"The Song of Cile" North and South Nameless
Cilechuan, under the Yinshan Mountain. The sky is like a dome, covering the four fields.
The sky is pale, the field is vast, and the wind blows the grass down to see the cattle and sheep.
Out of the Plateau (Wang Wei, Tang Dynasty)
Outside the city of Juyen, the sky hunts for the pride of heaven, and the white grass burns in the wild.
When the cloudy moraine is empty, I drive my horse, and on the plains in autumn, I hide from the carvings.
The captain of the Qiang army rides the barricades in the morning, and the general who breaks the captives crosses the Liao at night.
The jade target is the bow and the horse, the Han family will give the snow whoring Yao.
Walking on the Plateau
Tang Bao sol
The west wind is strong, and the dew is cold, and the water is cold.
Pity the Yellow River and its nine curves, the felt pavilion and the prison are no longer there.
The Spring Rise of the Border Party by Tang Gao Pian
The grass is green and the willows are thick, and the jade pot is full of wine.
Songs and songs go away with the wind, and I know how many times the mountains are closed.
The grass in the field is so young that it is not easy to see how it will grow.
Wild fires cannot be eliminated, but spring winds blow again.
The ancient road is invaded by the fragrance from afar, and the city is connected to it by the clear blue sky.
Sending the king's grandchildren away again, I am full of farewell feelings.
Drops of gold Liang Yusheng
March sunny days, the warbler sound of nicking round, ask who is the house of pleasure? Drunkenness in the Jiangnan smoky landscape, Hun looked at the pale steppe in the north of Serbia, envious of the Wuling son of the self-fluttering, can you remember that crazy beggar Shang Benglian? Lingyun misty sea condensation light, doubtful doubtless in which side? And listen to the sound of the Wu City whistle and then sing the jade bow edge
Dreams of how far the grassland Wen / to the landscape trails
Thinking of the grassland, read the grassland, has been a very number of years. It's as if such thoughts are a kind of instinct and desire that comes with life. When a person's soul has been immersed in a natural environment for a long time, does his blood have certain qualities that are compatible with this environment? I think, in a previous life, I must be in the depths of a vast grassland, riding or docile or wild horses, from the colorful grassland wildflowers through and through, and perhaps singing all the way to the heroic and cool Tibetan songs, let the blue sky in the silk clouds in the song trembling flight ......
But anyone who is familiar with me knows that this is a dream I have been doing for too long! I've been dreaming about this for a long time. When I hear the word "grassland" flowing out of my heart, most people will advise me with a disdainful tone: what is there to see in the grassland. It's just a large expanse of monotonous grass, with a small hill popping up every once in a while. It's better to go somewhere else. My heart almost ached at such a remark. "To love a person is to love all of them." By analogy, to love a place is to love the seasons of her face, to love all that is contained within her body. It's as if a child looks at his mother and sees that she is the most beautiful woman in the world. And I miss the grassland, but also really as I miss the mother, the more far away, that kind of unique from the imagination of the beauty will be more and more prominent.
I'm not sure what kind of behavior I should use to express my longing from the moment I set foot on the grassland. "Elephants are invisible", then, great joys and sorrows should be silent? When I really become a wanderer returning from the grassland, is it to jump into her broad and cool chest and cry out in pain, or to hold back my heart full of sadness and joy, quietly and affectionately look at her, and will be a life-long longing and yearning through the eyes of the most vividly flaunted?
A dream, years of doing; a kind of longing, distant torment half a lifetime of emotions, which always implies some special reason is. Otherwise, how to face a lifetime of time? In such nostalgia, I have countless times imagined myself dissolving into the life of the grassland: riding a majestic fast horse, waving the whip and hooves, galloping towards the boundless sky; pitching a tent, in the fragrance of grass and milk tea, to become a traditional, simple and generous beautiful grassland woman; with a lover who has known each other for a lifetime, exhausting a lifetime's time and imagination to achieve a classic, heirloom, immortal grassland love story! ......
Dreaming to this point seems to have reached the ultimate in beauty. And how far is the grassland in my dream from my life? I finally made up my mind to use my body and soul to feel this distance at the same time, to narrow this distance, otherwise, there will be great regrets in life.
The beginning of October, in the heavy autumn colors, embarked on a trip to the grasslands, in the mountains winding winding highway, car instead of walking, I went deeper into my dream, and a pair of wise eyes, watching my devout heart, can not help but drip tears. The sky, at that moment, began to rain, a drop, a burst, coldly fell on my warm and soft heart. The heart began to gradually cool down. But there was a trace of heat that refused to dissipate: perhaps the grassland was floating with particles of fall sunshine, and was filled with the fragrance of fall sunshine. With the support of this ray of hope, the obsessive heart will not change towards the grassland in the dream to continue to move forward. At that time, the car is playing a pop song, the singer melancholy voice is full of sadness: "in the rain, I think of you; in the night, I read you ......" At that time, I think, my grassland will be set aside the rain and fog, in a majestic stature into my full of longing vision.
Sailing through countless dangerous beaches, peaks and turns, the car entered the territory of Mao County, from now on, will be a completely strange journey. I will be immersed in the dream thoughts back. Because I know very well that in many unfamiliar roads, there will be some scenery and scenes that you can hardly predict. I must pay full attention to the reality of the time and space in which I am living, to catch some of the unforeseen experiences that may be found on this strange journey.
The mountains were the same as before; the water still had the coldness and gentleness of before; the road was muddy. My eyes were watching the scenery outside the window, but my body clearly felt the difficulty of traveling.
Reality and dreams are two different realms of life. In reality, hard work and a brave smile. In the dream, however, there is a vague flash of tears. This may be the true feelings of most people who are living. If some more unusual mind, want to bring the dream into reality, I do not know what will be the end.
The grassland in the dream was finally presented to my thoughts in a far away position. The ending is like this, the car like a stranded boat stuck in the thick, soft mud, forward can not, backward can not. Rolling down the window, looking out the window at the glue-like mud, a sigh curled up in my heart: this is the end! Those deep ruts that were crushed by the heavy trucks became the only thing that blocked the dream trip. The nobility of mind in a section of fifty meters long dirt road before the unsuitable bush.
There is still too much unfathomable mud on the road ahead. If one were to go backwards, one would only have to go back as far as this section of the mud, and going back would be difficult, but at least one would be able to see the extent of the difficulty. Comparatively speaking, how much more treacherous mud than this on the way forward? No one can predict that. In many different scenarios of moving forward, we have no choice but to retreat because of unpredictability. This helpless compromise is filled with endless loss and sadness. And the reality is always like this, loss or not, sadness or not, close to the dream of that part of the journey is always unexpected full of mud, this is the real reality, cruel and indifferent.
The grassland! Grassland! In the process of my return more and more distant, so that I dreamed of those clear grass, cattle and sheep, shepherds are blurred into a mass of foreign-colored fog. In the cold fall rain, I cowered. Winter was coming, so I sought some warmth here for the time being.
I am convinced that this is not the end!
Put two
A walking grass
Cilechuan
Anonymous
Cilechuan, under the Yinshan Mountain,
The sky is like the dome of the sky, covering the four fields,
The sky is pale, the wild,
The wind blowing the grass to see the cattle and sheep.
I came to the vast grassland and was attracted by the subtle sound.
It was the sound of the grasses stretching their muscles from the bottom of the grassland; it was also the sound of the tips of the grasses and the wandering clouds dancing with each other when the wind was blowing. That is the world of human voices can not be heard in the micro-phrase, human eyes and ears always stop in the glory of the world, forgetting that there is a deeper conversation on the grassland.
I have come to realize that the story of life and death in this world has long been embedded in the glory of nature, silently showing people all this, previewing the unending cycle of life, but also mentioning the flow of water and flowers. People must exhaust the spirit of a lifetime in order to realize, but for each grass on the prairie, spring and autumn withered, that is, with a lifetime. There is no reason to boast about the length of one's life, one is not as good as a blade of grass, sprouting without any demand, withering without any complaint or insult, sucking a blade of grass that should suck the water and sunshine, occupying a blade of grass that should occupy the land, and doing its due diligence, and then turning into mud, to fulfill the buds of grass that will sprout in the spring of next year.
The grasses are all like that, and that's why there is a grassland.
I am constantly searching for a place where I can be more calm, where I can be taught to be more fluent; in the world, I am constantly disappointed. I realized that what I was hoping for, the mountains and the water have been inviting me from time to time, just my eyes. The mountain's calmness, the achievement of the water's smooth, the water's magnanimity, feeding the people of the plains, the grassland cattle and sheep.
If the rice flowers next to the field house ever relieve my heart, not only is the diligent farmers let them so, but also the plains and running water let them so. If the pine waves in the deep mountains ever comfort me, it is the mountain's bosom that makes it so. If the blossoming and falling of peach blossoms ever exchanged for my aria, I must be grateful that it is the mountains, water, flowers and birds*** with the ethics of completion, to untie the bindings on my body for me.
I have never seen a single mountain, the mountains of the community to suppress the earth; nor have I ever seen a lonely river, the water of the dry hands and feet are required to meet. There are no peach blossoms that don't shrivel up, they abide by the rules of life and death, letting the seasons and the land complete the story.
Glorious, is the nature; withered, is also the nature.
The grassland in front of me is undoubtedly part of the harmony of heaven and earth. The harmony that attracts me is that the sky is mindlessly pale, the mountains are mindlessly sitting, the grassland is mindlessly whisking, the cows and sheep are mindlessly eating, and I am mindlessly observing.
At this time I am both a rock in the mountains and a cloud swimming in the sky; a half-stem of grass and a hair of sweat on a cow or sheep.
Man cannot be outside of the landscape. When I set out on my journey again, I am a walking grass, beckoning the soul for me, who still tarries in the red dust.
Beautiful Cocoon
Jan-Chen
Let the world have its footsteps, and let me keep my cocoon. When my festering mind no longer wants to do a single thought, let me quietly return to my cocoon, with memories as my sleeping couch, and sadness as my covering, which is my only beauty.
Once upon a time, every springtime surprised my heart. What's going on? How beautifully they bloomed! I have not forgotten the joy I felt standing in front of the flowers. The rhythm of nature's growth of a flower taught me the secret of regeneration. Like a flower's fidelity to the seasons, I heard the azalea's tremulous confidences. After each spring, I am more faithful to what I love so much.
Now it is as if spring is absent. Suddenly remembered, just a cold chill in the heart, March spring wind like scissors ah!
Sometimes, give yourself to the street, to the cinema chair. That night, inexplicably go to the cinema, casually sitting, someone to rush, change a chair, and someone to want, and finally, obediently pull out the ticket to see a careful, touch the dark to the most corner of the seat, which is their own. What is predestined is always predestined. Suddenly realized, all the force is futile, their own space has long been arranged, once born, is by all means to push to that space, whether willing or not. Be obedient with the arrangement, go back to that space, say goodbye to the colorful world, say goodbye to my beloved, go back to the corner that once escaped and thought never to go back. When the sound of the bars fell, I knew that I would never be able to get out.
I lay down with a smile on my face, spreading out the memories that I had stolen back, examining them one by one. Perhaps I knew that I didn't have much time, or perhaps I had a fatalistic intuition that I would eventually be repatriated, and when I entered that colorful world, I was eager to taste all the flavors of life. Very seriously, but also very dead, a shirt, there are still laughter, and cozy. I am to be carefully collected, after all, it is not easy to come by. In the most intimate pockets, there are my most cherished names, I still have to call a few times a day, feel the warmth. All of them have been true to me. Now in this dark corner of the world, sleeping with them in my arms is the only thing I can do to repay them.
Enough, I lay down with a smile on my face, these are enough to make a beautiful cocoon.
Every day, there are always voices pulling me, pulling me away from the prison of my heart to find a new world and everything all over again. They cherish me more than I do, and they do everything they can to find the handcuffs and shackles that knotted me up, the locks that were lost to me long ago. I was willing to cut myself, and I was willing to lose it. To a weary man, all the bright words are like colored bubbles, and to a weak life, how can it be ordered to cast strong words? If death is the only thing to do, let it be by its nature! It is generosity.
Is it mercy to force a chrysalis to break its cocoon and let it fall into the spider's web?
All the birds think that lifting a fish in the air is an act of kindness.
Sometimes, it's silly to suggest to yourself to walk the same way, buy exactly the same flowers, listen to familiar voices, look at the window, imagine that the tiny lights are still on, a dress dress up yourself, thinking that this way, you can go back to the world that has gone, at least at least, close your eyes and feel that you are really in the middle of the colorful.
If there is a dream I can't wake up from, I will do it,
If there is a road I can't finish, I will walk it,
If there is a love that can't be changed, I will ask for it,
If there is a love that can't be changed, I will ask for it.
If, if there is nothing, then let me return to the clay of my destiny! These twenty years of beauty, all good lies, I take the most beautiful part and turn it into spring mud together.
But even death is not something that the humble can boldly aspire to. Time is like a boring prison guard, constantly playing black and white card tricks on me. Space is like a big stone mill, slowly grinding, have to squeeze the blood fat on the human body to exhaustion, even the last drop of blood water also dripping, only willing to throw away. The world can have an unruly pace for ages, naturally there is a set of cruel code and filtering way. Life is an executioner, and there is no tomorrow on the blade.
Facing the dying dusk, thinking of the past. A lovely face, a laugh ...... a minute a second a year ...... some dawn, some night ...... an infinitely gentle birth of the mystery, an infinitely vicious death of the hostage. Been y loved, and y loved, seriously cried, and seriously begged for life, seriously in love. Now what? ...... have lived a life, not to come and learn to hate earnestly, but to come and receive the one love I deserve. In my twentieth year of living, I received this gift, and how excited I was to untie the pretty knots and pray for a gift of beauty and nobility. What could I do when a pair of touched and broken crystal glazes were in my trembling hands? Serious tears, and then what? And then what? Back to the dark space, and then what? Seriously satisfied.
When the sound of the bars fell, I knew that I could never go out again.
Take advantage of the last remnants of life to scrutinize a little more. I put the vivid and vivid days into it, I put the familiar faces, the familiar words into it, I put the title page of my life, I tore out the heaviest and the most favorite page, and I put it into it, and I want to read it again and again and again and again. Put yourself also finally loaded into the bitter heart at the age of twenty, packing all the splendid end. Give back the smile to yesterday, give back the loneliness to yourself.
Let those who understand understand,
Let those who don't understand not understand;
Let the world be the world,
I am willing to be my cocoon
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