Zhao Hexi: Like a dream bubble (casual) - "Dream Garden" prose and poem generation preface

About the author: Zhao Hexi, Luoyang, librarian in Henan Provincial Literature and History Research Museum. Former Luoyang Qian Tangzhi Museum, research librarian, director of the Chinese Tang History Society. Scholar researcher of Middle Ages. He is the founder of the Discipline of Qian Tang Zhi. Editor -in -chief of "Episodes Episodes of New China · Henan Sanqian Tang Zhizhai (One)", "The Editor -in -chief of the Tangwen Make -ups · Qian Tang Zhizhai album", "Central Plains Culture Ceremony · Cultural Relics Code · Monument's Episodes"整 (Wang Guangqing) organizer. He is currently the vice president of the Luoyang Surname Research Association, the vice chairman of the Luoyang Cultural Relics Collection Society, and the director of the Stone Stone Carvings Committee. Poets, prose artists, and members of the Chinese Writers Association have published many poems.

Is it autumn? I saw a flowerless flower. It is in front of the stone house with blood red.

I have been looking for its name. Later, I knew it was called 了, I knew the story of 酴醾, and the beauty of its beauty!

What is important in the world? What is important in life? When I was thinking about this, I always appeared. So he heard a distant voice, and his heart trembled slightly.

Not empty! What do you think of it on the face. Accept, admit, melt, forget. Did the Buddha say?

Qiuyu rushed away the castles piled up by the ants, the flowers of Lagerstroemia opened to the end of the branch, crying in the grass, and the green leaves of the lotus pond began to dry yellow. The moon came out of the clouds in the autumn night, and the dog barking from the wall of the dream garden. The sound came, and I saw it in black, and it was lying outside my window. "Like a dream bubble!"

You can't keep the autumn and can't clean the leaves, then wait for a white snow!

You can't control your dream!

You see a sharp knife, it cuts arbitrarily, and you cannot refuse its movement. The knife swims between your bones, like a fish. What a beautiful red, the color of the flowers, your blood is open. Do you think, is spring here?

You can choose any of the language of any family to comfort yourself, Confucianism, interpretation, Tao, and the relics of many wise men. They shine unparalleled light. However, you cannot stop the blood of blood. They were like the water of the river embankment, stretched out the tip of red tongue, and screamed, getting closer and closer.

Is it a dream?

You look at the scars on your bodies, like a dried riverbed, exposing gravel and weeds. Sometimes they sneer at you. They say, remember! Don't try to forget. The result you say is unforgettable. Love and hate are all like this.

Not a dream!

You look at my fingertips, it is fair, but there are blood stains between my fingers; you look at my chest, there are claws on the top, and there is a deep way to see the bones. These claws are the shape of plum blossoms. That is my modified pattern. I regard this scar as the flower tree of life!

"Like a dream bubble"! In many autumn night, I like a cold bird, screamed in the depths of the trees of the branches and leaves: "Ah! Ah! It hurts!"

Forget it, forget it! As I stunned, I walked in the fallen leaves. The bitter yellow on the hillside, I picked it down and buried it deeply into my bag. I was cooking it throughout the winter.

I can't accurately feel the difference between you and me. I often see me coming from the opposite side, we sit opposite, we took out those chrysanthemums from the bags, we pierced my fingertips, let the blood drip into the porcelain bowl, and we tied it.

What kind of way should life be? Dream? Nothing?

A flower withered, but it left the seeds everywhere. A river was dried up, but the floods were rushing. Some grass is unrealistic, but its roots are moving deep in the land. Some clouds are white, but it will not become rain, it is just a scene that quickly dissipates.

Dreams are real, as well as bubbles.

There is only a result in life, no details. The details are autumn rain and white snow. It is a knife. You can't see the hand that laughed. You can't see its face. You ask those scars, the pain. Do they remember the details?

But I would say: like a dream bubble! I smiled and deceived myself. I recite a beautiful poem loudly: Everything will disappear, everything will pass!

After speaking, I saw that I was sleeping yesterday. She was like a beautiful angel and slept at the intersection I had gone.

The sky gradually darkened, and the sunset was more thanglow. I hear the sound of the universe, it has no language, like the sound of metal impact, like water sounds, like wind!

I started to forget that with a pair of hands from the blue Tianyu, I started flying!

My heartbeat is the same as the universe, my face is red! I see happiness, she is like a child!

what! Like a dream bubble!

2012.9.2

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This picture has been authorized by the author

Except for the first picture, the drawing is provided by the Flower Art Center

The pictures in the article are all works of artist Asen works

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