it began to rain early in the morning. Rain is not a rare thing, but it is spring rain. As the saying goes, "Spring rain is as expensive as oil." And in the rare drought, its preciousness can be imagined.
"Moisturize things silently", and the sound of spring rain was originally very small, so small that it was "nothing". However, I'm sitting on the balcony separated into a small house with a big piece of iron on the top. The eaves dripping from upstairs hit the iron sheet and made a sound, so it was not "silent". According to common sense, I sat there, struggling with the same kind of dead languages. I should have needed a very quiet environment and a very quiet mood to settle down and enter the role to interpret this gobbledygook. This sound of rain knocking on the tin should be extremely annoying, and it is necessary to go and then quickly.
however, the fact is just the opposite. I sat there quietly and heard the sound of raindrops overhead. At this time, sound is better than silence. I felt boundless joy in my heart, as if I had drunk the fairy dew and sucked it, which made me feel very high. This sound is sometimes slow and urgent, sometimes high and sometimes low, sometimes ringing and sometimes sinking, sometimes it is like a golden voice, sometimes it is like a yellow bell, sometimes it is like like a pouring of large and small pearls into a plate of jade, sometimes it is like playing the lute, sometimes it is like dancing out of the blue, sometimes it is like a hundred birds contending, sometimes it is like a rabbit falling, and I can't help myself, be elated and be elated. Dead languages seems to be alive, and I seem to be full of youthful vitality. I have rarely had such a spiritual realm in my life, let alone being humanitarian to outsiders.
In China, listening to the rain is an elegant thing. Although I think I'm not a complete layman, it's hard to say whether I can be an elegant person. I am probably an animal between elegance and vulgarity. There are quite a few works about listening to rain in China's ancient poems. By the way, it seems rare in foreign poetry. My friend Zhang Yong recalled his cousin's poem: "Dream of spring pool often adds a beautiful sentence, and every time I smell the rain at night, I remember to sleep together." It is quite poetic. Even Sister Lin in A Dream of Red Mansions likes Li Yishan's sentence of "Leave the residual lotus to listen to the rain". The most famous poem listening to the rain is of course Song Jiangjie's "Yu Meiren", which is not long. I'll just copy it:
Young people listen to the rain on the balcony, and the red candle is faint. In the prime of life, listening to the rain in the boat, the river is wide and the clouds are low, and the broken geese are called the west wind.
now, listening to the rain monk's residence, the stars are already on his temples. Sorrow and joy are always ruthless, and they are dripping until dawn.
Jie Jiang's mood when listening to the rain is quite complicated. He summed up his life by listening to the rain, from youth, prime of life to old age, and reached the realm of "the joys and sorrows are always ruthless". However, there is a considerable disparity between ancient and modern concepts of the old. He is "a star on his temples" and has some white hair. It seems that the oldest is only about fifty years old. From today's point of view, he is just between the middle-aged and the old. Compared with myself, I have reached the age of nine, and my temples are no longer "stars", but the top is "children's mountains". I am more qualified than him to achieve the realm of "always ruthless in joys and sorrows". I have been able to "surge in waves, I don't like it or fear it".
but why am I in high spirits when I listen to the rain today? There is not much elegance in it, and I am completely a "layman" here. I think mainly of wheat, which is the youthful wheat seedling on the vast Yuan Ye. I was born in the country. Although I left at the age of six, I can't talk about doing farm work, but I have picked up wheat, beans, cut grass and chopped sorghum leaves. It is the blood of farmers that flows in my veins. Until today, I have deep feelings for farmers and the countryside all my life. Farmers' highest hope is to get more grain. Drought threatens the growth of crops. Even if I live in the city for a long time and it rains a little, I will look at Yun Ni, calling myself anxious, and I will never be inferior to farmers. Spring in the north, nine droughts in ten years. It seems that there has been another evil drought this year. I listen to the weather forecast every day and always observe the clouds in the sky. Worried, nothing can be done. What I saw in my dream was drizzling.
this morning, my dream came true. I sat on this balcony, which is only a few feet long and wide, and heard the sound of rain overhead, I couldn't help but be fascinated and relaxed. In the wheat fields, where Kokodaka is high and low, and some are crooked, every leaf seems to open its mouth and suck the sweet raindrops heartily, like dew from heaven, which was a little yellow and withered, but now it turns green. It used to be green, but now it's greener. The universe has added a warmth and peace out of thin air.
My heart is back, back to the Yanyuan Garden, back to the hill next to my building, back to the lotus pond in front of the door. My favorite February orchid is in bloom. They struggled out of the soil desperately, withstood the drought, and reluctantly opened red and white flowers, which were as bright as ever, giving people a lonely feeling. In the lotus pond, the hibernating lotus just woke up, preparing its strength to impact the water surface. Of course, water is not lacking. However, the drizzle drips on the water and draws small circles, which will lead to death and death. This was originally appreciated by poets in human beings, and the little lotus flower was also happy when it saw it, and it was even more energetic, and it would definitely drill out of the water soon.
My heart is getting closer to the next floor, and I received it on this balcony and in my own room. My head is ringing as usual, and my mood is happy. But I always worry that it will suddenly stop. I prayed silently, wishing the rain would ring for a long time and never stop. (April 13th, 1995)
[ Note: ① Ji Xianlin: He went to war in Linqing County, Shandong Province in 1911. Professor of Peking University, a famous scholar. Proficient in many languages. In this paper, "dead languages" refers to the lost Tuhuoluowen. ② tí hú: In ancient times, it refers to the essence extracted from milk. (3) neither joy nor fear in the process of longitudinal waves: refers to the understanding view of life and death. ]