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My grandfather described to me the scene when he used to have a "quiet time": when he was in his fifties, he took a dozen beehives to the depths of the mountains and forests to collect bees and honey, built a simple hut in a place where trees and flowers were full of flowers, accompanied by the humidity and fought with mosquitoes every day. Speaking of leaning on a birch tree and watching the snail slowly climb to the waist of the tree, his eyes flashed with joy, and he was very happy.
It was only after many years that I understood my grandfather's joy back then: to be alone, to watch quietly the flowers bloom beside the trees, to see the stream flowing happily, to watch the flying insects struggling desperately on the spider web, and to see a drop of dew on the tip of the grass suddenly slip downOr listen to the chirping of unknown birds among the thorns and the sound of night rain beating the leaves......The kind of quiet that is wholehearted and fragrant with Zen has the purity and truth that touches life.
I remember one winter day when I was 10 years old, I hid in the barn where I stored food at home, and with the help of the light from a small wind window, I read a stack of old newspapers that my father had prepared to paste the wall—those kind words seemed to have cast a spell, and I firmly froze me, forgetting the time and cold, and I didn't even hear my parents calling me to eat, and my whole body and mind were immersed in the world of quiet reading......I can't remember the contents of the newspaper I read back thenBut that quiet reading time is like a frame of old **, and every playback is as clear as yesterday. My father said that I was naturally quiet, and I could read a book, a newspaper or even a product manual for a long time. Speaking of my teenage temperament, he spoke with approval in his tone.
A New Year's friend also said that he liked my quietness, and I also liked his quietness, so we became bosom friends. We don't bother each other when we do, and even when we meet, it's often him who paints his own pictures and I read my own books. We are immersed in the silence and intoxicated by the silence.
My friend Qiu Sheng, at the age of 58, was diagnosed with advanced liver cancer, and the doctor said that there was no need for surgery. Qiu Sheng smiled indifferently, as if comforting himself and his family: "This is the last journey for me to learn from Autumn Leaves and walk Xi life quietly." Immediately, he and his wife went to a remote mountain village in Guizhou, rented a hut, planted flowers and vegetables in front of and behind the house, drank water from deep wells, ate fruits and vegetables grown by their own hands, and occasionally went to the township market. During the day, he accompanied the two geese to bask in the sun in the yard, and sat by the windowsill at night to enjoy the starry ......Without the Internet, he is estranged from his mobile phone with his wife, but he recalls the bits and pieces he once shared, even a sour past, chewing out the sweetness. It wasn't until two years later, on a snowy and silent night, that Qiu Sheng fell in his wife's arms and walked away quietly.
I privately guess that it may be the happiest time in Qiu Sheng's life. He shielded himself from the noise of mortal dust, put down his busyness, and walked unhurriedly with his dear people, calmly and elegantly.
One day, I went to visit an old professor who was in his nineties. Deaf, blind, and still thinking clearly, she sat upright in front of the desk and chatted with me about a long essay she had just written, "Quiet, Hello!".He excitedly described to me how to quietly practice Baduanjin for a while, how to quietly wait for an epiphany to bloom, and how to quietly wait for a pot of mixed rice porridge to boil out the aroma ......of the houseLooking at her childlike innocence, I couldn't help but sigh secretly: In this life, if I can happily keep a quiet soul like her and do what I like, how good it would be in this life!
Author: Yi Nian **Half Moon Talk, Tasting Reading, Anchor: Wang Jiaying, Producer: Wang Yiqian).