Shi Tiesheng: At what age can you live without regard to life and death?

Now I often feel this way: Death is sitting in the aisle outside the door, sitting in the dark, where the mortal can't see, waiting patiently for me overnight. I don't know when it will stand up. Say to me: Hey, let's go. I think that must be said. But no matter when, I think I will still feel a little hasty, but I won't hesitate and will not delay.

"Gently I am gone, just as I came gently" - I said that Xu Zhimo's poem does not necessarily involve life and death, but in my opinion, it is the most appropriate attitude towards life and death. It is really good as an epitaph. nor.

Death is never done in one go. Chen Cun once said to me: People are dead a little bit, first here, then there, and finally completed step by step. He said very calmly, I am indifferently attached, we are all living less concerned about death.

That is to say, I am walking gently, the soul is leaving this ruined body, step by step to bid farewell to the world. At this time, I don’t know what other people think, but I especially think of the mystery that comes gently.

For example, think of the changing sun in the morning, noon and evening, think of a blue sky, a quiet small courtyard, a soft wind blowing in the face, the wind seems to have a soft call from the mother and grandmother... I don’t know if others are also Will be like me, sincerely surprised: What about the past? Where did everything go in the past?

The beginning of life is the most mysterious, completely out of nothing. Suddenly, you suddenly enter a situation where one situation leads to another situation. It is logical to be seamless, and one to two will connect to a real world. It’s really like a movie, on a nothingness screen, for example, suddenly there is a child playing in the grass, the sun shining on him, shining on a path in the distant mountains, near trees and grass.

Then the child was tired and walked back along the path, and then led to a house at the end of the path, looking at his mother in front of him, burying his father in a pipe or newspaper, leading a home, and then leading a world. Children just follow this series of situations, some are fleeting, some become unchangeable history, and the history of unchangeable history. In this way, one day the child will remember the mystery of the beginning: for no reason, as the sage said - people are thrown into the world.

In fact, saying "When you have no shadow, you suddenly enter a situation" and "People are thrown into this world." These two sentences have problems. You didn't have you before the "entry situation". Before being thrown into the world, there is no such thing as before - but this should be the subject of philosophers.

For me, the beginning is an ordinary courtyard house in Beijing. I stood on the raft, held the window sill and looked at it through the glass. The room was a little dim and the sun was shining outside the window. Close to a row of green eucalyptus low walls, there are two jujube trees in the distance beyond the eucalyptus low wall. The dark branches of the jujube trees are inlaid into the blue sky, and the jujube trees are surrounded by quiet window porches. The first meeting with the world is like this, simple, but impressive. The complex world is still far away, or it is snickering around the rest of the time, watching a childish life slowly open your eyes and sprouting desires.

Grandma and mother have said: You were born there.

It was actually born in a hospital not far from there. When I was born, it was snowing. One day, a rare snowstorm, the road was buried, my grandmother holding the cover for me and walking to the hospital with snow, went to the window of the delivery room, stood there half a night, and heard me light when it was bright. It’s coming lightly. My mother saw me coming later. Grandma said that the mother had been so sad for a ugly thing, when the mother was young and beautiful.

The mother later closed her mouth and said that when I came, "a layer of black skin wrapped my bones." When she said this, she was already gratified, and I gradually looked like it was going on. But is this all true?

I walked out of the house and walked into the yard, and a real world began to provide evidence. The smell of the sun-heated flowers and plants, the smell of the sun-heated masonry, the sun dances and flows in the wind. The blue-bricked cross-border line connects the houses on all sides, and divides the yard into four equal-sized plots. There are one jujube on each of the two, and the other two are filled with Xilian.

The Bodhisattva of the Bodhisattva has opened a large flower, and the bee drilled in the middle of the stacked petals and mined it. The butterfly is leisurely and elegant, flying and flying, quietly as if it is a phantom. The jujube tree is filled with moving tree shadows and is covered with finely divided jujube flowers. The yellow-yellow jujube flower is like a layer of powder, covered with moss on the ground, very slippery, be careful when stepping on it. In the sky, or in the clouds, there are some voices, some do not know where the sound is - wind? ring? Still singing?

I can't tell, I didn't know what the sound was for a long time, but I heard him as soon as I got to the blue sky, and I even heard him in the middle of it. The voice is clear, happy, and swaying is not slow, as if it is the inherent call of life, insisting that you pay attention to him, to find him, to visit him, or even to go to him.

I passed the high threshold and walked out of the courtyard with difficulty. There was a quiet street in front of me. It was slender and regular. Two or three strange figures walked past, heading east to the sun, and entering the sunset to the west.

I don’t know where to go in the east and west, I don’t know what to connect with, but the wonderful voice is not as shocking as the wind...

I will always see the little street and see a child standing on the steps in front of the door. The sun or the setting sun spent his eyes, floating a group of black spots, he closed his eyes, a little scared, overwhelmed, for a long time, then opened his eyes, ah, well, the world is bright again... The two black-haired monks walked quietly under the eaves along the street... Several crickets slid smoothly, and the wings flashed with light... The pigeon whistle sounded in time, smooth, long, and gradually closer, 噗噜The dragonfly flew over the top of the head, and gradually drifted away. It was like a confetti flying in the sky... This is a strange thing. I saw both my hope and I saw it.

Where have the scenes gone now? At that moment, where did the child, that mood, the surprise and obsessive look, and all the past scenes go? They drifted into the universe, yes, drifting for fifty years. But does this mean that they have only drifted away from here and now, but they still exist?

What is a dream? Memories, what is the matter?

If there is a telescope that is large enough in the 50 light years, there is an observation point. It is expected that the scene will remain the same. The small street, the small pigeons on the small street, the two unknown monks, on the wings The flash and the obsessed child, as well as the wonderful sounds in the sky, are as always. If the telescope continues to follow at the speed of light, the child will always stand on that small street and obsessively look around. If the telescope stops and stops somewhere other than fifty light years, my life will be repeated in turn, and fifty years of history will be staged.

It’s amazing. It is likely that both life and death depend on observation, depending on the distance and proximity of the observation. For example, when a star hundreds of thousands of light years away is actually extinguished, it is spending its youth in our field of vision.

Time limits us, habits limit us, and rumored public opinion makes us fall into reality, let us shut down in the magic of daylight. The day is a kind of magic, a kind of spell, let the rules of the zombie go unimpeded, let the actual wear out magic. All people play a tense, rigid role under the magic of daylight, and all the thoughts and dreams of words and deeds are as if they are defined by presupposed programs.

Therefore, I look forward to the night, looking forward to the night, looking forward to the arrival of freedom in silence.

I even hope to stand still and see the students.

My body has been fixed on the bed, fixed in the wheelchair, but my heart is always traveling in the dark, leaving the crippled body, getting rid of the magic of the white, out of reality, wandering around in the dusty night world, listening to all The dreamer tells that watching all the souls who gave up the earthly characters unveil another drama in the night sky and the wilderness.

The wind, wandering around, connected the night message, from the sleeping window to the sleeping window, to see the mood that was ignored by the day. Another world, full of fluffy, the sound of the night is vast. Yes, that is writing. As for literature, I said that I don't seem to be too big with it. I am only looking forward to this free night, to the heart of all souls.

The original title "Gently walk and gently come" Shi Tiesheng, Chinese writer, essayist. He has served as a member of the National Committee of the Chinese Writers Association, vice chairman of the Beijing Writers Association, and vice chairman of the China Disabled Persons' Federation. Self-professional is sick, amateur is writing.