Me and Ditan

one

I have mentioned an abandoned ancient garden in several novels, which is actually an altar.

Many years ago, before the development of tourism, the garden was as barren as a wild field, and few people remembered it.

Ditan is close to my home. Or my home is close to the Ditan. In a word, I have to think that this is fate. Ditan was located there more than 400 years before I was born, and since my grandmother came to Beijing with my father when she was young, she has been living near Ditan-she has moved several times in more than 50 years, but she has been around Ditan and is getting closer and closer. I often feel that there is a taste of fate in it: it seems that this ancient garden has been waiting for me for more than 400 years after many vicissitudes. It waited for me to be born, and then when I lived to the most arrogant age, I suddenly crippled my leg. For more than 400 years, it has eroded the grandiose stained glass at the eaves of the ancient temple, faded the scarlet displayed on the door wall, collapsed sections of high walls and scattered jade carving fences, and the ancient cypress around the altar has become more and more secluded, and weeds and vines can be seen everywhere to flourish freely and openly.

I think I should come. One afternoon fifteen years ago, I pushed the wheelchair into the garden. It prepared everything for an irrational person. At that time, the sun grew bigger and redder along the eternal road. In the quiet light of the garden, it is easier for a person to see the time and his own figure clearly.

I haven't left for a long time since I accidentally entered the garden that afternoon. I immediately understood its intention. As I said in a novel: "In a densely populated city, it is like God's painstaking arrangement to have such a quiet place."

In the first few years after my leg was disabled, I couldn't find a job, couldn't find a way, and suddenly I couldn't find anything. I rocked my wheelchair and walked all the way to it, just because there is another world, I can escape from another world. I wrote in that novel: "I have nowhere to go, so I spend all day in this garden." Just like commuting, I always come to work in a wheelchair. The garden is unattended, and some people who cut corners pass by it during commuting hours. The garden was active for a while, and then it was silent. "

"The wall of the garden is slanted in the golden air-under the shade of the tree, I put the wheelchair in, put the chair back, or sit or lie down, read or think about things, beat the branches left and right, and drive away the little insects who don't understand why I came to this world like me." "Bees are like a small fog, firmly stopping in mid-air; The ant shook his head, stroked his tentacles, suddenly figured something out, turned around and ran away; The ladybug crawled impatiently. After a tired prayer, it spread its wings and took off in a flash. There is a cicada on the trunk, lonely as an empty house;

Dewdrops rolled, gathered and bent on the grass, which crashed to the ground and broke thousands of golden lights. "

"The garden is full of the noise of vegetation growth, which shows that there are endless fragments."

These are all true records. The garden is barren but not in decline.

I can't go in except for a few temples. I can't go up there except the altar. I can only look at it from all angles. I have been under every tree in the altar, and almost every meter of grass has my wheel marks. No matter what season, weather and time, I am in this garden. Sometimes I go home after a while, and sometimes I stay until the moonlight shines all over the earth. I don't remember where it is. I spent hours thinking about death, and I used the same patience and way to think about why I was born. After thinking for several years, I finally figured it out: when a person is born, it is no longer a debatable question, but just a fact given to him by God; When God gave us this fact, he has guaranteed its result by the way, so death is not a hurry, and death is a festival that is bound to come. It's much more reassuring to think about it like this, and everything in front of you is no longer so terrible. For example, when you get up early and stay up late to prepare for the exam, it suddenly occurs to you that there is a long holiday waiting for you. Will you feel relaxed? And be grateful for this arrangement?

The rest is the question of how to live, but at a certain moment, I can't fully figure it out and can't solve it at the moment. I'm afraid you have to think about it all your life, just like the devil or lover who will accompany you all your life. So, fifteen years later, I still want to go to that ancient garden, to its old trees or weeds or decaying walls, sit quietly, stay and think, push away the noisy thoughts in my ears and get a glimpse of my soul.

In fifteen years, the shape of this ancient garden has been carved by people who can't understand it. Fortunately, there are some things that no one can change. For example, the setting sun in the stone gate of the altar, with silent brilliance, reflects every bump on the ground brightly; For example, in the most lonely time in the garden, a group of swift will come out and sing loudly, shouting the desolation of the world; For example, the footprints of children in the snow in winter always make people wonder who they are, what they did there, and where they went; For example, those dark Cooper, when you are depressed, they stand there calmly, when you are happy, they still stand there calmly, from when you are not born to when you are not in this world, they stand there day and night; For example, a sudden rainstorm in the garden aroused a burning, pure smell of vegetation and soil, which reminded people of countless summer events; For example, when the autumn wind suddenly rises, there will be the first frost, falling leaves, swaying songs and dancing or lying down calmly, and the garden will smell of intimacy and bitterness. The taste is the least clear. You can't write the taste, you can only smell it, and you have to be there to smell it. The taste is even harder to remember. Only when you smell it again can you remember all its emotions and meanings. So I often go to that garden.

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