recall
It's like an old movie that belongs only to you
Every frame of the picture
They are all stories that are cherished in the heart
"We walk along the path of life all the time,
Memories haunt us all the time. ”
Recall
Author: Ji Xianlin
Memories are hard to say, but what exactly is a memory? We are always walking along the road of life, and something comes into our eyes all the time. As soon as I look up, I can see the cold light reflected in the daffodil pot of the shallow water, the halo of red and emerald green of the stones soaked in the water, and the few venuses illuminated by the soft light of the teacup. However, in the blink of an eye, all this in front of me has already jumped into my imagination, into light smoke, into a fine fog, into a faint shadow, and then look, remember, and say, even if it is my memory.
Just talking about this step in front of you, only this faint shadow is naturally confused. But since I stepped into the world, I have traveled an unknown number of roads. Looking back at the vast expanse of the past, there is a white line formed by my footprints, which has been leading to the present, and it is still to be led up. I walked the road of the city and saw the dust and smoke swirling over the roof of the tall houses. I walked through the countryside road, and the seemingly watery clouds shrouded the distant village, watching the wheat waves like a golden sea. I walked many other roads, seeing red plums, white snow, flowing water, ten miles of pine ravines, and children full of vitality. I came across all kinds of faces on the road, familiar and unfamiliar. All of this was stored in my memories as I walked, into light smoke, into a fine mist, into a faint shadow. Some are buried in the zōu of memory and forgotten. As I turned to another path, there was something new at any time, and another group of faces gathered before my eyes. The ground became light smoke, into a fine mist, into a faint shadow, moved into my memories, and naturally some were buried in the darkness and forgotten. New shadows are squeezed in, and old ones are squeezed out of nowhere to be disillusioned, and some are simply squeezed out. Later, when another group of updated shadows squeeze in, this new one also traces the old fate. That's it, squeezing in, squeezing in, all the way up to now. My memories are filled with all kinds of shadows and colors. Unable to distinguish between the first and the last, the haunting was mixed up.
I walked up from the vast expanse of the past with this confused mess. Looking up now, you can see the cold light of the water reflected in the daffodil pot, the red and emerald green of the stones in the water, and the few venuses illuminated by the residual tea under the lamp. Naturally, as I said before, all this must be turned into a shadow, moved into the memory, moved into this haunting mass, but before it is moved, this haunting shadow may float in my mind, and I will naturally fall into the memory - falling into the memory, which is actually a very effortless thing. I was facing the current thing, and somehow, suddenly there was an electric light in the confusion, and immediately a gray patch unfolded in my mind, as if it were empty, nothing, but as soon as I thought about what I had seen, a shadow immediately appeared. There was more than one shadow, two, three, many, more. Shadows are piercing, haunting. Like an electric light, I went down a line of memories again—for example, to the autumn in my hometown. First of all, it seems to see the grains scattered in the field, yellow and yellow. Then I saw the head of the old cow swinging from side to side, the field floating with clouds of smoke, and the silver and white autumn reed behind the house. In a deep heart, it seems that you can hear the panting of the old cow, the long chirping of the cicadas on the top of the willow tree, and the cracking of the pods in the sunlight. On the ground, like a cloud spreading across the field, only in my mind, on top of these autumn shadows in my hometown, other shadows were squeezed in--red plums, white snow, flowing water, ten miles of millet pine, children full of vitality. At the same time, the shadow of the old cow, the shadow of the reed flower, and the shadow of the field also stood in a corner of my heart. These many shadows are hidden and mixed. I can no longer think along that line. There were many other chaotic shadows beating in my mind. Like an electric flint, it dazzled my eyes. Finally I saw nothing, I remembered nothing. Still unfolded a gray patch, empty, nothing. My memories stopped.
My memories have stopped, but they must not just stop. I still say that we are always moving forward along the path of life, and there are memories that haunt us all the time. - Let's talk about it now. The light flowed to the table in front of me, and the pages reflected a jagged black shadow, and when I saw this black shadow, I immediately thought of the faint shadow of the distant mountain that I had seen in the past. The glass reflects the clear light. Seeing this clear light, I immediately thought of the snow under the moonlight for thousands of miles. I'm writing. Looking at these words one by one, it also made me think of the ant colony under the steps... If I sink my heart a little deeper, I can think of the faint shadow of such a mountain I have seen somewhere in the past. I have also seen such a shadow in another place, and they are all in a clump. So I thought about it, and I thought of a shadow similar to this shadow. A bunch of them. So I thought about it again, but it was still a shadow. But it has nothing to do with the faint shadow of this mountain, with the jagged black shadow reflected on this page. When these shadows were not yet disillusioned, other shadows were hidden behind them, hazy, dim, with various colors. Looking further in, there is another layer of shadows hidden behind these shadows, more hazy, darker, and more complex colors. ...... One floor, one floor, it seems, is not over. The farther away it became, the dimmer it became. In the end, only a little bit of an image remained. In this way, in my memory, layer by layer, these many shadows and colors, indistinguishable from each other, were mixed up again.
I still walked up with this haunting shadow. If you were to ask: Where are these shadows? I can't tell. Often like this, when you close your eyes, first there is a dark piece, and then you look at it, and there is a shadow inside. But then ask: Where is this dark patch? I'm afraid only God knows. When I stare at something in a daze, these shadows are superimposed on the thing in front of me. When I'm not careful, I often stack my mother's face on a teacup. Stack a long path that you forgot when you saw into the water on Holderlin's complete collection, stack a tree of splendid begonia flowers on a clay pot with flowers, stack the tower shadow in Daming Lake on the crystal clear glass on the table, stack the twilight crow in the late autumn twilight on the spider web in the corner, and superimpose the fiery red flowers under the hot summer sun on the white snow on the grass outside the window... However, as soon as they were aware, these shadows immediately dissolved into water streaks. With this teacup, this Holderlin complete collection, this clay pot, this clear glass, this spider web, this white snow shadow, jumped into my memories, and in the future, at some point, it will be stacked on something else in front of my eyes.
The future has not yet come, and it is not easy to say. But isn't the road in front of us leading to the future? I have seen the cold light reflected in the daffodil pots of the shallow water, the red and emerald green of the stones reflected in the water, and the few venuses illuminated by the soft light of the residual tea. I also saw the teacup, the complete collection of Holderlin, the earthen pot, the clear glass, the spider web, the snow, and the next day I naturally saw some other new things, and the third day I naturally saw some other new things. Day four, day five... When I see more things, these things must turn into light smoke, into fine fog, into faint shadows, stored in my memories. This haunting shadow is also going to be even more haunting. When I could no longer walk and look, this group also followed me on the last road that should be taken. But at this time, I will see nothing, I will have nothing to remember. Where did this shadow go? Did you drift into the fog with the reflection in Daming Lake? Was the light mist of the distant mountains sucked into the golden twilight? It's not clear, and it doesn't have to be said. - I've had memories anyway. What else can I hope for?
January 14, 1934
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