Chapter 52 what are you going to do

⒈ When the coffee was just boiling, she brought out the self-baked cake with the hot aroma, cut it into slices, and put them on everyone's plate. "Tell me," she said softly, which was quite different from her usual heroine demeanor, "If you could choose, what would you like to do?" (Damn! Damn! This kind of question is actually unacceptable. Asking it is tantamount to asking someone's bottom. After a good afternoon, good coffee and cakes, and the Danshui River and Guanyin Mountain standing outside the long window, why do you ask this? Kind of weird question!)

She turned to look at me, as if she heard the complaint in my heart. (After several months, seeing her growing round belly, I forgave her. A woman with a life in her arms is bound to be a little interested in designing her own destiny.) "Do I—must I be a human being?" I muttered. "Huh?" She stirred the coffee in surprise, "Okay! It's okay to not be a human! Then what are you going to do? Be a bird?" "Honestly," said I, "the 'choice' thing is too scary, and the 'absolute freedom' thing is something I can't stand, for example, gender alone, I wouldn't choose - only this one thing." It can tire me out."

After I finished speaking, I lowered my head and pretended to eat the cake with great concentration. However, I kind of know what I'm going to do... ⒉ When passing temples in Japan, I always see a small tree, which is unreal from a distance, and I think the small tree is full of white flowers.When I got closer, I realized that it was a plain paper sign, which was tied to a branch with a knot. Someone came to explain to me, saying, because the lottery drawn is not good enough, so I don’t want to take it home, let’s just leave it on the tree! Therefore, every time I pass a temple, I always stop to look at the strange and short trees. The pine and fir in the alpine zone are covered with snow and ice, and the flowers and trees in the temperate zone are full of clouds and rosy clouds. The fruit trees in the world are full of fruit, and there are thousands of blessings and gifts under the Christmas tree-but there is such a tree in the world, which alone bears the fate that he does not want to bear for others.

The sound of beating drums and clapping hands can be heard from the empty corridor, and the dusk is overshadowed. Will the devout worshipers really get the blessings he prayed for?How many people in this world can get the lottery?And I, if I am allowed to choose, I don’t want to be a mortal who “has a request”, I don’t want to be a god who “responds”. Xiaoshu, standing on the outside, allowed others to take a sad and anxious heart off my shoulders.Allow them to be ominous prophecies, tie a knot and tie them on my wrist, and I will bear them. ⒊ "Pity the chrysanthemums in the hometown from a distance, and open them near the battlefield." In Cen Can's poems, there is an empty and stinging sigh for the Chang'an city that has been turned into a fire disaster area.But the pain was extreme, and what I thought of was not people, not the houses, not even the court, but a field of wild chrysanthemums that bloomed brilliantly every autumn.

I wish I were a field chrysanthemum or a wild chrysanthemum by the fence. When the two armies are fighting, I am not a general, not a soldier, not a spear, not a bow, not a bright military appearance, nor a strong and beautiful reason for fighting____I am the invincible The upright chrysanthemum looks at the wounds and bloodstains everywhere, listens to the moaning of people and the sad neighing of horses, trying to become extremely gentle and extremely tender in the eyes hurt by the new wind, tears, and the homesick moon. A bright look.In the misery of the world, let me be the calling number for the living and the timpani for the dead.

⒋ "The history of the Yellow Emperor Cangjie saw the traces of the hoofs of birds and beasts... the first book contract", I wish I was a hoof mark of a sika deer or a wild goat, clearly rubbed on the ancient spring scorpion, as organized The distinct engravings were seen by Cangjie who happened to pass by. Was it late spring then?Maybe it's early summer, the courtship season of all beings in the forest, birds passing by in small mud paths, wild deer passing by, leopards passing by, snakes passing by, it's a busy season, the air is full of the excitement of seeking harmony with sound and attracting each other with air, And I never participated in that race, I am the trace left on the earth after all sentient beings left.

And Cangjie came, the silly Cangjie, the Cangjie who was eager to look around, his eyes flickered as if he was about to play a prank at any time, Cangjie was actually just a big boy who loved to make trouble, but because of his simple and honest nature, the desire to make trouble always came. It was seen through at a glance. He came here in a hurry because he wanted to see the escaped hare?Or to fall in love with Thrush's short song?But they had already fled away, he only saw me, footprints of birds and beasts one by one.Young Cang Jie, his cheeks are flushed from running fast, his forehead is dripping with sweat, he has found me, those straight, oblique, long and short lines, those dots, those circles.Also, he began to see the angles between lines, the distances between points.His face became redder and his sweat became more violent, he understood, he understood, he forgot the traces of cranes and beasts he had been chasing all the way just now, he yelled loudly, and fell to the ground, he knew that this simple There are endless overlaps and repetitions in the mud marks, which can form the most beautiful words in the world, and when he opened his unbelievable eyes again, he was pleasantly surprised to see those words written by deer, horse, and birds , Ape, and Reptilian traces—and, much more, he saw his own hands and footprints where he had crawled in excitement just now.

I wish I was the record of all beings who lived in the Spring Mud Yearbook. I am a circle, I am a square, I am a point, I am a line, I am a horizontal, I am a straight, I am a cross, I am a parallel, I am a hoof mark, I am a claw mark, I am a scale Marks are deep, I am shallow, I am condensed, and I am scattered.Even if I am washed away by a spring rain, I am still calm and not sad, and I am not happy when I am comprehended and imitated by Cangjie. Lovely Cangjie, he learned traces from traces, and the characters he created have been passed down from generation to generation, and all the characters are still traces line by line, used to explain various plots in the world.

I don't want to be Cangjie, I want to be a trace left on the spring field in ancient times that made Cangjie's blood throbbing. ⒌ There is a sad and beautiful ghost story in Japan called "Kibeitsu no Gama" (taken from "The Peony Lantern"). It is said that there was a lucky man named Shotaro who made his wife mad and turned into a ghost to kill her. .A sorcerer took pity on the man, drew a talisman for him, and pasted it on the door, telling him not to come out for seven to forty-nine days, so that the disaster would be eliminated naturally. The ghosts kept cursing outside the door every night, but they dared not come in.After forty-eight days passed, the man was exhausted because he had been trapped in the hut for a long time. He looked from the door to the house in the middle of the night, and saw that the courtyard was full of light and everything was shining. Forty-nine days?When he was about to die, he was still indignant, but he immediately understood that it turned out that the dawn had not yet arrived, and what made him mistakenly thought it was dawn was actually just the moonlight!

Reading such a story, I can't separate "good guys" from "bad guys" as expected by Taoists. "Buddhist scriptures" love to write "good men" and "good women", but I always encounter "ridiculous men" in my life. ’ and ‘Pathetic Woman’.Even that mage is a pathetic character, right?How can the doomed disasters and catastrophes in the world be resolved by his merciful spell?Such a world, such a net of love and hatred, who shall I return to?I don't want to be that unlucky man, and I don't want to be that hateful and revengeful woman. I don't want to be that futile mage, so who am I?In fact, this matter is not difficult for me at all. When I was reading the story, I resolutely fell in love with the moonlight, cold and unfeeling, without a trace of right and wrong. , The ghosts act fiercely because of this, all of which have nothing to do with me.I am still the moonlight in the middle sky, for thousands of years, to be a loyal cashier in the sky, responsible for transferring the light from the sun to the tent on the earth, I will never leave, I have no shortage, I don’t like I'm not sad, I'm just a calm rock, looking into the world with many things, many emotions, many desires and many regrets.

There are many poems about moonlight in the world, but I only like a waka written by the Japanese westward in the thirteenth century.That poem is not poetry at all, like a half-understood exclamation of a child or an idiot, if translated directly, it would be like this: Bright and bright bright bright bright Bright and bright bright bright bright bright bright bright Others wrote about Moonlight because it was cleverly described and moving, but the benefits of traveling to the west were stupid, so stupid that they couldn’t talk about it, so they had to cry out in a daze, as if they were saying: “Don’t worry, don’t care, just say no.” It’s clear, it’s bright anyway! You can see for yourself.” If I really have a choice, allow me to be the moon, the moon whose brilliance is so brilliant that people mistake it for the day, the moon is bright and mighty, and the moon that makes the ignorant westbound lose the poet's ability. ⒍ When I was a child, I heard people say: "Kiln burners use broken bowls", but I didn't know what it meant. Only when I grew up did I realize that this is really the case in the world. It's not just potters who use broken bowls!I have seen perfect porcelain. The elegance and serenity of Song porcelain and the gorgeousness of Ming porcelain are all stunningly beautiful. However, the tour guide often turned her head calmly and said: "Such a fine product is rare in a kiln, and the other ones with poor effects will be smashed!" Probably because it is a palace kiln?That's why I'm used to being bold and extravagant in the requirements of beauty, so I dare to demand perfection so arrogantly, and I dare to compete with good fortune and not shy away from divine punishment.The same is true of the porcelain in the palace, "one will be successful and the bones will be dry"!Every time I look at the cold glass and look at the 100% flawless, I can't help feeling a little terrified. Behind every exquisite piece, there are faintly piled up sharp and sad fragments like a small house! This is not the case with folk ceramics. Folk containers are not always available on the desk, and they always have certain uses.A bowl with uneven design and color, and a flagon jug with burnt lumps still have the right to survive, just because they can be used.All that can be used can be sold, and all that can be sold can be transported to the market. Every time the kiln door is opened, there is a lot of hands and feet for a while, and the kiln is suddenly emptied.The kiln is probably the one who knows the taste of heat and coolness best in the world, from extremely lively and hot to extremely lonely and empty-the finished utensils, the shaped ones, and the rest are potters and empty kilns, standing opposite each other. It's like the actors and the stage after the end of the opera, each other's suspicions are becoming real. Imagine that the ceramics dealer who was setting up his car and was about to leave suddenly had sharp eyes and yelled: "Hey! Old Wang, this bowl is so crooked, you can keep it for yourself! How can you sell it, unless you find a crooked buyer!" The potter named Lao Wang took the bowl, and it was really crooked!Is it because I was distracted by thinking about my mother's illness when drawing the billet?Or when Xiao Moer was arguing to go to school when he entered the kiln, he accidentally bumped into it?Anyway, it's just an irreparably bad bowl, if there is no buyer, keep it for your own use!What should I do?Is it difficult to break?A good bowl has its own good fortune, but someone has to use a crooked bowl! Facing the empty cold kiln, the potter, holding a crooked bowl, finally had a bit of concrete evidence—specific and warm, as if yesterday’s flames hadn’t faded away. Among the successful and intact pieces in the kiln, who am I?I just want to be that crooked bowl with obvious flaws!Because of its shabbyness, I am willing to guard the old kiln and the old owner, let every price find every buyer, let every function satisfy every market, and I am the one that stays because it is not worth it. Priced to become priceless. When I was an adult, I read Mei Yaochen's poem written by a bricklayer: The soil in front of the pottery is exhausted, No tiles on the roof; Keep your fingers clear of mud, Linlinju Building. Zhang Yu's poem about silkworm women is also similar: Went to the city wall yesterday, Returning with tears in my towel; Those who are all over the body, Not silkworm farmers. Is that how things usually are?In a country, the best talents are destined to be exported only, right?It is often the naive and honest son who guards the elderly parents.If this is a world where bricklayers can't afford tiles, heroes and heroes may be able to create momentum, but I can't. I just want to be a low eaves to shelter the old bricklayer from the winter wind and snow.If the silkworm woman can't have Luo Qi, I'll just wear a pale and white old commoner, close to her aggrieved heart.As for the potter who sells all the bowls and dishes in the kiln, I am the crooked bowl he never gives up, whether feeding water, drinking porridge, injecting wine, or taking medicine, I am his support in the ups and downs. .He either knows it, or doesn't know it, or is grateful, or he is not very grateful because everything is one, but I am as solemn and dignified as the purple golden bowl given by Tang Sanzang when he was walking in the desert. ⒎ Few stories are as beautiful as "Sansheng Shishang" in "Ganze Ballad": On a spring morning, right?A woman went to the upper gorge of the Jingjiang River to draw water. She was wearing a beautiful woven cotton skirt and stood in front of a stream of flowing green glass.The sun was shining golden, and she was slightly startled by her moving reflection, was it because of the swaying spring breeze?Is it because of the warm spring mud?All the way she walked, she was almost like the beauty of ancient times, but she actually had the feeling of being pregnant when she stepped on it and felt it all over her body.As she thought about it, she felt uneasy about her absurd thoughts. She immediately turned around and squatted down slightly. The plump pot urn scattered and covered her eyes with glazed glass. In an instant, the gorgeous skirt swelled up, making her look like a full-term woman expecting to give birth. , the pottery urn was full, she stood up straight, her skirt drooped tightly again, and she turned around with a flamboyant and graceful demeanor, just like the flying sky on the mural. And all of that, in the eyes of an old monk named Yuan Guan, who has been practicing all his life, suddenly burst into tears, like strong wine, but his agitation was combined with calmness and tranquility, as if in his heart Suddenly the dike burst and flooded into a large sea. There were ten-foot waves in that sea, but there were also thousands of deep abyss.He knew that he fell in love with this woman, no, maybe it was not the unknown woman, he just loved this kind of world, this kind of spring, such a gorge on the Jingjiang River in the spring, and the kindness of the riverside who draws water like a Buddhist scripture. , and the gorgeous skirt of the bearer when he turned around. "See that woman drawing water?" the old monk turned to his young friend and said, "I am dying, she is my mother in the next life." Yuanguan passed away that night. It is said that twelve years later, his friend saw a shepherd boy singing bamboo branch poems outside Tianzhu Temple in Hangzhou, which looked like Yuanguan... In the world, if a man loves a woman to the extreme, he is willing to be decisive, right?Is it the desire to give up one's body, like white clouds returning to Xiu, like rice grains throwing spring mud?The old monk practiced for one life, and if he was allowed to make a wish, he would simply want to be reborn as a human again, as a small womb in the warm womb of a woman.Was it this spring that reminded him of his mother?Is not the most beautiful and sacred of all the shrines in the world is the womb where a child sits? And who am I?I am not the woman who fetches water from the urn, I am not the old monk who has practiced for a lifetime, I am just the long skirt tied around the woman's waist, which has the same breath as the fragrance of flowers, the same rhythm as the water pattern, and the same complicated dress as all living beings. Brocade skirt, I have traveled through the wind and land, seen the tears of true love, and witnessed the karma of the previous life and the future life-but I was silent, and the woman and I were bright and beautiful because we were waiting for pregnancy and delivery together, and I was also in her When holding the child's hand and teaching him how to walk, he gradually became sad and resigned.I am the witness, I am the one who does not forget, I wish I were the string of beads, not the pearl. ⒏ "Have you thought it over yet?" The beautiful hostess gulped down the coffee. "I've thought it over. If I had to choose, I would be someone who can sing." And I smiled, walked away, and pretended to look at the Guanyin Mountain looking up to the sky outside the window, and the sunset with my mouth in my mouth.I can't tell her that there is a desperate and arrogant character in her character. If I tell her, she will definitely scream and ask the bottom line: "Why? Why? Why aren't you willing to be a human? Why are you avoiding? Don't you bet in the dice casino of life? You are neither a banker nor a gambler who bets on even or odd numbers. You Is it really so transcendent?" Because I knew she was going to ask me this way, I didn't say anything at all, so that she couldn't ask me.But I can't escape, I finally asked myself this way.Then, I found myself explaining it patiently to myself. I remember that not long ago I was teaching in Hong Kong, and one day I went to buy a hand-dyed bed cover, which is a folk hobby in mainland China.I put it on the bed and stared at it in a daze.At night it was time to go to bed, but I couldn’t sleep, leaned back on the sofa, took a nap at the table, and got away with it, because I couldn’t bear to open it, such a beautiful and fascinating thing!After doing this for a week, I suddenly read an article by my friend Jiang Xun, who mentioned that the folk New Year pictures of Yangliuqing had to be replaced every year, and he came to the conclusion that even beauty should not be indulged or indulged in.I was very impressed when I saw it. When we met, I said: "I really admire you! I can't do it if I can't be beautiful!" He laughed: "Honestly speaking, I can't do it either. You think my words are Who did you tell it to? You told it to yourself!" I suddenly remembered a time when I was watching a Bergman movie, one of the little guys was in trouble, someone kindly quoted good words to comfort him, he couldn't laugh or cry, and retorted: "My friend, you are so happy—because you believe what you say." It turned out that all the words were spoken to myself—to myself who believed or didn’t believe—hoping to at least make myself believe what I said. The reason why I want to be a tree, a chrysanthemum, and I want to make a hoof mark, I want to be a moon, I want to be a crude bowl, or even an indifferent skirt, not because I am aloof by nature, but because I have always been a boat in the heart of the river for the rest of my life, on the edge of a cliff. A horse, "the boat arrives at the heart of the river and the horse arrives at the cliff", many things can no longer be turned back, so the tears are always in the eyes, the spirit is always in the chest, every time the blood boils, every time the bone sings, it will be like a mid-night sword. Such a person, If you allow me to wish, I will persuade myself that I am the breeze on the river and the moss on the stone. I am trying to be a lobbyist to myself, and I must convince myself!As for whether I will listen to my own advice, I don't know!