Yu Xiuhua's prose: Listening to the drizzle alone

It is best to burn incense, if it is slender, the thick and long under economic interests is not good, and any kind of realism will be depressing. I don't know if the Buddha was also close to the world, and he liked that? Admittedly it has nothing to do with me, what I need is the incense of incense, and the state of grace. The smoke seemed to float above the world, and it seemed to be a clear spring flowing out of the cracks of the world. There seemed to be a sound hidden in the smoke, and if there was none, it was thick and invisible. As long as a piece of incense is burned in front of my eyes, my heart will calm down, as if a trickle slowly passes through the heart field.

However, this evening, I imagined a blazing incense in my heart, and listened to the sound of rain outside the window in the shallow sweetness of the lighting in the room. The rain, which was slender, fluttered and swayed, and as soon as the wind blew, it would break into several knots. Until it landed, the voice was also cautious, as if it were surrounded by some small mistake that was ashamed to say. Unfortunately there was nothing in my window and seemed sorry for such a rain. The most vulgar when there is more bushes of plantains, the sound of rain falling on it is more luxurious, the heart of the plantain is suitable for growing verses, I do not make a sound, but also can chant out the lovesickness that is not close.

Or, it's good to live in a few small grasses. In such a way that approaching spring, a hope has a color, a hope that is not noble, and it is impossible to say whether it is higher than life or lower than life, but it has it, it exists, and it is related to the world. The rain probes gently and deftly, and they speak some plain language, about the earth, about the moonlight. Or, on the day of the early autumn wind, the rain has some coolness, they are yellowed and half-cut, entangled with each other for warmth, murmuring distant love or life

But there was nothing in front of my window, and if I wanted to listen to the rain, I needed a more ethereal heart: at this moment, my heart was plantain or grass, and the rain fell and splashed with dust and smoke. My heart is like a mirror, and the smoke is the smoke of incense, fluttering and shaking, stealing reality into illusion. How long this rain will fall, how long will my heart walk: cross a small river, and that acacia will come to me, staining the blue of the sky and the coolness of the lake. On a rainy day, how suitable for thoughts, how suitable for writing an insignificant sentence, and sprinkling a coddle in the worldly life.

The rain kept falling, from dusk until late at night. It is not hurried, like a feeling that has persisted for a long time, rational and tender. I was originally a wanderer who returned to this rain, as if returning to my own body, returning to my own heart. On fine weather I would go out, through the countryside, through the throbbing and distressing before spring. It is as if you indulge in life that is still too late, or exile life. Then I went into town once, closed my eyes, and let some small pieces of hilarity lift myself high. No matter how high I am, I am not afraid, there will always be a time when I will fall to the ground like a drizzle.

Listening to the drizzle alone, associating the emotions of life with worldly life alone, if listening to the rain is only listening to the noise of an emotion in the heart, it is also a simple happiness. In fact, the drizzle can be listened to, at least in this time of listening to the rain, people are relaxed, it is simple. Some of the feelings are very heavy, and I have stolen the light part of it, like a flower blooming on the ruins. If sorrow is allowed, then sorrow is like a drizzle.

I think of a poet's sentence that he would light a cigarette when it was drizzling, and there were more stories and emotions in the smoke ring, and the inner noise spat out a wisp of it, so beautiful. I don't smoke, I don't drink alcohol at this time, and doing so is like dancing alone in the streets late at night, obviously not suitable for long-term loneliness or too much loneliness. After listening to the rain for a long time, I was afraid to hear myself empty, so I fell asleep through a curtain of rain.