Homesickness is aesthetics, not economics. Homesickness does not need to be rewarded, nor does it need to compete with others. My homesickness is romantic and slightly decadent, as gentle as a cold.
You should remember the legend that when a person dies, his ghost will pick up all the footprints he left before his death. In order to do this, his ghost must experience his life again. In cars, boats, bridges, roads and streets, footprints will never disappear.
Even if the bridge has collapsed, the ship has sunk, the road has been renovated and tarred, and the river bank has become a dam. Once the ghost is heavy, his footprints will come up one by one.
Think about it, one day, we will pick up our footprints in the dense Woods and under the yellow leaves, just like picking nuts in those days; The flower market is brightly lit, and the long street is crowded. Let's separate our dense legs and pick up footprints, just like we pick up crushed shoes.
Think about that lake! One day, we will smash the mirror, tear the sky and clouds, and collect footprints at the bottom of the water, just like collecting pebbles.
In that square where people dance and jump, your footprints are not complete, most of them are only toes or heels. Outside your house, outside the window, outside the wall of your backyard, as far as your light shadow and the shadow of your phoenix tree are concerned, my footprints are paved layer by layer, with thousands of layers in spring, summer, autumn and winter. Once it's all sprayed out, it's probably higher than your roof.
Sometimes, when I think of this legend, I get excited; Sometimes, when I think of this legend, I wonder. Of course, I don't have to worry about how many footprints my shoulders and back can carry, just as I don't have to ask how many angels can stand on the needle tip.
But how can this legend be reconciled with other legends? When the end comes, isn't the cow's head and horse's face waiting for the soul to come out with tokens and chains? After that, there will be trial and punishment. How did he have time to pick up footprints? In the future, I will drink Meng Po Tang and be reincarnated. How can he have the ability to pick up footprints? How can ghosts be so natural and unrestrained, so indifferent and so individual?
Well, the ancient saints create myths, and the present saints correct them. We must tear down that strict story structure to accommodate the new legend.
I think, I'm afraid the plot of picking up footprints is very complicated and beyond everyone's cognition. Like me, if possible, I will arrange your footprints together. If picking up footprints is only a person's last leisure, or many people give up automatically; If necessary, there will be an industry, a company that picks up footprints. For me, I want to pick up more than footprints.
Those songs, where we sang, have thrown notes everywhere, and the songs are frozen in place. Wait until I catch my breath before calling. Those tears, where I shed tears, turned into iron slurry, poured into the cavity, condensed into iron core steel intestines, and returned to the old place. Steel turns into pulp and tears, and old tears are like old wine.
People scattered, tears scattered, songs scattered, footprints scattered, I carefully packed them one by one, just like filling a luminous cup with grapes and wine.
Perhaps, important things should be dealt with before death, and it is too uncertain and difficult after death. Perhaps the story of picking up footprints just reminds the wanderer to make a retrospective trip in the next year, and looking back is true. If you go through your life journey again, the final destination of this journey is of course your hometown.
When people are old, can they be young again? It seems impossible, so all the alchemists have tried and failed. But I think there is a secret recipe that can be tried again, called the journey of picking up footprints. This kind of travel is the reverse of that year, and it can be implemented in reverse in procedure, so the light of that year seems to have gone backwards. As far as I am concerned, if I stand at the head and tail of the river and think that celebrities cross the river and become crucian carp, I think I am already 20 years old.
If I sit in a water-deficient place in Yun Qi and watch the rainbow, watch God's promise to the people of China in Qinling Mountain and see how the rainbow fills the mountain according to the color of the palace, I will be 15 years old. If I stand barefoot where I watch ants fight and chickens climb trees and let mud touch my head from the soles of my feet, I will be only 6 years old.
Of course, this is just a feeling, not a fact. The fact is in the eyes of customs officials, on the passport. The fact is, we found that half of our friends were dead. Where did the visitors come from? But people sometimes pursue feelings, forget the facts, feel wrong about me, and finally make clothes wider and wider without regrets.
I feel like a word, deleted by critics and put back by rhetoricians. I think the tight vest is torn to pieces, comfortable and cold.
I think the sausage is cut to the last knife, and I hope it is a good dish. Do I have footprints? Why do I feel that he never kept his feet on the ground when he was fifteen or twenty years old? The ancients said that reading should feel knocked unconscious by a stick, and I think the same is true of The Return of the Native.
At the age of 40, everything was silent, and suddenly all my ears were full of going home, going home, going home-do you remember? The village elder told a story that two travelers lived in a hotel, met each other and boasted about the tall buildings in their hometown.
One said that there is a tall building in our hometown, and there is a sparrow's nest on the roof, and there are several sparrow eggs in the nest. One day, somehow, the nest broke, these eggs hatched in mid-air, and the new sparrow had hard wings and could fly.
So none of those sparrows fell to death, but all flew to the ground and then to the sky. How tall do you think that building is? I hope you can remember this story. You have forgotten too many things, stories, songs, and many names and places. Come on, those stories, those songs, those names of people's lives should be with our souls and our personalities. How on earth do you use your memory?
The passenger said, how high do you think the building in my hometown is? Another passenger smiled, not angry: there is also a tall building in our hometown. Once, a little girl fell from the roof and fell to the ground. She has grown into an old lady. How does our building compare with yours?
When I was idle, I wanted to rush over to see such a high building, and Qianshan went all the way. Now, I think tall buildings are not far away. That's my hometown. Once I get back to my hometown, I will suddenly feel that I jumped off the roof as an old man.
So fast, so simple, so clean! All kinds of growing pains, shrinking pains, all kinds of expectations, all kinds of disillusionment, long-distance running in life, long exams, long suffering, crying all night, there is no time or opportunity at all. "Yesterday was a moment for me", and time cannot be disturbed by mediocrity.
This is not a big relief, a big relaxation, this is a big give up, a big give up, a big parting, a big abandonment, and also a big end and a big start. I'm afraid I can't lie on the ground and roll. Air will make me float.
Extended data:
1, Wang Dingjun/kloc-began to write poetry at the age of 0/4,/kloc-tried to comment on Strange Tales from a Lonely Studio at the age of 0/6, and/kloc-published his first work, Poems of Hongdu Village, in Ankang Daily, Shaanxi Province at the age of 0/9.
2. 1949, Wang Dingjun came to Taibei and joined the novel creation group founded by Zhang Daofan. Learning from Wang Menggou, Zhao Youpei and Li laid the foundation for his lifelong self-study and unremitting efforts.
From 65438 to the early 1950s, Wang Dingjun entered China Broadcasting Corporation to do newspaper clippings and post materials. One day, a writer in the editorial team took a temporary leave of absence, and the supervisor asked him to write a radio draft temporarily. The result was better than the original veteran, so he was transferred to write a special article.
In China Broadcasting Corporation, he has served as the head of the editorial team, the head of the program production team and the member of the special Committee of China Broadcasting Corporation, and has written many radio scripts. Later, he joined China TV Company as the editor-in-chief and participated in TV drama creation.
In the early 1950s, Wang Dingjun successively edited the supplement of Taipei Sweeping Newspaper, Taipei Public Comment Newspaper, Credit Information Newspaper and China Language Monthly. He is also an editor of Zhong Zheng Bookstore and a member of the jury of the three major literary foundations in Taipei.
4. 1953- 1954 The "Novel Research Class" sponsored by the "Writers and Artists Association" in Taiwan Province Province engaged in novel creation research and began to engage in literary theory and literary criticism.
5. During the period from 1963 to 1966, Wang Dingjun also served as the editor-in-chief of China Times and the supplement editor of Human World, and concurrently served as the editor-in-chief of the periodical department of Little Lion Company.
While working, Wang Dingjun never stopped writing. He used his real name and pen name "Fang Zhizhi" to write essay columns in newspaper supplements in Taiwan Province Province, engaged in stage plays and novel creation, and also wrote many theoretical articles on novel skills.
He has taught news report writing, radio and television program writing in China Institute of Culture, National Academy of Arts and World Journalism successively, and also served as a lecture in various literary camps and writing seminars, which has a far-reaching influence on the creative atmosphere and appreciation level.
Baidu Encyclopedia-Wang Dingjun