我不敢说生命是什么,我只能说生命像什么。 生命像向东流的一江春水,他从最高处发源,冰雪是他的前身。他聚集起许多细流,合成一股有力的洪涛,向下奔注,他曲折的穿过了悬崖峭壁,冲倒了层沙积土,挟卷着滚滚的沙石,快乐勇敢地流走,一路上他享受着他所遭遇的一切:有时候他遇到巉岩前阻,他愤激地奔腾了起来,怒吼着,回旋着,前波后浪地起伏催逼,直到冲倒了这危崖,他才心平气和地一泻千里。有时候他经过了细细的平沙,斜阳芳草里,看见了夹岸红艳的桃花,他快乐而又羞怯,静静地流着,低低地吟唱着,轻轻地度过这一段浪漫的行程。 有时候他遇到暴风雨,这激电,这迅雷,使他心魂惊骇,疾风吹卷起他,大雨击打着他,他暂时浑浊了,扰乱了,而雨过天晴,只加给他许多新生的力量。有时候他遇到了晚霞和新月,向他照耀,向他投影,清冷中带些幽幽的温暖:这时他只想憩息,只想睡眠,而那股前进的力量,仍催逼着他向前走…… 终于有一天,他远远地望见了大海,呵!他已到了行程的终结,这大海,使他屏息,使他低头,她多么辽阔,多么伟大!多么光明,又多么黑暗!大海庄严的伸出臂儿来接引他,他一声不响地流入她的怀里。他消融了,归化了,说不上快乐,也不有悲哀!也许有一天,他再从海上蓬蓬地雨点中升起,飞向西来,再形成一道江流,再冲倒两旁的石壁,再来寻夹岸的桃花。然而我不敢说来生,也不敢相信来生! 生命又像一颗小树,他从地底聚集起许多生力,在冰雪下欠伸,在早春润湿的泥土中,勇敢快乐的破壳出来。他也许长在平原上,岩石上,城墙上,只要他抬头看见了天,呵!看见了天!他便伸出嫩叶来吸收空气,承受阳光,在雨中吟唱,在风中跳舞。他也许受着大树的荫遮,也许受着大树的覆压,而他青春生长的力量,终使他穿枝拂叶的挣脱了出来,在烈日下挺立抬头!他遇着骄奢的春天,他也许开出满树的繁花,蜂蝶围绕着他飘翔喧闹,小鸟在他枝头欣赏唱歌,他会听见黄莺清吟,杜鹃啼血,也许还听见枭鸟的怪鸣。 他长到最茂盛的中年,他伸展出他如盖的浓荫,来荫庇树下的幽花芳草,他结出累累的果实,来呈现大地无尽的甜美与芳馨。秋风起了,将他叶子,由浓绿吹到绯红,秋阳下他再有一番的庄严灿烂,不是开花的骄傲,也不是结果的快乐,而是成功后的宁静和怡悦!终于有一天,冬天的朔风把他的黄叶干枝,卷落吹抖,他无力的在空中旋舞,在根下呻吟,大地庄严的伸出臂儿来接引他,他一声不响的落在她的怀里。他消融了,归化了,他说不上快乐,也没有悲哀!也许有一天,他再从地下的果仁中,破裂了出来。又长成一棵小树,再穿过丛莽的严遮,再来听黄莺的歌唱,然而我不敢说来生,也不敢信来生。 宇宙是个大生命,我们是宇宙大气中之一息。江流入海,叶落归根,我们是大生命中之一叶,大生命中之一滴。在宇宙的大生命中,我们是多么卑微,多么渺小,而一滴一叶的活动生长合成了整个宇宙的进化运行。要记住:不是每一道江流都能入海,不流动的便成了死湖;不是每一粒种子都能成树,不生长的便成了空壳!生命中不是永远快乐,也不是永远痛苦,快乐和痛苦是相生相成的。等于水道要经过不同的两岸,树木要经过常变的四时。在快乐中我们要感谢生命,在痛苦中我们也要感谢生命。快乐固然兴奋,苦痛又何尝不美丽?我曾读到一个警句,它说“愿你生命中有够多的云翳,来造成一个美丽的黄昏”。 On Life
Bing Xin
I would not venture to say what Life is; I would only say what Life is like. Life begins like a nascent river flowing eastward, having emerged from ice and snow somewhere up high. Converging with many a rivulet to form a powerful torrent, he embarks on his downward dash, zigzagging by cliffs, flattening dunes and mounds, churning up sands and pebbles. He rushes along with joy, with confidence, with license. When blocked by rocks, he charges with rage, roaring, twirling and swirling, wave after wave, until finally clearing the imposing obstacles and continuing his journey on a light-hearted note. Sometimes he rolls quietly on leveled terrain through green grass in the setting sun, caressing fine sand, giving now and then a shy gaze at the bright peach blossoms on the banks, and singing softly while stepping gently into the romantic rhythm of this joyful leg of his voyage. Sometimes he is caught in storms, with horrifying burst of thunder and lightning. Ripped by ferocious gales and beaten by punishing downpours, he becomes, for a time, ruffled and muddy, only to find himself refreshed and energize when embraced by the sunshine again. At calmer moments he is charmed by the clouds waltzing along the horizon at dusk, and smiling at him, and then by the arrival of the new moon, which sketches his silhouette, and bestows a touch of warmth in the midst of a chilly night. A yearning for a respite or slumber gnaws at him, but eventually gives way to the impetus to move on. Finally one day the ocean leaps into his view from afar. Alas! He is at the end of his journey. So vast, so imposing, so bright, and yet so dark, the ocean is breath-taking and humbling! When she greets him solemnly, he lets himself drop into her massive arms, dissolved and naturalized, experiencing neither joy nor sorrow. Perhaps, one day he would again rise from the sea in the form of fine vapors and travels westward, to form again a river that would dash by cliffs, and look for peach blossoms on the banks. But I dare not say that’s the rebirth of his previous life, for I couldn’t bring myself to believe in an afterlife. Life begins also like a young tree. He starts his journey underground where he gathers vitality and struggles to extend his tiny self to the snow above. When dew drops in early spring have moistened the soil, he musters his courage to push up, and out comes he! It doesn’t matter to him whether he happens to be on a level stretch of land, or on a rock, or on a wall, as long as he can see the sky when he looks up. Oh, he sees the sky! He’s thrilled! Eagerly, he stretches his tender leaves upwards, inhaling fresh air, basking in the sun, singing in the rain, dancing in the wind. He may be overshadowed and oppressed by the big trees towering over him, but empowered by his youthful vigor he manages to break free. Branching out strong, he positions himself squarely in the burning sun. When balmy spring breezes kiss him into full blossom, he finds himself surrounded by humming bees, fluttering butterflies, and chirping birds. He also hears orioles whistling, cuckoos crying, or owls hooting. In his prime, his thick foliage spreads out like a colossal green cover, giving shake to budding flowers and young grass below. The abundant fruit he produces is so inexhaustibly rich and sweet, flavored by Mother Earth. Then comes the autumn wind in sharp gusts, turning his dark green color into many shades of red, yellow and orange. Standing in the autumn sun, he radiates a stately calmness, tinged not with an indulgence in the pride in his foregone blooming prowess or the bliss of sweet fruition, but rather with a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. One day, winter’s bitter air bits off the last of his withered leaves and parched twigs. His roots wobbly and his trunk shaken, he leaves himself at the mercy of elements. When Mother Earth greets him solemnly, he collapses quietly into her massive arms, dissolved and naturalized, experiencing neither joy nor sorrow. Perhaps, someday he would again push up from underground, where he has been gathering vitality as a seed, to become a young tree again. Once again he would break free from the entanglements surrounding him, and once again he would be listening to orioles singing. But I dare not say that’s the rebirth of his previous life, for I couldn’t bring myself to believe in an afterlife. The universe represents an all-encompassing life, in which we are but tiny breathing souls. While rivers and streams merge into the ocean, and fallen leaves return to where the roots are, we are no more than specks that join all that exits in the universe. However insignificant, and however seemingly negligible, the tiniest particles, by virtue of their never-ending motion, join forces to power the evolution of the universe. But we have to remember: all rivers or streams would not end up blending into the ocean, since those that do not flow would become stagnant; all seeds would not transform themselves into trees, since those that fail to grow would be reduced to empty hulls. Life is neither a joy forever, nor an ever-lasting woe, for the two shape each other and are mutually balancing, much in the same manner as a river is bound to wash against different banks, and a tree is destined to experience seasonal changes. In happiness we owe our thanks to Life, and in agony we are no less indebted to Life. Bliss is, needless to say, heartening, but who can claim that beauty is absent from pain and suffering? As an adage goes, “may there be enough clouds in your life to make a beautiful sunset”.