Chapter 5: : Ideal and parallel lines

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The camel bell walked slowly on the endless sand dunes. Unconsciously, we have been walking in the desert for eight days. I wrapped my headscarf and looked back. Four fingers compared to the camera frame, pulling the viewfinder. A beautiful picture appeared in the frame: the obliquely shining sunlight and the footprints of camels lined on the golden sands all the way to the unreachable sky. The wind swept through, as if setting up fine waves, blurring these footprints a little bit.
"Click!" It freezes into an eternal picture and is collected into the album in my heart.
"what are you doing?"
"Oh, nothing."
Withdrawing his hand, of course I cannot tell him that I regretted not having a camera. I sighed: "You see these footprints, they will soon disappear, just like people live in the world."
I strangled the reins and jumped from the camel's back. Three rounds to the left and three rounds to the right, my neck twisted and my waist twisted, and I moved my pantothenic muscles. He looked up and smiled at him riding on a camel: "However, even if the footprints will disappear sooner or later, I have to take every step of my life and smile to the end."
Pulling the reins, I took the camel and walked on the sand, leaving a string of my own footprints in the thousand years of desert. He smiled gradually between his eyebrows, and came off the camel to move like I did. Someone took the reins in our hands and led the two camels away.
After walking for a while, we looked back, two rows of footprints side by side, two parallel lines extending. I said to him: "Come on, you go ahead."
He was a little puzzled and walked forward obediently. I followed his footprints and followed him. He stopped for a while and turned back. I almost ran into him, quickly stabilized my body and walked to his side.
"We were originally two parallel lines of footprints, there would be no intersection in any case. But because of chance, they overlapped."
I watched two lines of footprints recombined into one line, but I thought that I was in another time and space thousands of years ago. I could not help shaking my head and sighed: "So fate is really strange."
"I think it's the Buddha's intention to get to know you."
Turning around to look at his eyes, Yihong Qingquan is crystal clear, he is the purest person I have seen in my twenty-three years of life. Just about to answer, I suddenly saw a figure in front of me, and came towards us. Approaching, he was a wandering monk, skinny, dusty, and led a horse as thin as him. Chumoruo Jibo hurried forward, the beautiful nun also came off the camel, stopping the team. The two respectfully greeted him with folded hands.
They gave the old monk a water bag and food. The old monk took it, put it in a broken bag on the horseback, and then whispered to them. The old monk carefully looked at Chumo Ruojibo, and then told him a few words, his expression became more and more dignified. He turned his head and said a few words to Jibo. The two looked at Chumo Ruojibo while they were talking. Even Jibo's expression was as dignified as the old monk. The old monk left soon, and walked in the opposite direction. Both mother and child seem to have a lot of trouble.
We got on the camel again, and I sat quietly next to Chumo Ruojibo: "Well, what, what did the old monk tell you?"
He glanced at me and thought about it before answering: "He said, I want my mother to protect me. I will rejuvenate Buddhism in the future, and countless people will be no different from Upagupta."
"Who is Upagupta?" I asked weakly.
"He is a famous monk in Tianzhu, and he is famous for meditation first and Dahua sentient beings."
"Wow, this old monk is so powerful that he can see your future achievements." I sincerely agree, "I believe what he said, you can definitely become a great monk!"
This is by no means a compliment. He has shown extraordinary wisdom now, and will never be anonymous. Only with my knowledge of the Western Regions, I really can't guess which character he is. But he listened to my praise, but he was a little worried.
I intuitively think that the old monk should not only boast about his simplicity. "What's wrong? What else did he say?"
He turned his gaze to a cluster of red willows in the distance, his eyes flickered and his face was dull. After thinking for a while, the elegant neck was slightly lowered: "The guru also said that if the precepts are not complete, there is nothing I can do, and I can only become a talented and handsome wizard."
"Insufficient precepts? How can you do incomplete precepts?"
The fingers holding the reins were clenched, and the knuckles were pale. The head is lower and the language is lighter. "He said, if I was thirty-five years old..."
He paused, and there was a hint of blush flying over his calm face, but there was a faint fear in his eyes. After only a short while, I quickly reverted to my previous calmness.
"How is it before thirty-five?" Looking at him, it feels like a serious matter.
He was silent for a long while, relaxing the reins, and said lightly: "I don't know how to say Chinese."
This, this...I'm depressed, isn't this hanging my appetite?
He suddenly flicked the reins, clamped the camel, walked a few steps, and pulled away from me. The thin body, the monk's clothing was blown up by the wind, and the sunlight projected obliquely cut out a lonely dark red back. I wondered: Did I offend him?
A small piece of forest appeared not far away, and the camel team came to the camp of the forest. The maroon that had already walked away stopped and looked back. Until I walked past him, and then followed me at the same speed.
The sorrowful look, mixed with a little apology. Well, he turned and asked me: "Oh, Ai Qing, why do you call the old Bhikkhu monk, and often call me the young monk?"
I know he wants to change the subject, but I don't understand Sanskrit. What is Bhikkhu? Also, when I can't think of his difficult-to-read name, I always call him young monk. Is this strange?
I asked him, "Is there any honorific title for monks in Sanskrit, similar to the pronunciation of "monk"?"
He thought about it and shook his head: "It shouldn't be in Sanskrit. But Yu Kanguo called Khosha the commander, and it sounds like the monk you said."
Oh, long-term knowledge. It turns out that the familiar word "monk" was translated from Yutian.
"However, only if the commander has received the Great Ring for more than ten years and is familiar with the Great Law, can he be qualified to shave and give orders to others. I am too far from this, how can you call me a monk? Ring, you should call me Sramanera."
Sanskrit again! I stared at him, and he immediately understood that I would explain it myself before I spoke:
Sramanera is a monk between ten and twenty years of age who has received the Ten Commandments but has not received the Great Commandments. When he was 20 years old, he was called Bhikkhu. , Meaning beggars—to beg for Dharma and beg for food."
I know! No wonder the pronunciation is so familiar. Sramanera is Shami, and Bhikkhu is both Bhikkhu and transliteration. The original monk's title is also very particular. However, in China, the old monk is the old monk, the young monk is the young monk, and even the Amao dog may not grow up, and may also be called the monk. Unexpectedly, "Monk" is a respected title of such a high standard, and can not be shouted casually.
Can't help laughing, this calm genius boy really helped me a lot of Buddhism knowledge. Therefore, although I am much older than him, because of his early wisdom, I feel that I am communicating with my peers. Thanks to him, the hardship of the journey has added more and more fun to the harmonious relationship.
After class in the evening, I took notes as usual by the campfire. The brightness of the oil lamp in the tent was also acceptable, but I especially liked this open-air environment. Looking at the lonely desert under the starry sky, I am always fascinated by this vast past. Tonight's wind suddenly turned his temper, passing quietly slightly, and the crackling of firewood. Close your eyes and take a deep breath of the dry air in the desert. Your mood is as peaceful as this night.
"Every night I read what you are writing. What on earth are you writing?"
Slightly blunt Chinese is Chumo Ruojibo. Eyes are like stars on the top of the head. The monk's robe is curled up by the breeze, rolling and falling. During these eight days, I spent time with him day and night, and his Chinese was advancing by leaps and bounds, and he could already speak a lot of vocabulary.
"Oh, nothing, it's a family letter." Instinctively wanted to cover it, and immediately remembered that he couldn't understand it, and there was no need to block it.
"I can't understand the words you wrote."
Still young, he raised the corners of his mouth, and excited and anticipated his eyes: "I have too few words to learn now, and I will understand them when I learn them well."
Haha, that's not necessarily. I hit him in my heart, but I wrote in simplified Chinese. Point to your finger: "Would you like to sit down?"
He was hesitant and finally sat down, carefully pulling away from me, stretching out the slender hand to warm the fire.
I propped my head up and asked him, "Why do you want to learn Chinese?"
He turned to look at me, and his bright eyes were as clear as spring water: "The Han people have many advantages, medicine, calendar, and skills are better than the Qizi people. There are many Chinese classics in the family, I want to understand."
He has always been so easy to learn, it is really rare. After hesitating, he asked: "Why are you a monk when you are so young?"
This question is a little offending, but he saw a trace of confusion flashing in his eyes, staring staringly at the fire: "I have been a monk for seven years, and it has been six years. It is only a few days before I start thinking about why I became a monk..."
"Wait!" I gestured to interrupt him and asked seriously, "How old are you?"
"Thirteen."
Oh my god, I opened my mouth unimaginatively. Always thought he was fifteen or six years old, is he really only thirteen? It's so tall, with a calm and calm look that doesn't match age. Recalling that he said he had studied Chinese five years ago, was that what he learned at the age of eight? After five years, I can at least talk to me. How strong is his brain cell?
"Ai Qing, I am tall and many people think I am sixteen." He smiled shyly, a little embarrassed, and put his hands on the fire to keep warm. "Don't blame me for being young, I must learn Chinese from you."
"Oh, how can you be disgusted? You are my savior."
I answered dryly. In fact, I still care a little bit. I was ten years older than him. No, no, he is two thousand years older than me. Alas, this relative and absolute age will make people more confused. Quickly pat his head and ask him: "Have you thought about it? Why did you become a monk?"
He opened his mouth to say something and shook his head again. There was still a trace of confusion in my eyes: "It's still difficult to explain in Chinese. I can explain this truth when I learn Chinese. I will tell you again."
It can be seen that he is struggling with a certain confusion. I dare not make any comment on Buddhism, but I hope I can enlighten him. Looking up at the night covered with diamonds, he told him his thoughts after a thousand years.
"I came from a place where I came. He divided people's needs from low to high. There are five basic needs. The most basic is the physical needs. Food, clothing, housing, transportation, eating and drinking. After the physiological needs are met, people will have safety needs. They need their own lives. Property is guaranteed. When this demand is also relatively satisfied, people have emotional needs: family, love, friendship. Then comes the need to be respected: self-esteem and the respect of others for themselves."
I recalled Maslow’s five levels of demand theory. I turned to stare at his blinking star, slowing down the speed of speech, and said clearly: "But these are not the needs of the highest state. A person feels the happiest moment, It is the realization of ideals, the use of abilities to the fullest extent, and the accomplishment of everything commensurate with one’s abilities."
The star's eyes stretched slightly, cast a shining light, and chewed two heavy words: "Ideal?"
I nodded vigorously and repeated it again: "Ideal is the goal that you want to pursue in your life and can make you fight for your life."
After a moment of silence, eyes were fixed on me: "Ai Qing, do you have an ideal?"
"Of course!" I hummed and cleared my throat. "Want to know what my ideal is?"
He was really curious, and the inquiry in his eyes encouraged me to continue. I jumped up and pointed to the sky of the sky and said aloud: "I hope to experience history, restore the truth, and write a history book that can be passed on to future generations just like Sima Qian's "Historical Records!"
Say loudly your desire to never speak out. In the 21st century, if I say this, someone will definitely break my belly. But in the face of this gentle young monk, I have no worries. Seeing him keep looking at me silently, he smiled and said: "Oh, it's too self-controlling, right?"
He also stood up and nodded to me for sure. Although the voice is not high, it is full of comforting confidence: "You can."
I looked back at his crystal clear eyes, and the moving tide flowed over my apex, and I was actually delighted to be affirmed by a teenager. Suddenly, I opened my arms and imagined that I was an eagle, flapping my wings and flying around the campfire. Turning back to him, he gasped and laughed happily: "You also have to think about what your ideals are. If you work for your ideals for a lifetime, you will be truly happy, and you will not live in vain."
"Ai Qing, I still don't understand what you said. But seeing you happy because you have an ideal makes me feel very meaningful."
His eyes were shining, shining brightly. The tone increased, looking up at the starry sky: "So, I must be like you, and set up the ambition that I can fight for my whole life."
The beating fire light was set against his sculptural side face, the breeze blew, and the rising sparks flew. Starry, little campfire, warm and smiling teenager, the time is fixed, and it is another portrait of the soul worth collecting.
After returning to the tent, he turned over and over on the pillow, still unable to sleep with some excitement. The homesickness that lingers every night is actually repelled into the corner by such little encouragement today. Recalling his sentence "you can", filled with warmth. Say softly to yourself: Ai Qing, you can.
When I was falling asleep, I suddenly thought that Sima Qian's "Historical Records" was only available in the Han Dynasty. I revealed Tai Shigong's masterpiece earlier. The consciousness woke up at once. Ouch, I was so careless. I wish he had forgotten it and wouldn’t look for this book everywhere.