The text version of Seeking the Distant Impression of Prose was broadcast on Liaoning TV Station. Thank you.

An article used instead of a preface.

Smoke clouds on the fan (generation order)

If there is no mirror between the girls' dressing tables,

Staring at Gong Shan hanging on the wall all day,

The pavilion on the fan is like a reflection in the water.

Dye powder and cry like smoke. ...

"Do you say that our hearing and visual limitations are poor?"

"yes. One summer, I walked with a color-blind man on the farm and shook a red flower at him. He said it was blue. "

"Then you mourn for him."

"I'll do it myself."

"So you believe in something mysterious."

"I like to imagine distant things. Someone who doesn't exist. And many lands whose names can't be found on human maps. I can't tell you how many days and nights, just like the story says, I got lost in the painting on the wall and walked into it. But my wall is white. But the golden door, whether it is heaven or hell, has indeed opened for me. "

"So what do you think of life?"

"I am tempted by life only by its performance. Alas, I haven't spoken to anyone for a long time since I drifted at sea and was sent to this desert island by a storm. I'm a little interested in talking today. "

"Then you can say it."

"I said, I said I like half of the ancients these days. It looks like a cloud to me. I like to use it as a good footnote of my article: I don't know when everything in the world makes me tired. At that time, I had just heard a monologue from a Danish prince. One is really crazy, and the other is pretentious. The universe that has been so neglected since ancient times is very lively. A drop of wine makes me very drunk, and I can't help but say something amazing. But what I want to praise now is the pure expression of this metaphor, which has nothing to do with its meaning. Sometimes I really lament the difficulty of analogy. In this way, I can't forget a Hungarian author for a long time. In one of his articles, there are two beautiful metaphors: at dusk, under the window of a hotel, he said that many workers hung their heads and some ships with broken sails and masts were moored in a silent port; Later, when he described a young girl, he only gently said that her eyes were as bright as golden keys. "

"Does this mean that they can open the door to heaven or hell?"

"And I once hung my head by the window. At dusk, I turned over a melancholy biography, so I looked up at the white smoke on the horizon and thought about the life of the person who wrote a story called' Smoke'. Twilight and twilight. where am I going? What is waiting for me at the end of the journey? I got the answer from the faces of different passengers in the carriage: those faces full of wrinkles of boredom and misfortune will cry or go crazy if they want to look at it quietly for a while. But, over there, there is the silhouette of a beautiful girl. Twilight casts a soft shadow. So I said to myself, how lonely the world would be without beautiful girls. Because from them, we can sometimes see Eve's face before she was cursed. So I looked at the clouds on the horizon, just like the mysterious singer who said that he had seen angels and elves in the eighteenth century said, he grasped eternity in an instant. "

"Where did you go at that time? You came for nothing. I can't track the trajectory of your thoughts at all. "

"So I cherish my dream. I want to draw them carefully. "

"What are some dreams?"

"First of all, I want to draw it on a round window. Every sunny night morning, I often pass by there. Although I didn't see a figure, I heard the sigh of white flowers falling from there. But while I was waiting, the window disappeared. I can't find it anymore. Later, it was probably a sign of a dream, on which I read a line: It is clear that Wen Jun had a dream one night, only the fans of the Youth League knew it. When I woke up, I was very sad, as if there had been a story. From then on, I like to wander in desolate places. One summer, when the soft night was moving in the street, I walked into a cemetery. Suddenly looked up, it turned out to be a moonlit night, the most common realm in Qi Xie's Strange Tales from a Lonely Studio. I sat on a white stone. My shadow is like a black cat. I can't help reaching out and touching it. Alas, I thought it was a belt left by a female ghost. It looks like a round fan when I pick it up. So I took it back; Treasured, when I am interested in work, I will take it out and draw my dreams on it. "

"What about that fan now?"

"How can I remember to take it with me when I am tired of my hometown and travel on this sea?"

"Then it must have stayed in the country where you came from."

"Not necessarily."

"Then I will try my best to roam to many continents to find it."

"I'm afraid by the time you find it, the shadow on that fan is already dim."

1midnight on February 22, 936. He Qifang, one of the three great poets in Hanyuan, is recommended by the editor. He is not only famous for his modern poems, but also has a beautiful prose collection, Painting Dreams. His prose seems confusing, but in fact it is novel and unique. He often uses musical words to complete the construction of beautiful articles in wandering meditation. Painting Dreams is a concentrated representative of his writing style. catalogue

Smoke clouds on the fan (generation order)

grave

begonia

Yuqiancha

dusk

……

The yard is quiet. As if I could hear how the night slipped from the cornice covered with cobwebs and landed on the long ribbon orchid leaves among the flowers, trembling slightly like the wings of a newly settled dragonfly, and finally stopped. The night then turned into a quiet and gentle wave lake, which stayed in the courtyard, with a blue glow on the wave surface.

The lonely thinking woman leans on the stone in front of the steps.

The color of the night, like the mist on the sea, like the dense smoke in the incense burner, does not seem to infect her meditation field, but she still lowers her head and does not move. However, a wisp of silvery voice leaked from the corner, sharp and broken, with a little damp, as if it were squeezed out of a small cave and rolled like pearls on the green moss soaked in Shui Ze; And then disappeared like dew. Without continuity, there can be no peace. Lonely crickets in early autumn.

She looked up.

The yellow color of the chrysanthemum that just caused her desolation has disappeared. Although there is still a huge rockery shadow in the fish tank, it is impossible to distinguish its exquisite peaks and caves from the lush Pu 'er grass above. This early autumn night, like a lotus-colored cicada-winged gauze shirt, is full of faint sadness.

She looked up even more.

Cloisonne sky draws a reunion leaf for the towering phoenix tree, and the new moon is like a golden boat moored among the branches. Granular stars, small white flowers that seem to overflow from the fingers of angels, are embedded in the sky like gems. However, they are still dancing, emitting crystal light, and their fragrance falls like silent snow from the ice-like sky.

The Milky Way is horizontal. Is the love in the sky isolated? Blessed are the magpies in Kuroha, who have built a bridge to meet the lovesick cows and girls year after year.

What about her nostalgia, like a lost bird wandering in this sighing night sea, or a memory, or a hope tangled between her toes like a HongLing, her light wings are getting heavier and heavier because of fatigue, and there is no green island in front of her eyes: can she not get tired of this distant and hopeless journey?

Her head drooped feebly again.

Her white hand touched the stone and seemed to want to support it. A wisp of cold and slender brown snake crawled straight into her heart from her fingertips, slowly curled up in a circle, and her thin tail trembled as if she had a warm resting place. Under the steps, a plane leaf fell quietly, her shoulders stirred up slightly, and her skirts brushed the edge of the withered stone, making a cold sound. The doubt is that her soul fell into darkness silently.

Her hand touched her temple dreamily. As a result, the bitterness and heat in my heart rose, and big tears slipped from my eyes to the beautiful eyelash tips, condensed into delicate lines and mellow light, such as the white dew on the grass, falling silently and irretrievably, without a breeze. ...

Just under the steps covered with moss and without traces of masonry, begonia sprouted. The two petals are round and bulging like dimples between the cheeks of roses, and the two petals are long and stretched like wings that envy insects flying. The leaves are green, the back of the leaves is red, and there is light hair. The stem of scarlet rises obliquely from the foundation of stone, like an old sweet story.

Supplement:

The sound of autumn.

People living in cities are increasingly unaware of the seasons.

We can't see the wild flowers in full bloom and smell the information of spring breeze, just like when we were in the countryside as children. Not at night.

In the yard, watching the old man waving a fan to enjoy the cool and feel the fun of summer nights; We can't be the last one before the arrival of the northeast monsoon.

I went fishing in the sea, knowing that autumn was coming.

The city is like this. On a summer night, we sat in an air-conditioned room and looked at the stars outside the landing window, suspecting that it was autumn.

When it is cold in winter, we walk through the gathered flower market, thinking that spring is in full bloom. Then we felt confused and lost,

Seasons have lost their meaning to us, because there are no seasons in cities.

A few days ago, a friend came to see me and told me excitedly, "Autumn is coming, do you know?" He suddenly appeared.

I was surprised to be asked, and later I learned that his autumn letter came from the market. He went to the market to buy food.

When I saw that all the crabs in the market were yellow, I was shocked to find that autumn had come, and I couldn't help laughing. To "Spring River Plumbing Duck First"

For an understanding duck, if you know that people know autumn from the market, I'm afraid you will laugh.

How did the ancients know about autumn?

I remember Jie Jiang, a poet in the Song Dynasty, wrote a song with a slow voice called Autumn Sound:

Huanghua deep lane,

Low window safflower,

Sad autumn sounds,

The sound of bean rain came,

There is wind in the middle.

At 25 o'clock,

If the door is unlocked, it will be louder.

The old friend is far away,

Ask who shook Yu Pei,

The ring under the eaves.

The sound of colorful horns falls with the moon,

Step by step, set up camp and move forward,

Four eggplant sounds.

Flashing adjacent lights,

There is still the sound of anvil in front of the lamp.

Until he complained about his worries,

How many egg noises!

Outstanding,

Divide it in half with the voice of a goose.

This word is very short, but it uses ten words of "sound", which is also rare among poets since the Song Dynasty. Jie Jiang took advantage of the wind.

Sound, rain, sound, bell, creaking sound, anvil sound, flies sound and geese sound to describe the arrival of autumn, which is really touching.

Rhythmic autumn. China's past literary works have a very strong sense of season, but this season is a pity.

The induction is slowly losing. Some people say that we have lost our sense of season, because Taiwan Province Province is a place where the seasons are like spring.

I don't agree with this; Even in the hottest south, farmers who farm by hand are always interested in the changes of time and climate.

A kind of sensitivity, that kind of sensitivity is like seeing a flower bud and predicting its opening time.

In the era of rapid industrial development, new discoveries are constantly made in our lives. Our ancestors only knew the truth.

Body, seasonal changes, the growth of flowers and trees, and later people can gradually penetrate the entity of things to find more subtle things.

Matter, the older generation only knew that the smallest unit of matter was a molecule, and later they knew that there were atoms under the molecule, but now they know it.

There are nucleons, neutral particles and particles in atoms, and finer components may be found in neutron particles in the future. regrettable

What's more, we have lost the visible entity instead. This is an old saying of China, "We only look at the autumn hair, but not the rest."

Pay. "

Up to now, our feeling of nature is not even as good as a tree. A tree knows when to sprout and blossom.

Fruits, leaves, etc. And record its life experience with rings, whether loose or tight, and what about us? Xu you

How come children don't even know when roses and azaleas bloom? Not to mention understanding the coming of autumn from the sound.

Yes

Since the indoor temperature can be controlled, the feeling of the season becomes abandoned, even though it is in winter.

Not many people can hear the wailing in the sky. Once I was in new york, it was snowing heavily outside the window, because the room

There is enough heating in the room. We only wear light clothes at our friend's house. My friend took out ice cream from the refrigerator to entertain us, and I took it.

Looking at the snow outside the window, the ice cream froze, thinking that life in winter is like "there is a touch of red in the quiet stove, how about a glass of wine inside?" . that

At that time, the child of the season was outside the window, and I seemed to see it tiptoe into the distant Woods.

Because people change nature indoors, it is not easy for us to understand how lovely the sunshine is in the winter afternoon.

It is easy to know the courtyard in summer night, listen to the crickets and let the cool wind blow. Because of greenhouse cultivation, we have roses all year round.

Roses, but we can't know how beautiful roses are in spring; We have rhododendrons to enjoy all year round, so we don't know.

Tell me how the blood of azaleas moves.

Legend has it that Wu Zetian of the Tang Dynasty, because she thought the peony bloomed too late, ordered the peony to be burned, which frightened the peony fairy.

In a panic, he quickly entertained Wu Hou's confidant with flowers overnight to avoid burning pain. When I read this legend, I

I am still a careless teenager, and I can't help sighing; Aren't those flowers in our greenhouse burned by fire?

An elf who bakes all kinds of flowers? When it is still snowing heavily in winter, peony is in full bloom outdoors. What kind of pleasure can people have?

What about fun? I don't understand.

The budding spring, dark summer, withered autumn and dead winter are gradually lost in the evolution of human science. I

Scientists know that autumn has come, but it is no longer the fallen leaves on the ground, but the crab yellow in the market, which is the heating on TV and newspapers.

When I look at the autumn window, the felt advertisement makes me feel sad.

This kind of mood, I am afraid that our next generation of children will never know!

-1982 1 1 24th of the month

White butterfly by the sea

Two friends and I went to the seaside to take pictures and sketch. One of my friends is a photographer and the other is a painter. They were moved by the beauty of abandoned villages, abandoned ships and dead branches by the sea, but ignored the long white beach. I saw them take out their cameras and sketchbooks and sit in the abandoned bow, so affectionate and so focused. I think, usually we all feel good about the living things, and the life in front of us has long passed away. Why do we still feel beautiful? I'm afraid what we feel is time and the beauty of impermanence and loneliness!

Then, I come to a conclusion: if a person is willing to keep the heart looking for good feelings, then beauty can be seen in the changes of things, whether it is full of vitality or dead silence. The root of that kind of beauty lies not in things, but in the heart, in feelings, and even in the eyes.

While thinking, the photographer exclaimed, "Ah! Butterfly! A group of white butterflies. " With his cry, he immediately jumped up and ran to the coast.

Looking in the direction where he was running, there were seven or eight white shadows chasing after him on the beach, which also surprised me. Where did the butterflies by the sea come from? Without plants and flowers, the wind is so wild. But those white butterflies flying upside down are really beautiful. No wonder the photographer runs so fast. If we can take a picture of a white butterfly flying on the waves, it will be glad you came.

I saw the photographer staring at the white butterfly without raising the camera. He rushed to grab one of them, and the pictures seemed to be silent and slowly moving silhouettes in the film.

Then, the photographer walked back in slow motion, and the white butterfly on the beach was still flying behind him.

"Did you get it?" I asked him.

He humbly opened his right hand. That's the butterfly he just caught. The three of us laughed at the same time. It turned out that what he caught was not a white butterfly, but a blank sheet of paper. Paper is garbage on the beach, and it is danced by the sea breeze. From a distance, it looks like a flock of white butterflies flying on the sea.

The truth is often so ruthless.

I said to the photographer, "if you hadn't gone to see it, we would have thought it was a white butterfly!" " "

Indeed, visually, junk paper and white butterfly are exactly the same, and they can't be distinguished. Our perception of beauty comes not so much from vision as from imagination. When we see "white butterflies flying on the sea" and "junk paper flying on the sea", both the picture and the vision are the same, but the difference is our imagination.

This makes me feel that the sensory feelings are unreal, and we are often deceived by our senses.

In fact, in life, it is common to treat paper as a white butterfly!

Before I got married, my girlfriends were all white butterflies. After I got married, I found it was just a piece of paper.

A good friend turned out to be a white butterfly, only to see that it was a piece of paper after breaking off diplomatic relations.

Unfinished poems, unrequited love, awakened dreams, ethereal manor on the top of the mountain and endless stories are all white butterflies dancing by the sea, so there is no need to rush to see them. As long as it is expressed, there will be an ending and no longer flow. At this time, it immediately stopped and became a piece of paper.

I came home, sat in my study and looked at the direction of the North Sea. Think about it, just this afternoon, I was sitting on the coast of the North Sea blowing the sea breeze and saw the white butterfly-oh, no! White pieces of paper are flying in the wind. Now, these seemingly real experiences have turned into hallucinations with the wind. Or, it will fly in a dream, or, at a certain seaside, in a certain life, it will feel like a butterfly.

Alas! A real white butterfly is sucking nectar from a pot of mirabilis jalapa I am planting now! Do you believe it or not?

You believe it! Congratulations, you are an aesthetic person. At the seaside of life, you will often see white butterflies flying in and out.

You don't believe me? Congratulations, too. You are a practical person. At the seaside of life, you tend to sprint quickly to find the truth about paper and butterflies.

Xin Kai is the best tonic.

When we turn on the TV or open the newspaper, we will see many advertisements for tonics almost every day, teaching us how to be strong and brave and how to be like a living dragon after forty.

It is puzzling that there are almost as many advertisements beside these advertisements, which teach us to lose weight, how to eliminate excess nutrition, how to lose too much fat, and how to be like forty-year-old high school classmates.

There is no doubt that this is a chaotic era.

Many people take tonics because they are worried about their own shortcomings.

Many people worry about their excess and try to lose weight.

I often wonder: Are the people who take tonics and lose weight the same people? That's it, we ask for trouble and fall into the trap created by businessmen for us.

I know that one of the best ways to lose weight is to relax and be happy, get rid of troubles and worries, and let go of those insufficient and redundant hearts.

Really, happiness is the best tonic, which will make us like a living dragon forever and keep the mood of our high school classmates forever.