness, pride and happiness in this world? It is unreasonable to leave things to chance.
As far as fate is concerned, don't talk about justice. So, where is the road to redemption for all unfortunate fates?
If wisdom and understanding can lead us to the road of redemption, can all people get such wisdom and understanding?
My Thinking about Ditan "Me and Ditan" is a disabled person's feeling and thinking about his life in an abandoned ancient garden. The author regards Ditan as a place to express feelings and vent emotions, and it is also a good place to think about life.
Because the author suddenly lost his legs when he lived to the most proud age, he experienced more pain in life. But when he was still struggling with his fate, he found an ancient garden, where he spent one cycle after another, deeply feeling the characteristics of each season and the value of each life.
He thought about death and life. Death is an inevitable destination. When we feel tired, God will naturally arrange for us to have a rest. Living is a problem that we need to think about all our lives. Even if we live in Cang Sang, the world is still running, and the ancient garden is still an ancient garden. We can't escape, but now we can only accept and change ourselves. When we can have a pure land of our own, we should get rid of a little clutter in our hearts, know our true selves and improve ourselves. Thinking about life is the only way for everyone. Different people have different results and contents.
Shi Tiesheng not only thinks about his own adversity, but also thinks about the pain of his loved ones. "Time can tell everything", the author did not consider the pain felt by his mother at first, but was immersed in his own sadness. After time brewing, he felt his mother's anxiety and helplessness. At the same time, it also sounded the alarm in my heart. My mother's love for children is tenacious and unobtrusive, while my mother is stubbornly resisting the disease, and at the same time she has to bear the great pain brought by my unworthy self. I should be glad that my mother is still here. I have a chance to get rid of her distress and my stubbornness and shyness, so I won't regret it then. So, thanks to Shi Tiesheng's experience for reminding me.
There is no excerpt from the textbook, and the author also interprets the feelings of spring, summer, autumn and winter from many aspects; People who appear in the garden and their thoughts on life; Understanding of life in adversity is inevitable; The author's understanding of his career; Many beautiful things can only be understood but not expressed.
Life is so complicated but so simple that we have to spend our whole life thinking. After fifteen years of thinking, the author gradually matured and had a clearer understanding, from loss and irritability to stability and affection.
In such a vast world, we still need a pure land to savor life.