Chapter 8 "The Thing of Writing" Part III Complex Necessities

On the Ching Ming Festival ten years after my mother passed away, my father, sister, and I went to find her grave. Mother died suddenly, and in middle age.At that time, I was sitting in a wheelchair and didn't know where to go, and my sister was still in elementary school.My father took my mother to the funeral alone.The huge disaster made us dare not mention her for ten years, and even put away her photos on the wall. We couldn't bear to always look at her and always let her look at us.Only then did I realize that the greater the grief, the more speechless: there is not a word about her that is appropriate, and there is not a word about her that is not terrifying.

Ten years passed, and the grief seemed to be a little lighter. At the same time, we talked about going to see my mother's grave.The three of them also understood at the same time that we didn't mention her for ten years, but each of us was thinking about her day by day. The tomb is gone, or never was.At the time when my mother passed away, it was impossible for ordinary people in the city to have a grave. They were just cremated and buried deeply without leaving any traces.My father ran all over the mountain to search, and finally found a sign he had kept in mind all those years ago, and said: About thirty steps east of that sign is the place where my mother's ashes are buried.But less than 20 steps to the east, there are several new houses. Stones are piled up in front of the house. It is a small factory for making tombstones.My father blushed, and his breathing became heavier and heavier.My sister pushed me closer and looked there for a long time.It was speechless again.When I left, I said to both of them: That's fine, as long as it's my mother's memorial hall.

Even so, my heart was so empty that it hurt. Of course I am opposed to making a big house.However, it is so cruel that it is so simple that it is buried deep without leaving a trace.A person you love deeply, a person who has endured hardships, an incomparably rich soul... is it so easy to reduce to zero?It felt extremely frustrating, as if every step of life could have been deleted in this way. The customs or ways of commemoration can vary, but there must always be one.And it can't be simple, it has to be more complicated.Complexity is not tedious and costly, and the grandeur that the soul wants cannot be achieved by material extravagance.Cremation, water burial, celestial burial, tree stele, or planting a tree for the deceased, or even collecting a leaf or offering a piece of dry grass for him...any method is fine, but it should not mean simplicity.Either way demonstrates the need for complexity.Because, that is the ritual required by the heart and soul to cherish the heart and soul, and the heart and soul cannot tolerate the simplification of the heart and soul.

Think of literature.Literature follows this complex principle.Theory is going to be simple, but literature is going to be close to complexity.If you want to be simple, any life can be shortened to only eating, drinking, drinking and sleeping, any novel can be reduced to only a few lines, and any history can be reduced to only a few symbols. A great man, any feat and cowardice can be reduced to one glory and one shame... But this is not good, you can't be satisfied with only looking forward to the end like a child, you have to look at the process, from the complicated process to see the difficult situation of life , to enjoy the grandeur and magnificence.In fact, there are more things in the world that can be simplified but not simplified.Do not believe it to think about it.For example, in football, if it is only for deciding the outcome, you can kick a penalty kick as soon as you come up, so why run all over the field?