怀想那片青草地 赵红波 认识那片青草地，是一个早春二月里的日子1。 周围的一切还处于一派寂静之中。那片青草地却在不惹人注意的时候，以一种青春的蓬勃，悄悄地展延着生命的颜，生长着这个季节之初所独有的鹅黄嫩绿。 前面一片草地春天刚刚复活，这片青草地宛如茫茫人海中久违的朋友，似严冬日子里的一丝温暖，给了一位从冬天走过来的孤寂旅人以新的生命、热爱生命的力量和勇气！ 草儿似乎刚刚出浴。鲜嫩的叶片上溜滑着一滴两滴的露珠，在春阳的映照下，折射出一片耀眼的晶莹，似一粒粒珍珠在熠熠闪光。微风清略湖畔的时候，露珠从叶尖上颤颤地滚落下来，使人想起杏花春雨里的千点万点晶亮亮的檐滴2，想起了生命成长的过程…… 我久久地伫立于湖畔，聆听一种生命悄然拔节的声音，心头如有暖流滚滚3！刹那间，心中的春天已是万木竞秀，繁花缤纷。我强烈地感受到：禁锢了一冬的生命正在苏醒，心扉灵府里渗透了一种全新的感觉，那些弱小但又顽强不屈的草儿，以其锲而不舍的执著，昭示出一种原始的壮美，使我真切地感悟到人生的真谛和生命的意义！ 这以后，沉寂的万千生命开始喧闹起来。那片小草，也纷纷地擎起了一面面青春的旗幡，沐浴着春风，欣欣然地欢舞，自由自在歌唱。我的干涸已久的心田，被这一片碧绿种满了生机。 于是，整个春天，这片青草地是我放牧心灵的绿洲，是我排遣尘间烦愁的安抚。看着草儿们一天天秀茁4，一如泰戈尔的诗句：“小草呀，你的足步虽小，但你却拥有你足下的土地”，我也有脚踏实地的充盈，如同小草一般，拥有我足下的土地5。 下雪的日子里，我独自守在窗前，默诵雪莱那“如果冬天来了，春天还会远吗？”的名句，看那一朵朵轻盈洁白的雪花，从铅灰的冥空里无声地飘落下来，轻轻地覆盖在那片干枯的草地上，心想：那草儿来年一定会长得更茂盛的。 然而，那片给了我许多慰藉的青草地，已经永远从我的生活里消失了。消失于一次填湖筑路6，创造另一种形式的美的过程之中。那些小草被毁灭之前，一定为生存的权利抗争过吧！正如契诃夫《草原》里的小草一样：“她说她热烈地想活下去，她还年轻……她会长得更美。” 但是，在力量悬殊的抗争之中，扼杀生命是易如反掌的事情。闭上眼，我能看到：那些半死不活、凋萎的小草，正在悲凉恳切地诉说着……讲到他们什么罪过也不曾有过，却要无辜地被人们毁灭掉…… 我不知道，那些善良的筑路人是否听到过草儿们哀怨的诉说？但我相信，那种哀怨的无声的诉说，一定是一种生命的绝唱7！ 如今，那条湖心小路蜿蜿蜓蜓，曲径通幽，有月光的夜里，树影婆娑。偶尔走在上面的时候，只要想起那片青草地，想起那些曾经寄我情思、慰我心魂的小草，我的心中总有一股悲壮的感受，仿佛足踏在草儿们的尸骨上8，听到脚下灵魂痛苦地呻吟叹息！ 我想：假如生命终结之后确有灵魂存在的话，那么，这世上呻吟叹息的又岂只是那些小草的灵魂？ 现在，早春有一次来临，静谧的湖畔里又有星星点点的鹅黄嫩绿，悄悄繁衍着生命的碧翠。在历经自然和人类的双重肃杀之后，无数生命又将开始一个新的轮回。固然逝去的已经不复存在，而活着的又要为生命继续拼搏！ 其实，生命这种东西轰轰烈烈也好，默默无闻也罢，归根结蒂9，都不过是一种悲壮10的过程而已。正因为有了这种悲壮的过程，所以“太阳每天都是新的！” 我因此时常怀想那片青草地。 | Yearning for That Piece of Green Meadow It was a February day in early spring that I got to know that green meadow. Everything around the green meadow was tranquil when it discreetly, with youthful vigor, slowly and quietly displayed the color of life, light yellow and soft green, the characteristics of the beginning of this season. Spring had just renewed; the green meadow, like a long separated friend from a vast sea of faces or a breath of warmth during the freezing days of winter, gave a new life, and the life-loving strength, and courage to a solitary traveler just coming from the severe cold. The grass seemed to have just been bathed; one or two dewdrops under the spring sun were rolling on the fresh leaves and showed a refraction of crystal-clear brilliance, like glistening pearls. Dewdrops trembled down off the tips of leaves when a breeze brushed over the lakeside. This reminded me of glittering raindrops falling from eaves in the spring rain, with the apricot blossoming and the growing course of life… I stood for a long time by the shore of the lake, listening to the sound of life, with warm currents filling my heart. Suddenly spring inside me blossomed into luxuriance. I strongly felt that life was waking after being confined for the whole winter, and my heart was penetrated with a brand-new feeling. The persevering inflexibility of that, weak, yet indomitable grass, showed a primitive magnificence and beauty which helped me vividly realize the real essence and true meaning of life. Afterwards, the thousands of silent and quiet lives began to bustle. And the grass, lifting up their banner of youth, and bathed in the spring breeze, danced cheerfully and sang to their heart’s content. My heart, which had dried up for so long, was filled with vitality from the green meadow. Then, for the whole spring, the green meadow turned to the oasis where I set my heart out for pasture and it brought me the comfort, which diverted me from the vexations of the world. Watching the grass grow stronger and prettier day by day, I recalled a line from Tagore’s poems: “Grass, small as thy pace is, thou hath thy own land under thy feet.” And I felt I had my feet planted on the solid ground and, like the little grass, owned the earth beneath my feet. During the snowing days, standing alone by the window, I recited silently Shelley’s famous lines that “If winter comes, can spring be far behind?” Watching the pure-white, graceful snowflakes falling in silence from the lead-gray sky, covering gently the withered meadow, I thought that in the coming year, the grass would flourish. Yet, the meadow that had given me so much comfort has forever disappeared from my life. It disappeared when a path was constructed to the middle of the lake―a process of creating another form of beauty. Before the extermination however, the grass must have struggled for the right to live on! Just like the grass in Chekov’s “Prairie”: “She said she earnestly wanted to live on, she was still young. She would be more beautiful…” But in the struggle of great disparity in strength, it was as easy as turning one’s hand over to strangle a life. Closing my eyes, I could see those half-dead, withering grass complaining with grief…that they’d never done anything wrong, yet they would be destroyed by man innocently… I don’t know whether those kind road-builders had ever heard the sad complaint of the grass. But I believe that the silent grievance must have been a kind of swan song of life! Now, the path winds its way to the middle of the lake―leading into the privacy and seclusion. On moonlit nights, the shadows of trees dance in the breeze. When I walk on the path occasionally, thinking of that green meadow and of the grass, where I placed my feelings and I was comforted, I would feel something moving and tragic filling up my heart, as if I were treading on the remains of the grass and hearing the painful groan and sigh of its soul under my feet! If a soul does exist when a life comes to an end, then, could the soul of the grass be only one that groans and moans on the earth? Now, early spring has appeared once more, with flecks of light yellow and soft green silently breeding. After experiencing the double devastation of nature and man, thousands upon thousands of lives will start a new samsara. Although the deceased is out of existence, the living still has to continue struggling for life! In fact, in final analysis, life, being dynamic or unknown, is nothing but a solemn and stirring process. Yet just because of this solemn and stirring process, “the sun is new everyday!” Therefore, I often think of the green meadow. |
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