我感到我们都有结识的愿望,但似乎都不知如何开口,于是互相注视一下终又都移开目光擦身而过;这样的次数一多,便更不知如何开口了。(史铁生 《我与地坛》) “We both had the desire to strike up a conversation, but neither of us knew how to begin. So, after glancing at each other for a moment, we both averted our eyes and passed by without a word. The more this happened, the more difficult it became for either of us to initiate a conversation.”
Sometimes, I don’t even know what kind of content I want to create. I am constantly exploring and thinking. Perhaps I just want a symbol or a label for myself—something I can easily remember when I feel lost and uncertain about who I am. But I can’t seem to create that place, or maybe I don’t want to have that fixed shape or color.
Beauty is limitless and has no fixed appearance. It is complete existence, embracing infinite possibilities and filling oneself with happiness. Sometimes, beauty is conventional, while other times, it is unique and independent. Is the devil beautiful, or is the sky? I can’t see through or comprehend it.
Oh, I never promised to be modest. My strange heart, my strange self—perhaps what I’ve forgotten is the disharmonious yet unrestrained beauty!
The content I write in each blog is different. Unlike others who post the same things in multiple places, I feel that what I consider beautiful and harmonious in one world changes its flavor when it enters another. I am so easily influenced that even the smallest writing software worries me. It’s funny when I think about it.
I remember someone once saying, “This child is so worried about affecting others that they don’t even dare to touch a small flower.”
In that instant of entering the water, a brilliant tapestry of colors emerged—deep and light shades of green, red, and yellow, all woven together in a mesmerizing display. This enchanting blend of hues was nothing short of miraculous, as if conjured from a dream, and it felt as though life itself had begun to sway and dance in response to this fantastic burst of creativity!
Indeed, the beauty of artistic creation lies in its unpredictability and endless possibilities. Each new piece is a mystery waiting to be unveiled, revealing a glimpse of something familiar yet enigmatic. This feeling of lingering uncertainty is akin to the half-hidden face of a pipa player, or the mesmerizing depths of water and the human soul. If every form of beauty could retain this air of mystery and distance, it would surely be a pathway to the heart.
“Dramatic panic seems to be more thought-provoking about life and feelings about life. The inner tension is actually an artistic expression. For the Page of Cups, providing others with courtesy and hot tea is a perfect performance.”
I forgot that I have space and time, especially when I’m alone, or when everyone is asleep. People are lovely, perhaps the world only begins to dream when everyone is asleep.
I’ve realized that writing about these things doesn’t actually bring peace, because only peace itself can bring peace. I seem to have forgotten something, but I will remember it. Just drinking water is enough. The gift of life itself is lovely, if not always pursued. The spiritual world seems to be nothing but an illusion, without a limit. The beginning of a dream, no need to be forced.