It seems that distance is always desirable. The farther away, the more hazy, the more hazy and mysterious. That kind of mystery often makes us fantasize: the bungalow in the distance has become a palace, the stream in the distance has become a river, the tenacity in the distance has become tame, and the snow-covered distance has become green soil. Some of the ugliest adjectives may also be added to distant places we don't like. The vast sea seems to have no shore. The mystery in the distance lures people by the sea to roam the sea and engage in exploration. Conquest and plunder have added some colors to the civilization of countries that have been attacked by seawater. There is a sea beyond Yinghai, and the sea in the distance is like a banshee, charming and fierce. In the Eastern Han Dynasty, Ban Chao will send Gan Ying to cross the sea to Daqin (East Rome? ), but the vast sea seems to be inhabited by a god of death, interrupting his thoughts. Gan Ying's unfulfilled ambition, like Alexander's failure to cross the Indus River to reach the distant place he yearned for, often makes me feel sorry. This mountain is a vertical distance. Limited sublimity is infinite temptation, long silence is constant magnetic force, and mountains are unattractive, which always makes people walk towards it automatically; There are mountains to climb, and endless mountains have endless yearning. This awe-inspiring distance once sharpened people's fighting spirit and made the ancient Indian people breed pessimistic thoughts in helplessness. This kind of leisure in different places is often a comfort to people's hearts. One of the truest, best and most beautiful distant places has always made people yearn for it, and that is heaven. The longing for heaven once dominated the history of the Middle Ages in the West, making people sacrifice the happiness of the world and enter that distant place through the narrow door of God's revelation. However, no one has ever come back from heaven, so people still yearn for heaven and it seems to be getting better and better. Hell is also the farthest distance, and the thought of it is like the shadow of a dark cloud before a storm, which makes us feel inexplicable fear. Some people yearn for heaven to do good deeds, while others are afraid of going to hell. Far away, people who often drive! Wake up from childhood dreams, young people have a distant future, and the distant future is a series of distant places. Everything seems far away to him, even death is far away to him. Maybe he has nothing, but at least he has blood and courage. Maybe he doesn't know where to go, but he has towards the distant's determination. The distance may be a fierce enemy, but he still moves on. There may be storms and tides in the distance, but he still drives the boat forward. The distance may be like the jungle in Africa, full of death, but he still approaches. The distance may be a desert, but heaven is a developed desert. He wants to go, he wants to go that distance. What joy is more enviable than falling asleep? -The first pilgrims who arrived in New England fell to their knees and thanked God for giving them the desolation of the dreamland. Maybe he is building a paradise in the distance. Maybe he thinks his hometown is a very close distance. Maybe he died far away. Maybe he came back from far away. Maybe he won. Even if there is nothing in his hand, he still gains something in his heart: one day, he can tell others that he has been to a distant place, a desert that few people have been to! The stars in the distant sky are thought-provoking with their perennial silence. If life is an endless mountain range, then living is a series of yearning and pilgrimage to the distance. Infinite distance and limited life make people hold on to their ambitions. If you are far away, the sunshine is weak and weary, and the atmosphere here is gloomy. You are exhausted by the secular, noisy and stupid smell of this place. Looking forward to the distance, you will go and stay away from here quietly. There are seas, mountains and forests in the distance; Your dream is always flying in the distance. If you are far away, you are independent from the traditional shadow, the sun shines on you, the mountains arch you, and the Woods support you; You breathe freely and your pores relax. From my melancholy hometown, you are hiding in the foothills and streams, a small town whose name can't be found on the map. Stop crying and even cherish every sigh. You live happily. The first time you wake up, you say, "Good morning, everything exists." Then drink a glass of dew to wake yourself up, then ring the bell, beat the birds and beasts in the forest, and beat people. Then they wake up and find you. Smile and ask where are you from? You said that you came from far away, that far away ruled by hypocrisy and greed, the place you once loved, will be your hometown in the future. Then tell people that you don't need a name, and you are an anonymous bell ringer. Every day, you listen to the whispers of grass and flowers and smile. Draw yourself on the beach, drown in the waves and forget yourself. Every night, you open the window to welcome the gentle visit of the stars. "Do you love stars?" You will suddenly want to write a letter to a person, but then tear it up, and scatter the paper quietly in the wind, at sea and in your forgetfulness. You haven't asked him before, and you can't ask him now. You used to be silent, but now you are the only one who remembers the past silence with silence. You found that you liked him before, but you were always so silent. On that day, he suddenly left silently-has he been dead for many years? It's foggy. You don't know when the fog came, but you sent it away. Walking in the fog, you will be satisfied with your loneliness, proud of not being confused by the absurdity of the masses, and proud of rejecting the vulgarity of the world. No more etiquette, no more authority, no more idols, no more saints; You just need to be sober and have a conscience. You are sad only because you are sober and only because you have a conscience. If there is rain, the rain will play heavy songs for you, making you more lonely. You are indifferent to the ugliness of the world with your sadness. Walk in the rain and let the soil touch you. There is only one god from you, but God! Where are you? Dry your body when it rains. I hope you are a bathed baby. You admire yourself. Remember, everyone is like this. Everyone is a piece of dirt! Birds are sleeping in their nests, so don't ruin their dreams. Birds will fly by. You once envied sailors who set sail, but later you envied swallows who flew lightly and played with shadows. Watching the clouds drift by, Shan Ye is silent, likes you, likes your black standing, and opens his heart: "Come on! Everything is true, good and beautiful. " Still swimming in the sea, visiting the fish's home and talking to the fish; The fish will be surprised at you, a strange big fish. You should introduce yourself and tell the fish that the ridiculous modern civilization of human beings makes the fish laugh. Then visit the success of coral and tell them that their bodies are more beautiful than pyramids! When I was in Qiu Lai, I went to pick up fallen leaves and flowers to pay homage to autumn, and wrote songs on their graves to welcome the winter, so that the camera could convey the sadness of autumn. Spring has come, I wander around the tomb, thinking about the cruel love and island of nature in winter, and then embrace spring with a sadness. Ah, it's spring. It's spring again. Why do people still have winter? No longer expect, expect everything that has been expected; No more praise, praise everything that has been praised. Judging by your conscience, you have read a lot, burned a lot of enthusiasm, compassion and meditation. You are the real you. Don't write, just bury your memories in your diary. Don't forget others, maybe others have forgotten you, but you don't mind. You are a violet, stubborn and not blooming in the daytime, only shy in the dark, silently blessing others and silently flashing chastity. When one day, my hair turns white, I don't know that the century has passed, I don't know that the grass in my ancestral grave has grown taller than you, I only know my own level. You come back quietly and stamp your feet when you don't go. You still know your hometown, but you have forgotten it. Old people in their hometown will smile and ask where the guests are from, and you will answer with tears. You will come back from far away, dreaming. You belong to your hometown. Then you tell them that you are the person who sends a fallen leaf to your hometown every autumn, and that fallen leaf is your memory. You said, "When you left here, it was a grassland where sheep were raised, and now students have replaced sheep." Then, you will combine the foolish taste of smart hometown with the secular desire of noble hometown. No matter how others treat you, you are not the gentleman who is afraid of disappointment, but the fisherman who goes out to sea to fish. Disappointed and afraid of you. What are you afraid of? Then, you forget that you are far away. Then you died in your hometown.