Zou Anyin's Bodhi Mind

Surrounded by mountains and Bond Airport. This flat land has become the darling of Qamdo. It welcomes people from all over the world to the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau and have a bird's eye view of the earth from the roof.

Qamdo has become the "throat" of the plateau. It is solemn and static, with the thickness of a mountain and bearing the heavy responsibility of the body. Xining in the north, Chengdu in the east, Kunming in Nantong and Lhasa in the west.

In August, I left Sichuan and flew to the plateau of my dream like a bird, towards Lhasa in my heart. When the plane transited Qamdo, the cool breeze at Bond Airport suddenly calmed the heat. The mysterious regional customs are attached to the soul like magnets, which makes people want to go deep into its soul.

In the field of vision, mountains are mountains except mountains. It stretches and spreads, as if it were an oath with the eternal land and the boundless vast Milky Way. It is rarely green, but mostly copper-red skin, like a big man, showing the mysterious and simple beauty of Tibet in a bold and rough way.

The road is like a mountain's blood vessels, small and exquisite, and earthworms generally meander in the mountains. It is very lonely, a person extends to the mountain, looks up at the sky sadly, and wants to hear a bird song. However, the world was silent, the sun hung there brightly, and there were invisible ultraviolet rays in the air, sticking out their tongues one by one, as if to tie up people who walked into this mountain all the time.

But I seem to be cut off from the world outside the plateau, the noise of the world of mortals is gone, the noise of cars and horses in the city is gone, and even the sound of paddles in Jiangnan water town is gone ... I just want to throw away everything in my heart a little bit and blend in with the endless mountains and the extraordinary roads in the mountains. When I think like this, the sunshine is warm to me.

The highway leads to Junyong Village, Zuogong County, Changdu City. This is an ancient tea-horse road leading to Lhasa. The ancient road is also new, widened a lot, paved with asphalt, which can accommodate cars. The driver of the car is a Han cadre stationed in Tibet named She Dezhi. After working in the plateau for more than ten years, his skin became as red as the surrounding mountains, and his accent added a lot of Tibetan flavor. The most important thing is that he has mastered the driving skills so skillfully that he can keep calm even if the tire cracks when driving on such a road! I took a breath of air conditioning, but he unhurriedly let us get off the bus, changed the spare tire and moved on.

Camel bells and hooves were replaced by occasional car horns, raising a few wisps of dust, which excited the mountain and quickly restored silence.

There is a river. Yuqu River.

The terrain gradually rises, the road gradually sinks and walks along the river. Maybe I'm thirsty and want to drink water. There are not many roads in Changdu mountain area, which do not intersect with each other. They set out from the city center, extended to the mountains and went to Tibetan villages. It is not easy for them to wander in steep cliffs or valleys and endure more than half a year of ice and snow freezing. I don't know how to repair this road!

Someone's figure.

It's a few Tibetan compatriots on pilgrimage: hands folded, looking straight ahead, crawling on the ground. In a flash, the road merged with them and became their blood vessels.

Yuqu River is very happy. It licked a small piece of land around it and made a "giggle" music accompaniment. The highland barley has just been harvested and piled into small piles, facing the river.

The river soon disappeared. There is a Tibetan village. There is a spring in front of me, hanging down from the mountain in the form of a jade belt. It turned out that the river took another road from the mountains and got into their bodies. It turns out that there are things more precious than blood in the endless mountains. I saw a river running between the mountains and the water, and that was the Nujiang River.

The river, wrapped in sand, rolled and rushed under the cliff with a bang. It is magnificent, embracing the vastness and roughness of the plateau and proclaiming the derivation and development of a civilization.

The green of the mountain is gradually increasing. In the rich vegetation, there are unknown red mountain fruits with bright colors and fascinating creatures. With a whoosh, a rabbit suddenly ran across the road and got into the Woods. The little goat bleats, and the pompoms roll over. The river bank is a mature highland barley forest. As soon as the wind blew away, the wheat waves surged and rustled. At the bottom of the valley, Tibetan houses stand proudly and are colorful, releasing mysterious Tibetan customs.

Junyong village has arrived. The stability of the mountain and the loneliness of the road were quickly broken. The air is fresh and my mind is completely clear. The roar of the Nujiang River came faintly. It may be a song of victory and joy, pointing directly at this mountain, this river, this grassland, this cattle and sheep, this mountain fruit ... At this moment, the sun came obliquely from the mountain on the other side of the river and shone on the village. In the depths of the distant mountains, once the golden sunshine and the green of the village are reconciled, it becomes a palette overturned by God.

The desolate and silent mountain suddenly became lively. In the dam listed by the "villagers' committee", fresh vegetables such as pumpkins and cabbages that the villagers have just picked from the ground are piled up. Soon, an old lady came in with a pot of buttered tea and a smile. An old man came again with an altar of highland barley wine.

If they can, they will take out their hearts, I think.

Early the next morning, a group of people happily walked through orchards, Gesanghua, bluestone alleys, corn groves, and the old lady who turned over the scriptures, and went into the Tibetan-style ancient house by the Zezu River in Zhaxi, where the former caravan leader lived, looking for the story of yesterday's tea-horse ancient road station.

The sun came out. There are white clouds floating on the mountain, as holy as Hada. On both sides of the mountain are knife-cut peaks, and in the middle is the rushing Nujiang River. The mountain is reddish brown, and the river forms a magnificent landscape painting, which is presented in three dimensions between heaven and earth.

Zhaxi fever is famous for its ancestral home, which was built in the late Qing Dynasty and early Ming Dynasty. After years of erosion, it is ancient and simple. Wood is piled up under the eaves of the yard, and the workers are doing their own work, preparing to strengthen and maintain the house. The wooden stairs are a little dented by many people. The murals in the house are exquisite and slightly weathered and deformed. What exactly is the mural content? No one can say for sure, but experts from China and Germany are actively seeking a solution to this difficult problem. Perhaps, it is a lookout on this road, connecting the past and the present.

The grandfather of villager Gasongpingcuo once ran across the caravan. His father, Kasong Zideng, also kept his collection-a shiny saddle, a room full of brick tea, and a history of the village supported by the army.

At first, it was just a beach. But the terrain is particularly good, surrounded by mountains, the Nujiang River flows through, and the valley bottom is fertile land. Tired of walking, the caravan stopped on the beach. The captain of the caravan suddenly found out that you can escape the war here! At the command, the men quickly turned and dragged their children. After that, build houses with stones and plant highland barley on the land. Since then, the smoke on the beach has curled up. It is also said that Princess Wencheng passed through Tibet, and Fei Fengling has testified so far. It turns out that this road deep in the distant mountains has never been lonely.

Today, the population of Junyong Village exceeds 400. The children in the village go to Changdu to study, or go further to Lhasa, or even go abroad.

People living on both sides of the Nujiang River and deep in the mountains, their roads are getting wider and wider after all!

two

I flew from Qamdo to Lhasa and specially chose a window seat.

I feel like a bird, soaring on the roof of the world. Under the clouds, there are snow-capped mountains. Between the snow peaks, there are springs, gurgling and quietly accumulating strength. Those exciting rivers lie dormant in the first terrace of China.

The road to Lhasa cut off the symphony between the ancient imagination of mankind and modern civilization. Gongga Airport really carries too many dreams: different skin colors and different accents meet here.

The sun is burning, shining brightly on distant mountains and nearby water. The mountains are almost wrinkled, but they are sincere and heroic, which makes people feel practical and warm. Outside the airport, the Lhasa River is sparkling, clear and transparent. It winds in the ileum, accompanied by willows in the shallows, dragging the purity and ethereal of the plateau. I am like a newborn baby, staring at the mountains and transparent water of male soul in a novel way; Look at the blue sky and white clouds. Like sucking the mother's milk, greedily enjoying the cool breeze and coolness of the plateau.

Tibet in August, the pure sky is blue, as real as life. In Tibet, you have to go to Shannan, which is the birthplace of Tibetan culture and life.

Cross the Lhasa River and walk with the Yarlung Zangbo River.

Between the mountains, the river twists and turns. The river is clear, reflecting the blue of the sky and the white of white clouds. Nearshore, I actually saw rows of willows. Under the barren beach or stone tablet, the willows stand in the wind, their branches and leaves are upward, and they look so poetic and lush that I can't help but be surprised. It turned out that this was brought by Princess Wencheng when she entered Tibet. People call it Princess Willow, but they grow into themselves on the plateau.

The appearance of the plateau is carefully interpreted by the great river, not just the willow trees on the beach. Not far away, it is a wetland. Roots grow in the water and branches spread on the river, which makes my imagination spread freely.

Legend has it that in ancient times, Shannan, a region rich in water and grass, was the place where monkeys and hooligans met, thus laying the cradle of Tibetan reproduction, and love was the theme of Shannan. Shannan is also recognized as the "cradle of Tibetan national culture" because it has many firsts, including the first Zanpu, the first palace, the first temple, the first scripture, the first farmland, the first village and the first well. ...

I saw a camel on a sand dune. They stand among the green plants, stretched by the shadow of light, just like the masters of heaven and earth. Not far from here, it is neighboring India. My uncle was stationed here many years ago. In a battle, an ear was blown off by gunfire. But now camels don't know this history at all. They walk leisurely, eat grass slowly, and look serene and peaceful.

Peace of mind is better. Sanye Temple has a long bell and a warm climate. By the Yarlung Zangbo River and under the Habu Mountain, it seems to be isolated from the world. This is the first temple in Tibetan history where monks are shaved and become monks. Accompanied by Sanskrit, I put aside all distractions, as if walking in my heart.

Under the stupa, the flowers in Ge Sang are swaying in the breeze, and the flowing clouds are changing their postures under the blue sky. In my mind, I suddenly found a building being repaired, and many Tibetan men and women dressed in Tibetan costumes were playing aga (tamping the foundation). There are old people and children as well as young men and women. They lined up neatly, singing the same songs, singing one after another, full of charm. Playing aga up and down, although simple and monotonous, is very powerful, as if it were endowed with rich emotions and content by folk songs. I couldn't help smiling at them, and they shouted in unison: Tashildler!

Tashildler, think about it. The surging Yarlung Zangbo River flows out of the trickling spring water on the snowy mountain, forming an emotional ribbon, which also binds my heart and soul.

Southern Tibet, south of Kampot Ri Mountain, east of Yalong River, in Changzhu Temple.

I looked up again, my eyes burning with light. But I still clearly saw the Peng bird on the stone tablet in front of the temple spread its wings and came at me. I'm unprepared. I went west from the middle of Shu, crossed the Lhasa River, crossed the Yarlung Zangbo River and passed the Sanye Temple, as if for the love here.

At the beginning of the 7th century, Songzan Gambo unified the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau and established the Tubo Dynasty. Later, she married the Tang Dynasty and Princess Wencheng. They built a love palace in Shannan. According to historical records, after Princess Wencheng entered Tibet, she lived in today's Shannan-the seat of the Tubo Dynasty at that time, Yongbulakang in the Summer Palace and Changzhu Temple in the Winter Palace.

On the left side of the Great Sutra Hall in Changsha-Zhuzhou-Xiangtan Temple, I stopped in front of a double-hole tiger stove and an old brown pottery basin. This pottery basin is a relic of the princess. I clearly saw a petite woman who wore her hair in a bun, revealing her beauty. Although she was in tears by fireworks, she kept washing, frying and cooking, trying to make a cup of soup and a delicious meal for her beloved husband.

I seem to smell the smell of rice grains. My eyes wander with your elegant back. I saw the colorful silk thread winding in your hands, jumping at your fingertips, like flowing notes, weaving into silk thangkas.

In the voice of the Yarlung Zangbo River, I am looking for the melody of love. Listen carefully, Shannan folk songs seem to be singing again in the cuckoo's cry. Because of a person, I fell in love with a city, a mountain and a snowy area. You bring them seeds and hope, teach them brocade and medical skills. Is that you, princess? ! That year, you broke the willow branches of Chang 'an Baqiao Bridge, bid farewell to your relatives and homeland, walked out of Zhumen Diegong and headed west. The longest wedding road in the world, during which, how many tears and tears, and how many words and feelings?

So, when I panted up to the top of Yongbulakang and lit a bright lamp, I hoped it would light the princess's way home. The white clouds in the sky can be picked with one hand, and the farmland below the mountain is green in the sun. It is the first paddy field in Tibet and the place where Tibetan civilization grows.

three

I miss Shannan and don't give up Shannan.

"That year, I kowtowed and held dust, not for the sake of Buddha, but for your warmth. At that time, I crossed hundreds of mountains, not to repair the afterlife, but to meet you on the road. " In that year, did you leave your beloved girl Ren Zeng Mu Wang in Shannan's relatives and homeland? Towards the magnificent Potala Palace.

I clearly see an iron man, with the same feelings as water and willow, standing on the snowy plateau, shining in the long river of time. And I am in this territory, talking to the original poet, looking at a poet's heart, crying about the bitterness of love, the reincarnation of the world, and the great beauty of heaven and earth. ...

The first contact with the word "Lhasa" was a Chinese composition in the third grade of primary school, which asked us to continue to write a scene of Tibetan serf mothers starving with their children in the snow. In class, I put aside all distractions and tried to broaden my imagination, as if I were on the snowy plateau and saw the story of people on the plateau desperately trying to save their mother and daughter.

Close contact with "Lhasa" is the fifth Southwest Young Writers' Class held by Lu Xun College of Literature in Ba Jin College of Literature on October 6, 20. Six writers, including Zhou Yong and Liao Wei, came to Lhasa. Among them, Zhou Yong, the deputy monitor, was a scientist of China Academy of Social Sciences, but he lived in Lhasa for several years and published nine books about Lhasa. Liao Weiben, a poetess, was born in Dazhou, Sichuan, China. I wonder if she lives and works in Lhasa. Her heart is as soft as the white clouds in Lhasa. Even if she sees a small ant on the road, she will carefully avoid walking.

Lhasa has been in full bloom in my heart for more than forty years. From the time I began to learn to write a composition, I learned to sing Lhasa's new folk song "Walking around the New City", chanting Cangyang Jiacuo's "Seeing and Seeing" and reading Zhou Yong's Lhasa series articles. ...

This simple and honest man from Hunan, when he received us in Lhasa, talked about Tibet like a few treasures. He came to Lhasa to exercise his life, and it seems that he has no intention of going back to Beijing. Walking on the streets of Lhasa, you can always hear the accents of various places in the mainland and eat local snacks. Lhasa may be coming into everyone's heart from the roof of the world, or everyone may have a look of Lhasa in their heart.

But something in Lasater has never changed. In the lobby of my hotel, there is a bowl of highland barley with wheat ears on it. The food that raised Tibetan children is treasured in the hearts of the kind people in Lhasa. Here, everything in the world is alive and awesome, including heaven and earth.

The night in Lhasa is like the stars in the sky, high and clear. An epic large-scale live performance drama Princess Wencheng is being staged. People sat quietly, as if walking into the historical depths of the plateau. The moonlight is like water, and the mountain shadows are faint. Under the beautiful lights, there are fluttering prayer flags, high manidui, holy snow peaks, trembling rivers ... the prosperous Tang Dynasty, the distant Tubo, the long road to marriage, and the great ethnic integration ... The picture scroll of history seems to be opened by the hand of time, the snow-capped mountains are silent, the Yarlung Zangbo River roared, and history and reality blended. I heard the seeds of Tibetan civilization sprout, blossom and bear fruit. I held my breath as if I were a part of Tibet.

I consciously joined the long queue of lights in front of Jokhang Temple and put on a Tibetan skirt bought from Changdu. The skirt is beautiful, purple, from waist to ankle, with a long belt tied in a bow. I look at every Tibetan girl or aunt around me carefully, and their Tibetan skirts always highlight their beauty skillfully; Men's Tibetan robes show a magnificent temperament, but regardless of men, women and children, clothing and latosolic red faces complement each other. Their hearts are red, too

In front is Jokhang Temple. Tibetan compatriots in the distant mountains kowtow and bow down. They set out from their hometown, twisting bodhi fruit by hand, kowtowing step by step, measuring the earth with their bodies and talking to their ancestors with their souls. They carried buttered tea and entered the temple in turn, walking around one direction. They light oil lamps, sing the truth, smile, and have pure and full hearts.

Outside Jokhang Temple is Barkhor Street, which stands outside the tall building. Under the neon lights, in the ethnic regional customs, it seems to be a city of past lives. People with different accents, different colors and different nationalities come and go here. Women clung to a colorful wool cloak, men clung to Maggie Amy, and children were jumping around the square, busy making friends with Tibetan children of the same age.

This is the closest place in the world to the sky. I don't know if people here are as high as the sky, but their smiles are as pure as the blue and white of the sky. There are many festivals in Tibet, and people express their love for the plateau in various special ways. It coincides with the Snowdon Festival, and even if the sun is bright in the sky, my heart doesn't feel hot and dry.

Norbulingka ushered in another extraordinary day. The trees that cover the sky confirm its heavy history and show the rigor of this land. In the name of festivals, it invites people at home and abroad to enter their hearts. The crowd pushed each other, but people from any country and region slowed down and lowered their voices.

In the forest outside Norbulingka, colorful tents were set up. This is a festival for Tibetans themselves. Men are drinking, women are singing, children are running, and the ancient Tibetan opera has been staged.

Outside the play, everything is life. At that time, many people walked by the relics of Cangyang Jiacuo in the bedroom.

four

Lhasa, a young and ancient city.

Potala Palace Square, where various civilizations are intertwined: one is an ancient and solemn palace, and the other is a shining modern city; On the one hand, there are Lhasa people wearing Tibetan costumes, and on the other hand, there are tourists wearing various costumes. This traditional and modern plateau city, hidden in a green Jyukai, seems to be emitting new vitality. Standing in the meantime, looking around, Beijing Road, Jiangsu Road, Norbulingka Road, Yutu Road ... This is obviously an art corridor with great ethnic integration.

It is the tallest city in the world, but the Potala Palace stands above Lhasa, as holy as the lotus in the clouds.

After the rain, the sky is a bit Wei Yun, and the air is particularly fresh. At the entrance of Potala Palace, looking up at the temple in my heart, I couldn't help but close my eyes for a long time with my hands folded. The red and white colors of Chu give the palace a mysterious coat. How many precious stories and magical legends are hidden in every corner of the palace, under the eaves and in the Buddha statues?

Beside him, an old Tibetan man was holding a wooden mop and wearing an apron around his waist. He recited the truth and fell to the ground deeply. His hair is unkempt, his face is dusty and his clothes are worn out, but I see his eyes are happy and bright, and his expression is happy and satisfied. Behind him, a young child, also learning his appearance, is extremely pious and sacred. I think their hearts must be very rich.

I walked into the Potala Palace.

The past reappears. Historical pictures are superimposed and replayed like movies-Tubo and Datang; Songzan Gambu and Princess Wencheng; Changzhu Temple and Yongbulakang; Lhasa, Potala Palace ... I walked through the stone steps, the pillars, the cornices and the cloisters. I saw Buddha statues, jewels, sandalwood, Tibetan robes and prayer wheels. I really heard chanting … I walked past their wedding room.

At that time, in the highest altitude snow mountain reserve in the world, I seemed to hear another person shouting, "I am the king with the largest snow area, and I am the most beautiful lover in the world." In a flash, all abstract murals and images, all stories and legends have become concrete and vivid, and they are presented to me in a real three-dimensional way. This is the real life world in Wang's mind. Is the Lhasa River your tears? Staring at the snow-capped mountains, rivers, grasslands, sheep, Manidui, prayer flags ... I have imagined your enthusiasm and perseverance countless times.

Love and friendship should be the eternal theme of this world. Since ancient times, what is more important than this? !

From the "Luojue" city in the Tang Dynasty to the "Lhasa" city today, thousands of years of quiet accumulation and hard work by children of all ethnic groups have blossomed like saussurea involucrata, the highest altitude on the roof of the world.

On my way home, I bought a bunch of Bodhi in Barkhor Street. The word "Bodhi" originally refers to consciousness and wisdom. In English, "Bodhi Tree" means compassion, distinguishing good from evil and awakening truth. In plant taxonomy, Bodhi tree is a sacred tree of Buddhism, which was born in tropical and subtropical regions.

Buddha said: Bodhi has no trees, and the mirror is not a stage. There was nothing, so there was no dust! Is there really no tree in Bodhi? I remember that autumn, at an altitude of more than 3000 meters, I actually saw a bodhi tree in Ta 'er Temple in Qinghai. The bodhi tree, which blooms and bears fruit once every few decades, has become a beautiful place in people's hearts and a sacred place for worship. The gray-haired grandmother who is worshipping has been here for more than a year, and she has to knock off 65,438+10,000 heads before returning to her distant home.

Looking around Barkhor Street, Bodhi fruits are all shining with spiritual luster, as pure as the blue and white of the sky. Those who hold bodhi fruit in their hands must have a pure heart, with beauty in their hearts and the breadth of heaven and earth, such as the vastness of the plateau. Devout Tibetans came here one after another from afar to worship in order to bring peace and happiness to their loved ones.

Home is far away. But bodhicitta was brought back to a distant hometown by them, warm with love and true feelings. I finally understand that the Bodhi fruit, which blooms and bears fruit once every few decades, has been guarding the hearts of every Chinese nation's sons and daughters with its hard appearance, soft mind and shining color since the day it crossed to the East.

In Sanskrit, I seem to see a distant home, and my home is in every corner of China.

Zou Anyin, female, a member of Chinese Writers Association, a member of China Reportage, a member of China Prose, and a contracted writer of fixed-point life project of Chinese Writers Association.