What are Xi Murong's essays?

Xi Murong, a Mongolian, is a contemporary painter, poet and essayist. Originally from Chahar Province, Inner Mongolia. The following is the content of Xi Murong's prose, welcome to read!

Xi Murong's Prose: Chi Pan, I am in front of the lotus pond again.

Carrying a painting tool, I want to draw all these thousand kinds of lotus flowers. I walked slowly along the path alone, observing and searching, trying to start with the most beautiful flowers.

The weather is still the same as that year, and the fragrance is still the same as that year. Some things seem to have been forgotten, but they can suddenly come like an avalanche, reappear and resurrect in a very familiar and gentle atmosphere, and then hold my heart tightly, which actually makes me feel painful.

So life is like this! It turns out that all the past days will not really pass and disappear. It turns out that if I live like that, I will live like that, just like every stroke of an oil painting is indispensable before it is completed, whether it is painted wrong or right. I will be what I once lived.

So, who am I now? In the face of thousands of lotus plants like that, I ask you gently in my heart.

Will you recognize me if we meet again?

Will you recognize me if we meet again?

If you happened to walk behind me when I was painting a lotus, would you stop or walk over?

I think you will definitely stop, because you and I both know that in this life, it is impossible for you to follow a girl who drew a lotus without stopping for a while.

Because, you have lived, and you will live.

When you turn around a cluster of tropical forests, when you come to the lotus pond at dusk, when you suddenly find a girl in plain clothes sitting by the pool sketching, you can't stop.

Of course, outside, you just stood there quietly. In this world, no one will know your inner ups and downs except me.

However, how strikingly similar everything is! The faint sunshine in the evening, the faint fragrance in the lotus pond, the quiet surroundings, and even the watercolor paintings painted by this girl are not very smooth in tone and brushwork. How painful all this is!

The girl absorbed in painting and didn't look back. You stand behind her and stare at that photo, but what you see is the one many years ago.

You came quietly and left quietly, and the girl never looked back. When you have gone far, look back at the past. Passing through thousands of quiet lotus flowers, the girl is slowly getting up and starting to tidy up her painting tools. The sky is clear, and her figure in light clothes is vague and familiar, just like the lotus fragrance that permeates the whole space.

Your heart is also full of gratitude, grateful that she just appeared, grateful that she did not look back.

It is because she didn't look back that you know that if we meet again, you will recognize me from a distance.

Every time I get to the lotus pond, it's too late.

The blooming lotus can't stand the strong sunshine, unless it just blooms under a large lotus leaf, otherwise, the blooming lotus will slowly close in the afternoon sunshine and refuse to bloom again. By the next morning, the reopened petals, no matter how hard they try, can no longer be as full, full of vitality and unscrupulous as when they first opened.

Then, on the third day, it was time to fall down. Pale and soft petals fall on duckweed, but they don't sink immediately. The green duckweed is the last stage before the petals turn yellow and black. On this gentle but not lasting stage, the lotus shows its last charming sadness.

It's not that I don't want to get up early, nor that I haven't tried. However, it can only be until noon every time, and then, in the face of those petals that refuse to open again, my heart suddenly loses. I had to search slowly along the lotus pond, hoping to find one or two flowers shaded by lotus leaves, which could still bloom happily and remain unchanged and unaffected.

Once, when I was carrying heavy painting tools and looking for them one by one, a white-haired old man smiled and said to me:

"The truly beautiful lotus is in the morning. You can't find one like this now."

Yes, thank you, old man. I know what you said, but I won't be satisfied if I don't finish this long journey and see these hundreds of lotus flowers.

If, if I just can't see that one, that lotus flower has been waiting for me since early morning, if I just miss it.

If, just because of the hot afternoon sun, just because of the heavy burden on my back, just because of the disapproving eyes of people around me, I start to hesitate, stop and then turn away, then there will always be a regret in my heart. I often think, maybe, maybe there is a lotus flower waiting for me. I have been looking forward to my life in vain, and finally withered and died in the distance near me. At that time, I will miss not only one morning, but a long afternoon, the life of a gentle and uncomplaining soul.

So, I have to walk such a long way. I'd rather believe there is such a flower.

And I really often meet at miraculous moments. Among thousands of lotus leaves and thousands of lotus flowers, it is there, warm as jade, standing in the pavilion.

For such an encounter, we can only stare at each other with a smile, and all words will be redundant.

They like to use dichotomy to explain the world.

They said: If you have desires in your heart, it must be because you are dissatisfied with reality. If you want to cross the river, it must be because this side of the river is not beautiful enough; They also said: if two people are destined, they will not be separated.

They divided the world into two extremely opposite categories: all tangled thoughts must be divided into two under the conclusion they quickly decided, either yes or no, either yes or no.

Therefore, they can't trust our world. They won't believe that every girl who sketched in Chi Pan may or may not be me, and every audience standing behind me may or may not be you.

The girl who turned her head may never be me, but the girl who didn't turn her head may always be me, always painting a rough lotus flower in Chi Pan at dusk.

Therefore, if we are destined to meet again, we will not be as happy as they think. Instead, we will go back sadly and part again in silence. Such a fate is beyond their imagination and belief.

Only the ten million lotus flowers in Qian Qian know how we lived and how we will live.

Xi Murong's Prose: There are many things in this world in xiaohongmen. Do you think you can continue to do it tomorrow? There are many people, you think you will meet again tomorrow; So, when you put down for a while, or turn around for a while, you only have the hope of meeting again tomorrow, and sometimes you don't even feel this hope. Because, you think that since the days are coming day by day, of course, they will pass day by day. Yesterday, today and tomorrow should be no different.

However, there will be one time: when you put down and turn around, everything will change completely. The sun goes down, and some people will say goodbye to you before it rises again.

Just like I waved goodbye to xiaohongmen that afternoon. There is a small yard behind xiaohongmen. There is a green window behind the yard. The window was open when I left, and there was grandma's bedroom. Grandma sat on the bed, facing the window, facing the yard and facing the red door, crying loudly. Because I have loved her for 20 years, my granddaughter who finally wants to study abroad like others has already gone far outside the Red Gate. I don't know what was on my grandmother's mind at that time. I only remember that when I pulled xiaohongmen from behind, tears were running down her face behind the open window.

And that was the first time I saw grandma so excited, and I couldn't help feeling very sad. Although grandparents and grandchildren tried to smile before saying goodbye, when that moment came, grandma, who was usually so strong, finally collapsed. And I have to admit with shame that although my heart was full of the pain of parting at that time, the excitement of going abroad still existed. It is for this reason that I shed fewer tears than the old man, so that I can wave my hand and smile behind the window before taking xiaohongmen with me. Although I walked out of the alley with sore eyes, I took a deep breath after stepping on the bus and was able to think of other things. Besides, I think I will come back soon anyway, and we will meet again soon anyway. Besides, I think, when I leave, my brother will stand behind my grandmother. With my brother around, my grandmother won't cry for long. Grandma really hasn't cried for a long time After that summer, another summer has passed, and it is still far from the third summer. Grandma left.

My family didn't tell me the news. Almost a month later, it's about1early February. One weekend afternoon, I went to teach overseas Chinese children's school as usual. I arrived early that day, before the students came, and there was a stack of aviation pages of domestic newspapers on the square table, so I sat down and slowly turned them over. It seems that I saw a short article in the supplement of the Second Newspaper. At first glance, the first thing I saw was my grandfather's name. At first I thought it was about his life. But a closer look at the title shows that it was written by Mr. Shi: "Mr. Bao Le, hold Princess Bao Guanglian."

My only feeling at that time was that my hands and feet were suddenly extremely cold, and I understood why the old man was so excited on the day of parting. Did she have a presentiment that it was time to say goodbye when xiaohongmen passed? This time, it was my turn to burst into tears in a foreign dusk with infinite regret.

Xi Murong's Prose: Blue Flower is two years old and lives in Chongqing. That place has a nice name called Jingangbo, and her memory begins there. It seems that my head is very big and I always walk unsteadily, but I love walking, so I always fall down, but I am not injured because I am round. She often rolls down the hillside. When her family can't find her, they have to look in the nearby grass, but this fall is almost a mysterious and magical experience for the little girl. Sometimes she will fall into a forest, maybe it is not a forest but a bush, but it is a forest for the little girl. Sometimes she stumbles to the pool, and there is no one by the quiet pond. She found a "beautiful big blue flower". She told her family, and everyone laughed and didn't believe it, so the secret was sealed for more than ten years. Until I went to Normal University, I once sketched in Yangming Mountain and suddenly saw the flowers by the pool, like friends reunited with previous lives. She hurried to ask Professor Lin Yushan, and the professor replied that it was "iris", but at that moment, an illusion that lasted for more than ten years suddenly disappeared. That kind of flower, from dream to reality. From then on, it was just a clever flower with a famous surname and spectrum, and it was no longer the blue flower that was so big that it could almost be seen from the elevation angle in the little girl's memory.

How can a child see the secret of a flower by an ordinary pond, and what is the mysterious call? Thirty-six years later, she still walks uneasily through this spring's white camellia, which has always had a crush on her.

It is also true that the genetic trait of bewitch has long been lurking in her mother. 1949, when the tide rose, she left in a hurry. Among all the possessions, she left the important property "relic" in the family religion, but took away the newly made big curtain. As Xi Murong recalled, the curtain was beautiful. When I first arrived in Taiwan Province Province, my mother hung it up, and the little girl stared at it as soon as possible every time she slept. Perhaps the curtain is more religious and solemn than the sacred object. If there is a rose pattern lace on it,