The Collected Works of Xu Zhimo (Full 3 Volumes)

Author: Lin Li
Editor-in-Chief: Kuang Xin / Xue Liang
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2004-11-01
Features: Excerpt: Therefore, as I listened to Mr. Cha speak of how life was so tedious and dry, I deeply understood and was willing to say something to you. My thoughts—such as they are—if I have any—have never been systematic. I lack such talent. The activity of my mind is impulsive, almost spasmodic. When thoughts do not come, I cannot force them to; when they do come, they are like wearing a wet garment, extremely uncomfortable, and I can only find ways to take them off. I have a metaphor. Just now, I mentioned the dry leaves in the autumn wind. I can compare my thoughts to the leaves on a tree—when the time is not right, they will not fall; but when the time comes, with the force of the wind, they can only fall one by one. Most of them may already be lifeless, withered, or scorched, but perhaps a few still retain a touch of autumnal color, like maple leaves that are red or hawthorn leaves that are multicolored. These leaves are absolutely useless in practice; but some people, like myself, have a fondness for fallen leaves. When they first fall, their colors are very vibrant, but over time, the colors change. Unless they are preserved well. So, my words—that is to say, my thoughts—are like fallen leaves, useless at best, with perhaps a few traces of life’s color. Those who do not appreciate them can trample over them freely, without any need for concern; but perhaps a few lucky ones, with a (fate), will not blame their uselessness, but may pick them up, tuck them in their pockets, or press them between the pages of a book, hoping to preserve their faint, subtle colors.
True emotions are rare, precious, and should be shared. We should not reject or suppress emotions, for that is a criminal act, no different from blocking a spring from flowing upward or choking a child’s breath. Humans in society are originally disconnected individuals. Emotions, both innate and acquired, are threads and weaves that bind these scattered individuals into a cohesive whole. But sometimes, these threads may become broken or loose, so a society must continuously produce new threads to mend the broken ones and tighten the loose ones to maintain the overall integrity of the structure. When productivity increases significantly, we have the opportunity to expand or add to our existing areas, or to densify them, like stringing a tennis racket with double threads. Our existing organization, because we understand that creative forces and destructive forces, suggestions and collapse, the power of God and the power of the devil, all coexist, are weighed on a great scale. They rarely balance—either one side is heavy, or the other.
Yes, human destiny is weighed on a great scale. A huge shadow looms over us—it is the embodiment of our collective fate, watching from afar, its hands filled with scales. It shifts from one side to the other, as the Earth revolves, the sun, moon, and stars (take turns) illuminating us. Our fate is always being weighed on the scale.
I just mentioned the tennis racket, and it is indeed a good metaphor. Those who play tennis know that certain strings on the racket are more crucial—they are the heavy-duty and essential ones. When these strings are particularly strong, not only does your game become more powerful and impressive when you pull, slice, or hit the ball, but your racket also lasts much longer. A few exceptionally strong strands maintain the overall integrity. Applying this principle to humanity means that if we have the strength to densify and strengthen our common sympathetic threads, and if these threads connect all beating hearts, then our great net will become strong and durable. As the Tianjin people say, it will have roots. No matter how bad the weather is—whether it’s rain, clouds, frost, or wind, or how fierce the current of time is—if we have such a powerful and resilient great net, who knows whether we cannot catch invaluable treasures in the endless flow of time? And who knows whether we cannot add the weight of creative life to our fate on the scale?