As you are in the distance Xu Daran

The sun is shining and the atmosphere is thick. You are tired, suffocating in the worldliness, the clamor and the ignorance of this place. Yearning for the far side, you will go, quietly away from here.

There is the sea in the distance, there are mountains and forests, and your dreams are always fluttering in the distance.

As you are in the distance, you are independent of the shadow of tradition, the sun stains you, the mountains arch you, the woods support you; you breathe five bonds, pores are comfortable.

From your hometown with melancholy, you are hidden between the foothills and the stream, the town whose name cannot be found on the map. Stop crying, and even cherish every sigh. You live happily.

The first day you wake up, you say, "Good morning, everything exists." "Then drink a glass of dew to sober yourself, and then beat the bell, and wake up the birds and beasts in the mountains and forests, and wake up people." Then they wake up and discover your presence. Laughing asks where you came from, and you say that you have come from afar, the place where hypocrisy and greed rule, the homeland that has been loved and will be loved by you in the future. Then tell them that you don't need a name, that you're a nameless bell beater.

Day by day, you listen to the whispers of grass and grass, pick flowers and smile. Paint yourself on the beach and let yourself be overwhelmed by the waves and forget yourself. Night and night, you open the window to welcome the gentle visit of the stars. "Do you love the stars?" You will suddenly want to write a letter to a person, but then tear it up, scattering the confetti in the wind, on the sea, in your oblivion. You didn't ask him before, and now you can't ask him anymore. You used to be silent, but now only you remember the silence of the past with silence. You used to find out you liked him, but you were always silent, and that day he suddenly left in silence — he had been dead for many years, right?

There is fog. You don't know when the fog comes, but you send the fog away. In the fog, you will be content with your own loneliness, proud not to be deceived by the absurd truths of the masses, proud to reject the vulgarity of the world. No more etiquette, no authority, no idols, no sages; you need only be sober, you need only conscience. You are troubled only because you are sober, only because you still have a conscience!

There was rain. Rain will play heavy songs for you. Make you even more miserable, you with your loneliness indifferent to the ugliness of the world. Walk in the rain, let the dirt stain you, the soil and you are only one God, but God! Where are you? When it rains, dry your body, and wish you were a baby after the bath, and you admired yourself and remembered that everyone is so, everyone is dirt.

Swim in the sea, visit the fish's house, talk to the fish; the fish will amaze you, the strange big fish, and you have to introduce yourself and tell the fish that mankind's ridiculous modern civilization, the fish also laughed. Then visit the coral sites and tell them that their graves are more beautiful than the pyramids.

When autumn comes, go pick up fallen leaves and flowers to hang autumn, write elegy on their tombs to welcome winter, and let winter inherit the tragedy of autumn. When spring comes, wander by the tomb, remember winter's cruel love and sympathy for nature, and then embrace spring with a sadness. Oh, spring, it is spring again, why does the world still have winter feelings?

No more anticipation, expecting everything that has been expected; no more praise, praising everything that has been praised. Judge everything with conscience, you read a lot of books, burn a lot of enthusiasm, a lot of compassion, a lot of meditation. You are truly yourself.

Don't write letters, just bury your nostalgia in your diary. Don't forget others, maybe others have forgotten you, but you don't mind. You are the violet, stubbornly not blooming in the daytime, only silently shy in the dark, silently blessing others, silently flashing virginity. When one day, the hair is dyed white, I don't know the century that has passed, I don't know that the grass of the ancestral tomb has grown taller than you, only that I know that I am old. You come back quietly, no longer when you go, your footsteps are rubbing. You still know your hometown, but your hometown has forgotten you. The old man in his hometown will laugh and ask where the guests come from, and you will cry, and you will go back to the distance and dream from afar. You belong to your hometown.

Then you tell them that every autumn the person who sends a fallen leaf back to the hometown is you, and the fallen leaf is your remembrance. You say, "When you left here, it was a grassland where sheep were raised, but now the students have replaced the sheep." "Then you will be wise of the ignorance of your homeland, the worldliness of your noble homeland. No matter how people treat you, you are not the gentleman who goes fishing in the fishing market in despair, you are the fisherman who goes fishing in the sea. Disappointment is afraid of you, what else are you afraid of?

Then you forget that you were far away.

Then, you die in your hometown.