I am fascinated by and in awe of the forest. Even, I rarely went deep into the hinterland of the forest.
I still remember that in the middle of January 2010, I went to climb Mount Emei for my honeymoon after the wedding. First, take a green-skinned train to Emeishan City, and then climb along the trail at the foot of the mountain to the golden top of the mountain. Along the way, it took two whole days, and after staying in a homestay on the mountainside for one night, it gradually fell into a situation of heavy snow and accumulation. Mount Emei is a big forest, with lush foliage and steep cliffs, which should not be taken lightly. On the way, I met a plainclothes policeman from the mountain police station, with excellent foot strength, and in a short time, he threw us, the first mountain climbers, far away. It turned out that he was rushing to work, working in the mountains for half a month every time, and then going home to rest for a few days, coming and going all by himself, never taking the car, it was breathtaking.
Along the way, there were too few pedestrians on the road, and many times they were in a situation of vastness and no one before and after, which made people feel that they could not help but beat drums. Fortunately, every ten miles, there will be an alarm point on the side of the road, and one or two staff members will sit safely at an open-air desk, looking at the passing tourists smiling or greeting with kindness. In this way, there was less timidity in our hearts, and we continued to continue, insisting and insisting until the next day when we saw that the sky was dark, and we exhausted to reach the reception hall closest to the golden roof, and there was thick snow everywhere. If you continue to walk the mountain road, I am really afraid that when I step on the air, I will be reimbursed for my life. So I took the cable car instead, arrived in ten minutes, and then smoothly checked into the Golden Roof Hotel with electric blankets on the bed. Early the next morning, before dawn, I woke up in the first sound of people outside, and then got up to see the sunrise, but the fog was too big, not only did the sunrise not see it, but even the legendary sea of clouds and Buddha light did not have a shadow. Seeing that it was almost noon, I suddenly received a call from the unit, urging me to report to the new department, so I was ecstatic, and immediately lifted the minibus and went down the mountain at a rapid speed, and when I arrived in the city, I took the green-skinned train back. That time, whether it was a wedding honeymoon or a work transfer, was an important moment in my life, so it is still unforgettable.
Later, because of tourism, I went to many natural scenic forests, whether it was Jiuzhaigou, Hailuogou, Shunan Zhuhai, Bifeng Gorge, Yinchanggou and Yaowang Valley in Sichuan, or the Zhongnan Hundred Grasslands in Fuzhou, Zhejiang, the Xixi Wetland in Hangzhou, and the primitive forests in Xishuangbanna, Yunnan, I was fascinated by the endless natural greenery and greenery and could not extricate myself. However, if I don't have a group or a guide, I generally don't go deeper. After all, I am afraid of getting lost, if I am trapped inside, it will be trouble! I don't want to be searched and rescued, if the word is going to go out, that face will really be lost. Unfortunately, in recent years, due to the globalization of the new crown pneumonia epidemic, my trip to Shandong has not been able to make it possible, otherwise I really want to go to Taishan and Laoshan, the two famous mountains, even if I look up at the foot of the mountain. Take a few photos and at least show that I've been there. Suddenly, I found that my vanity had not yet cultivated to the point of escapism.
In fact, when I went to the Zhongnan Hundred Grasslands, I went to participate in the awards ceremony held by the Writers Daily, and I traveled by the way. In recent years, the Writers Daily has held a PEN meeting in Taishan, but unfortunately I did not succeed because of the coincidence of time. Otherwise, how could my trip to Shandong have been shelved so much, and now it seems obviously regrettable. However, if I change my fascination with literature and its imagination, my fascination with the forest may be evident. For example, in my essay "Into the Forest" written in 2011, it is not without dreamy colors -
I walked down the narrow steps of the old bluestone slab, stepping on the moss and weeds that crawled on it, and walked step by step into the forest. The unknown bushes, like faithful watchdogs, stretched out their messy and dense branches in a vain attempt to block my march. I was glad that when I entered the mountain, I brought a crutch made of branches. Use it to explore the way in front of you, casually pound a few times, and the small animals hidden in the bushes will escape in all directions. I drew the machete from my waist and cut a clear path among the branches and vines that stood in the way.
At the edge of the forest, there will be some woodcutters to build or hunters to step out of the road. The deeper you go, the road will gradually disappear, and some are just the traces of birds and beasts crawling through over the years. Dressed in a sturdy canvas hunting suit and calf-tied cross-country boots, I followed the guidance of these "roads" towards the imaginary country.
Last year, I wrote another article called "The Red Dust Hermit", which is not without the fun meditation of indulging in forest life -
Once upon a time, I always thought of seclusion, of the hermits of history and legend. The lin tao of the mountains roared in the dark and windy night of the moon, and the heavy rain was so strong that it just drenched the whole world, and perhaps there was thunder mixed with lightning. There was a candle in the room, and the man who insisted on enjoying the coolness got up and closed the doors and windows, and looked through the window ledge at the hidden mountains outside, allowing all kinds of sounds and shocks to penetrate the ears. On weekdays, lazy sleep, ancient books, sandalwood, tea or even insect singing, vegetarian piano, chess equipment, turbid wine and zen meditation are his best companions. Accustomed to the days of coarse tea and light meals, only to seek inner tranquility, perhaps this is enough. Not everyone can see through the glitz and bustle of this world, but eventually there are people like him, a corner of the forest or a long jungle, is the best habitat. Surrounded by thousands of trees, shrubs, flowers and mosses, listening to the chirping of birds and finches all day long, and the howling of wild beasts in the distant mountains, I laugh unconsciously.
Even in my passionate and beautiful love story, there is no forest roaming and wandering. This is like the "Return" article I wrote in 2018, which has this story -
Well, he doesn't care about any of that. Just like in the eyes of many people, he can become an expert and scholar in a certain field, but he does not. He is not willing to put himself in the layers of invisible and understandable interests and can not control the sinking, he is more willing to be a pure person, a person of insight, perhaps this is enough. So in the end, he just went to an obscure forestry company, with a department that cooperated with all the scientific research, to study all kinds of plants, often a person who went to the jungle for more than ten or twenty days, sometimes for two or three months. Over time, colleagues went from panic at the beginning to calm later. Fortunately, the chairman of the board of directors with a global strategic development vision greatly respected an academician of high moral standing and extraordinary achievements, and he admired him very much, and even admired him. Therefore, his work is also quite free, but every time he goes to the jungle, he can bring back some species that are not common or even existed in prehistoric civilizations, and then publish some monographs with unique views, which is also a little famous in the circle. But what's the use of that? He often thought of it this way, and he created a style of life that did not want to be disturbed or understood. It was just that he thought of her a lot, but it was useless.
I was born in the remote countryside and spent most of my childhood there, so my love for nature is deep in the bone marrow. Although the teenager entered the city and lived in the bustling and bustling city all year round, he did not fade away the thick green that faded from his heart. For more than a decade, I have two classmates and a friend who have run farms of different sizes in the suburbs, and I have been to them more than once with joy, and even dug the ground with my own hands, rolled up my pants in the hot sun and stepped on the pond, and used the silt under my feet to repair the cracks in the embankment. Even a while ago, I took two of my friends to drive to the Bodhi Forest. Even last year, taking advantage of the easing of the epidemic and the opportunity to travel nearby, I drove a special car to my hometown under the neighboring city and countryside, and walked through the green mountains and green waters of the vast fields. The freshness and ease of that road, not to mention how refreshing and pleasant it is!
Suddenly I remembered the article I wrote in 2015, "Farewell to a River", although it is always filled with a kind of lovelorn mentality, poetic entanglement and sliding, but at any time in the natural flowers, flowers, grass, birds, birds, fish and butterflies atmosphere, perhaps with a different scenery, and later published as the title of "Farewell" in the "Prose Anthology" magazine no. 6 in 2017. The full text is as follows, or a product may be...
All the days are gone, and I want to say goodbye to a river.
Say goodbye to the waves in the river, say goodbye to the sediment in the river, say goodbye to the duckweed in the river, say goodbye to the sinking branches in the river, say goodbye to the fish and shrimp in the river, bid farewell to the grass in the river... I'm going to say goodbye to you, river; I'm going to leave you, river! Everything is irretrievable, everything is no longer there.
Those flying butterflies, your grace that never stops through time and space, above the waves of water, colorful and vivid. Your never-ending hesitation, the flickering agility, like an incomparably gorgeous fairy, flying, high and low, circling and skimming, near and far, suddenly bright and dark, in the reflection of a landscape painting, come and go without a shadow, looming. I almost jumped up, surprised, but I wanted to say goodbye to this river, to say goodbye to you, and to go away from now on, to the end of the world.
Those straight dragonflies, your crystalline wings, suddenly come, suddenly go, or suddenly come to the eyes, stop at a grass tip, quietly sucking the dew, like a tall person accustomed to silence, just with various postures and lines, from all angles of various halos of ambiguity, drilling through, wanting to stop talking. But I will say goodbye to you, say goodbye to you, and go away, because I will say goodbye to the river.
The seven-colored viola by the river, the clusters of bushes, never knowing that spring and autumn came, winter and summer solstice, opened and thanked, thanked and opened, as if nothing had come, nothing had happened. But I also want to say goodbye to you, to your branches, your roots and leaves, your greenness, your withering, your past, your future, your joy, your sorrow, your confusion, your dreams. I want to say goodbye to you, those jungles generally just care about the days of growth, and go away. Whether it's wet or dry; whether it's brilliant or obscure.
Water Lilies, I want to say goodbye to you too. You just have to sleep, day or night, lying peacefully on the surface of the water, carrying a comfortable trance, full of purple dreams. You don't even know when you will let go of your body, when you will bear the unkempt head, you only know that you will sleep until the sea is dry and rotten, the sky is barren and the earth is old, and there is no beginning and no end. Like an eternal Brahman, smiling and not saying a word. Then, I will say goodbye, and from then on I will not return, I will not see each other again, I will no longer be attached. Goodbye, Water Lilies, you don't belong to me, you belong to the river. I want to say goodbye to the river, and I want to say goodbye to you in the river.
Lily tweed, you are still so ice crystal jade, so just grow upwards, lush green, lush green. Are there any stories you haven't told me, and are you going to tell them to me? But I am about to leave, like a light, and have since disappeared into your vision, in the charm of your fragrance. I don't believe that you really don't want to say anything to me, not say anything goodbye. Then take care, I can no longer help you catch the bugs that climb on your pink petals, and I can no longer help you bend down to pour out the rainwater accumulated in the flowers. Goodbye, Lily, I don't know if you'll be in my dreams, or if I'll be in your dreams. Maybe goodbye is forever, no need to be sad, no need to sigh, just as there is no need to celebrate, no need to rejoice.
Mimosa of the riverbank meadow, why are you still so open and close, and amused with me? Don't you know that I am saying goodbye to you and that I will never return? In fact, I don't remember whether you bloomed or not, what kind of flowers bloomed, you wouldn't be angry, right? However, I am about to say goodbye, so what is the use of remembering? You are fine, petite leaves, crawling and growing, and the pieces are stretched vigorously, although the heavens and the earth are small, they do not have to be sad, they do not have to suffer, they do not have to burn their hearts like fire. Farewell, Mimosa, you should have never seen me, never had a little familiarity, and had nothing to give up.
Ginkgo, you are so tall, so slender, so straight to the sky, juan yellow like gold. I also want to say goodbye to you, to the endless brown skins on your waist, to the dots of trees that grow with you, to your boundless reverie, the height in your bones, and the vicissitudes that cannot be spoken of. Perhaps an inch higher into the sky would add to a landscape you've never seen before. Then, just grow upwards, look at my distant back, and gradually blur and disappear in this last vision. Goodbye, lookout post, I always call you that, who told you to grow so tall, to see the edge of this world, to imagine the mysterious world beyond the edge. I don't think about climbing up your branches to dig up the nest, whether or not you've ever actually built a nest on your branches.
Greet the birds on my behalf, I don't want to say goodbye to them one by one, I don't want them to hear the news and then nagging me in my clothes or following my back. I want to say goodbye to the river, naturally to say goodbye to everything here, including the birds, including you.
I also don't want to say goodbye to the woods, to the squirrels, badgers and horsetail monkeys in the woods, to the mosses, stone ears and poria, bauhinia and orchid and peony, kapok, privets and oleanders, grasshoppers, crickets and moths. I was afraid to make a sad and shed tears.
I want to say goodbye to this last piece of sunshine, which is always above the river, above the meadow, above the woods, above the former me, shining on the earth, illuminating the world, shining on me and you. It is always above reality, above dreams, above spring and autumn, above sorrow and joy, warming the earth, warming the world, warming me and you. How brilliant is the golden beard!
I want to say goodbye to this sky, this vast and unfathomable sky, those white clouds, those rain curtains, those breezes, those drifting snow. I want to say goodbye to everything in this sky, only because I am going to say goodbye to the river and go away, so I am going to say goodbye to everything in this river.
Goodbye, river, all the days are gone. I want to forget the brilliance, the color, the warmth, the joy, the loneliness, the haze, the sorrow, the pain, and go away.
From then on, be a wanderer.
Naturally, I don't need to turn out those fragmentary and wrinkled travelogues to express my fascination and attachment to the forest, to nature, to those blue skies and white clouds, green mountains and green waters! I've talked too much and written too much. Why don't I face this incomparably vast world with my own simplicity, sincerity, kindness and aesthetics?
Whenever I see the news reports about planting forests and controlling sand and guarding forests, I am overwhelmed with emotion, and it is difficult to calm down for a long time, and I just want to give them a thumbs up. It seems that I am one of them, or that is me, my neighbor and the deceased. Therefore, I entered it so unconsciously, like Zhuang Zhou's dream butterfly, deeply involved in the inner question of "is the butterfly me, or am I a butterfly".
About the Author:Bai Yi shusheng, a native of Deyang, Sichuan, settled in Mianyang City, a member of the Chinese Prose Literature Society, a member of the Western China Prose Literature Society, a member of the Chinese Popular Literature Society, a member of the Sichuan Writers Association, a columnist of the Writers Daily, a director of "Young Writers" and "Bohai Wind", and was selected into the "Dictionary of Chinese Essayists". He is the author of the essay collection "The Wind Passes Without a Trace", "Time on the Other Shore", "Watching the Dawn", and "Riding a Camel to See You", and his works have been collected in hundreds of libraries such as the Museum of Modern Chinese Literature and the State, Tsinghua University, the University of Macau, the University of Chinese of Hong Kong, etc.
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