The sound of the tide

Since the beginning of the spring, in the quiet morning or afternoon, there is often a large group of sparrows gathering in the backyard of the Eucalyptus treetops. The light whistle, sometimes a little bit, sometimes a string of strings, sometimes alone, sometimes sing, exquisite and clear; such as crystal, such as silver bell, such as raindrops, such as beads, fluent and crystal. On the treetop’s staff, the notes are lit; the little ones, with decorative sounds and arcs, are so lively and pretty, skipping over and slipping over. This string of notes is woven into a serene life. In such silence, all the secular disputes, fame and fortune, and the sorrows and sorrows are as old as the nightmare, only to feel in the simple and simple nature, returning to the ignorant and innocent. The silence of that moment, I do not know how many self-cultivating books to win.

  

For many years, in the city, the city is a world of “people” and a world of “machines.” All the sounds of the world, including the music of the concert, are not aesthetically pleasing.

  

They are noisy, noisy, restrained, nervous, hypocritical, and artificial. Therefore, I often catch a slap in the distance. Sometimes in the early morning, sometimes in the rainy afternoon. But whether it is in the morning or in the afternoon, the lonely and leisurely long sound can bring me a long, long-lasting silence, many nostalgia and yearning for the pastoral life. The slow-moving tempo, the low-paced rhythm, the spacious space, the vast vision, the faint ambiguity, the ethereal imagination. In such a life, people belong to nature. In such a life, you can touch the true meaning of life. In such a life, people do not dare to force themselves so high, so sharp; they will not be so exaggerated and arrogant that they will not be able to load themselves. In such a life, people can understand the stability of “landing” and Shutai, then they can find themselves, return to the truth, and discover the world in the kind of earth, green fields, clean springs, simple clothes. Unsuccessful leisure, to find the ridiculous and ignorant of “life is not full, often thousands of years old worry.” The truly gratifying silence is not the silence that is completely silent, but the kind and serene silence that you rush to when there is a voice that makes you discover nature. Bird language and chicken chorus all symbolize the rare moments that are not interfered by the city’s voice. Far from man, near nature, discarding material competition, discovering spirit and spirit. At this time, you will feel quiet, in fact, one. Aside from the leisure after the expedition, let go of the interest after the desire.

  

I have spent two extremely quiet nights in Guanziling. What caused static is the spring in the mountains. The spring water seems to flow through my pillow. On the edge of the dream, I feel like a bluestone on my body, a falling leaf and a falling flower on my body, and all the disturbances in the city flow with the clear spring; all the irritability and anxiety also flow with this clear spring; Fear of gain and loss, as well as the flow of clear springs —— In such a pleasant, as if I myself have entered the dream with the flow of clear spring. What greeted me was the misty morning in the mountains and the spring that carried me here, and the place where I lived was like a real paradise.

  

The sound of the tide has also brought me into a dream. On the small building on the seashore, on the summer night, I opened the window in the sea, slept on the bed, listened to the sound of the waves and the shore, so macro and deep, with the ancient desolate and lonely voice, telling the creation of heaven and earth. The sound of the vicissitudes of the sea, the low, the sorrowful, the majestic, that makes you have to give up everything you are obsessed with, obsessed, irritated, and loved. You must sleep in the whisper of Shen Xiong in the sea, and let your little sorrows and sorrows gently let go in the current.

  

Since I found out how much I love these natural sounds, I realize why I rarely go to concerts lately. I am tired of the sultry music of the concert venue, the noisy music listener; I am tired of the dullness of music, the creation of the performer; I am also tired of the constraints of being sitting in danger, and the hypocrisy of appreciation. Time is not without good music, but good is too little. Music as a commodity to spread and as a crown to decorate noble music, the same is only the equivalent of the market and the material to enjoy the symphony of the machine gear and motor that overshadowed the spiritual civilization.