Bian Guan Yue Column: No longer silent, maybe the soul will really die

If you are silent, maybe the soul will really die

Text/Border Pass Month

Writing again, it is already middle-aged.

At this time in the year before, when I was bored and wandering around the Internet, I accidentally saw the book "Recorded in the Way of the Heart" by Liu Zhiqiang, a young writer in our province, and a signing ceremony was being held in Longyou County, which enjoys the reputation of "the hometown of Chinese bamboo".

The book is a collection of unpretentious vernacular essays. In the book, I write my village, the story of the village and the mother's village with a delicate pen, etc., which give people a warm and intimate feeling that has reappeared in the past. In this noisy red dust, meditate on the book "Recorded in the Way of the Heart", and a warm family affection rises faintly from Dantian...

For a time, I was touched by the word "young man" and the spirit of "remarkable" writing. For days, there was like a raging tide in the cavity, and wave after wave woke me up from the sunken seabed.

So I gently tapped the teacher's QQ with my scalp.

In my spare time, I intermittently flipped through the articles in the teacher's space and found that his journey was very difficult, and he could get such an excellent ending as today, and the words recorded his arduous trek and perseverance along the way. After several browsing and reading Zhiqiang's articles, each time there was a lot of pressure and shock, and after reading it, every time I was faintly colicked in my heart. The powerful and shocking eye-catching title, the euphemistic love of the countryside, the magnificent righteousness of the three points of the sentence, and the iron courage and tenderness of the sports athletes, the words and sentences are like the alarm bells of the head hanging beam and the cone of thorns, always ringing on the "peace and security people" like me who are sinking and slacking.

To be honest, before that, I lingered many times in the mentality of writing again, after all, I am middle-aged, do I still have the meaning to re-read the old dreams of my youth? The old people in my hometown often say that if people don't learn art after thirty years, the passion for this time and a half will not be poured in leather shoes, hot three points, right? Besides, I, who had never entered a college, could I take two steps on the road of literature? Not to mention the fall into the pen. Time passed by the pillow minute by minute, the dream of the Chinese years passed by the pillow, the days of day, two days in the corners of the eyes and between the two sideburns added a few strands of green silk texture, the mood chaos became a fragment flying outside the cold window, a kind of loneliness, loneliness, wandering, melancholy once again invaded my heart, really give up? That's it, countless times in the dream repeatedly stirring up their own awakening...

In those days, the mood was always in the confusion of contradiction and confusion. The children have all gone to school, take the words of the old men, almost half-buried in the loess soil, once again pick up ink lyrics, just like Teacher Zhiqiang said, don't say that others mock, even they feel a little ridiculous. A monk who is a half-monk can recite as many sutras as he can and how much zen he can attain. Isn't it "a bottle that doesn't sound and half a bottle that shakes"?

Sometimes, however, one really needs to have a little bit of courage. Twelve years of pen writing, twelve years of silence, and then silence may really kill the soul. So I picked up my pen and began what I call writing.

"The future is bright, the road is bumpy" I did not expect that this phrase that was often used to educate children was ruthlessly confirmed in me at this time. Meals arrive at the end of the day. My daughter-in-law called me to dinner, but because the pen was slower at that time, I heard a voice from the living room, "They are all foxes of a thousand years, what else to play?" "From those lukewarm words I understood the meaning of the daughter-in-law. Yes, I am a writer who has not entered a higher education institution like me, and I will write lyrically on a whim.

ay! What kind of juvenile history, literary dreams, it is nearly dusk!

It's hard to lift the pen, it's even harder to drop the pen, forget it, that's it. People to middle-aged everything rest, or stay in the fishing boat to listen to the evening singing go...

In winter, Bayanrong is mostly integrated with sadness, loneliness, loneliness and coldness. The bald poplars, the depression along the way, the empty wilderness can not hear a bird song, can not find a little green. In the four fields, only the strange shuo wind used its sharp claws to roll the desolation in front of it into a white world.

The night wind, swaying snowflakes fell on my lonely eyelashes, condensing into small crystal clear water droplets, falling drop by drop into the cold desolation.

The cold wind with a thick panting sound, from the cold window ledge to my ear " don't see through, to break through, would rather run up, tripped countless times, rather than rules and regulations for a lifetime!" "Over the past few days, these words seen in Teacher Liu's text have been like a tight hoop on The head of Sun Monkey in my head, and the more rebellious you are, the tighter it is.

So I resolutely made up my mind, for the sake of the abandoned literary dream of the teenager in my heart, and also to save the stranded soul in my heart again, that night, I spent a whole night ignoring the rules, and I wrote my first rusty text, but the good news was that I was fortunate to be loved by the teachers that year, and not only climbed into the Hall of Elegance, but also entered the appraisal of the New Year's flavor. When I recall it again today, my heart is not only warm, but also really thanks to Teacher Liu and his book "Recorded in the Way of the Heart", as well as the Qinghai Internet News Center for giving me the courage and opportunity to re-surpass and overcome myself.

January 10, 2018 Futatan

Border Pass Moon, a lover of words. The casual habit is accustomed to a quiet and happy life, and likes to hold a pen when he is idle and alone, and he will form the ink and ink that is accumulated in his heart and talk about it for self-amusement.

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