Wen: Standing in front of Lu Yao's tomb.
Luyao Tomb is not one of the teaching points of this trip, but it has raised a little excitement and surprise in my heart, just like seeing an old friend soon-I have been in contact with the ordinary world and life since junior high school, so I can really be regarded as an old friend. I am eager to take the time to find a distant grave and see the man who came from the depths of this land and has touched the yellow land with words so far.
On July 12, the study was over in the evening, and it was getting late. I left in a hurry. Students who have consulted the school before generally know the direction. I walked along a trampled path until I reached the mountain. The trees on both sides of the path are lush and there are no street lamps. I feel that the weather is getting darker and colder. On the way, I met a stone tablet that said "Wen Hui". Go on, turn a few small corners, only about 15 minutes' walk, and there is a clearing in front of you. This small clearing is the cemetery of Luyao. My heart is also clear.
Lu Yao's tomb is hemispherical, like a thick inverted porcelain bowl. There is no caption on the tombstone, only the stone in front has the inscription "Yao Lu's Tomb", in which the word "Yao" is very long-I think of a word "This is changing". There is a tall stone wall behind Yao Lu's tomb, which is inlaid with the relief of a willing cow and Yao Lu's famous saying, "Work like an ox and contribute like the land". Sunset, sunset reflects the sunset in the western sky, and this sentence is also reflected in gold.
On the tombstone, Lu Yao's head is solemnly and calmly engraved. Looking south, I thought of the epitaph of the Irish poet Ye Zhi, "Take a cold look, get sick, ride a horse, and hurry." I also look south from here, overlooking Yan 'an University. In the distance, the muddy and almost dry Yanhe slowly flows eastward. At first glance, it is the Phoenix Mountain with a green barrier in the distance, which extends to the distance and enters the endless mountains of northern Shaanxi.
At this time, after the rain, the weather was hot and humid, the sun was not seen, the sky hung low, and the clouds that had not dispersed were heavy and heavy, like frowning brows, brewing the next rain of tears. There were few people around, and the trees were growing wildly, almost covering the path when they came. There was silence all around, mosquitoes buzzed, and hundreds of Xia Chan were hiding around, making a huge noise. Several wild dogs rustled in the overgrown place and stared at me.
I stood quietly in front of Lu Yao's head sculpture, feeling that time is particularly long and time flies like water. I fled from the noise of the city not far away, but I heard the inner screams. The whole person is very open and calm, looking at him with confidence and confidence, standing between this ordinary world.
A wise and open-minded person will not care about others' rudeness and disrespect, but will also tolerate and understand an afterlife's ignorance and conceit.
I read Life in Hard Days first, then Ordinary World and Sister, and finally Morning starts at noon. I still can't forget the feeling of tirelessly eating away at those words in the world written by Lu Yao. In particular, "Morning Begins at Noon" shocked me, and I was deeply impressed by his tireless wandering for the purpose. I also grew up on the yellow land in the northwest, feeling the intense passion of being hot, warm, friendly and simple, feeling the inner tremor and throb again and again, and sharing the same sadness or joy, anger or resentment.
If he wasn't Lu Yao, a writer born and raised in Sri Lanka, a man who infiltrated and touched this unbalanced yellow land with words, and a "big shot" with some fame, I wouldn't have the courage and desire to come here, and I don't have the mind to come-it is estimated that most people share my mentality. Because even if it's the graveyard of my relatives, if I have to go alone and stand for a while, I'll probably think about it and have some courage. And this has nothing to do with my missing and respect for the dead.
Two pieces of loess and one mountain are the homes of great men and mortals! It's just us in the ordinary world, some people are ordinary and some people are mediocre.
I fear the people buried in this cemetery, just as I fear life and death, the ordinary world around me, the sun, the moon, the stars and everything in the world, and the people who are strong in pain and suffering. -such a person should, as Lu Yao said, "take hard farming as a necessity of life, and work calmly even if there is no hope of harvest."
The sun sets, taking away the yellow sunset glow and birdsong, and also taking away a choppy inner world. This clearing is still silent. On the stone table in front of the tomb, a bunch of withered chrysanthemums and a dozen messy cigarettes lay quietly.
On the way down the mountain, I remembered Shi Tiesheng. The writer who cut in line with Lu Yao in northern Shaanxi wrote Ditan and I and Broken Pen. He wrote in "Fortune Telling", "Although Wan Li is not dead, the only feasible way."
-1898 Hundred Days Dog Year in Ningxia.