Especially those memories of early childhood, when you sleepy, do not know how many rounds of the sky outside the house has changed, but with willpower to hold on to wait for the family to return, when they shook off a new snow, unwrapped brightly colored gifts, came to your side, the feeling of the heart suddenly illuminated can be echoed in the life of the feeling of a long time.
Like the poet, perhaps when he sees the fruit hard candy again, he will remember those snowy nights waiting for his father to come back from a business trip, that cold sweetness in the cold.
Though this chaotic and strange perception of time grows old and fades, it can occasionally resurface on long winter days.
Winter, as if there is nothing, only time, white thick snow, vast and quiet time. So, you do not care to wait, waiting for some stories to happen, waiting for nothing to happen at night.
-- Exhibition of works by members of Dali Speech and Recitation Association
"There are many things in life that are worth waiting for"
Written by Lin Qingxuan Recited by Du Yanhua
There are many things in life that are worth waiting for. Sometimes it's a song, sometimes it's a movie. Sometimes it's a tree of cherry blossoms, sometimes it's a journey. Sometimes it's a lifetime of waiting for someone. Waiting for us, sometimes it is a bone-crushing meeting, and sometimes it is a heart-breaking parting.
Are people like the seeds of Sugamanga flowers, which fly up by chance one fall somewhere and meet here with their friends, relatives and lovers from their past lives, drifting in the universe with the winds of karma? Is this the secret of reincarnation? The Sugamanga flower never dies because it flies with the wind and strives to grow in any environment it lands in.
Life is like a train, some people get on, some people get off, no one will accompany you to the end, encountered even if it is destiny, even if the time to get off, but also to be grateful to say goodbye, in the heart of the blank corner of the place, until after many years of remembrance is still a sweet taste in the heart. Life is just so forward, do not have to say to others to hear, only in the heart of the most subtle place, when pointing a lamp, the lamp on the two lines of words: today walk alone, the other day into a butterfly fly away.
We are the wind and sand of the middle-aged, can not point out the road to the greenhouse teenagers, just like the grassland tree is not qualified to tell the road tree, how to root down, upward growth. Although the road tree is restricted to the roots, but has its own style. That kind of mood, just as there is a late autumn morning, I found the roadside of the horse tasseled dandelion full of crystalline dew, transparent without a trace of impurity dew resting on the deep green veins of the leaves, the dew, so that I am y moved, not just moved by that beauty, but surprised at the city of flowers and plants can also be in the early morning there is such a clear dew.
At dusk, that golden-orange sunset is extremely far, far away from us, but as soon as we make a sound of wisdom, he hangs quietly in the treetops, bending down to listen, and then I feel that the sunset is just an innocent child, who will never be tainted by the city, and whose clarity needs some praise.
Every day when I finish my twilight walk and will return home, I touch the sunset's hair with gratitude and say some words of praise and appreciation.
Someone asked me, "Why is it that grass and trees can grow, blossom, and bear fruit naturally without a heart, but people with a heart can't live their lives so carefree?" I asked in return, "You are not a grass or a tree, how do you know that grass and trees are heartless? You say that people have hearts, but where are people's hearts? Assuming that grass and trees are truly heartless, if man reaches the state of heartlessness, he can certainly live his life without worry."
The word "mortal" in "mortal" means that there is an extra heart in the middle, and there is no difference between a strong heart and a soft, gentle heart. A person with a soft heart, even if he is facing grass and trees, he can still compare his heart to the heart, and he can also meet the grass and trees with sincerity.
The real quality of life is to return to oneself, to clearly measure one's own ability and conditions, and to pursue the best things and life under these limited conditions. Further, quality of life is the result of a long cultivation of the spirit of seeking the good, and therefore have self-confidence, have a rich world of heart; outside, have a sensitive intuition to find the best things in life; inside, can live in the ugly alley but still can create a pleasant and diversified spiritual space. The quality of life is so simple; it does not come from comparing with others, but is the expression of one's own personality and style.
"Gradual"
By Feng Zikai, recited by Li Hongmei
There is nothing more subtle than "gradual" to make life smooth and smooth, and there is nothing more deceptive than "gradual". Without realizing it, the innocent child "gradually" turns into an ambitious young man; the generous and chivalrous young man "gradually" turns into a cold adult; the vigorous adult "gradually" turns into a stubborn old man. "gradually" turns into a stubborn old man. Because the change is gradual, year by year, month by month, day by day, moment by moment, minute by minute, second by second, as if walking down a long hill with a very slow slope, so that people do not notice the traces of its descent, do not see its various stages of the realm, and seem to think that it is always in the same position, constant and unchanging, and all the time there is always the interest and value of life, and so life is really affirmed and Thus life is confirmed and carried on smoothly. If the progress of life is not like Shanpi, but like the keyboard of an organ, which suddenly moves from do to re, as when a child of last night suddenly becomes a young man today; or if it is like the melodic "succession" of a melody, which suddenly jumps from do to mi, as when a young man is a young man and suddenly becomes an old man at the end of the day, then one must be astonished, lamented, grieved, or pained at life's impermanence and not be happy as a human being. not be happy to be a human being anymore. Therefore, it can be seen that life is maintained by "gradual". I am afraid that this is especially necessary in the case of women: in the opera, the maiden on the stage is the future wife by the fireplace, which is a statement that one cannot believe, and the maiden refuses to admit, but in fact, the present wife is a maiden like a flower, "gradually" become.
The fact that people are able to withstand the changes in their circumstances also depends on the help of this "gradual". The rich hakama because of repeated bankruptcy and "gradually" swept away the family property, into the poor; poor people have to be a servant, servants often become slaves, slaves are easy to become scoundrels, scoundrels and beggars are very close to the beggars may be doing to steal children ...... such examples, in fiction, in reality, are many. In fact, there are a lot of them. Because of its decline is prolonged for ten or twenty years and step by step "gradually" to achieve, in my do not feel very strong stimulus. Therefore, although the hunger, cold, disease, suffering, torture and flogging of the point, but is still greedy for the current joy of life. If a son of a thousand dollars suddenly turned into a beggar or a thief, this person must be indignant.
This is really the mysterious principle of nature, the subtle work of the Creator! Yin and Yang submerged, spring and autumn order, as well as the decline and glory of the species of life and death, all in this law. The budding spring "gradually" turns into the green summer, and the fading autumn "gradually" turns into the silent winter. Although we have experienced dozens of summers and winters, it is still difficult for us to imagine the mood of a summer's day when we drink ice and wield a fan on a winter's night in the fireplace and bed; and vice versa. However, there is really no significant trace to be found in the passage from winter to summer day by day, moment by moment, minute by minute, second by second, and from summer to winter day by day, moment by moment, minute by minute, second by second. The same is true of day and night: when one sits under a window in the evening and reads a book, the pages of the book "gradually" darken, and if one keeps reading (one's eyesight can be gradually strengthened by the weakening of the light), one can almost always recognize the handwriting on the pages of the book, i.e., one does not realize that the day has turned into night. At dawn, when I look out of the window, I do not look at the eastern sky for an instant, nor do I recognize the signs of the passage from night to day. As my children grew up, my parents, who saw each other every day, did not realize that they were distant relatives who seldom saw each other, and that they did not know each other. On New Year's Eve last year, we waited under the red candles for the daffodils to open! If the daffodils were to open to us, it would be the destruction of the principles of nature, the shaking of the foundations of Zeus, and the end of the world's mankind!
The function of "gradual" is to hide the past of time and the traces of change of things by using the method of a very slight and slow difference of each step, so that people will mistake it as unchanging. This is really a great trick of the Creator to deceive people! Here is a parable: A certain farmer carried his calf in his arms and jumped across a ditch every morning to work in the field, and then carried it across the ditch again at nightfall to return home. He carried the calf every morning and jumped across a ditch to work in the field. After a year, the calf was getting bigger and heavier, almost becoming a big cow, but the farmer didn't feel it at all, and still carried it and jumped over the ditch. One day he stopped working for something, and the next day he could not carry the cow and jump into the ditch. This is the way in which the Creator deceives people, so that they stay in the joy of their daily and hourly life without realizing its changes and hardships. People jump into the ditch every day, holding the cow that weighs more and more every day, and they do not stop. The first thing that you need to do is to get a good understanding of what is happening in the world and what is happening in the world!
I think the clock is the best symbol of life. I think the clock is the best symbol of life. The needle of the clock always seems to be "immovable" when you look at it; in fact, it is the needle of the clock that moves most often in man-made things. This is also the case in daily life. I always feel that I am me, and it seems that I am always the same, but in fact, I am as impermanent as the hand of the clock! A breath of life, always feel that I am still me, I have not changed, or stay attached to my life, poor by all the "gradual" deception!
The essence of "gradual" is "time". Time, I think, is more incredible than space, as if the music of the art of time is more mysterious than the painting of the art of space. Because space is not to be investigated how vast or infinite it is, we can always grasp one end of it, and determine its point. Time, on the other hand, is completely ungraspable and unretainable, with only the past and the future chasing each other endlessly in the midst of obscurity. The nature of time is so remote and unimaginable that it seems to be too much for us to handle in life. Because the general public's understanding of time seems to be sufficient only for the short period of time when traveling by boat and train; for the long period of time when living for a hundred years, they are not competent, and tend to be obsessed with a part of the life, but are unable to take care of the whole. Try to see the train passengers, there are often wise people, some would rather sacrifice the temporary comfort and let them sit in the old and weak, in order to seek peace of mind (or to win the temporary reputation); some see the crowd scrambling to get off the train first, and back, or shouted, "Do not roll, there is always a way to go! "We all have to go down!" However, among the long term travelers of "life" who take the big train of "society" or "the world", there are few people who have such understanding. That is why I think that 100 years of life is too long. Like the people in the world now, if we set the life expectancy for the period of their traveling on the ship and the train, we may be able to reduce a lot of dangerous and cruel fights in the human society, and have the same humility and peace as in the train, which is also not known.
However, there are a few human beings who are capable of living a hundred years or a thousand years. This is a very important part of the process, and it is a very important part of the process, and it is a very important part of the process. They can not be fascinated by the "gradual", not for the creation of the deception, and the contraction of infinite time and space in the heart of the square inch. That is why Buddhists are able to contain the Yantra in a mustard seed. An ancient Chinese poet (Bai Juyi) said, "What is the matter with the snail's horn? What is the matter with the snail's horns? The English poet (Blake) also said: "The world is in a grain of sand, the kingdom of heaven is in a flower; infinity is in the palm of your hand, and a moment is an eternity."
"I want to wait for you in the fall"
By: Yue Mo Ximei Recited by: Zhang Yuxuan
Since the beginning of autumn, I have been thinking from time to time about how wonderful it would be if I could wait for you in the fall. I don't know why, will breed such a thought, perhaps, because suddenly realized that the years suddenly has been old, perhaps because, want to in the thin cool world, deep love live.
I know, this kind of thought, from me is very far away. But I'm waiting, waiting for an encounter of the heart, so that I can reunite with the warmth.
Summer and fall, in the blink of an eye, another season of change. Summer went so long, finally, or to leave. Just like some people in life, some things, will eventually in the rush of the years, gradually go away. Seasonal change, always silent, as if, just far away from the wind, with the season's cold, blowing down the August, blowing down the fall rain, but also blowing down, I gently sigh. Day, in the autumn rain, began to become cooler, the remaining temperature of summer, but also in the autumn rain, all scattered. The extended autumn rain is like this, a little bit, cold autumn cicada, cold autumn moon, thin autumn water long day.
Perhaps we are all seasonal passers-by, in the rush of the trip, we are still alone, in the world of fireworks, slowly walking, slowly silent. The years left us, just some unforgettable past.
The rain outside the window is still falling, dripping, hitting the window pane, like a low complaint, lingering, and sad. Looking at the potted orchids on the windowsill, the heart, then fell into the dust. In fact, many times, I am also lonely, just like the window sill, the pot of lonely orchids. At such a moment, how much I want to have you beside me, even if it is not say anything, each other in the heart is good. The only way to get to the top of the list is to have a good time, and to have a good time with your friends.
For a long time, the days have been quiet, even if the heart, is lonely and lonely, but also just write into the text, sadness and pain, no one need to understand and do not understand, just write to yourself. I have always thought that the years have taught me a lot of things, I have also learned to look at the years, quietly keep happy. However, in this fall rainy night, the heart, but by the thought of winding.
In life, there are many encounters, some encounters, gentle time, and some encounters, but thin cool years. The time will give us a, rub shoulders look back to meet, will also give us a, turn around the strangers of the dispersal. I have always believed that the real encounter in the world is the entanglement of the heart and the heart, is the soul and the soul know. And this know, and only experienced a thousand turns of the heart, can have.
I don't know, the encounter between man and man, is the previous life that a period of unfinished love, or this life can't escape to avoid the edge. But I know I miss a person, it is so deep, so long.
Standing in the rain, looking into the distance. I hope that the wind can bring the message of your imminent arrival, and how I hope to be able to wait for you in the fall. I know that such thoughts are far, far away from me. But I am still waiting quietly, because I believe that as long as I have been standing in the initial place, I will be able to wait for a long time to meet again.
If you can wait for you in the fall, we will go away from the hustle and bustle of the wind to live in the street, where the courtyard walls are full of blooming roses, where the street is silent enough to hear the heartbeat of the years, where the wind is only quiet in the heart blowing ......
If you are willing to let us in the wind to live in the street, in the gentle water of the moon, in the wind to live in the street, in the wind to live in the wind. If you are willing, let us slowly enjoy the tranquility of time and the warmth of the years together in the streets where the wind dwells, under the gentle watery moonlight.
"Waiting for the Migratory Birds Flying South"
By Mo Yan Recited by Zhang Lei
If you can wait, don't make promises in joy; if you can wait, don't answer in sorrow; if you can wait, don't make decisions in anger. The coming has come, the going has gone, perhaps this is destiny, we are not angels, even if more pious hands, but also can not change the life of the encounter.
The subconscious disillusionment, only a pale blue memory, meticulously living, like coffee with alcohol, the heart even though the torment wandered in the torment.
A person quietly recall the past, once you are still clear, once the joy is still emerging, cold, who is heartbroken, lonely, who accompanied, sad, who comforted, I am a small fish out of the sea, only in the lonesome beach crying, only floating petals for company. Perhaps, you go further away can not go out of my thoughts, fly higher and higher can not fly my attachment, the dream is still your silhouette. The heart is wounded in the heart, the dream in the dream woke up when the turn, drifting in the sea, just to find the south fly you.
The autumn wind blew down the leaves, pick up a piece of their own, write down your smile, treasured in a thick book, treasured in the heart. But time flies, the autumn wind not only blew yellow leaves, blew far away from the years, but also blew away from my dream, the years of joy and you are all taken away, taken away by the wind ...... only left endless emptiness and lonely me.
Looking at the north return of the geese, the heart is incomparable loss, 365 days and nights, there is not a day and night miss you, every miss is transformed into not double butterfly, flying in the cold winter. Quietly withered cherry blossoms, scattered a bleak breath, feel very confused, as if to the crossroads, obviously there is a road but do not know their own is that one. Maybe you are really my exclusive track, but from me gradually far away, as that will wither petals. Leave some sadness not after the rain, pretending to be at ease hiding in the corner of the wall, forget what time not thinking about what excuse, do not care how long to wait.
You said that love is like two people la la rubber band, can not let go of the one is the last injury of the deepest, but as long as each other do not give up, do not let go of the rubber band on the two hands, how can be injured? The original always have a dream, like a poetic life, but the peaks and valleys, I finally love or you, the leaves leave is the wind away or I do not stay? Why is it always out of service? Why is your number empty? Why don't you contact me? Why are you avoiding me? Pain does not have to shed tears, love does not have to be together, crying does not necessarily need to be comforted, feelings are not indifferent to the loss of wine will never have the opportunity. In the season of kapok blossoms, for you to sing "lilac flowers".
There is a kind of love called helplessness, there is a kind of love called letting go, there is also a kind of love called waiting, waiting is a dream, dreaming of sunshine and rainbow. I want to turn into a stone sculpture, regardless of the wind and rain, regardless of the cold and heat, for you to wait for five thousand years, accompanied by you to see the sunrise, accompanied by you to see the rainbow. I don't want to talk too much about my thoughts about you, as long as you are well I will be happy.
Waiting for a migratory bird flying south, waiting for Yule, waiting for Godot. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to do that, but I'm going to be able to do it," he said! I would like to be a colorful butterfly, at the end of the world, singing songs waiting for you.
"Rush"
By Zhu Ziqing Recited by Inch Gold Burning
When the swallows have gone, there is a time for them to come again; when the willows are withered, there is a time for them to be green again; when the peach blossoms are thankful, there is a time for them to bloom again. But tell me, wise one, why are our days gone? --Someone has stolen them: who is it? And where were they hidden? It was they who fled: where are they now?
I do not know how many days they have given me, but my hands are getting empty. In silence, counting, more than eight thousand days have slipped from my hands, like a drop of water on the tip of a needle in the sea, my days drop in the stream of time, no sound, no shadow. I can not help but head tearful and weepy.
What goes in spite of what goes, what comes in spite of what comes; and in the middle of what goes, how hastily does it come? When I got up in the morning, two three-way slanting sun shot into the hut. The sun had feet, and moved softly and quietly; and I followed in a bewildered whirl. And so - when I wash my hands, the day passes through the basin; when I eat, the day passes through the bowl; and when I am silent, it passes before my staring eyes. When I perceived the haste of his going, and stretched out my hand to cover it, he passed by it again; and when it was dark, and I was lying in bed, he eloquently passed over me, and flew away from my feet. By the time I opened my eyes to meet the sun again, the day had slipped away. I hid my face and sighed. But the shadows of the new day began to flicker in the sigh again.
What can I do in the world of thousands of doors in the days of flight? Only wandering, only rush; in the rush of more than eight thousand days, in addition to wandering, and what is left? The past days are like light smoke, blown away by the breeze, like mist, vaporized by the early sun; what traces have I left? Have I ever left any traces like a thread? I came into the world naked, and will go back naked in the twinkling of an eye. But why do I have to go through all this for nothing?
Tell me, wise one, why are our days gone?
"Book Dali" program time:
Wednesdays 22:00 - 23:00;
1, Dali People's Radio FM99.9 (Cang'er FM)
2, cell phone to download "Dragonfly FM radio "Dragonfly FM radio", "Himalaya" and other APP can be synchronized to listen to or listen back.
3, digital TV users, select the "radio" interface, select "Cang'er FM" to listen.
Weekend: Hu Yaling
Editor-in-chief: Li Sheng Zhao Rui
Editor-in-chief: Luo Zongxiong