I'll be on the road probably all day today. In the morning, I gnawed an apple and ate a hot white steamed bun. The waitress in the kitchen wore a headscarf and seemed to be a Hui Muslim.
Before departure, I studied the pots and pans in the department store next to the hotel with Sister Mao in the car. There are many iron pots, large printed kettles that I saw when I was a kid back in the north, small plastic shower heads, and brightly colored bottles and jars.
It is surrounded by mountains all the way, with white triangular signal towers scattered here and there. The tour leader talked about Buddhist sects. I have said that I want to learn mindfulness and meditation. It has been almost a year since I said it, but I have not yet taken any action. I really need to take action when I get back. Just like this time last year, I opened the door to philosophy (the back staircase to be precise) for the first time.
Because there was a speed limit ahead, I stopped for a while on the side of the road. My sister picked an orange-yellow raspberry for me, which was similar to a raspberry. It was quite delicious, with a sweet and sour taste. Then we walked through the knee-high wild grassland, had close contact with nature in the bushes, and "lived like cattle and sheep."
At about 9:20, the leader continued to talk about Buddha nature and Tsangyang Gyatso. On the right is the Brahmaputra River, and on the left a yellow-white desert-like slope suddenly appears among the dense mountains and deep forests. The team leader explained that the Brahmaputra River was once an ocean, and this sand mountain-like scenery was formed by the accumulation of flowing water and wind. Then he talked about the Water Margin, the history of the Tang and Song Dynasties, and how Gao Qiu loved to play and became successful.
We seemed to be bumping along the river all the way. There is a row of houses with light brown bricks and blue roofs next to them, surrounded by towering stone mountains with ink stains like tear stains.
At 10:50, I saw a gray-brown wolfdog near the security checkpoint. I saw the river where the two colors meet.
Stopping for a while by the Brahmaputra River, there was a deep swirl in the middle of the milk-brown water. The sunshine is selective and generous. The forest is green and thick, like a long-haired rabbit, the yellow-green lawn has a fine downy texture, and the rugged stones are light khaki and earthy yellow with mottled cracks. A few clouds rested lazily on the ridge. I bought a bag of small green plums and two matte-textured black stones I picked up by the river, and planned to give one to my father.
Mountains on the side of the Brahmaputra River
The team leader sister took everyone to play a game, "King and Angel". Everyone is a "king" and someone else's "angel", and they have to do three good things for their "king". I am the angel who can best be said to be "Mr. Yang" in the whole group. Hey, what can I do for my boss?
At 12:49, we returned to the car after lunch. I ordered a cup of iced sugar-free pearl milk tea and dandan noodles at the Throbbing Shaoxiancao in the Fuzhou Road store in Lingzhilang County. The peanut flavor of the dandan noodles is quite strong.
Mr. Yang asked Angel to buy a t-shirt in the group chat. I thought about it and actually bought a white t-shirt. Anyway, just come out and have fun. Thinking carefully, I should draw a picture for Mr. Yang, but I didn’t bring anything with me, just a pencil. Why don't you use the diary and the black ink pen I gave you earlier to draw something. Ah, really, no matter where you go from now on, you must bring a watercolor box and a cherry blossom outline pen.
In an unexpected situation, the road ahead collapsed. Because there was only one road to Shannan, the landslide was so serious that cars and people could not pass through, so they had to return to Lhasa. It's a pity that I couldn't see the macaques. I was originally staying at a Tibetan house tonight, and now I have to return to Ganoderma lucidum for accommodation. But I will always come back in the future.
Five twenty-six. I unexpectedly came across a Hilton Manor next to a trail surrounded by mountains.
Let’s talk about people who fight demons.
The similarity between me and Holderlin probably lies in the passion for creation and the existence of art itself. It is a relatively pure energy, a passion that uses personal aesthetics (whether poetry or art) as pure oxygen and a burning fire. Our pain lies in our inability to fully convey the words that the patron saint whispers (or roars or wails) in our ears and the scenes that appear in our minds. It lies in using all our strength to build up the ideal and reality that have long been torn apart by the world. (albeit still a phantom, existing only in fantasy) bridge. Only paper and pen hold the mystery of existence itself. Only those ink beads poured in by God, flowing through our blood vessels, and transforming into thousands of ink beads on paper are our reality (even what we are willing to admit). The only "reality" is the truest form of some kind of "ideal reality".
Kleist is different. First, I have just read a few pages and do not understand his creation, but Kleist and I seem to have more similarities in visible reality. We have been escaping, but "we don't always know whether he is escaping from the abyss or running towards it" . Compared to the tear between ideals and reality that caused Hölderlin the most pain, Kleist’s nightmare was a deeper tear in the self. His fanatical and passionate nature was endlessly criticized by the self and demanded absolute orders. His moral sense was violently suppressed, and his beating heart was tightly clenched by his devil-like hands with black nails, leaving countless scars. His heart beat violently and tried to break free, but the wounds overflowed with more blood, causing Pus, blackened, and finally burst open at the moment when it could no longer bear the load, bursting out the most poisonous, steaming, hissing black pus called guilt, inferiority, and the lowest guilt. The overwhelming emotion that surges from deep inside us is more mortifying than intimidating.
Hand in hand with the devil, we experience death, but are reborn under the care of God. The heart is re-injected with fresh blood called the original ideal. The wounds slowly scab and heal. For a few days, we can disappear from the world seemingly healthy. , live a regular life according to the highest decree we established, and we don’t know whether it was signed with God or the devil.
Then repeat again. I still don’t know which phase of the cycle best expresses God’s desired vision. But we’ve been in a frenzy. Fanatically to believe and perform the worship that a sacrifice should do, or fanatically to destroy, let the most powerful and flowing molten liquid spit out bright red letters like a snake close to the coldest Hades.
At 8:49 pm, we checked into the Southern Business Hotel in Bujiangda County, Nyingchi Prefecture. The room is quite large, and it seems to have two knobs for oxygen absorption, as well as a blue and white round humidifier. I put a few drops of "Citrus Fresh" essential oils in there, which is roughly wild orange, lemon, grapefruit, mandarin peel, bergamot, mandarin, clementine, and vanilla bean (vanita bean). Everyone is getting ready to go out for dinner. I finally learned to say no at the right time, and my sister told me with great concern that I should eat more fruit. In a joyful mood, I peeled a purple dragon fruit and finally mixed it with the original plant protein powder I packed in the instant coffee can.
I almost sighed. What a heavenly delicacy this is. The thick vegetable protein is paired with the sweet and juicy dragon fruit pulp, which has an inexplicable smooth frankincense. Ahhhh, another snack addition to my high protein recipe. I will stock up on dragon fruit mixed with protein powder to eat after I go back.
Ah, that’s true. Let's see what we can draw.
I drew a sketch of the Potala Palace with a pencil. Be sure to bring an eraser with you when you go out in the future.
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