Time is truly a master sculptor, a master psychologist. The flowing waters of time can wash everything in the world clean, leaving only a vast, pristine white expanse.
Time flies like an arrow, time flows like water; the older one gets, the more intimately one understands the fleeting nature of time and the brevity of life. As the years pass and time grows longer, the pure, unpolished childlike heart of a person is gradually worn away and disappears. People become more worldly and sophisticated, their original innocence gone forever. Perhaps one day, standing on the hillside of time, looking back, we will find ourselves unrecognizable. We are no longer easily moved, no longer inclined to good, becoming the vulgar people we once despised.
Buddhism is indeed profound and wondrous. The wondrous Diamond Sutra says, "All conditioned phenomena are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, shadows, dew, and lightning; thus should they be viewed."
Time flies, like a white horse flashing past a crack. In the blink of an eye, decades have passed like smoke, yet some things deep within our lives remain unforgettable.
Songs always evoke a unique kind of emotion and a special kind of enjoyment. I love singing, finding the emotion in each story, the touching moments, and my own feelings within them. But later, I realized that every song contains memories of my past. Those distant memories are always all the more cherished, unforgettable. Suddenly, each song becomes my own story, my own feeling, the deepest imprint left by the past.
Many of my growth experiences were already written in the lyrics of song after song, like prophecies. When something happens, I suddenly find that a certain lyric perfectly reflects my feelings, resonating with me. In childhood, the first encounter with songs always left an unforgettable impression, a unique feeling—it was heavenly music, the sound of falling petals, the sound of rolling gold and jade. I realized then how moving, how beautiful, how inspiring songs could be. The songs that impressed me most were "Our Motherland is a Garden" and "Let Us Row Our Boats." We sang these songs before every class, after morning exercises, and even during singing competitions. I still vividly remember the scenes. In the early morning, the bright sunlight streamed through the clean windows into our spacious and bright classroom, illuminating the green trees surrounding the playground. Birds chirped and hopped among the treetops, the sky was a clear, high blue, and white clouds drifted by. Each of us stood or sat upright like a small pine tree, our innocent and adorable faces beaming with smiles, singing our hearts out. "Let's row our oars, the little boat pushes through the waves. The beautiful white pagoda is reflected in the sea, surrounded by green trees and red walls. The little boat gently floats on the water, a cool breeze blows in our faces. Red scarves face the sun, sunlight shines on the sea, the fish in the water watch us, quietly listening to our joyful singing. The little boat gently floats on the water, a cool breeze blows in our faces." Every student sang with such focus and dedication, their expressions so solemn. The clear and passionate singing resounded through the sky, echoing for a long time in the schoolyard. And in the song, we seemed to see the beautiful sea, the white pagoda and the red walls. The song made us look forward to the future, letting our ideals take flight. In the song, we landed on the moon, soared into space, and we all grew up to become pillars of the nation. Smiles appeared on everyone's innocent little faces.
Sometimes we see our past selves in the songs, and many insights and mistakes in life and relationships can be inspired by different songs.
In my youth, like many naive teenagers and ordinary people, I, a loner, became deeply enamored with a nationally popular TV series. I marveled at the unparalleled charm of art and was captivated by the beautiful, gentle, and exceptionally talented stars who rose to fame overnight. The theme song always stirred my emotions, making my heart surge and swell with uncontrollable passion. Every line of the lyrics touched my heart, making me love and move me. The melodious music and the deeply affectionate and lingering vocals further captivated me. "You are the wind, I am the sand, entwined and inseparable, circling to the ends of the earth..." "Thank heaven, thank earth, thank fate for letting us meet... drifting and wandering together, the years were filled with intoxicating sweetness, the sea may dry up, the rocks may crumble..." Even now, when I hear these songs, I still recall the feelings of those days.
A sky ablaze with red clouds, the setting sun melting gold, vast green fields, the rustling wind. We strolled through the wilderness, riding horses across the grasslands, our long skirts flowing, our hair cascading like waterfalls, galloping towards the boundless horizon, towards where heaven and earth met. Countless sounds rang out, the wind rustling across the vast, desolate grasslands. We arrived at a breathtakingly beautiful, secluded place, a place "the source of water, the home of clouds, a world of flowers, an ocean of forests." This was a fairyland created by nature's divine craftsmanship, vibrant and picturesque. Horses galloped on the road, people moved through the painting, every scene a framed image. The tranquility, the naturalness, the harmony—we no longer felt like outsiders, but rather became embellishments to the natural beauty of the world, truly reaching a state of self-forgetfulness. The winding path leads into the distance, flanked by lush green grass and fragrant wildflowers. Light clouds drift across the sky, casting patches of shadow on the meadows and forests. Vast birch forests thrive, their white bark exuding a stark austere beauty, their upright trunks conveying unwavering strength, evoking endless reverie. Water plants surround the tranquil lake, where dragonflies occasionally skim the surface. Through the reflection of the white clouds in the water, one can still see small fish swimming.
I often find myself lost in this illusion. In this ethereal and distant dream, I find myself in a chaotic world.
Such romantic and transcendent scenes are all part of my simple and pure heart, the dreamlike and ethereal world I experience night after night. Someone once wrote a stunningly beautiful poem: "The lover is the tung flower, the concubine is the tung flower phoenix." This poem can be reversed: "The concubine is the tung flower, the lover is the tung flower phoenix." It conveys a sense of complete surrender, a devoted following, and a love that transcends life and death, leaving one deeply moved. The concubine is an ordinary, unassuming, unnoticed, overlooked, and almost ugly tung flower. The lover is willing to be a little bird, not yearning for high branches, but often flocking among the tung flowers, known as the tung flower phoenix. Even if the whole world turns a cold shoulder, even if the cold currents roll across the sky, and the surrounding chill never dissipates, as long as there is one person who loves so fiercely and devotedly, there will be no regrets. Then the tung flower and the tung flower phoenix will not have lived in vain. "Oh Heaven! I wish to be with you forever, until the end of time. Unless the mountains crumble, the rivers run dry, winter thunder roars, summer snow falls, and heaven and earth unite, only then will I dare to be with you."
"Holding your hand, we will grow old together..." I was completely immersed in my own world of romantic fantasies. The long nights stretched on, I tossed and turned, my heart burning almost to ashes. For that person, I burned away all my emotions. I thought I would never love anyone again. I hated the injustice of fate, why did it allow me to meet that person in this life, yet I can only watch her from afar, my feelings for her only a mirage, a dream. Why is there so much pain and sorrow in this world? It turns out this world has so many fatal temptations, so many things that make one deeply reluctant to let go.
I often fantasize about becoming a lone traveler, often alone, packing my bags, embarking time and again on a romantic yet lonely journey to find love, where, in that faraway place, he, the one in my heart, awaits. I measured the majestic Kunlun Mountains, the fiery red Flaming Mountains, the breathtaking Hengduan Mountains, the sacred Mount Everest, the hazy sunrise over Mount Tai, the cool river breeze and fishing lights, the tranquil streams and houses described by my predecessors… In the Gobi Desert, I sang to myself, danced to myself, completely melting into the rivers and the sun and moon, melting into the undulating, murmuring, and sprouting life. In what should have been a dreamlike, colorful youth, my heart was filled with such desolation, led by that stunningly beautiful woman to that illusionary realm, wandering there night after night. For this, I was once deeply worried, unable to sleep at night. Later, I stubbornly and rationally quickly emerged from that brief period of infatuation. Infatuation is the greatest weapon for both men and women. If one cannot ruthlessly sever those feelings, one will fall into an even more terrifying state. Reason told me to be detached and optimistic, but that melancholy lingered for a long time. My gaze often wanders in the dead of night, gazing at the bright moon in the vast sky, hazy and dreamlike. That person and I are destined to never be together. We are separated by an immeasurable distance. Since that's the case, let me be one of the countless clouds surrounding her, silently observing and accompanying her. Love takes many forms, but true love is often unspoken.
No song can move me as deeply as it does now. Perhaps all the songs of the past have drained too much of my emotions and energy. "Having seen the ocean, other waters seem insignificant; having beheld the clouds of Wushan, other clouds seem pale." They will never be easily touched again. I still can't forget the songs that left their mark on the depths of my life.
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