Chapter 7 Storm Set (7)

Son of God and Son of God How strange times are!How strange we are!Times have changed and so have we.The times have advanced, and they have also brought us forward.The times have lifted their veils, making us forget our troubles and smile all over our faces. Yesterday, we were still complaining about and fearing the era; today, we cherish and love it, and know its will, temperament, and its secrets and mysteries. Yesterday, we were still crawling cautiously, like shadows trembling in the gloomy night and the terrifying day; today, we are full of passion and advancing towards the top of the mountain, where there are violent storms, dazzling lightning, and deafening thunder.

Yesterday, we ate the bread with blood and drank the bitter water of tears; today, we took the delicious food from Miss Chen and drank the fragrant jade liquid. Yesterday, we were toys in the hands of the god of command, and the god of command was a drunk man, who played around with us; today, the drunk is already sober, we make him laugh, coax him to play, and share the joy. Yesterday, we burned incense before idols and sacrificed animals before the angry god; today, we burn incense and sacrifice animals for ourselves, because the temple of the great and good God has been built in our hearts.

Yesterday, we succumbed to the monarch and bowed our heads in front of the powerful; today, we only bow to the truth, goodness and beauty. Yesterday, we wept in front of the astrologers, fearing the nonsense of the Yin-Yang family; today, the times have changed, and so have we. We only look at the flames of the sun, listen to the singing of the sea, and dance with the madness. Yesterday, we demolished the pavilions in our souls and built tombs for our ancestors; today, our souls become sacred altars, so that the soul is inaccessible and cannot be touched by opponents. Yesterday, we were just silent thoughts, hidden in forgotten corners; today, we have become a loud noise, shaking the whole word.

Yesterday, we were sparks under the ashes; today we are a prairie fire, burning on the slopes of the valley. How many nights have we not slept peacefully, with our heads resting on dirt and our bodies covered in snow, weeping for our lost fortunes and companions.How many days have we been lying on the ground like a flock of sheep with no one to take care of them, eating our thoughts and chewing our emotions, but we are still hungry and thirsty.How many hours have we stood between the lost days and nights, crying out for withered youth, wondering why we are so lonely; we have gazed at the empty and dark sky, and listened to the laments in the silence of death.

Countless generations have passed by like girls in a cemetery; now the sky is clear and we are wide awake to sleep through the night and let our imaginations run wild.Torches flicker around us and we can touch them; ghosts rise around us and smell their breath; bands of gods pass before us and we rejoice. Yesterday, we were like that; today, our situation has changed.We are sons of God, and this is God's hope for us.Monkey grandchildren, what does the monkey wish for you? Have you ever advanced a step since you came out of the viril?Have you ever looked up once since the time the devil ripped your eyes away?Have you ever spoken a word of truth since the serpent kissed your mouth?Have you ever heard the God of Life sing, since the ghosts of death were plugged in your ears?

Seventy thousand years ago, I saw you crawling around in the cave like insects and ants. Seven minutes ago, I looked through the glass window and saw you walking in the alley of skeletons, with nameless ghosts leading the way for you, slave shackles fettering your hands and feet, and the god of death flaunting its might and wings above your heads. Your today, like your yesterday, will also be your tomorrow.You will always live as you did 70,000 years ago. We were like that yesterday, but we are totally different today. This is the blessing that God bestows on the Son of God.Monkey grandchildren, what do monkeys think of you?

between night and dawn Be silent, my heart!The universe cannot hear you. Be silent, my heart!The howler cannot hear your voice. My heart, be silent!Shadows in the night will not heed your whispers.The hordes of darkness will not assault your sweet dreams. My heart, be silent!And be silent till dawn.Those who patiently wait for the dawn will surely usher in the morning; those who are liked by the light must love the light. My heart, be silent!Please listen carefully: I dreamed that the Burmese bird was in the mouth of a volcano. I saw lilies standing on the top of the snow-capped mountains with their heads held high.

I saw naked fairies dancing among the graves. I saw children playing with skeletons. I saw these scenes in my dream; when I woke up, I looked around, no one saw a volcano erupting, no crow spread its wings, let alone heard a bird singing. I saw snowflakes falling from the sky, covering the fields and valleys, and the lily's stiff body wrapped in a white shroud. I see graves lined up before the silent age, where no one sings or dances nor prays and kneels. I saw the hills where no skeleton can be built, where only the sound of the wind can be heard, but the laughter of people cannot be heard.

All I saw when I woke up was pain and sorrow. Where did the joy in my dream go? When did the joy of sleep die?Why did the picture in the dream disappear?How can the soul endure, and when can it expect the ideal to reappear in the dream? Listen, my heart: Yesterday, my soul was a tall and straight old tree, reported to the belly of the northern earth, and pierced beyond the sky. The tree of my soul blooms in spring and bears fruit in summer; when autumn comes, I put the fruit in a silver tray and place it in the middle of the road for passers-by to eat and eat, and then go on their own way.

Autumn passes, and autumn songs turn into weeping and whining.I went to look at the silver plate again, and found that there was only one fruit left there, which was left for me by people.I picked up the fruit and put it in my mouth to taste it. It tasted like bitter melon and sour like unripe grapes.I told myself: "What a misfortune! I put into men's mouths curses, and into men's hearts enmity. O my soul, where is the sweet juice that thy roots draw from the heart of the earth? What thy branches draw from the sun's rays Where is the fragrance?" Afterwards, I uprooted the tree of my soul.

I uprooted the tree of soul from the soil where it grew, and discarded all the souvenirs left to it by time. I planted the tree of my soul in another land. I planted it in a field far away from the passage of time.At night, I stood by the tree and said to myself, "Staying up late can bring me close to the stars." I watered it with my blood and tears, and said, "My tears are delicious; my blood is fragrant." overflowing." Spring returns to the earth, and the tree of my soul blooms again. When summer comes, it bears fruit again. When the golden autumn comes, I put the ripe fruit in a gold plate and place it at the intersection; however, none of the crowds of passers-by reached out to take the fruit. I picked up a fruit, took a bite, and felt as sweet as honey, as delicious as Dover River water, as mellow as Babylonian wine, and as fragrant as jasmine.I cried out: "People don't like a hole in their mouth, nor do they like a mortar in their belly; because the hole is the daughter of tears, and the socket is the son of blood." I sit alone under the shade of my soul.The tree of my soul hangs in the field far away from the passage of time. My heart, be silent till morning. Don't make a sound!The sky won't absorb your exhaust, because it's infested with rotting corpses. My heart, listen carefully: Yesterday, my thought was a boat, tossed and tossed among the vast waves, drifting with the wind, from one coast to another. The boat of my thoughts is empty except for seven cups, and the forest is filled with paints of all colors, as colorful as a rainbow. Tired of being at sea, I said, "I will sail my ship of empty thoughts to the port of the country of my birth." I painted the sides of the boat with earthy yellow like the afterglow of the setting sun, tender green like the spring wisdom, tile blue like the sky, and blood red thick sails of the sunset, and painted eye-catching and strange pictures.After painting, my ship of thought, like a prophet's dream, began to swim between the vast sea and the endless sky.When the ship sailed into the port of the motherland, people rushed to greet it, everyone cheered and jumped, and everyone was full of praise. They only heard the sound of gongs and drums, and the singing of triumphant songs, and then welcomed me into the city. The reason they are so happy is because my ship of thought is beautiful; in fact, no one has ever entered the ship. No one asked me what precious things I brought back from overseas. No one expected that I returned empty. At that time, I said to myself: "I deceived people, and with only seven cups of paint, I was able to hide from their sharp eyes." A year later, I set sail again on the ship of my thoughts. I sailed to the East Isle, gathered myrrh, frankincense, ambergris, and balsamic, and loaded them—one by one into the hold of the ship. I sailed to the West Isles and brought back minerals, ivory, precious stones, emeralds, and jade. I sailed to the North Island and brought back brocades, embroidery and cashmere. I sailed to the South Island and brought back iron rings, Yemeni swords, spear blades, and guns of all kinds. The ship of my thoughts is filled with the rare treasures of the world, and returns to the harbor of the motherland.I say: "People will praise me, and I will deserve it; people will welcome me into the city with singing and dancing, and I will deserve it, and my reputation will live forever." But when I arrived at the port, no one greeted me; no one looked at me when I came out into the street. I stood on the square and announced to people that I brought back rare treasures from all over the world, so people turned their eyes away from me; although everyone was smiling, the eyes flashed mocking expressions.After a while, people abandoned me and went their separate ways. Depressed and dejected, I returned to the harbour, listless.As soon as I saw my ship of thoughts, I remembered something; it was because of this that I began to sail on the sea again. I shout out: "The rough waves of the sea brushed off the paint on the hull, and the hull of my ship of thought was exposed; the wind, the sun, and the rain stripped the painting from the sails and turned them into gray rags." I put the treasures I brought back into the coffin, and then pushed the coffin into the water.After that, I went back to the folks.However, they ignored me because their eyes could only see the surface. It was then that I cast off my ship of thought and came to Death City, where I sat among the whitewashed tombs and began to explore the secrets of death. My heart, be silent.until dawn.Don't open your mouth!The wind is mocking your whisper, the valley will not send back your chord. Behold, my heart, the dawn has broken in the east.If you can speak, please speak freely! My heart, look, this is the Army of the Dawn.Has the silence of night ever left you a song to sing to welcome the dawn? My heart, you see, these are pigeons and flocks of birds, flying and dancing on the valley.Has the fear of the night ever given you strong wings, allowing you to fly with them in the blue sky? Behold, my heart, the shepherd drives the flock.Did the figure in the night ever give you a will to go to the green grassland with the shepherd? My heart, look, these young lads are strolling to the vineyard.Don't you want to stand up and play in the garden with them? Arise, my heart, and move with the dawn!The night is over, and the horror and dream are gone. Arise, my heart, and sing aloud!Whoever does not sing in harmony with the dawn will remain forever in the night. Anesthesia and scalpel "He's an extremist, almost insane." "He's a utopian. He writes to destroy the morals of youth." "If married and unmarried men and women follow Gibran's views on marriage, then the pillars of the family will collapse, the edifice of the human union will collapse, the world will become hell, and the people will become ghosts" "Don't look at how beautifully he writes! He is one of the enemies of man." "He is an anarchist. He is an apostate. We urge the inhabitants of Mount Lucky to spurn his teachings and burn his writings, lest anything in them should overpower their souls." "I have read his Broken Wing, and I find it poison in the fat." This is what people say about me.They were right, I was an extremist, almost insane.My destructive tendencies outweigh my constructive tendencies.I hate at heart what people adore and love what people shut out of.If I could uproot human traditions, habits and beliefs, I would not hesitate for a minute.As for someone saying that my work is "poison in the fat", there are words to reveal the facts hidden behind the thick veil - the naked fact is that instead of putting poison in the fat, I put The poison caught in the fat was taken out...and I poured the poison into a clean and transparent cup. Those who apologized to me before their own souls, saying, "He is an utopian, who swims among the clouds", are the ones who gazed at the shining thing in the transparent cup and abandoned it. They called the "poison" drink.Because their appetites are too weak to digest it. Perhaps this quotation appears crude and presumptuous.But isn't it better to be bold and rough than to be betrayal and smooth?Presumptuousness is, after all, self-expression, whereas betrayal wears a garment tailored for others. Orientals require writers to be like bees, dancing in the fields, collecting fructose from flowers, and processing them into honey. Orientals like honey and think that there is no delicacy other than honey.They eat so much honey that they themselves become honey, which flows before the fire and solidifies only when placed on ice. The Orientals required poets to burn themselves as incense in the presence of their kings, rulers, and archbishops.The eastern sky was filled with clouds of smoke rising from thrones, altars, and tombs, and yet they were not satisfied.In our time, there are poets of praise who can rival Mutai Nabi, poets of mourning like Hansa, and poets of congratulations who are far superior in elegance to Shafiddin Hari. Orientals require scholars to study the history of their fathers and ancestors, to study their relics, customs and traditions in depth, and to spend their days and nights in their long language, complicated derivative words and cumbersome rhetoric. Orientals ask thinkers to repeat Bai Deba, Imu Lucid in their ears.What Ephraim Syryani and John Dimashki have said.The thinker is required in his writing not to go beyond the bounds of foolish precepts and poor guidance, and the maxims and scriptures that both draw upon.In fact, whoever wants to walk along those scriptures, his life must be like a weak grass living in the shadows; his soul is like warm water mixed with a little opium. In short, Orientals live on a stage that has passed away, preferring the negative, for the negative, Hate positive, pure principles and teachings that stimulate them and rouse them from their slumbers of peaceful dreams. Dongfang is a sick man who was attacked by various diseases and harassed by many plagues. He finally got used to chronic illness and pain. are inseparable; whoever has no such defect is regarded as a cripple deprived of natural talents and ideal perfections. There are many doctors in the East, and they often stay around the sick bed and conduct consultations for their diseases.However, they only prescribed short-acting anesthetics to Dongfang, which could only prolong the duration of the disease, but could not cure it. There are many kinds of psychotropic anesthetics, in various forms, and in various designs and colors.Perhaps, as diseases are contagious, one narcotic is born of another.Whenever a new disease was added to the East, its physicians invented a new anesthetic for it. As for the reasons for the emergence of those narcotics, there are many reasons, the most important of which are the patient's succumbing to the famous fatalistic philosophy, and also the timidity of the doctor, who is afraid that effective drugs will cause pain. To give you a few examples of narcotics and sedatives, which are used by oriental physicians to treat diseases of the family, nation and religion: For all sorts of real and living reasons, the husband hates his wife, and the wife hates her husband, so the husband and wife quarrel, fight and alienate each other.However, within a day and a night, the man's relatives went to the woman's relatives, exchanged trimmed opinions and embellished ideas, and agreed to reunite the husband and wife.So they brought the woman in, and bewildered her emotions with fabricated admonitions which made her ashamed but not convincing.Then they called the man again, and covered his mind with rhetoric and proverbs which softened his mind, but did not alter his will.And so, a couple who hated each other deep down in their souls reconciled -- temporarily -- and reunited against each other's inner wishes.Until the patent leather "falls off", the anesthetic used by relatives and friends fails, the man expresses disgust again, and the woman removes the veil of pain.But those who made peace for the first time, still have to show their skills again; and those who have tasted the narcotic will not refuse to drink a full glass. The people rise up against the tyrannical government or the old system, so they form a reform association aimed at revitalization and liberation. They speak bravely, inspire words with enthusiasm, issue regulations and programs, and send representatives and delegations.However, within a month or two, we heard that the government had imprisoned the head of the association, or perhaps given him an official position.As for the Reform Society, nothing has been heard from it, for its members have been calmed and subdued by the familiar narcotics. A group opposed to a religious leader, criticizing the leader himself, denying his merits, disgusting what he did on grounds, and threatening to convert them to another, more reasonable, Farther away from theories of fantasy and superstition.But, after a short time, we heard that the counselors of the state had eliminated the differences between the shepherd and the flock, restored the personal dignity of the chief by the efficacy of a miraculous anesthetic, and planted blind obedience in the rebellious beggars. in the soul of the leader. The cowardly oppressed complained that the powerful tyrant oppressed him too much, but the neighbor said to him: "Stop talking! Those who resist will be punished with gouging out their eyes." A countryman doubts the piety and integrity of the monastery, and his companions will say to him: "Be silent! There is a saying in the book: Listen to what they say, and don't act according to them." When students objected to rote memorization of Basrah and Kufic treatises on language, the teacher said to them: "The lazy and languid are making excuses uglier than crimes for themselves." When the young girl refused to follow the habits of her older sister, the mother said to her daughter, "A daughter is not superior to her mother; you are walking the path your mother walked." When the young man asked about the meaning of religious appendages, the pastor said to the young man: "Whoever does not observe with the eyes of faith will only see smoke and fog in this world." In this way, time passed day after day, night after night.Orientals sleep deeply on their soft sickbeds, occasionally being bitten by fleas, waking up for a minute, and then falling asleep again; controlled by the anesthetic mixed in the blood and flowing in the blood vessels, they have to sleep for generations.When a man rises and calls out to the sleeping ones, and fills their houses, temples, and courts with an uproar, they open their eyelids shut by eternal weariness, and yawn, they say: "What a rude and impolite man Young man, don't sleep yourself, and don't let others sleep well!" Then he closed his eyes and whispered to his soul: "He is an apostate who doesn't believe in God. He is destroying the moral concepts of young people and destroying the buildings of our ancestors. , and shoot people with poisoned arrows." More than once I asked myself if I was a rebellious sober who refused to drink narcotics and tranquilizers, but my soul answered me only in vague terms.But when I hear people curse my name and loathe my ideas, I just believe I'm awake and know I'm not surrendering to sweet dreams and lovely fantasies, but I'm asking for solitude One of those: life He was leading them along a trail full of thorns and flowers, surrounded by vicious wolves and night grass. If sobriety were a virtue, I would be ashamed to pretend to be sober.Yet it is not a virtue, but a marvelous reality, suddenly unfolding itself before those who seek solitude; and drawn by an invisible thread, contemplating its majestic meaning, they involuntarily Follow it forward. I am convinced that it is a pure hypocrisy to be ashamed of showing one's true self, and what is called "education" among Orientals. Tomorrow literary thinkers will read the preceding lines and say with unease: "He is an extremist who sees life from the dark side. As long as he is among us, weeping, moaning, sighing, and weeping for our condition , then, all he can see in his eyes is darkness." I would say to these literary thinkers: "I weep for the East, because it is madness to dance at the deathbed." The reason why I cry for the Orientals is because it is double folly to laugh in the face of disease. The reason why I wail for that lovely country is because it is blind and dull to sing before the blind victims. The reason why I am radical is that the moderates who reveal the truth only tell half of the truth, and hide the other half behind the fearful Makuji, lest people will be suspicious and make irresponsible remarks. When I saw the rotting corpse, I felt disgusted from the bottom of my heart. I couldn't help but churn my internal organs, and I was flustered and unbearable.I cannot sit facing a rotting corpse with a glass of refreshing drink to my left and a plate of sweet dessert to my right. If anyone wants to exchange my wailing for laughter, my dislike for sympathy, and my radicality for moderation, he should show me that among the Orientals there is a just ruler and an upright My legislator should also show me a dean who does what he teaches, and a husband who sees his wife as he sees himself. If anyone wants me to dance and hear me play the drum and flute, he should send me to the bridegroom's house instead of leaving me among the graves. Everything else Mr. Salman He was fifty-six years old, dressed gorgeously, with a slender figure, a curvy beard, bright leather shoes, silk stockings on his feet, and high-end cigarettes.His hands were smooth and delicate, and he carried a beautiful cane with a gilded handle set with precious stones.He often dined in grand restaurants, where dignitaries frequented their gatherings.He went out to play in mountains and rivers, and he sat in a luxury caravan pulled by two BMWs. Mr. Salman did not inherit any money from his father, because his father was poor all his life, and he did not inherit any property from his ancestors, although the ancestors had been in business. Mr. Salleman is lazy, hates work, and feels inferior.Once we heard him say: "My body and character are not fit for work, and only those who are cold-tempered and stout can work." So, how did Mr. Salman get the money, and which god turned the loess in his hands into gold and silver? That is one of the secrets of the silver-plated dung, which Izraj revealed to us, and we tell you: Five years ago, Salman married rich media Farhima.Fahima's late husband, Baitulai Nu'aman, was a wealthy businessman during his lifetime. Among his companions, he was known for his dedication, loyalty and tenacity.Last year, Faxima was forty and five years old, but her temperament and hobbies were like those of a sixteen or seventeen-year-old girl.Now, she dyes her hair, paints her eyes and eyebrows, and wears heavy makeup.But she never saw Salman before midnight; when she did meet occasionally, all she got from him were cold glances and violent words.Because Salman is busy squandering the money his wife and ex-husband earned through hard work and sweat all day long. Mr Eddie He is a young man of twenty-seven.He had a big nose and two small eyes; his face was always so dirty; his hands were stained with ink, and his nails were full of grime.The edges of his clothes were ragged, and the corners were stained with oil and coffee.All these ugly appearances are not a sign of poverty and hunger, but the result of carelessness, because his mind is not there, and he is busy thinking about spiritual matters, difficult problems and theological subjects all day... We listen to him citing Wenmin Jundi He said: "You can't do two things at the same time! That is to say, a writer can't write and pay attention to hygiene at the same time." Mr. Adib is talkative and forgets everything when he talks.As far as we know, he studied in a school in Beirut for two years, learning rhetoric, poetry, letter writing, and composition from a famous teacher.However, until now, he has not published anything at all; the reasons are various, the most important being the decline of Arabic newspapers and the ignorance of readers. Recently, Mr. Adib has devoted himself to the study of ancient and modern philosophy.He admires Socrates and Nietzsche at the same time. He appreciates the words of the apostle Augustine, and loves to read the articles of the two French Enlightenment thinkers Voltaire and Rousseau.Once, we saw him at a wedding party, people sang and drank around him, and he talked about Shakespeare's tragedy "Hamlet" with his famous eloquence!Another time, we saw him walking in the funeral procession for a dignitary, and the mourners walked beside him, with their heads bowed and their faces sad; Why is Mr. Adib alive, and what is the purpose of spending his days in the pile of old books and old papers?Why not get a little donkey and join the ranks of the resourceful, the strong and the beneficial? That is one of the secrets of the silver-plated dung, revealed to us by the Enemy, and we tell you: Three years ago, Adib composed a long poem in praise of Lord Mutrang, and then sang that poem in front of Mutrang at Habib Salwan's house.After singing the long poem, Mutran called Edib over, patted his shoulder with his hands, and said with a smile: "My child, Allah forgive you. You are really an excellent poet and a clever writer! I stand for you Proud of such a man! There is no doubt that you will be a great man of the East." Since then, Adib's father, uncles and uncles have all looked at him and said triumphantly: "Didn't Mutron say that you will become a great man in the East?!" Farid Baker He was in his late forties, tall, with a small head.Big mouth, narrow and bald forehead.He walks lazily, with a thick chest and a long neck; his steps have a special rhythm, just like a camel carrying a camel sedan on its back.He spoke in a loud and majestic voice; if one did not know him, one would have thought that some minister was issuing orders to his subordinates concerning the arrangement of slaves. Farid has no job at ordinary times, but gathers together, counts the glorious history of his family, and publicizes his noble lineage.He likes to talk about the deeds of great men and heroes, such as Napoleon and Anta. He has a saying: God created people and divided them into different classes. It begins to walk only when the master rides it; the weak among them can only hold a pen, while the strong can dance a sword. What is the reason for Farid Baker's self-importance, superciliousness, boastfulness, complacency, and arrogance? That is one of the secrets of the silver-plated dung, revealed to us by the angels, and we tell you of it: During the first third of the 19th century, when King Bashir Shahabi led a party through the Lebanese valley, they passed near the village where Farid's grandfather Mansour lived.That day, the weather was very hot, and the sun shot fiery light arrows towards the earth, almost scorching everything on the ground.The king dismounted and said to everyone: "Everyone, let's rest under the shade of that holly willow tree!" When Mansur learned of this, he called the neighboring farmers and told them that the king was resting near their village.The farmers, carrying figs, grapes, milk, wine, and honey, followed Mansur to the tree.When he came to the place where the king was resting, Mansur went forward, kissed the hem of the king's coat, and slaughtered a sheep, and cried out: "This is our king, a gift from the Lord!" Seeing Mansur's generosity, the king was very happy. He immediately embraced one of the cheap clothes and said: "From now on, I specially appoint you as the elder of the village, and the villagers of your village will be exempted from paying money and food this year." That night, after the king left, all the villagers gathered at Elder Mansur's house, claiming Humansur as the leader with one voice, and determined to share their fate with him. Silver-plated dung, gold and jade, but there are countless secrets, which are revealed to us by demons and ghosts every day and night, and we will tell you before the times send us into the blue sunset.It's midnight now, and our eyelids are weary of staying up, allow us to rest. dream In the dead of night, everything on the earth fell asleep.I got out of bed and went to the sea, thinking: "The sea is sleepless all night, and the awake sea will comfort a sleepless soul." When I walked to the seashore, the fog and dew had subsided from the peaks and enveloped the surroundings, like a gray veil covering the handsome face of a young girl.I stood there, staring at the crest of the waves, listening to the roar of the waves, thinking, what kind of power is behind this sea, pushing it, that power sometimes gallops with the storm, boils with the volcano; Like a hundred flowers blooming with joy and smiling, they sing together with the stream. After a while, I looked back and saw three figures sitting on a nearby rock.The mist is like a green veil, covering them, appearing and disappearing from time to time.I walked towards them slowly, as if there was some attraction in them that made me involuntarily gravitate toward them. Only a few steps away from them, I stopped and looked at them, as if there was a magic in that place, which fixed my will and awakened the fantasy in my soul. Just then one of the three shadows stood up and said in a deep voice that seemed to come from the bottom of the sea: "Life without love is like a tree without flowers and fruit; love without beauty is like flowers without fragrance and fruit without seeds... Life, love and beauty are an absolutely independent trinity that cannot be changed or separated. "After speaking, he sat down. The second shadow stood up and said in a voice like the roar of the sea: "Life without rebellion is like the lack of spring in the four seasons; rebellion without truth is like spring falling in the dry and barren desert... Life, rebellion and truth are an inseparable and unalterable trinity." Then the third shadow stood up and said in a thunderous voice: "Life without freedom is like a body without a soul; freedom without thought is like a wandering soul...Life, freedom and thought, this is the trinity that will never perish and never disappear for generations to come." Then, the three shadows stood together and said in unison with earth-shattering voices: "Love and its crystallization, rebellion and its fruit, freedom and its product, this is the phenomenon of life, and the Lord is the conscience of the rational world." At that time, in the silence, I could vaguely hear the light flapping of some invisible wings, and felt some invisible bodies in the air trembling.I closed my eyes and listened for the echo of the words I had just heard.When I opened my eyes and looked again, I saw thick fog on the sea. When I approached the reef where the three shadows had been sitting just now, I saw a column of air steaming up into the sky. one night written in days of hunger and understanding In the dark, we call each other. In the dark night, the shadow of death stands among us.We cry for help, we cry.Death's wings cover us, death's giant hand pushes our souls into the abyss, death gazes into the distant dawn like a torch. Death walks in the dark.We fear, we cry, and follow behind the god of death. No one can stop, and no one dares not to follow the god of death. Death walks in the night, and we follow.Every time death looked back, a thousand of us fell by the wayside.The fallen ones sleep forever; the last ones, yielding to the will of death, continue to move forward, knowing that they will fall too, and will be on the roadside with the sleeping person for a long time.As for the god of death, he kept walking, staring into the distant dawn. In the dark night, the elder brother calls the younger brother, the father calls the son, and the mother calls the child.We were all hungry, exhausted, and struggling.As for death, he is neither hungry nor thirsty, because he devours our soul and body, sucks our blood and tears, but he can never get enough to eat or drink. In the first watch, the child called to his mother and said: "Mom, I'm hungry." The mother replied: "Son, be patient for a while!" On the second watch, the child called to his mother again: "Mom, I'm hungry, give me a piece of bread!" The mother replied: "Son, we have no bread." In the middle of the night, the Grim Reaper walked by the mother and the child, flapped its wings and beat the mother and the child, and the mother and child fell to the side of the road.As for the god of death, he walked forward, gazing into the distant dawn. Early in the morning, the man went to the field to look for food and found only stones and dirt there. At noon, the man returned to his wife and children, exhausted, and returned empty-handed. At night, death passed by the husband, wife and children, and they were all lying on the ground, falling asleep.Death smiled and walked away, staring at the distant dawn. Early in the morning the farmer left his hut and walked towards the city with his mother's and sisters' jewels in his pockets.Going to sell the jewellery, in exchange for flour.In the evening, the farmer returned to the village with neither food nor jewelry in hand, and found his mother and sisters lying on the ground.她们的眼睛仍然望着远方。于是，农夫张开双臂，飞向天空，然后落到洼地，就像猎手射中的鸟儿一样。晚间，死神经过农夫及其母亲和姐妹的身旁，发现他们均已倒在地上，便微笑而去，极目凝视着遥远的曙光。 黑夜里，黑夜没有止境，我们呼唤行走在白日光明中的人们，你们可听得到我们的声音？ 我们将死者的灵魂派遣到你们那里当使者，你们可听得懂他们的言语？ 东风带走了我们的魂灵，是否已到达你们那遥远的岸边，将重载卸到了你们的肩上？当你们知道了我们的处境，是前来搭救我们，还是无动于衷，说："处在光明之中的人能为身陷黑暗者做点什么？承蒙天意，就让死者掩埋死者。" 正可谓无意如此。 但是，难道你们就不能使你们的灵魂高尚，更高尚？上帝使你们顺从天意，成为我们的助手。 黑夜里，我们相互呼唤。 黑夜里，哥哥呼唤弟弟，母亲呼唤儿子，丈夫呼唤妻子，情哥呼唤情妹。我们的声音彼此交融，直升太苍；死神暂停脚步，讥笑我们，蔑视我们，然后走去，极目凝视着遥远的曙光。 龋齿 我口里有一颗龋齿，千万百计折磨我的神志：白日里，它静静伏兵以待；黑夜里，牙科医生安歇，药房闭门，它便猖极一时。 一天，我终于忍无可忍，于是走访医生。我对医生说："请拔除我这颗龋齿吧！它使我尝不到睡梦的香甜，将宁静的夜晚化成了呻吟和吁叹。" 医生摇头说："倘若能够医治，千万不要拔掉龋齿。" 说罢，医生动手钻磨、清洗，除掉龋齿上的病迹；直到再无虫蛀部分，便在牙洞间填充以真金。之后，医生夸口说："病牙已经变得坚固结实，胜过了你那健康的牙齿。"我相信他的话，递上一把第纳尔，高兴地和牙医告辞。 一周未过，这颗倒霉的牙齿又来折磨我，它驱散了我心中的歌，代之注人以临死者发出的喉鸣和深渊中传来的啼哭声。 我走访另一位牙医。我坚决地说：精拔除这颗填金的坏牙吧！不要犹豫，不要迟疑！挨棍子打的人不同于数很数的人。 " 医生动手拔牙。那是剧烈痛疼的时刻，然而也是吉祥欣喜之时。 医生拔下那颗病齿，仔细检查。之后，对我说："对，应该拔除！病在牙根，已经没有希望治愈。" 那天晚上，我安然人睡，睡得恬恬酣畅，因此，我深深感激这拔除之功。 在人类社会的口中，有许多龋齿，虫疾蔓延，直蛀其颌。但是，人类社会却不拔除这些病齿，以求摆脱痛苦，而是满足于治疗调理，清洁表面，用闪光的金子镇充牙洞。 有多少医生，只用华丽的涂料、光亮的金属来装饰人的牙齿！有多少患者，屈从于好心医生的意愿，呻吟着接受调治，受骗而死！ 然而，病死的民族不能复生，无法向公众阐述精神病因，也不能讲明置请民族于死地的社会疾病的症结。 在叙利亚民族的口中，生着肮脏发黑的龋齿，散发着恶嗅。医生们对这些龋齿进行清洗，填充磁粉，外裹上金壳，均无济于事；要想治愈，除非连根拔掉。生着龋齿的民族，其肠胃甚弱。世界上因消化不良而衰亡的民族，数不胜数。 谁想看看叙利亚的龋齿，请到学校里去。在那里，未来的人们可以弄清艾河洁士的那些话来自西伯维；而西伯维则是从驾驼轿的人那里听来的。 或者到法庭去，在那时，杂技式的才智戏弄诉讼案件，就像猫戏逗捉来的老鼠一般。 或者到穷人家里去，那里充满恐惧、怯懦和愚昧。 此后，再去访问牙医。牙医手指轻柔，机械精密，麻药齐备。他们天天都在填补龋齿的窟窿，清洁有病部位。如果想和他们谈谈，吸收他们的才智，就会知道他是才子和雄辩家。他们组织协会，举行会议。他们在俱乐部、广场发表演说。他们谈话的声调和谐，比石磨的声音悦耳，较七月夜下的蛙鸣高亢。 但是，倘若有人对他们说，叙利亚民族正用龋齿吃着赖以生存的食物，口口食物都混杂着有毒的唾液，会引起肠胃病，牙医们就会回答说："是的，我们正在研究最新药品和最新麻醉剂。" 有人对牙医们说："你们何不连根拔除龋齿？"他们会取笑他，说他没有对深奥的牙医术进行研究。 假如再要问下去，牙医们便会远远离去，并且厌烦地自言自语："在这个世界上，幻想家何其多！他们的梦想又是多么美妙啊！" 节日的夜 夜幕降临，黑暗笼罩了城市，公馆和民宅亮光闪烁。人们涌向大街，个个身着节日新衣，人人面带欣喜自足神采，呼出的气中也散发着饭菜和酒的香味…… 我独自漫步，远避拥挤与嘈杂，思念着节日的主人。 我想着那位若干代人的圣贤，生于贫困，毕生生活清苦，最后被钉在十字架上…… 我想到，在叙利亚的一个小村子里，一个完美灵魂燃点起的那柄火炬，超越飞鸟，穿过一个又一个文明时代…… 我来到公园，坐在一条木椅上，透过光秃秃的枝条，向拥挤的大街望去，远远地听货行进在值戏、闲逛队列中庆祝节日的人们唱的歌声…… 一个时辰的思考与梦幻之后，我回头一看，只见一男子坐在我的旁边，手里拿着一根棍子，正用棍端在地上画着模模糊糊的线条……我心想：他像我一样是个孤独汉。我仔细打量他的外貌，但见他衣衫褴楼，头发蓬乱；虽然如此，却不乏庄重、严肃气质……似乎他已觉察到我在打量他的外表和容貌，于是转过脸来，用深沉稳重的声音说："晚安／我随后还礼："晚上好。 " 之后，他又用棍子在地面上画了起来。我很喜欢他的声调。片刻过后，我又问他："你不是本城人吧？" 他回答："在本城，我是个异乡客；在每座城市里，我都是异乡人。" 我说："在这样的时节里，人们之间亲热、和气、关心、同情，就连外乡人也会忘却寄居他乡的压抑与寂寞。" 他说："在这样的日子里，我感到比平日更加寂寞苦闷。" 说完，他目光转向灰暗天空，双眼圆瞪，双唇颤动，仿佛从天幕上看到了遥远故乡的影子。 我说："这时节，人们相互关心，富人念穷汉，强者怜弱夫。" 他说："是啊。富人对穷人的怜悯，只不过是一种自爱；强者对弱夫的同情，不过是一种炫耀优越感的形式罢了。" "也许你说得对。"我说，"可是，强大的客人心中的愿望和爱好，与柔弱的穷人有何相干呢？可怜的饿汉梦想得到的是面包，而不会去想做面包时如何揉面。" 他说："受赠者不考虑什么，而施主则应该三思。" 他的话令我惊异。我再次端详他那奇异外貌和破烂衣衫……。 一阵沉默之后，我望着他，说："看来你很是饥道，何不去要一两个迪尔汗呢？" 他的双唇间绽出苦涩的微笑。他回答道："是的，我确实正遭受饥懂之苦，但我需要的不是钱。" "你需要什么？"我问。 "我需要一个栖身之地…··德要一个头靠一靠的地方。"他回答。 "从我这里拿两个迪尔汗，到客栈开间房子去。"我说。 "我去过本城的每一个客栈，没找到一间空房；我敲过每家的门，没看到我的一位朋友；我进过每个饭堂，没人给我一个面包。"他说。 我心想：好怪的年青人，说起话来，时而像个哲学家，时而又像个疯子！ 可是，"疯子"一词刚刚敲击我的灵魂的耳膜，他便凝目注视着我，提高声音说："是的，我是疯子。像我这样栖身无地、饥而无食的异乡人都是疯子。" 我更正想法，乞求宽恕道："请原谅我的猜测。我不晓得你究竟是何许人，只觉得你的话新奇。能否接受我的邀请，和我一起到我家过夜呢？" "你家的门，我敲过千百次，没人给我开呀！"他说。 我确信他是疯子，于是说： "现在去吧，到我家过夜去吧！" 他抬起头来，说："假若你知道我是何许人，你是不会邀请我的。" "你是何许人？"我问。 他声如洪水咆哮回答："我是革命，今兴各民族之所灭；我是暴风，专摧历代所立之偶像；我来到大地上，是为了抛剑，而不是为了丢弃和平。" 他站起来，但见他身材修长，面放光芒，伸展双臂，双掌上显现出针痕。我立即跪在他的面前，高声呼唤："耶稣基督……" 当时，我听他说："世界都把我的名字及岁月围绕着我的名字叙说的传统作为节日来庆祝。而我呢，却是个异乡客，游荡在大地的西方和东方，百姓们无人知道我的真情实况。" 狐狸有穴，天鸟有巢，人类之子却无一枕之席。 其时，我翘首远望，眼前只有一往香，传人耳际的只有发自永恒世界深处的夜的声音。 giant 用墨水书写与用心血书写大不相同。 烦恼造成的沉默不同于痛苦酿就的无声。 至于我，我已沉默无语，因为世界的耳朵已避开弱者的轻声细语、低沉呻吟，转而倾听深谷的痛哭、嚎陶、呐喊、喧嚣。当隐藏在天良中的那种醉心于以大炮当口舌、弹药当词语的力量讲话时，弱者理当缄默。 我们正处于这么一个时代：其最小的微不足道之事也比你们干的大事大；扰乱我们的思想、意向、情感的事情，已隐没在暗影之中； 嘲弄我们的见解和原则的疑难问题，已隐匿在疏忽面纱之后。至于那美妙的幻梦和螨珊在我们直觉舞台上的清丽的身影，也已云消雾散，代之而来的是行走如风、起伏若海、呼吸似火山的巨人。 巨人们之间的争斗结束之后，世界会走向何方？ 村夫能回到田间，在死神种下骷髅的地方撒播种子吗？ 牧人会将牲畜赶到地面被剑矛刺破、水源混合着血浆的草原去吗？ 信徒会在群魔乱舞的寺庙里顶礼膜拜吗？诗人会在烟雾掩映的晨光中吟诗作赋吗？歌手能在阴森静夜里放开歌喉吗？ 母亲能安坐婴儿床边，不再为明天担惊受怕，从容不迫哼吟摇篮曲吗？ 情侣能在敌对双方搏斗厮杀过的地方拥抱接吻吗？ 四月还会重返大地，用它那绚丽的衣衫来遮掩大地那挂彩的肢体吗？ 你们的祖国和我的祖国会走向何方？哪位巨人将占领使我们在阳光下长大成人的丘陵、高原呢？ 叙利亚将被抛入狼窝、猪圈，还是被暴风卷进狮穴名巢呢？ 黎明的曙光还会升上黎巴嫩的山巅吗？ 每当我孤独幽居时，总是向自己提出这些问题。但是，灵魂如同天命，它能看而不能说话，只顾向前走而不回头；它虽然眼明腿快，却笨嘴拙舌。 众人啊，在你们中间，谁不日夜自问：巨人戴上用孤儿寡母的眼泪织成的面罩之后，地球及人类的命运将会怎样？ 我素来欢喜探索发展和进化的规律。据我所知，发展、进化规律不仅适用于抽象存在，而且也适用于具体存在；无论是宗教还是政府，都依此规律渐臻完善，犹如万物之适应性日益增强。至于倒退则只见外貌，衰败则仅在外表。 进化规律这棵大树，其技权繁多，互不交织，然而仅生自同根。但是，此规律的外观显得残酷、暴虐，为狭隘的思想所不承认，为软弱的心所弃绝。此规律的内部，却是正大光明之至：它坚持比众人的权力更加高尚的权力，它向往比众人的目标更加崇高的目标，它倾听被淹没在恐惧和甜言中的难民的叹息和呻吟。 在我的周围，到处都是诛儒，他们从远处争相观看巨人的身影。他们在睡梦中听到巨人的喝彩回声，便青蛙似地鼓噪道："世界已回到了原始时代。数代人用知识和艺术建造起来的大厦，已被野蛮人的贪婪、自私所毁坏。如今，我们像山顶洞人一样，不同的只是创造了用于毁坏的机器和用于制造死亡的阴谋诡计。" 保儒们将科学家的良心同自己的良心进行了比较，并且用保护个人生存的思想对生存的目的进行了一番分析之后，才说出了这几句话：仿佛太阳只是为了供他们取暖而存在，似乎大海的存在也只是为了供他们洗脚。 巨人像风，从生活内部、视野之后、造化深处，从一切保存宇宙秘密的地方冲出来，乌云似地上升，与大山交会。如今，巨人们相互争斗，来解决地球上的难题。 至于人类和人类脑海中的一切知识、学问以及他们心中的爱与憎、忍耐与苦衷，则都是巨人们顺手取来玩耍的东西，借以达到自己的神秘目的。 淌出的鲜血，将流成天堂里的多福河；洒落的泪水，将生出芳香四溢的花朵；逝去的灵魂，将成群结队升上遥远的天际，化成新的曙光。人们终于懂得了自己从苦难市集买到了真理；为真理而不惜钱财的人，是不会亏本的。 四月必将重返人间；但是，谁不从冬翁掌中索求四月，必定一无所获。 亲人之死 我的亲人死了。我还活着，孤独地哀悼我的亲人。 我的友伴死了。在他们之后，我的生活也面临着他们经历过的种种灾难。 我的亲人死了，我的友伴死了。眼泪和鲜血浸透了祖国的高原。在这里，我像亲人、友伴活着的时候那样生活；当时，祖国的高原沐浴着太阳的光焰。 我的亲人死了，不是饿死，便是亡于刀剑。在这个遥远的国度里，我生活在自由、欢快的人们中间。他们吃食香美，饮料可口，床铺光滑柔软。他们望着岁月笑意盎然；岁月望着他们，春风满面。 我的亲人死得真惨，而我却在这里活得舒适安然。这是一幕永恒的悲剧，常在我心灵的舞台上重演。 倘若我也在饥饿的亲人中间忍饥挨饿，在苦难同胞中饱受摧残，那么，白昼的脚也会轻踏我的前胸，黑夜在我眼里也不至于如此黯淡。因为与亲人共患难，会让人感到欣慰；与无辜者同遭灾，会令人引以自豪。 但是，我没有能够与亲人一道同受饥寒之苦，没有跟随着他们的队伍共赴灾难，而是幽居重洋外，生活宽裕悠闲。在这里，我远离祸殃和灾民，毫无引以自豪、炫耀之处，只得泪垂胸前。 远方避难的人能为饥懂的亲人做些什么？ 但愿我能知道，诗人的痛哭哀号究竟有何用？