Now I often have this feeling: the god of death is sitting in the aisle outside the door, sitting in a dark place, where ordinary people cannot see, waiting patiently for me night after night.I don't know when it will stand up and say to me: Hey, let's go.I think that must be involuntary.But no matter what time it is, I think I will probably still feel a little rushed, but I will not hesitate or procrastinate. "Gently I leave, just as I came gently" - I said that Xu Zhimo's poem does not necessarily involve life and death, but in my opinion, it is the most appropriate attitude towards life and death, and it is really good as an epitaph nor.

Death is never done all at once.Chen Cun once said to me: People die bit by bit, first here, then there, step by step and finally completed.He spoke very calmly, and I echoed casually. We have all lived so much that we don't care about death so much. That is to say, I am walking gently, and my soul is leaving this damaged body, bidding farewell to this world step by step.At times like this, I don't know what other people will think, but I especially think of the mystery that comes gently.For example, I think of the changing sunlight in the morning, noon and evening, a blue sky, a quiet courtyard, and a soft wind blowing towards my face. It seems that there has always been the soft call of my mother and grandma in the wind... I don’t know if others also Like me, I will be sincerely surprised: what about the past?Where has all the old days gone?

The beginning of life is the most mysterious, completely out of nothing.All of a sudden, you enter a situation, and one situation leads to another situation, which is logical and seamless, and a real world is connected with one coming and two going.It's really like a movie, on the empty screen, for example, suddenly there is a child squatting in the grass and playing, the sun shines on him, and shines on the distant mountains, nearby trees and a path in the grass.Then the child got tired of playing, and staggered back along the path, which led to a house at the end of the path, the mother who was watching him at the door, the father buried in his pipe or newspaper, which led to a home, and then to a world.The child just follows the chain of events, some fleeting, some unalterable history, and the cause of unalterable history.In this way, one day the child will finally remember the mystery of the beginning: for no reason, as the sages said - people are thrown into this world.

In fact, the words "you suddenly entered a situation without a trace" and "people are thrown into this world" are both flawed. Before "entering a situation", there was no you. Before being thrown into this world, people didn't matter. —but this should be a subject for philosophers. For me, the beginning is an ordinary courtyard house in Beijing.I stood on the kang, leaned on the window sill, and looked at it through the glass.It was dark in the room, but the sun was shining brightly outside the window.Nearby is a row of green elm low walls, beyond the elm low wall there are two jujube trees in the distance, the withered black branches of the jujube trees are inlaid into the blue sky, and under the jujube trees are the quiet window corridors around. ——This is the first encounter with the world, simple but impressive.The complicated world is still far away, or it just squats around that quiet time and snickers, watching a childish life slowly open its eyes, sprouting desire.

Both grandma and mother said: You were born there. In fact, he was born in a hospital not far from there.It snowed heavily when I was born.One day and one night, there was a rare heavy snow, and the road was buried. Grandma carried the bedding prepared for me to the hospital, walked to the window eaves of the delivery room, and stood there for half the night. Came lightly.Mother saw me coming later.Grandma said that my mother was sad for a long time for giving birth to such an ugly thing. At that time, my mother was young and beautiful.Afterwards, my mother kept silent about this matter, and only said that when I came, "a layer of black skin covered the bones".But is all this true?

[empty line] I stumbled out the door and into the yard before a real world began to offer credentials.The smell of sun-heated flowers and plants, the smell of sun-heated masonry, the sun dancing and flowing in the wind.The cross corridor paved with blue bricks connects the houses on all sides, and divides the yard into four equal pieces of land, two of which have a jujube tree on each, and the other two are filled with passionflowers.Passiflora blooms with huge flowers, and bees dig in and out among the layers of petals, buzzing mining.Butterflies are leisurely and elegant, flying around, silently like phantoms.The jujube tree is covered with moving shadows and fine jujube flowers.The green and yellow jujube flowers are like a layer of powder, covered with moss on the ground, very slippery, be careful when stepping on it.In the sky, or in the clouds, there are some voices, some vague and unknown voices—the sound of wind?ring?Or singing?I can't tell, I didn't know what that sound was for a long time, but I heard him as soon as I was under the blue sky, even when I was a baby.The voice is clear, joyful, melodious and unhurried, as if it is the inherent call of life, insisting that you pay attention to him, look for him, visit him, or even go to him.

I stepped over the high threshold and walked out of the courtyard with difficulty. In front of me was a quiet street, slender and regular. Two or three strange figures walked by, walking towards the rising sun in the east and the setting sun in the west.The east and west sides don't know where they lead, and they don't know what they are connected to, but the beautiful voice is unstoppable, flowing like the wind... I will always see that little street, and see a child standing on the doorstep looking out.The rising sun or setting sun dazzled his eyes, and a group of black spots appeared. He closed his eyes, a little scared, at a loss for a long time, and then opened them again, ah, well, the world is bright again... There are two A black-clothed monk walked quietly under the eaves along the street... A few dragonflies hovered steadily, with lights flashing on their wings... The sound of pigeon whistles appeared and faded, gentle and long, gradually approaching, bululu Flying over the top of the head, it gradually moved away, like a ball of flying confetti in the sky... This is a strange thing, I can see me looking out, and I can see me looking out.

Where are those scenes now?At that moment, where did the child, that mood, the surprised and fascinated eyes, all the old scenes go?They floated into space, yes, fifty years ago.But does this mean that they have simply drifted away from the here and now, when in fact they still exist? What is the dream?Memories, what's going on? If there is a telescope with a large enough multiple and an observation point fifty light-years away, those scenes will surely remain the same, the small street, the flock of pigeons in the sky above the small street, the two unknown monks, the dragonfly wings The flash and the obsessed child, and the wonderful voice in the sky, it's the same as always.If the telescope continued to follow at the speed of light, the child would forever be standing on that side street, watching obsessively.If the telescope stops, stops somewhere fifty light-years away, my whole life will be repeated in sequence, fifty years of history will be re-enacted.

It's amazing.It is quite possible that life and death depend only on observation, on how far or near it is observed.For example, when a star that is hundreds of thousands of light-years away from us has long been extinct, it is spending its youth in our field of vision. Time limits us, habits limit us, and rumor-like public opinion keeps us trapped in reality, making us close our eyes and listen to the magic of the day and dare not act rashly.Day is a kind of magic, a spell, which makes the dead rules unhindered and the reality wears out the magic.All people are playing tense and rigid roles under the magic of the day, and all speech, behavior, thoughts and dreams seem to be delineated by preset programs.

So I look forward to the night, to the night, to the freedom in silence. I even hope to stand in death and see life. My body has long been fixed on a bed and in a wheelchair, but my soul often travels in the dark, leaving the disabled body, the magic of the day, and reality, wandering in the night world where the hustle and bustle is quiet, listening to all The dreamer tells of watching all the wandering souls who have given up their earthly roles unravel another drama in the night sky and the wilderness.The wind, wandering around, connects the news of the night, from the sleeping window to the sleeping window, to visit the mood neglected by the day.Another kind of world, flourishing, the sound of night is extremely vast.Yes, that is writing.As for literature, as I said, I don't seem to have much to do with it. What I yearn for is this free night walk, to go to the heart of all hearts and souls.