Kind of note
On a dark and windy night, I used a sieve to filter out some starlight and planted it in the stave vegetable field. Soon, they will grow the heads and stems of notes, and after a spring rain, give birth to small tadpole-like tails. Slowly, the Little Star Variation grew. The first time I planted seeds, I was a little nervous. I always wanted to try my best to spread the seeds evenly, but when I shook my hand, the density was uneven. The rhythm was smooth in the even places. The dense seeds were like the splitting of notes. It was split into eight and sixteen. Well, there are variations.
Breeding is a magical thing. Minor and major keys are enriching and growing day by day, slowly synthesizing a symphony. Later, the sound of rain and wind also joined in. The surrounding things become the instruments of the orchestra, to which the ever-growing notes fall. The metal walls are copper pipes, the bamboo fences are wood pipes, and the long planks of the flower box are piano keys. The vines of vines are divided into two categories. Pliable and slender, made for strings, and firmer, for plucking. I took a few morning glory and went around to collect vocals. Bright, high-pitched, low, soft, fragments of various sounds, washed and dried, were compiled into various musical tracks. The desolate sound does not need any processing, it becomes its own music, and it only needs the accompaniment of clematis guitar, and it can sing until all things bow their heads.
Ripe koji is picked and preserved. The music grown and collected by yourself, green and pollution-free, transmitted to the Bluetooth speaker, has its own mountain atmosphere. Later, I found that it is extremely powerful and can be transmitted through natural media. All the flowers and leaves have their own reverberation, interweaving layers of sound waves, which is the real sound of nature. This music is not heard by everyone passing by, and those who can feel it will slow down and show a fascinated look.
A baby in a cradle, quietly sucking his fingers. And his mother, holding the cradle, her eyes soft, immersed in a melody, a string of strings twirled in her smiling dimple. A man walking, his steps suddenly became rhythmic, and he stepped on a march. The night is cold as water. A firefly patrolling with a small lantern, its ups and downs corresponds to the texture of the nocturne. The rose beside the wall is half open and half closed, about to fall asleep. A lithe woman came erratically, and the tune changed abruptly, becoming “Southern Rose Waltz”. Following that, she danced gracefully, dancing a ballet by herself on the deserted path, with her skirt curled up like a gentle wave.
In the morning, the sun is shining brightly. That rose bloomed with a smile, and its petals were slightly wrinkled, just like a skirt.
A writer once said that there are two “Is” in a person’s life, one is the “I” who walks and sits, and the other is the “I” who can appreciate walking, sitting and lying. The latter is scrutinizing, supervising, and controlling the former.
Yukio Mishima said: “I am a poet. If I take off the skin, I am a layman. If I take off the skin, I am a poet. If I take off the skin, I am a layman. If I take off the skin, I am a poet. I can’t peel the core of the onion.” Seeing that he not only stared, but also peeled the “outer self” layer by layer, back and forth, back and forth. Its heart, seemingly as hard to break as a stubborn stone, is actually as sweet and tender as the heart of an onion.
All enlightenment is the result of contemplating and staring at oneself, like boiling traditional Chinese medicine, from the miscellaneous branches and leaves, the clear concoction of sweetness and bitterness is boiled, soothing the liver and stagnation, relieving pain and soothing the mind, allowing the inner self to be accessible. Outside I spring breeze, inside and outside harmony, physical and mental health. Save yourself the tears of remorse to sip on good medicine.
Think about it, how many times in our life have we been able to hold on to the “outer self” and be the master of our own? “Walk, walk, rub a handful”, then go rub with people; “Go, walk, drink two cups”, just go and drink with people. When I see others being greedy, I also want to be greedy; when I see others stealing, I want to steal too. That “inner self”, how weak and powerless.
The sage Confucius once warned his disciple Zigong: The higher realm of life is to have a clear joy in the heart. This kind of joy of a gentleman will not be deprived by a poor life, and even if you are rich, you can remain polite. When Zigong compared it with the “Book of Songs”, “like cutting is like sniping, like cutting like grinding”, he was praised by Confucius. “Cut, learn, sharpen, grind”, used for self-cultivation, is the process of examining, correcting and perfecting the “inner self” and the “external self” little by little.
