The sound of slippers coming closer and closer, the clattering sound gradually became clearer, and a figure slowly flew towards the blue sky city, finally stopping next to the tea cup.
After some pleasantries, the visitor turned back along the road, but the package in his hand kept making noises. Seeing this, the waiter chuckled and shook his head, and threw a few flower seeds into the courtyard.
The middle-aged man who was wandering around returned home and threw the fruits he had collected so hard into a basin of warm water. The nuclear-shaped object like a brain pattern instantly sank to the bottom, and looked particularly calm against the background of some bubbles. The middle-aged man was already at this moment.
With a happy face on his face, he danced the wire brush up and down in his hand, cleaning the orange pits one by one.
An hour later, the middle-aged man held a dozen cleaned fruit cores and stepped into the study under the strange eyes of his wife. The wife outside the door couldn't help but sigh, seeming to protest her husband's childish behavior. Although the wife was helpless,
But I can only accept this boring life.
A pair of children started a new round of fighting, and the wife turned back to the kitchen. The husband in the room remained unmoved, and the Bodhi in the sealed bag showed white frost.
There is a family of four. The husband is an envoy from Blue Sky City, and the wife has been working hard at the family since the birth of the children. The two little ones are only ten years old, and the pressure of life is self-evident.
Therefore, at some point, the husband, who was the mainstay, began to place his affection on the plants and trees, praying for a healthy life by rubbing them between his fingers. However, as the sun and the moon changed, this sense of ritual had already deteriorated, and the pursuit of material itself seemed to exceed spiritual yearning.
Xingyue Bodhi is like a shrunken dragon fruit, with a little bit of black light in its white skin. The random twisting turned into a burden at some point, and the Bodhi, which should feel the body temperature, was also put into a deerskin bucket.
The friction of yellow rice makes it shine, and the ravage of mung beans makes it worth so much. The plaything in the hand becomes extremely precious, transcending itself and far away from belief.
This already yellowed bracelet was a gift from his wife before their wedding. Although the red thread running through it had become dark, he was still reluctant to replace it.
The tenderness of the past seems to be concentrated in every rosary, and the long-forgotten feeling is gradually forgotten with time. At this time, it is more like a luxury wish, silently moldying in the years, quietly waiting for death.
The Phoenix-Eyed Bodhisattva is like an indifferent eye, mysterious and a little confused. The winding and twisted lines record all kinds of bitterness, all of which are endless desires.
The maroon bracelet wraps around the wrist, its shiny luster shines, the clearly visible texture is buried deep inside, and the uniformly sized appearance reveals its sharp edge.
The suffering of morning sickness accompanied the growth, and the waiting for the ten-month pregnancy made the rosary mature. The rough and yellowish appearance was completely transformed after nearly a year of rubbing, and finally became shiny and shiny.
But it was supposed to be a plaything for self-entertainment. I don’t know when it became the spiritual support of life. It seemed that all expenses could become insignificant by flipping through the fingers. I always imagined that I could enlighten like an old monk sitting in meditation.
Calm.
Rudraksha is like a peach stone that has successfully lost weight. At first glance, it looks like a bowl of miniature brains. After being moistened by sweat and dander, and baptized by pig hair and toothbrush, they become as deep red as dried dates.
The value of their existence has long transcended themselves, and the holders are not so much owners as nannies. They cannot be blown by the wind or wet by the rain. After being given special meanings, ordinary seeds have transformed into
sacred symbol.
They lie quietly in the study during the day and roll under the velvet at night. The wife who cleans the room never touches them because her hands are covered with moisturizing cream. The children who come in and out occasionally sneer at them and want to bury them in flower pots.
Although the weird lines have a different kind of beauty, the corresponding efforts are prohibitive. The sweat is mixed with the strange smell of oil, and the squeamishness is accompanied by pampering.
If change is an expectation, then the corresponding stability is hard to adapt to. From red sandalwood to agarwood, from jade to southern red, countless moonlight shines on the face on those glove-wearing nights.
Fetishism is supposed to be a difficult and complicated disease, but after being beautifully packaged, it turns out to be nothing but a dead tree. This kind of worthless existence sounds like finding another way out, but in fact it is just a way to express feelings, and it is just an escape from reality.
window.
We may not see results for the time being in what we do, but don’t be discouraged or anxious. If you persist for a while, you will find that you are actually just wasting time.
The wooden beads have never changed, the ore bracelets are clean and translucent, the watering of emotions is as silent as a mud cow entering the sea, and the cruelty of real life still surrounds us.
What is "literary play"? It is just a plaything in the hands of elegant people, and it is the last guarantee for spending leisure time. No matter how strange the bodhi seed is, it is just a fruit core. Some people regard it as a treasure, while others dismiss it.
No matter how simple the jade is, it is just a stone. Some people flock to it, but some people ignore it; no matter how fragrant the jade is, it is just a rotten wood. Some people miss it day and night, but some people regard it as nothing. Their greatest value is not general currency, but in thought.
of sustenance.
Corresponding to this are the real customers who hoard gold and silver. Although they are vulgar, their every move reveals economic value.
Rather than spending excess money in the spiritual world, it is better to leave something more for future generations. Yellowed teeth are sparse, rough hands are full of cracks, dim eyes have long been numb, and the assets in the name are renewed every year.
They are not without preferences, but the hands on their wrists never stop; they are not born snobbish, but their children are waiting for food.
It’s not that they don’t know how to enjoy, but the opportunities for investment and financial management are often fleeting. This is their choice. Like the aloof people, they are all pursuing the fantasy of life.
Their clothes are soaked with sweat, their hair is dying, their time is never enough, their wealth is always being calculated.
The pair of walnuts given to me by my friend are still lying in the drawer. The tape of the sealed bag has aged and collapsed at some point, and countless molds have grown on the surface. If a toy loses the favor of its owner, it will be like an old concubine being beaten.
Cold palace.
Oil steam is steaming in the pot, and the dishes and chopsticks have been placed properly. The voice of the wife calling for the children echoes through the door for a long time. The warm wine is lingering in the pot, the afterglow outside the window is reflected on the face, and the sliding door of the study slowly opens
Move, the husband's figure disturbs the sunset.
A family of four gathered at the dining table, eight chopsticks intertwined in harmony, the wife tenderly refilled the wine glass, and the husband kept turning the fruit core in his hand.
There are always two sides to everything. When we are praying devoutly, others may be pointing the finger at us. Whether we "play with things to promote our ambitions" or "play with things to lose our ambitions" depends on each person's ideological orientation.
In the novel "Ulysses" written by the writer James Joyce, he said: A broken heart is just a pump. Although it pumps thousands of gallons of blood every day, one day it will
Be blocked.
Materialized emotions, or materialized hopes, are a means of escaping reality, but the measure of one's affection for things lies within one's own heart.
Proper belief is the catalyst of life, but if you get lost in it, it will make people confused. For most people, real life is the main line, and those miscellaneous embellishments are just the icing on the cake. Instead of living in illusion all day long, we should
Why not think about how to prepare dinner today.
"Sure enough, as predicted, seven disaster stars came to the world."
"But fortunately, the Spiritual King is about to awaken. No matter what, those outsiders must be wiped out."
As the young man spoke, he used psychic power to decompose the secret letter from the Magic Empire. In front of it, a light cocoon exuding the power of chaos was flickering, like the melody of a heart beating.