Nights always make people's thoughts wander, especially those nights when it is warm but still cold. A glass of wine tells a story, for example:
I once whipped a famous horse because I was drunk, for fear of being in love. Tired beauty. Life is like a spring of grass and trees. Comes like wind and rain, goes like dust. Thousands of cups of fine wine, a moment of youthful beauty. Who stands with you in the evening, who asks you if the porridge is warm? Whoever turns out the lights with you will keep you busy for half your life. A touch of goose yellow, blue hair and a bun. The snow and mud are covered with claws, and the plum blossoms are drizzled. I'm used to seeing it and only hate the West Garden. It's hard to fix the fallen red. I saw a pool of Pingsui without asking about the traces. May I ask where spring returns? It is divided into two parts: soil and one part flowing water. Three lives and three lives are far away, and the peach blossoms ten miles away are not as good as yours. After the nine days of thunder and thunder, I sat alone in the dark bamboo, and a song of mountain water flowed from my nostalgic fingertips. There is nothing else to do but enjoy the white tea and listen carefully to the sound of the spring as the rocks come up. Think without worries and seek leisure.
In our current life, we are busy every day and survive under various pressures. The so-called poetry means that after work, make a cup of tea, listen to your favorite music, smoke a cigarette, and relax. Feeling. That's all. If you are a foodie, it is quite poetic. For example:
Life is more than just the present.
You also have poetry and distance.
If your soul has nowhere to rest
Calm down. Let’s think about it
The first sip of instant noodles soup
and the oily salted egg yolk
The melon seeds in the ice cream
There are also half-cut sausages in the noodle soup
There are three rolling snowflakes in the hot pot: Fat Sheep
And the appearance of young Shaoguan pursuing his dreams at that time
Iced watermelon The middle spoonful
There is also the full crab roe of the split crab
The shiny skin of the roast duck
Cold tomatoes with sugar water
< p> And the shape of summer you told me that yearThe last sip of Coke when the mouth was full of fried chicken
Rotten pig knuckles that had been stewed for hours
The belly of West Lake Vinegar Fish
There are also steamed carp’s eyeballs,
The three-sided crispy bones in the roasted chicken,
and the ribs inside the rice tube. The bone marrow that came out
The water after digging out half a watermelon
And her seventeen or eighteen years old
The melted hot chocolate
Braised April fish belly roe
Ice cream under the cone with egg roll
And boiled turtle skirt
Pineapple corners and The QQ tendons inside the roasted pig's trotters
The thin layer of caramel under the skin of the roasted sweet potato
There is also a warm core inside
There is also Wangwangxian The powder on the shells and the snowflakes on the snow cake
. . . . . .
Take three meals a day seriously, it is best to cook by yourself, don’t rely on takeout;
Do your job well, go home and read a book quietly, Recharge yourself;
Grow flowers on the windowsill, plant some green plants, and feel the surprises that plants bring from time to time;
Or make a cup of tea, close your eyes and relax, and listen to Listen to a book or a song...
Whether you can live a poetic life depends entirely on your spirit and mentality, not on material things.
Let’s first appreciate a poem written by my fellow countryman at that time:
Don’t listen to the sound of beating leaves through the forest, why not just scream and walk slowly. Bamboo sticks and mango shoes are easier than horses, who is afraid? A coop of mist and rain will last a lifetime. The steep spring breeze blows away the drunkenness, it is slightly cold, but the mountain tops are shining slantingly. Looking back at the desolate place where I came from, there was neither wind, rain nor sunshine.
Then look at how many classes of people have been quarreling over the past two days over whether Chinese people should learn English or not. I asked myself again, is the poetry of life the distant river, the distant rain and wind, and the distant cherry blossoms? Or the peaceful sunshine in the yard, the quiet roses, the teahouse around the corner? Is it the gentle breeze and drizzle or the poetic mirror of the storm that has a higher artistic conception?
I really can’t imagine that the poetic mirror of life has been disturbed by such arguments as whether to learn English or not. To be honest, I am proficient in English and I am lazy. No one can blame me. So I replied to an article for visitors to read:
If you want your child to grow up freely, don’t force him to learn English.
If you want your child to have freer choices in the future, force him to learn English.
Life is an attitude, and survival is a choice.
Everyone has a different attitude towards life and chooses a different space for survival. Just like happiness cannot be compared. Whether to learn English or not is more a matter of understanding one’s own living environment. Don’t go online, okay?
No matter what you choose, I firmly support a free debate environment, which is the most important thing. [Yeah][Yeah][Yeah]
Some people seriously disagreed, so I wrote another reply:
The same sentence. You can choose whether to take the professional title test or not. The path is walked by oneself and chosen by oneself. Some people get wider as they walk, and some sit down if they don't want to walk. Society will not adapt to anyone, only people adapt to society. Whether you move or not, it is there. It will develop whether you participate or not.
You can't ask him to be perfect, because he can't be perfect for your ideas. You can only choose what you like and give up what you don't like, or directly integrate into this society that you don't like and have no choice but to find a way to gain the right to speak. Change him or become a person who is swept away by the public. They are all choices, and you must be fully prepared. Are you sure you are ready? [Smile]
When I finished replying, I actually remembered that the poetry of life is not the poetry of my own choice. My fellow villagers can write poems about traveling with bamboo sticks and mango shoes. Why can't we be a poetic person ourselves, learn about the poetry of life, or discover the poetry of life?
The poetry of life is a ray of sunshine, a basin of drizzle, the ups and downs, the gradually changing cherry blossoms, the aging lilacs, and the low-flying crickets in the corner. The clouds, and the incoherent erhu music, were intermittent in the teahouse, covered by clouds and fog.
Looking back to the desolate place, when I returned, there was neither wind, rain nor sunshine. Life is inherently poetic
First of all, we must understand what poetry is. It literally means a poetic life. However, it is not easy to achieve a poetic life. In such a material life, you must first ensure that you have a pure and beautiful mind. , every day is like living in a kind of artistic conception, enjoying it very much.
Living a poetic life may be as leisurely and content as Tao Qian's "opening up the wilderness in the south, staying humble and returning to the garden" and "picking chrysanthemums under the east weeds, leisurely seeing the Nanshan Mountains".
To live poetically, perhaps we should be as elegant and free as Li Bai "Looking up to the sky and laughing and going out. How can I be a Penghao man?"
To live poetically, perhaps it should be as gentle and simple as layman Yi An's "Do you know? Do you know? It should be green, fat, red and thin."
However, in the fast-paced modern society, we can neither live in seclusion in the mountains like Tao Qian, nor act as willfully as Li Bai, nor can we imitate Yi An who spends all day looking at red flowers. Green leaves tell of sorrow. Does poetic life only favor the ancients and abandon busy modern people?
The answer is no. We can’t live in seclusion. Who says we can’t carve out a spiritual garden in our hearts? You can't be willful, shouldn't you indulge your emotions at the right time? Don't be sentimental, why can't you express your sorrows?
Poetic life is the sincere expectation of ordinary people for a better life.
We are usually very busy at work, often coming in the wind and rain, working hard, very seriously and very hard. But outside of work, we can also make life full of poetry. You can often play the guitar and play some beautiful tunes. You can also go for a walk, play ball, swim, and go fishing. By doing this, you can not only make yourself happy and smart, but also adjust your life and make yourself happy. You can also often go to some places at home and abroad to enjoy the mountains and rivers. Try to find ways to make your life poetic and interesting.
Yes, we cannot make life boring and lack of fun on weekdays. We cannot just be busy here and there, running here and there, and blindly be ascetics. No matter how busy we are at work, we must let ourselves read. , entertainment, and beneficial activities to relax the body and mind, so that you can live a more poetic life.
Undoubtedly, in life, only by making your life more poetic can you make your life full of sentiment, elegance and fun; can you always have the feeling of lotus blooming in your heart and warm spring breeze beside you. Only by feeling good can you make yourself live a happy and healthy life; can you better cultivate your sentiments and improve your spiritual realm; can you make your life full of vitality and vitality; can you make your life continue to show its charm and continuously enhance its value. .
However, nowadays, some people think that today is an era of competition, the pace of life is fast, and people are busy all day long. How can they have the time to engage in cultural and sports activities, and how can they have the time to use elegant lifestyles to cultivate their sentiments? In fact, this is not a reason at all. There are more people who are busier than us, and they can all live a poetic life, but why can’t we do it? The problem is that we don’t fully understand the importance of a poetic life. As long as our understanding improves, we can enjoy a poetic life.
In fact, there is no secret to living the life you want. Some of it is to slowly modify your life to be what you want, and let nature take its own course. Life is more than poetry and distance. The first thing is to live in front of you. Be down-to-earth and go deep into every minute of the present. Patiently look for what you really want. When the time is right, do what you want to do. "Nothing in life is in vain." The method of bringing poetry into life is simple and easy to achieve results - the details that are carefully cared for are the poetry of life.
Without indifference, there is no clear ambition; without tranquility, there is no far-reaching goal.
Poetry and music are the arts closest to the soul. The soul is far away and nowhere to be found, so poetry and the distance are always together. The soul is very close, right in your body, so poetry must know itself and transcend itself.
How to know yourself? Knowing oneself requires people to shift their sight from external things to their own hearts, reduce material desires, distinguish what they need and pursue, and distinguish whether your pursuit is the desire of the body or the pursuit of the soul. This requires indifference. Only by being indifferent can you be clear-minded.
Poems are words of tranquility. There is no noise in the distance. We yearn for the distance, but for the tranquility of the distance. To go to the distance, the first thing is that you have to calm down. When you meditate, the distance is in your heart. Your heart is noisy, and the distance is always far away, so it is said that tranquility can lead to distance.
When you are indifferent and quiet, you are poetry. You can live a poem without writing poetry.
Living a poetic life is different from writing poetry. Writing poetry is inspired by feelings, but this is not the case in life. A poetic life requires talent and good luck. A person is busy moving bricks and has no free time from morning to night. No matter how poetic it is, it is a bit far-fetched. If the person who moved the bricks had a family with him, including an old man and a young man, it would be difficult to have a poetic life. Poetry comes from life and is higher than life. What life gives you is a slap in the face, but what you give life is poetry. This is easy to do. Many people have become poets and writers in difficult situations. But life is not poetic.
Even Tao Yuanming, who did not give in to five buckets of rice, could only pick chrysanthemums under the eastern fence of his home and see Nanshan leisurely after he had accumulated a certain amount of accumulation and reputation. He is not short of money. A poetic life is not easy to come by, but it is not difficult for young people. Those who have a cup of afternoon tea, lean against the window to watch the sunset, sleep until they wake up naturally, and end up drunk in someone's house are all young people. As long as they have a father who can continue to chew, they can be poetic, and the distance is within easy reach.
There are also those lucky singles who earn high wages and have nowhere to rest their lonely hearts. They can only use a series of rituals to find a sense of existence. There are also young beauties who, after getting tired of love, turn to pursue poetry and distant places, and exile themselves from daily necessities. I live a life without a finger in the spring water, and stir up the world of mortals with everything I have. Poetry should be enjoyed while you are young. When you get old, poetry will disappear. Just like poetry, when you get old, you can only recite the past time.
At dawn, my little Wangzi followed me to the orchard, followed by his friend the big yellow dog. They walked and chatted; the sun shyly showed its head, like a huge fireball hanging in the sky. On the horizon; birds sing beautiful songs leisurely in the plum garden; the plum trees twist their enchanting grace in the morning light; the clover floats with its intoxicating fragrance; the wet morning dew kisses my face;... Intoxicated in On such an early morning, I have already forgotten what to do.
Sitting around the firepit, eating roasted sweet potatoes, borrowing the help of Song Mingzi, spreading a tattered book on my lap, and yelling! What a poem...what a poem...!