Looking up at the blue sky is a wonderful feeling. That kind of vastness, that kind of depth, that kind of long distance, that kind of frankness ...... can give people endless unlimited enjoyment to appreciate.
Looking up at the blue sky, can be lying on top of a comfortable lounge chair, can be in the outward facing wide balcony, can be on the roof with a platform, can be in the green grass like a slope, can be in the mountain wind whistling peaks, but also in the vast and sprawling grassland ......
And I, the deepest feeling. was on the rippling waters.
The stroke I am most familiar with and most comfortable with is the backstroke.
Lying lazily on the surface of the water, so that the green water, such as Joan, lifting floating worldly body, there are gentle ripples in the quietly spread out; in the water can be dissolved to accommodate everything, we can put down all the thoughts, quietly looking up at the clouds or clouds flying or no clouds far away from the dome of the sky, so quietly looking at, so slowly floating ...
The most important thing is that I feel most deep, and I know the most familiar and favorite swimming style is backstroke.
Perhaps you can gently stroke your arm a few times, and the slight sound of the water will be so relaxing and far away.
The thought of swimming was purely accidental.
I have not been swimming for a long time. When I came to the city, I couldn't get excited about swimming in the crowded, square pool.
It was on my way to and from work that I remembered to swim. I live two kilometers away from my workplace. I think it was in the second half of last year that I started walking to and from work as much as I could on the orders of a friend.
When I walk to and from work, I always feel that someone is hurrying to meet me, or hurrying to pass me, but I don't know what to do! And in the middle of this road, not far from the side of a large construction site is under construction, a small mountain was a carload of carts away, on a sunny day, the speeding traffic raised the dust in the sky, often so that I had to stop and close my eyes.
Ah! I've been looking forward to the blue sky for a long time! And so, all of a sudden, I thought back to backstroke, and remembered the leisure of looking up at the blue sky from a long time ago.
Not far from the door of my old home, there is a small reservoir called "Lotus Leaf Pond". The area has more than sixty acres but must be less than one hundred acres in size. Although the reservoir is small, but also those in the city even if the high-grade swimming pool can not be compared.
When I was a child, I watched the adults and children play in the water in the evening and shouted, and the day's labor seemed to disappear without a trace, and the clear, turquoise water was a real temptation for me.
My first "swim" was when I was five or six years old. It was at noon on a sunny day, unable to resist the temptation of the water, although in my eyes at that time in the eyes of the oversized lotus leaf pond is not dare to ask, but I still with a older than me two or three years of age to watch the cattle of the small partners, strip off all the clothes, secretly ran to the foot of the mountain in a small pond.
Water is mysterious, especially to small children. I remember when I was a kid, I saw the adults swimming in the water, I asked my dad: people can walk into the water, why can't they walk into the earth? Dad did not have time to answer, an older woman, but hastily in the mouth while spitting a few "pops", while I said that children talk nonsense think what ah. I realized that the original people into the soil, is a very taboo words.
The pond is very small and the water is very shallow. Just down to the water, we are still afraid, careful to move little by little to the water. But slowly, the coolness of the water brought us so much pleasure that we soon forgot everything. We poured water on each other as we slowly made our way to the center of the pond, and soon we were chest-deep in water. The buoyancy of the water made it difficult for us to control our bodies and movements, and a wave of panic struck us. Perhaps it was our screams, when a passing adult came up, stepped into the pond, and screwed us both on.
It was on that night that I received the first of two scoldings and whippings from my father in my life, and it was my mother who chimed in to say that it was time for a beating. That night, knowing that I had made a mistake, I took an early bath and went to bed. Soon after going to bed, my father and mother came in, my father was holding about five or six dry straws that had been dressed, and asked me if I dared to sneak off to take a bath again, while hitting me hard on my naked body, and the broken stems and branches fell all over the bed. I looked at my father with tears in my eyes while picking up the crumbs on the bed with my small hands. As a result, my mother rushed me out of the house, while my father, went to clean up my soiled crib.
Both my father and mother were standard "dry ducks". I've never seen them swim in the water. My mother had an indescribable awe and fear of water. When I grew up and went away to college, I could still hear my mother yelling behind me, "Don't go swimming in the river!" even though she knew she was going to have to go to college. -- even though she knew that her son could swim an uncountable number of laps along the perimeter of the lotus-leafed pond in front of her house.
It was my father who taught me how to swim, but he was a "dry duck" himself. To my surprise, on the evening of the second day after I was beaten, my father led me to the lotus leaf pond that I had longed for, and walked to the shallow water. My father walked into the waist-deep water in his shorts and then told me to undress and walk down.
That's how my father taught me to swim, with his hand on my belly. As I learned to paddle in the water, he began to let go of his hand on my belly, and only when he saw that I couldn't do it anymore would he lift me up again. Even though I choked every time, and even though my mother, watching from the pond, sometimes protested loudly, my father always pretended not to hear.
Slowly, I was able to float on my own, and finally I was free to swim around my father's side. At that time, I often like to ask my father to use his hand to support my back, he will slowly turn in the water, and I, so while looking at my father's smiling face, while comfortably up to the sky swimming, and sometimes, I will even intentionally use my hand while paddling the water droplets scattered to the father's face. That sweet joy, wash away how much poverty and sorrow!
Later, my father stopped going with me. I grew up, I still like to always have to swim on the backstroke, I can't see my father's face, I can quietly look at the far-reaching deep blue sky. If it was a starry evening, I would think of the children's song that my mother taught me, "A star in the sky, a man on the ground". I often wondered which one of the stars in the sky was me? Which star belongs to me?
Today, my father and I are separated forever, my father's smiling face can only ever surface in my memory, and, that look up to the blue sky of the long thoughts, can only be presented in the memory, can only be on this fluorescent screen, the flow of the screen full of helpless ......
Looking up to the blue sky
Wanting to think of you a small The young man, the heart overflowing with naivety and romance, every time the grass is green and the flowers are blooming, always at ease, stay in the village next to the hill, picking wildflowers, catching butterflies, tired of lying down, quietly looking at the sky. The sky is so blue, the clouds are so light, the clouds swim in the blue sky so leisurely, a splash of a splash also rolled with the curve. Like water in the curtains of the eyes, sprinkled with holy white, boundless blue, can not see a trace of gloom and gray.
Snapping your fingers, time has brought you into the middle age of confusion. Nowadays, the heart of a child is still alive, while the passion is sharply reduced. Dawn and dusk, bitter struggle, shuttle in the run, in the busy flow, which have the leisure to return to nature, quietly look at the blue sky? The only thing is to feel, or look up to the sky hush sigh. In the netherworld, the flying dust obscures the vision of the ideal. When it is dark, I wonder if the sky has been legs color, or become higher and farther. Perhaps, should not blame the heavens, is your heart wall hung full of bitter, spicy and sweet, can not spare, can not squeeze the space, making it difficult to show the vision and feelings of life.
Don't be silent, bury your head in or stretch and look at the sky. Perhaps, the haze in the mind will dissipate with the fading white clouds; perhaps, the depressed mood will also be clear and bright because of the clear sky. I believe that you must be enlightened, have a feeling, raise should be raised all, give up the early should give up everything, to find that piece of blue sky in the heart.
Looking up to the blue sky
I grew up looking up to the blue sky.
When I was very, very young, I liked to lie on the grass and read the blue sky. The blue sky was so deep that I couldn't penetrate it with my imagination. I thought that even if my imagination was a missile, I could not penetrate it, but could only create a puff of smoke to temporarily cover the eyes of some people. Like all children, I always asked myself: what is above the sky? To ask Grandpa, Grandpa said: the sky is still the sky, called the sky outside the sky, the sky has nine miles. Then I asked: what is above the nine heavens? Grandpa was stumped and had nothing to say. So white-bearded old grandfather did not answer, see this day is too profound and unfathomable.
To ask the father of the teaching, the father said the knowledge of the universe: infinite time, infinite space, stars, planets, satellites, solar system, Milky Way Galaxy, extragalactic star system, the Big Bang ...... these things outside my imagination, let me listen to when I seem to understand, after a cloudy, and therefore more feeling of the blue sky is deep and bottomless. The bottom of the blue sky is even deeper. Although I don't fully understand what my father said, but I know the boundlessness of the sky and my father's erudition.
So I prefer to lie on the green grass and look at the blue sky. A few large clouds are moving slowly, so slowly that you can't feel it moving, so you keep looking at it and see many lovely images, cotton balls, dolls, fairies, sheep, your father's face. As I watched, I felt that the blue sky stretched from my heart to infinity. The fresh grass was pressed under me, and I felt the green sap quickly staining my clothes and trying to seep into my skin and even my muscles. Some small flowers, like tiny stars falling to the ground, blinked their bright eyes as if communicating with me about the sky, and I was sure they knew all about it. Suddenly, I marveled that I had just made out my father's face in the clouds. What kind of hieroglyphic metaphor was this? Was it because I had always grown up looking up at my father?
On summer nights, I lay down on a cool bed on the sunbathing platform and looked up at the stars. The stars were blinking in the sky, and they kept telling us on the ground something, but we didn't understand anything. Other children were playing, and I was thinking bitterly about the stars. I was extraordinarily lonely, alone and silent, looking at the sky, thinking about the sky, letting my little friends play around, none of this has anything to do with me. The sky is too deep, and I am both close and distant. My father's erhu sang, singing "Two Springs Reflecting the Moon". I felt a silk scarf pulling slowly, curved and astringent, from the darkness of the night or from the heart of a sufferer. As it was pulled through my heart, it became a handful of thorns, and my heart itched and ached, and I could not find a place to scratch or stroke it, so it itched and ached for a long time. In the very darkness I looked into my father's face and saw that it was like bronze molded out of bronze. If it were not for the deep, intelligent light in his eyes, if it were not for the fact that he was playing the erhu like no one else, from a distance he would have looked like a bronze statue in the darkness of the night. I can't figure out the meaning of such a statue, just as I can't figure out how many stars there are in the sky. At this time, the frogs in the field are accompanied vigorously, they have no rhythm as the rhythm, like a thousand people each with their own beat playing the fast board; fireflies in carrying bright and dark lanterns, step on the melody of the erhu, dancing melancholy, in search of what. And the stars in the sky are still saying something to me, and I can only take this to my dreams and fly in them.
After laboring, my father used to play the flute, xiao, harmonica, and the phoenix qin. Many beautiful tunes, at that time I only knew those tunes injected into my heart, and did not know their names, the specific content is what. Those melodies were familiar enough for me to be able to hum them down, and as I hummed them softly while savoring them, I realized that they were almost always either light or heavy with sadness. When I grew up, I realized that what my father was playing were classical tunes like Su Wu Mu Shepherd's Sheep. Was the melancholy in my inner qualities the result of the frequent carving of these tunes? I think perhaps it was.
Father also often give me talk about the ancient and modern, say heaven and earth, talk about in the outside. My father said for me passionately and heroically water Liang good man, the spirit of the heart said Kong Ming, rhyme long said Spring and Autumn and Warring States, the seriousness of the look and I said Chen Jingrun. Later, I had a question in my mind: my father just did not tell me the story of hanging my head over a beam and piercing my bones with an awl, why is that? Was it because he didn't like this kind of brute work without regard to his body? In my impression, my father never wanted me to learn simply by hard work; he more often wanted me to learn skillfully. He often used to tell stories and other ways to let me understand and memorize a lot of knowledge, and sometimes even came up with some riddles for me to think about, and some interesting arithmetic problems for me to do, which aroused my interest in learning, and also cultivated my habit of independent thinking. He also basically didn't scold children and always used stories to tell us the truth of being a human being. I looked up to my father and felt that he was my blue sky. I was as mesmerized looking up at him as I was looking up at the blue sky. My father's simple face was serene, as serene as the blue sky; his eyes were bright, as bright as the blue sky; and his words were deep, as deep as the blue sky.
In 1983, I was admitted to the college entrance examination, but I was not admitted because of color blindness. A rural boy ignorant of the world, would have been arts and sciences can be, when you can choose arts, also choose science, because I do not know that I have color blindness, more do not know color blindness colleges and universities will be admitted to what limitations, a hint of hesitation did not have to enroll in the sciences. When I learned the news that I had failed, I was incredibly sad and didn't say a word. My mother was y hurt and kept lamenting. My father acted very calmly, I know that in fact his heart hurts the most, because he also once went to the Tsinghua admission line, but was victimized by the sectarian struggle, buried in the remote countryside, and now his own son to repeat the same mistake, that is how the pain? However, he was as calm as the blue sky without a single cloud. Why? He did not say, but I can guess, that is, the sadness in the heart, do not add to the son's pain, but deliberately dilute the atmosphere of this sadness. I looked at the blue sky all day, and this summer the sky was truly blue, like giant blue glass. The sun was radiating a million rays of light from the blue sky. My heart gradually opened up, like this blue sky, like this sun.
At that time, the family was in a particularly difficult situation, and there was really no money to go back to studying liberal arts, so my father asked me to take the private teacher's exam, which I did, and became a private teacher. I looked at the classroom full of star-like twinkling eyes, I think I also want to become a sun, radiating ten thousand light. At this time, my father often told me about his teaching methods and gave me those good lesson plans he had made. I quickly became an excellent teacher and was honored by the county. In my spare time, I insisted on literary creation, and he often encouraged me. There were quite a few differences between our father and son's views on literature, for example, he liked the classical ones and I liked the innovative ones. Especially, our attitudes towards poetry were very different, he only loved the old poems but not the free ones, while I liked both, and for a period of time I wrote a large number of new poems. My father didn't oppose me to write new poems because he didn't like new poems, and he never did anything that he didn't understand. He didn't tell me what to do with the new poems that I wrote, but he was very happy when my new poems were published and wrote a couplet of appreciation: "The spring breeze is pleased with the gradual emergence of my head and horns; the time and rain nourish the heart and palm of the true transmission of my poems." My poems are published from time to time, and join the Association, my father saw me not only not affected by the setbacks, but out of a road of their own, gladly inscribed couplet: "experience miscellaneous, both know enough to know the joy; writings are rich, not into the famous has become a family." The father's heart, clean as the blue sky, warm as the sun.
Now, I left my cottage, left my parents, into the small town, but I still stubbornly like to look up at the blue sky. When I look at the blue sky when I am walking, when I am busy, when I am free, when I am sad, when I am bored, I get encouragement, I get comfort, I get strength. Then I continue to walk.
Looking up at the blue sky
I have always liked to look up at the blue sky, especially at the autumn sky. The deep, blue sky without a little impurity, boundless; the velvet clouds, like tangible and intangible, intoxicated people, let people think of.
Lifting the heavy curtains, I sat alone in front of the window, facing the blue sky of autumn, breathing in the flavor of the autumn wind sent, the heart is also a little warm up. In a flash, as if back to the former years, the innocent childhood, the infinite happiness of the teenager ...... always feel that what happened before was yesterday.
In the journey of my life, I met many people, some of them are like the clouds in this fall, floating, floating, in the twinkling of an eye disappeared. Some people, like the blue of this fall, always remembered in the memory, once and again in my heart strings echoed ...... life this way, sadness and happiness, the edge to the edge of the disappearance. Pure friendship, selfless, liver and gall bladder, such as this blue sky broad, deep, so I extraordinarily cherish confidant friends to know each other, cherish the tacit understanding, cherish the beauty of this earthly point moving heart.
Points of red flowers, a few warmth; everywhere in the autumn, a few warmth, thanks to the beauty of this autumn gift. Looking up at the blue sky in the fall, I understand what is broad and what is deep. The world is broad is the ocean, broader than the ocean is the sky, broader than the sky is the human heart. Looking up at the blue sky, the distractions in the heart a little bit eliminated.
Under this blue sky, I want to put myself once encountered past events one by one, put into the sun under the sun, to see whether the mold. Oh, those days gone by huh, is my life continue to accumulate wealth, I believe it will give me a reminder and reminiscence.
Looking up at the blue sky, my thoughts fly ......