Chapter 32 thin tidal sound

Every night when the moon is full, I can always see a small wooden house built on the cliff in a trance, opening every window of it, and listening to the sound of the tide from far and near. And what about our hearts?It seems to have gotten used to a silent generation.However, when the clear brilliance of the full moon casts on the water, the thin tidal sound will shake our long-silent heart, and the passionate sound of wind and water will drum up in our chest! It was a summer noon, and the sun was so hot that every stone was scalding.I stood by the side of the road with an umbrella and waited for the bus.The air condenses into a cloud of motionless heat.And gradually, a man pulling a cart came from the end of the road.I've never seen anyone walk so slowly.The heavy load of the car made his waist almost bend to the point where his head and face were on the ground.When he passed in front of me, I suddenly noticed a drop of sweat falling from his forehead on the ground like a heavy raindrop, and then another drop.My heart was pulled tightly for an instant. Before I saw the drop of sweat, I sympathized with him. When I found the drop of sweat, I immediately admired him—a man who watered the earth with his muscles and sweat.It has been several years, and I always feel excited when I think about it, and I always seem to hear the loud noise of the drop of sweat falling on the ground.

On a snowy morning, we stood on the top of Hehuan Mountain, and the winding stream was all silted up by snow.Suddenly, I feel that the winter in my hometown is back.A Taiwanese soldier ran over excitedly. "The snow fell so deep two days ago! It was one meter long! We shovel snow every step we take." I leaned over to pick up a ball of snow, and in the whiteness that I grasped, countless past events flickered, like the uncertain sunshine in the snow grains. "We are making a snowman." The soldier continued, "It can also be used for snowball fights!" I looked at him, but couldn't say a word, maybe the person who saw the snow scene only once in one place is more blessed.It's just that the snow that I saw again on the journey thousands of miles away is a tragic story.I raised my head, the thousand peaks were straight, and the pine trees were stubbornly green in the snow.

The evening when I arrived at the leprosy hospital, I was very tired.Walking up the stone ladder, the simple church stands alone in the sunset.There were a few elderly patients sitting side by side on the promenade. When they saw us, they all stood up together, with sincere smiles shining on their long-sick faces. "Peace." There was a cheerful quality to their voices in their calm. "Peace." We answered with a choked voice, never expecting such a simple word to have such a profound meaning. It was an experience that cannot be forgotten. I originally wanted to comfort others, but I never thought that it would be comforted instead.A group of people suffering from illness and contempt, a group of poor unfortunates, can actually smile such a brave smile by relying on faith.As for the quiet, pious, and completely forgiving gaze in the setting sun, what kind of blame is it for our society of healthy people!

Another time, when I woke up at midnight, the moonlight in the backyard was rising, and the trees all over the garden were submerged in the bright waves.I sat up in surprise, looking at the increasingly thick moonlight in disbelief, not knowing whether I was happy or sad.I just feel like a small boat, floating leisurely, floating towards the blue sky that seems to be very near and seems to be far away, and the small white flowers of the olive tree are floating and falling in the breeze, and the short stepping stones leading to the backyard are piled up by falling flowers under the moonlight It must be like jade bricks.I couldn't help but rejoice, it's a great happiness to be alive--such a crystal night, such a transparent moonlight, such a tender, flowering tree

Reading in my life, I am most moved by Lian Po's experience. In such an old age, he has so many sad wanderings.The former general of Zhao State is now an old man in Futing.When the envoy came, how sad was he for the painstaking efforts of "a meal of rice, ten catties of meat, armor and horses, to show that it is still usable".But in the end, he was still unable to be promoted by the slander, and the sorrow was even deeper.Until he was welcomed by the state of Chu.The gloomy mood made him no longer have the chance to do meritorious deeds.In the second half of his life, he only said one sad sentence: "I want to use Zhao people."

Think about it, in a foreign country, in someone else's court, in a land where he speaks another language with his tongue, what kind of lonely life he lived!Famous generals may have really been forbidden to see gray hair since ancient times!When he sighed: "I want to use the Zhao people I am used to", what an ancient and desolate story it means!And when Tai Shigong recorded this story, when we read this story two thousand years later, how many similar scripts are being staged again? I read a poem by Wei Zhuang again, and I was excited about it for several days.The so-called "gentle and honest" should be this state, right?That poem is about a woman who stares alone in a small building in late spring. When she is sad and sees no one far away, she only says a sentence implicitly: "Thousands of mountains and rivers have never been traveled, and where can I find my soul and dreams. "I don't hate pedestrians for forgetting to return, I only hate myself for not having traveled thousands of mountains and rivers, so that my soul and dreams have no way to follow.That kind of true feelings, that kind of attitude of not complaining or complaining, gives people a feeling of sadness and depression. What a classical love!

There is also a Kunqu opera "Si Fan", which also shocked me.I've been trying to find out its author, but it's said to be impossible.I once asked a teacher I admire very much, and he only said: "The word is an excellent word, but the author can't find it. I guess it is probably a folk thing." I completely agree with him. The overwhelming momentum and categorical will cannot be written by orthodox literati. When little nun Zhao Sekong stood on the deserted corridor, with majestic arhats lined up on both sides, she sang bravely: "He and we, we and him, we are so worried about each other. Enemies, how can we achieve marriage? He died in front of the palace of Hades. He pounded the pestle, sawed it, grinded it, and put it in an oil pan to fry it. Oh, it’s up to him. I saw the living suffer, but I saw the dead wearing shackles. Ah, Let him see the living suffer, the ghost who has seen the dead wear shackles, ah, let him look at his eyes," and then she sang in one breath, "Where are the Buddhas of gardens and trees in the world, where there are Buddhas of branches and leaves, and there There are quicksand Buddhas on both sides of the rivers and lakes, and there are 84,000 Amitabha Buddhas there. From now on, go away from the bell and Buddha Hall, go down the mountain to find a young brother, and rely on him to beat me, scold me, talk about me, and laugh at me. Buddha, if you don't recite Amitabha Prajna Paramita, you would like to give birth to a child, but it doesn't mean that happiness kills me."

Every time I hear this beard, I always feel that my blood is churning, and I can't calm down for a long time. For hundreds of years, people have always thought that this is a story about a little nun Sifan.Never thought that this is really a very strong humanistic thought.That kind of awakening of humanity, that kind of courage to cast aside tradition, that kind of intention to open up a new century in spite of the scorn of the whole world, how can a face full of melon seeds be able to understand it? One morning in the dead of winter, the car was driving in the cold wind, and the empty grain fields spread after harvest.The cold and clear sunlight shone feebly.I sat blankly, flipping through a book that wasn't very interesting.Suddenly, in the low fields, a colorful world jumped out. "What's that?" I asked myself in amazement, and couldn't help laughing when I saw a large patch of variegated cuckoos clearly.This kind of flower is often seen in the past, and there is hardly a stone gap in the campus in spring that is not occupied by it!In the shivering cold season, the joy of seeing each other suddenly is a completely different realm.Even when I saw the brilliant color for the first time, I felt a kind of pure joy in my intuition, and thought it was a scattered dream, left in the field!Is it a flower?Is it a dream?Or the fragments of the rainbow when it fell?Or, nothing, just...

The yellow curtain of the museum hangs down, vaguely reminding the color of the ancient emperor.The antiquities in the display case fell asleep quietly, completely ignoring the young mountains outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.I walked lightly over every ancient relic over a thousand years old, and my shadow was reflected on the waxed floor, spinning and disappearing.But those delicate and simple porcelains, majestic scrolls, half-dry paper-colored engravings, warm jades, and slightly green bells and tripods stand still and shine coldly.Look at this childish century through the ruthless glass.

Looking at the relics still with the soil of the Central Plains, my blood suddenly surged. After walking through history and glorious traditions, I realized that I love my nation and culture so much.The pair of Hou wanted to cry inexplicably, like a poor child who suddenly found in the deserted backyard the jar left by his ancestors to buy treasures.At that time, I suddenly realized that I was so rich—and the museum was as solemn as a deep temple, which made people have an impulse to bow down. In a book, I saw a picture of Dr. Shi.He was wearing very simple clothes, sitting on a big rock with his knees hugged.The background is a vast and empty African land, which makes his loneliness more obvious.Judging by the light in the picture, it seemed to be dusk.It was not easy to see the expression in his eyes in the dim sunlight, but he seemed to be meditating.I can't really say what that face expressed, only that the muscular arms and lined face hit me like a big wave. Maybe he was missing Europe?The sound of the organ in the cathedral, the purple curtain of the opera house may still float vaguely in his dreams.At this time, perhaps it is time to have afternoon tea with Helen in the Garden of Roses and Souls, and it is time to talk about Keats and Nietzsche with the ladies.And yet he was in Africa, living among a sad, black, sickly crowd, in a low shack under the equatorial sun, loving alone.

I am proud, after all, there is such a face among the 3.2 billion faces in the contemporary world!That deep, thin, tired, lonely, eager face, perhaps the only one produced in our impoverished century. When these things, like the sound of the tide at midnight, beat against the rocks on the shore, my heart is excited.How gray and old would be the days, if our blood had never flowed any faster, our eyes had never burned any brighter, our souls had never been lifted any higher! Isn't there often many small things knocking on the wooden house of our soul?But why can't we always hear it?Are we too sophisticated to be moved?Let us open every window and door, and listen to the thin tide sound, and let our long-dark hearts rekindle the sound of wind and water!