At 6:55, I was eating the apple I had brought from Shenzhen.
I went out for a walk, but no stores were open and I couldn't buy any water. I figured something like this would happen last night, but I stayed in bed and refused to go downstairs. Too much carbohydrate intake absorbs too much water, and the entire shoulders, back and arms show swollen marks. What a great first day.
My sister from Wuhan who was in the same room poured me some boiling water.
There is a smell of ghee in the cold air. Simply speaking, the feeling the air brings to me is similar to that of a New Jersey morning in winter. I still wear the gray cotton Hard Rock Casino hoodie that my American live-in mom Jane gave me. The Casio shock-proof watch and the white peaked cap with Bob Ruth's curly hair and big face printed on it were bought at Cherry Hill Mall in Cherry Hill, and the white matte texture lotus pattern prayer beads were bought at a Chinese handicraft store near Shenzhen Sea World subway station. string, a black matte rosary bracelet bought at a convenience store near Los Angeles Airport, and a dark green stone sun-moon face braided bracelet bought in Placencia, Belize. Dark gray work jeans, black Nike sneakers, black socks and a 40-ounce metal wood-grain straw thermos from Amazon, a handmade wooden phone case bought on Etsy, and sunglasses from New York. MK dark champagne sunglasses bought from the store with Chris.
I stuffed the thermos cup back into the box and replaced it with a black plastic hand-cranked sports water bottle. Use a cup with a straw to fill hot water or go to high altitude areas (at least in places with different pressures, such as when flying). The water will gush upward through the straw. The moment you pull out the straw, the water will feel like you are seeing your loved ones. The same thing gushes out, clings tightly to the palm of your hand, and then slowly flows through your thighs, the schoolbag on the ground, and even to the feet of your neighbor when you shake your hand and frown, muttering about your forgetfulness and stupidity.
In the morning, I took a Tibetan language class and learned about the origin of the Tibetan language. I also wrote a few strokes on a wooden board with a bamboo pen dipped in "ink" mixed with soy sauce and vinegar. The Tibetan language teachers at school also thought I was Tibetan. Tashi Deleh Tashi Delek.
I wrote a few strokes and it smells really good (literally)
Then I went to the market to buy some fish and went to the Lhasa River to release them. Although it is an experience of Tibetan culture and Tibetan Buddhist tradition, I still feel that if I have to study it in depth, it is really a helpless formalism. Buddhism emphasizes fate and karma, and Theravada Buddhism in particular emphasizes personal practice. However, it has to be said that individualism, which is completely disconnected from the group and society, seems to have little effect except bringing a certain amount of psychological comfort to the individual. Maybe it’s not that exaggerated. After all, humans, as social animals, will affect the people around them to a certain extent. However, if we hope to make any substantial changes in the general environment, we still have to rely on stronger or more extensive ones. The power of influence. Be it mass movements, artistic works, or legal policies.
The sky is very clear. Although the oxygen is thin, there is an inexplicable feeling of vastness. The sunlight shines directly on the ridges and rice fields, trees and grass, earth mounds and gravel without any obstruction. At the corner of the Lhasa River where we stayed, there was a small dry beach along the bank, with a few plants like mangrove saplings standing here and there. Everyone dragged garbage bags and picked up dusty plastic bottles and discarded clothes scattered among the withered grass and gravel. I took out my GoPro and took pictures for a while. Mangroves and trash picking - I can't help but feel a little sentimental. Thailand’s yellow-white beaches are covered with all kinds of travel garbage, Cambodia’s domestic waste is hidden on street corners, and Fiji’s waste is washed up in the crevices of the coast. I never thought that domestic waste could give people the impression of being "crowded one after another" in what is supposed to be the purest nature. Black and numb, like streams of Belize waterweed swarming up the coast. There are always endless aquatic plants that are pushed to the shore with the breath of the waves, just like the boundless ocean itself. In order to prevent suffocation, it usually blows its nose to expel these sticky brown plants from the body, but due to lack of strength, it causes Nose just wavered and pushed reluctantly on the shore.
One fifty-four p.m. Had lunch at a service station near the gas station - among Tibetan noodles and white porridge, I chose fruit. I bought three peaches, two pears, and some oranges. Walking outside the service station while nibbling cold peaches - this is my favorite temperature. The pale pink peach flesh is sweet and crisp with a hint of toughness. The best half-ripe mangoes I've ever tasted had roughly the same texture.
It takes about seven hours to get to Lingzhi. Beside the road are mostly rice fields or tall grassland. The dry hills in the distance are tall and criss-crossed with thin silver-white inverted triangular power generation towers. The thick clouds are like splashing ink, leaving large shadows on the top of the mountains. , winding along the veins of the hills. From time to time there are clusters of dwarf forests, black yaks chewing leisurely, and tawny rivers flowing through tawny stone piles. There are also Tibetan houses with short houses, white, blue or red roofs, and close clusters.
Sleepy. I'll take a nap first.
At 3:07, I was woken up by the team leader to give a lecture. After passing through a very long tunnel, when we came out, we could see towering and winding mountains, with several yaks standing on the steep slopes. “Cattle and sheep are the real masters of this grassland,” the team leader said. "Here we are to live like cattle and sheep."
So we stopped at an abandoned rest stop and settled behind a house for convenience. The mountains near and far and the almost cliché blue sky and white clouds look like the desktop of Windows 7 system.
I don’t know why, but this song before you go has been lingering in my mind. Are there any unspoken words that are bottled up in your heart? There was a slight difficulty breathing. It’s interesting, you need to take a deep breath and feel the flow of life.
The tour leader was telling the history of Tibet. To be honest, through the baptism of world history classes, including visiting museums in various places, I am self-aware that I am not very interested in history itself. Just understand it, just like various philosophical theories. Exploring and understanding things that already exist is the fun for me. What I need to really sit down and study is probably how to express my patron saint, the sacred part of existence itself, through creation, such as a gift for God or a vessel and messenger for transcribing words for God. Want to express something. Serving God is the highest experience of aesthetic existence.
What a coincidence. The leader was talking about mythology, "a style of writing that modern people can't write now." I don’t think myths need to have a large number of believers. They are more stories that serve religion. In addition to reflecting the contemporary social and cultural environment, myths to me embody more of a belief itself, which conveys a certain A value, something that contemporary people consider valuable, some life experience in dealing with the world, or even in communicating with gods (or trying to contact the gods), rather than something with moral kidnappings that is designed to persuade and absorb believers. thing. If you insist on being literal, modern people can write similar works, but because they can no longer be inspired by the driving force similar to the ancients, after all, all the sad things in the world are (seemingly) so superficial and easily accessible, let alone understanding nature. With unnatural phenomena, most people have already been fed trivial and highly saturated entertainment garbage to the point where their brains are numb and short-circuited. Naturally, they are unable to write similar "myths" that encompass the entire culture. But I don’t think that romantic fantasy novels that embody personal beliefs cannot be called myths. Jung has his own mythology, the Bible is a Christian mythology, Greece, Northern Europe, and Babylonia have their own mythology. What I want to do is to write about the existence itself as I understand it, through artistic processing.
Or maybe myths are just fairy tales told by a group of people. That makes sense.
The mountains of Tibet don’t look very romantic. Green-brown bushes squeezed out from the cracks of the jagged rocks, like handfuls of overcooked broccoli.
It’s 6:25, and there’s still about half an hour to go to Ganoderma lucidum. The sunroof was open, and the car finally felt cooler. The entire afternoon was as sultry as a winter in the Northeastern United States with the heater turned on too high, and as dry as a dry and cold New York morning in early February. I suddenly woke up with thirst, just like that winter in Chris's dormitory next to Central Park.
Passing by a river called Niyangqu. It's quite long, running along the right side of the road and slowly winding to the foot of the mountain on the left.
At 7:48, we settled down in Lingzhi. Everyone was going out to eat stone pot chicken with matsutake mushrooms, and I decided to eat some fruit in the room.
Eight twenty-four. I share a room with another beautiful sister. I can't tell that she is almost thirty, and my child is almost five years old. My sister gave me two homemade snowflake pastries, which had a soft nougat texture. I ate two small oranges and they were quite sour. I washed the fruits I bought for lunch, but I didn’t expect that the few small plastic bags my mother packed for me would actually be useful. Sure enough, mothers are different, and so does my sister. As soon as she entered the room, she started boiling water to scald glasses and toilet seats. She dragged two large boxes filled with fruits, snacks and various medicines.
Today is quite relaxing. I don’t know what scared me at the airport before. Everyone is very welcoming and takes good care of each other.
Ah, I hope the edema can go away a little.
Go read a book for a while. How similar are Hölderlin and my ideal Sui Fangshao who existed for art?
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