"On the right front side of the road, that is, to the west, there is a mountain range that gradually becomes clearer, a bit like the Helan Mountain we passed the day before yesterday, with bare soil and rocks, but steeper. When the mountain was fully illuminated, I didn't pay much attention to it. The road sometimes turned. The sun appeared in the mirror a little dazzlingly; sometimes it moved away, and I had to turn to the right to see it in the rearview mirror; for a while, it was completely on my left, making me squint. But it was still the morning sun. Until the red tone completely faded and the sun became a bright white thing that could not be looked at directly, I was sure that another day had begun. The so-called day is naturally defined by human activities."
Like sunset, sunrise is also a reminder of our biological nature. However, we usually ignore this message. The earth rotates, and every minute, people and other creatures at a certain longitude raise their heads. "Rose-red fingers" paint the sky one by one, and people take turns to praise it. If the celestial body we live in is really a plane as the ancients once thought, and the sun is always above, there is no sunrise, no sunset, only noon, our culture must be different.
Two days later, I recorded another impression of the sunset. "At about 6:30 p.m., the sun was approaching a row of towering mountain tops (from my direction, it was the second row of mountains, so I guessed it was Mount Tolnan). There was a large cloud there, as if it had exploded and ejected from the top of the mountain. It reminded me of the solar prominence I had seen in the picture. It was still blue-green, but because it was too thick, the setting sun could not dispel its cold color, and only reflected light on the edge and the bottom. In the process, the whole sky was changing, both in color and shape. Directly in front of me, there was a cloud layer large enough to cover one-third of the sky in front. This cloud layer was not thick, so it was transparent and dark blue, and below it, above the horizon, the defeated sunlight in other places crossed through, making that line of sky warm.
The clouds on the peaks emitted a few strands of flocs, which were connected to the nearby clouds, or not connected, but showed a trend. I always pay attention to the road. Whenever I look away for a while, the situation there changes. Finally, the sun ended its struggle and disappeared behind the peaks. The warm light still affected the sky, but we all knew the next process. Soon, the peaks of the Qilian Mountains in that area returned to white, and just now, the light of the setting sun made it impossible to see the color and shape of the peaks. It was around 6:50. "
The sunset time here is 7:02:30. What I saw just now was just that the sun was blocked by a mountain from my direction, but the warm color still lingered on the horizon in the west and north, and this process would not end before 7:30. Just now, when the sun sank behind the snow-capped mountains, its light was still sneaking under the clouds, and this warm color stretched from the north to the east. I didn't look back, but I knew in my heart that the sky in the south was also affected by it.
"Around 7:10, I suddenly felt the cold. I don't know when, many vehicles turned on their lights. I drove slowly, watching various vehicles overtake me from left to right. The red taillights first formed a line, then gathered into a group, and finally disappeared. The evening is the time to hurry on the road. Those who are about to reach their destinations are in a state of mind. Around this time, the surrounding scenery quietly changed its appearance. Even the big trucks on the opposite side seemed to be serious and ran silently. The poplar trees and cornfields were all strange colors. As for the Qilian Mountains on the left, I tried not to pay attention to them."
I have never observed and recorded sunrises so carefully. I think if liking sunrises and liking sunsets are two different personalities, I must be the latter.
Work at sunrise and rest at sunset, but I like to rest, not to work. Open the door after sunrise and close it after sunset. I like to close the door, not to open it. Go on the road after sunrise and feast after sunset. I like to feast, the more the better.
There is a saying that people will have wild thoughts at night, and they will return to reality when they are in the world during the day. This is true. However, there is another kind of reality that is lost during the day and restored at night, which is the understanding of our real situation. For example, we have all seen the lights on the earth photographed from space stations or satellites. It is really beautiful. Human activities on the earth have become so large that it makes people feel warm, and those activities are so limited that they make people sober. You don’t have to fly into the sky to have the opportunity to enjoy this unique feeling. For example, when the train is about to enter the station, you first see scattered houses with lights, and soon, large streams of light appear in the distance. On the train, someone gets up and takes the package from the shelf, and we are tired. Not only do we not envy them, but we are happy for them. But what is the reality?
Imagine parking your car at ten o'clock in the evening on a high slope overlooking a city. The lights gathered in the valley give you a warm feeling, while also reflecting the actual appearance of daily activities. For example, power shines at night, and if you have good eyesight, you can vaguely recognize the flow of power; or some things that are the background of our activities, which are dazzling during the day, are now dutifully hidden in the background. Looking at our city at night, you can see more than during the day. However, the lights are an imitation and extension of the day, a resistance to the sunset, "like in the daytime", we say. So we happily drove down the hill and into the center of the city, children crying, wives making noises, cats stealing fish, dogs peeing, all kinds of chaos, confused.
You clap, I clap
At the end of last year, there was a small debate in the British newspaper The Guardian. The topic was the old-fashioned "Is photography art?" This is the kind of topic that the last one to discuss wins. It has never stopped since the invention of photography, and it is unlikely to stop in the foreseeable future. Art critic Jonathan Jones should know that it is useless to say more about this matter. However, after watching a photography exhibition, he was so angry that he wrote an article. The title alone is full of anger - "Monotonous, Lifeless, Stupid: Why Photos Are Not Suitable for Hanging in Galleries."
To be fair, Jonathan begins by praising photography as "a miracle of the contemporary world" because of the visual information it provides and the faithful record of our lives ("information" and "record" are not always good words when discussing art). But when framed, cleverly illuminated with lights, and placed in art exhibitions, photographs are no longer worthy. Why? Because that is the traditional way to exhibit paintings, and replacing them with photographs will become "monotonous, superficial, and lifeless substitutes." He said that an excellent painting, such as a Caravaggio painting, is rich in meaning and full of vitality, while photography, no matter how good it is, is always superficial and clear at a glance.
Two months later, he heard that a photograph called "Phantom" was sold for a record-breaking $6.5 million. This time, Jonathan was really angry, ten times more angry than the readers he angered. "My iPad can also take beautiful panoramic photos, so I am an artist? No, it just shows that my tablet is great... This empty work ("Phantom") that has been praised to the sky represents an attractive illusion, that is, if we hold a good camera on a good day, we think that taking a photo is as artistic as painting a picture."
Whether photography is art (to be precise, there are a number of photographic works that are works of art, and there are also many paintings that are not works of art) involves the definition of art. Since Jonathan did not give his own unique definition that could exclude photography, his argument is actually very weak. James few days later, Sean O'Hagan, who is a photography critic, wrote an article to refute many of Jonathan's unfounded assertions, for example, many concepts of contemporary photography do not come from the painting tradition as Jonathan said. The price of "Phantom" is indeed high, so what? In capitalism, there are always people who have more money than common sense. Contrary to Jonathan's opinion, there are indeed many photographic works that are more attractive when printed than on the computer. As for the photography exhibition that stimulated Jonathan, Sean said that it was not a very good exhibition in the first place, and he should go to see some better works. And digital photography does not make everyone a photographer as Jonathan misunderstood. "No, it just makes photography easier, that's all. James good photographer can take good pictures with any camera. James bad photographer can take bad pictures with a £2,000 automatic camera. It's the way you look at the world, not the technique that matters."
These are just introductions. Photography can certainly be an art. However, taking pictures does have some confusing aspects. Nowadays, "shooting the scenery" is a trend in contemporary times. Everywhere you go - that kind of place is usually fenced off to sell tickets, and tourists and patriots, including you and me, have cameras in their hands, cameras on their waists, and cameras hanging around their necks. "You take a picture, I take a picture, a child is on an airplane", no matter what, if we don't use a camera to record it, it's as if we have never been here, as if we need to prove it, not to ourselves, but to others.
What I am slightly dissatisfied with (contrary to another opinion) is that the sound of the shutter of modern cameras is too slight. If I were to design it, I would make it very loud, with a snap or a bang, which can be heard within dozens of steps. In that way, it would be very lively and in line with the custom of our country to shout loudly. Another advantage is that some sneaky people find a good position for shooting (or in jargon, "angle") and secretly press the shutter. We hear movement nearby and turn our heads to see that guy pretending to be innocent and looking around pretentiously, as if his eyes have never met any object worth stopping, and his feet start to move as if he has never stopped. He does this just to take in the beautiful scenery alone, and we can't catch him because we can't be sure that he has pressed the shutter. If the shutter sound is loud, or designed to be a human voice, such as a loud shout of "I got it", then we will definitely follow in his footsteps and let the camera cheer "I got it". Even if he did take a wonderful photo, we can use dozens or hundreds of exactly the same works to make his discovery worthless - in fact, we have always done this. In various "scenic spots", there are some places that are considered to be the best for taking photos. Tourists crowd in such places, and their lenses are like a forest. On a certain mountain peak, I have seen dozens of people crowded on a dangerous rock that protrudes horizontally (if I were not afraid of heights, I would be there too). The shorter ones were in the front, and the taller ones were in the back, in an orderly manner. Dozens of lenses of different lengths were raised together. The scene was really spectacular. The photos taken in this way are naturally similar and have little value, but at least they don't let others take all the credit, right?
The confusion here is that if a true photographer takes a perfect photo, and another person takes another photo that is almost exactly the same in the same position, at the same time and in the same light conditions, using the same camera and the same exposure parameters, and then processes it in the same darkroom, the former is a work of art that the world marvels at, but what about the latter? It looks no different from the first one, except that it is a complete imitation, and its owner can do nothing but mechanically imitate, and has no feeling for art; and as viewers, how can we distinguish between the two photos, which one is Xi Shi and which one is Dong Shi? This is not like in painting, where you can sit next to a master, watch his every move (we can even design it to ask the master to slow down his brushstrokes), follow his steps, and copy the cat and the tiger, but what you get, anyone can see, is a personalityless, clumsy imitation. Photography is not like this. The creativity of a photographer, his imagination and expression, are indeed not reflected in endless details like in painting. In photography, the details that determine success or failure are limited, and therefore can be copied. If I had stuck to Ansel Adams like gummy bear when he was photographing Tetons and Snake River in 1942, and stalked him into his darkroom, copying his every move like a shadow, I reluctantly think that I would have gotten an identical copy, and that my work, though of little value, would have detracted from his masterpiece.
Thankfully, this doesn't happen often. I didn't have the opportunity to follow Ansel Adams, but I did imitate his Tetons and Snake River, photographing the winding river, and to make it look even closer, I even processed the photo into black and white, which I took a smug look at. Jonathan, mentioned above, wrote in his second article, commenting on "Phantoms", that "The fact that this photo is in black and white should give us pause and ask why. Nowadays, such deliberate use of an outdated style can only be a nostalgic and pretentious attempt to create an "artistic" effect. Yes, the photos I took of the Parthenon this summer look good in monochrome." I don't agree with most of the opinions in Jonathan's article, but this one is an exception. He is right. I converted the photos to monochrome for only two reasons: first, the original color photos were gray and ugly, and I didn't know how to adjust them; second, I really wanted to create an "artistic effect", which is to deceive people. My photo was a poor amateur work, whether it appeared in color or monochrome, but when it became monochrome, it really looked much better, and some failed details were erased. Through processing, a photo can indeed be made more "beautiful", but the confusion related to this is, is this really what I saw at the time? No, I was standing on a high place at the time and saw the Kuye River flowing into the Yellow River. The river surface was shining in the evening sun. It flowed from the north and made a big bend under my feet. When it approached the Yellow River, it was blocked by the terrain and turned to the southwest. The river body was almost parallel to the Yellow River (the Yellow River flows from north to south in this area), and then turned another bend before finding a place to enter the river. What I saw was the cooperation of the undulating terrain and the river. Those yellow hills, partly covered by wild grass and green plantations, seemed to have nothing beautiful in themselves. Although it was a sunny day, invisible water vapor and dust floated in the air, making the sky gray. However, at that time, these factors together created a look that was not easy to notice under the clear sky and broad daylight, which made me press the shutter with emotion. But when I looked at the photos at night, I was disappointed. There was nothing eye-catching in my photos. My poor skills made it impossible for me to record and convey my emotions. After turning the photos into black and white, they were pleasing to the eye, but they were further away from the actual feelings.
The question involved is, when we point the camera at an object, especially the natural world, what version of the world do we want to capture? Is it the version we see at the time, which is exciting and flawed, or is it the version that conforms to some common "idea", especially the aesthetic idea? I see the sunset by the road. From my position to the horizon, there are rivers and high-voltage wires. When I take pictures, I try to avoid the wires and not let them enter the lens. What is the essence of this practice? Recording and expression may be just two styles or schools; aestheticians will say that there is no expression without recording, and there is no record without expression. This is an irrefutable opinion, but it unfortunately does not explain anything. Probably all photography teachers will encourage people to record what they see and get. This is a cunning attitude, because once it involves the art of expression, all photography teachers are teaching another kind of photography. Perhaps some people think that once you have enough skills to express and convey what you see and think at the time, your work must meet aesthetic standards. This statement is certainly not wrong. I can attribute my previous doubts to my poor photography skills, but I have seen some excellent works, photographs by professionals and artists. Some, or many, of them, in my opinion, are not what the author or anyone else really sees. When we raise the camera, we have decided not to treat nature and ourselves with a fair attitude, especially in the Internet era and the era of sharing. It is almost impossible to enjoy it alone. Almost everyone takes photos not only to keep a record for themselves, but also to show it to others. We have all had this experience. From other people's (ordinary people or artists) photos, we know the beauty of a place. When we rush to take a look, there are all kinds of faces there, but there is no face in the photo. Of course, it may still be exceptionally beautiful, but think about it honestly, that is different from the beauty told by the photo.
Photography has become so popular that I have to say that it has affected us, at least my normal way of observing things. Perhaps, the meaning of "normal" here is too old and should be updated to the modern and popular way of normal. It is said that the lens is an extension of the human eye, but the distance between the lens and what the human eye sees is just as far as the distance between what the human eye sees and the "original appearance" of the world. Just as the so-called "original appearance" only has meaning in metaphysics, letting the lens convey what the human eye sees is like letting it convey something that does not exist for the lens itself; on the other hand, I gradually feel that the human eye may become more like the lens, a kind of eye that is only slightly exposed now, and it is likely to be a clear trend in the future, we are more and more like photographers to observe things. I don't mean to observe the object without distraction, but to think about how it will look in the photo. We may leave the place we should linger in, just because it lacks the superficial beauty that is easy for us to understand and express, and run towards things that are superficial but eye-catching and more in line with public interest. We may be content with the immortal ability to keep the picture still, and lose some of the attitude of understanding things in their constant change.
Roads and Directions
There are two kinds of people in the world, those who have a sense of direction and those who don't. According to my personal statistics, the latter are obviously smarter, braver, calmer, more idealistic and loving in terms of overall tendency, so I feel lucky to be among them. However, as in any group of people, good qualities are rare, and we are a minority, forced to succumb to the orientation system invented by the first kind of people, that is, the east, south, west and north system established by the sun or compass. Here I want to remember thousands of years and praise the ancient Egyptians, who used the flow of rivers to establish directions, as well as several noble customs in other places and times, relying on more meaningful landmarks such as mountains or coastlines to know where they are. Imagine what a miserable situation the first kind of people will fall into if the sky is covered by dark clouds and the compass fails. The proof is that the vague cries for help coming from the mountains are 99% from them; for us, the difference between night and day is very small. As long as we go down, unless we encounter any danger, we will definitely be able to get out of the mountains and return to the hotel. As for the plains, it doesn't matter which direction you go.
I played mahjong a few times when I was young. As soon as I got the cards, the first thing I did was to knock off the four annoying symbols, no matter how stubbornly they wanted to return to my hands. I played bridge for many years, but after many years, every time I sat down at the card table, the first thing I said was "Which side is the south family?" At this time, the other three people exchanged glances, which meant that, well, this guy is that kind of person. In front of that vast conspiracy alliance, I felt ashamed. This shame did not come from my lack of certain abilities, but from giving in to them and betraying my origins. So later I sat in silence until someone finally couldn't stand it anymore and reminded me of the situation related to the direction. I would then say coldly in a well-trained tone: "Really?"---It was really fun.
I admit that I often get lost. However, in my colorful experience of getting lost, most of them are because I use their confusing and unreliable four-way system, which is not easy to avoid. I can't completely get rid of the concept of north and south. When I hear people say that we should resist the east and the west, I pretend to understand this nonsense; and there are signs like this everywhere: "Toilet---turn west 50 meters into the alley", "South---Hengyang/Guangzhou". The strong hint is that if you can't tell the east, west, south and north, please pee in your pants, or, people like you, don't come to our Guangzhou. Well, I won't go.
But we can't just go nowhere. One morning a few years ago, I set out from the lower part of Shaanxi --- or in their words, the southeast, towards the direction of Bashan (or east). It was a beautiful road. I saw its winding shape on the map and immediately fell in love with it. It was true. In the scattered drizzle, things with warm faces came one after another, like a long string of beautiful notes. At this time, fog came. I didn't turn on the navigation system. The day before, we had been arguing, scolding and cursing each other, so after getting in the car, I pretended not to see it. After all, after a quarrel, it is always embarrassing for either party to open their mouths again. What's more, I no longer trust it. Apart from "please turn around" and "you have deviated from the route", I don't remember what it said. The fog was getting thicker and thicker. I was full of confidence in the road under the wheels. I didn't hesitate when I encountered several forks. Maybe there was a place worth hesitating. I got off the car and planned to ask for directions, but everything around was gray and white, and I couldn't see anything. I hurriedly got in the car and followed my intuition, that is, to drive to a higher place.
I enjoyed this journey very much. It was like driving on a floating island. Some trees with lush branches and leaves would suddenly appear very close, but before I could see them clearly, they would quickly disappear into the water vapor. In this area, Bashan is not very wide. Even at a slow speed, I estimated that it would take more than an hour to reach the highest point, and then it would be downhill. More than an hour passed, and I encountered a downhill slope, but it immediately turned into an uphill slope. This happened again and again, sometimes up and sometimes down, the road was sometimes wide and sometimes narrow. In this situation, I was a little shaken. It was almost noon, and the fog had dissipated a lot. I saw a family on the side of the road and hurried over. An elderly couple saw me coming and seemed a little surprised. I estimated that I had probably driven into Sichuan, so I said in the Sichuan dialect I had prepared in advance: "Where is this place?"
They looked confused. I switched to Mandarin, and they understood. They said a place name in a half-Qin, half-Shu accent. I looked for it on the map for a while, but didn't find anything. I think I'm probably still in Shaanxi. "Is Jianchi far from here?" Shakes head. "Sanmen?" I don't know. I gave up, took a rest, and asked again when a car drove over. During this time, our communication improved. I could only understand one-third of what the host said, but his entire tone and expression were vivid and understandable. The hostess had a leg that was not working well, and for a while, I believe we were discussing her condition and medical plan. I understood one of his words: "Anywhere that two legs can walk, one leg can also walk." The hostess obviously didn't quite agree with his point of view, but his tone left a deep impression on me. Also, the hillside and trees behind the house, in the water vapor after the rain, present indescribable colors and postures, which seem to be out of this world. The longer you stare at them, the more chilling it is. Later, in other places, I found myself comparing the things in front of me with what I saw that day, and then I realized how deep the impression was at that time. I wandered around that area for a few days. Other impressions can only be recalled through diaries, but the life and environment of this old couple are inexplicably engraved. Now when I close my eyes, I can still restore that strange color in my imagination.
So, what if we get lost? Traveling, like many other things, we set our own goals and routes in advance. James common intention is to go to unfamiliar places and see things that have never been seen before. However, the unseen is not unknown. We need to study or inquire about the object in advance. Before going to Egypt, everyone knew that there were pyramids there, and some people knew more. Before climbing Mount Tai, people also prepared and expected what they would see. This is a bit contradictory. We want to visit unfamiliar things, but we are afraid of things that are too unfamiliar. At this time, knowledge or other people's experience is the bridge to adjust this contradiction. Our view on randomness is the same. We are often tired of the unchanging, routine, and predictable life, but if we really have to hand over our own destiny, health, or money to chance, no one can avoid hesitation.
The road network is a balance between the two. It no longer leads to the real wilderness, but there are large and small branches that allow us to satisfy our dream of "going anywhere". In such a road network, even if you get lost, you are still on the road. The so-called road is a road that others have walked on and built, leading to where others live or work. If a person walks on large and small roads for a long time, sooner or later, the once vivid experience will become a blur. Except for some rare exceptions, all the details that once aroused a sense of novelty will inevitably fade and dim, and retreat into a general impression. In such an experience, commonality always wins, and the various lifestyles we see outside will also be mixed with our original daily life, and this is irreversible.
In this matter, I have learned not to be too ambitious. Expanding experience a little bit is a big gain. So, getting lost may also be a situation, but it is not something that can be sought. No one can pretend to be lost, right? In any case, when seeing a fork in the road, a person with a little bit of rationality can resist the temptation.
Confucius said: "At seventy, I can follow my heart's desire without breaking the rules." Why do we have to wait until we are seventy? Isn't it like this for life? People still don't know what the nature of randomness in the macroscopic world is, but personally, we just need enough randomness, especially when a person finally realizes that he has free will but is always limited by experience and ability. At this time, a little bit of randomness is a great comfort. It would be terrible if we could only travel on a highway without forks. From here to Yangzhou, I can take the Beijing-Shanghai Expressway or the Beijing-Taiwan Expressway. Although the difference is very small, it is always reassuring. When driving or walking on county and township roads, there are many forks, each leading to a village, or perhaps to a factory or temple hidden in the mountains; if we want, we can pretend that it leads to a more unfamiliar place---anyway, we won't verify it. What I often encounter is the path that winds up, goes deep into the hillside and then disappears, which can stimulate my half-dead curiosity, especially when I think I am in the most remote place, and then such a path appears, which makes us feel ashamed and relieved. There are a few times when I am attracted to leave the original path and walk on a new path, but I always stop after a short descent; fear is modifying our curiosity and the degree of our satisfaction. This fear does not come from the possibility of encountering unfamiliar things, but from departing from what we already have, what is familiar, and what is well-organized. So when we see a village and cross a bridge, we command ourselves to be satisfied. Enough, we tell ourselves, there is nothing new under the sun, and the people inside are no different from those outside. We turn around, find the previous path, and return to our own small world that we can control.
Having choices, even if they are illusions, is reassuring, and choosing not to make additional choices is mature. Which is the more serious choice, the current path, or something else, is a question without an answer. Life is like a trajectory, it is what it is, not what it is not. Everyone occasionally wonders what life would be like if they had made another decision. The only thing we can be sure of is that we will think so no matter where we go. There is a movie about a man who always lives on the same day. He was proud and sad enough to commit suicide. In the end, he corrected himself again and again, moving towards perfection, and finally broke the curse.
It sounds like I like getting lost. No, like any normal person, I hate getting lost. Getting lost annoys me and sometimes even makes me doubt myself. Somewhere at the junction of Shanxi and Shaanxi, there is a small tangled mass of roads. The first time I passed by, I took the wrong road and met an elderly man carrying a large basket. He invited me to his home (he pointed to the lonely house on the top of the earthen ridge), but for some reason, I strongly disliked him. It had nothing to do with his dirtiness, nor the fact that he lowered his head and looked up at the other person when he spoke. It was that he had a low smell on him, as if he had just crawled out of a cave. I rejected him and left.
Somehow, within two years, I passed this area four times. The second time, my two families were traveling together. When we arrived here, I boasted that I had been here before. I took the wrong road last time, and I would not do so this time. James little later, I saw the old bachelor again. It was obvious that I was lost again, which was really annoying. After a few words, he actually recognized me, which made me even more uncomfortable. My travel companions were talking to him very enthusiastically, and I had to work hard to urge them to leave. The third time I took the right road. The fourth time I passed by from the opposite direction, and just when I was confident, I saw the old man sitting on the side of the road with a basket at his feet. I stopped the car and asked angrily, "Have you moved?" He had not moved. I looked around, and it was still the same earthen ridge, and the sun was still dazzling. He was still enthusiastic, showing me the way for the third time, and inviting me to his home for the third time. "Okay," I said resignedly, "I'll park the car here and walk up with you. Do you have a dog at home?"
Car accommodation
Outside, I like to sleep in the car. This may be related to my waking up too early. One year, I was visiting relatives in the northeast. I got up at around 4 o'clock and went to the yard. It was just when the morning light was about to appear and the dog and the rooster were having their last sweet dream. I got into the car, lay diagonally on the back seat, lit a cigarette, stretched my hand under my back, moved a hard water bottle, and then sighed comfortably: "This is life."
At this time, you don't have to do anything (it's dark all around anyway, so there's nothing to do), and you don't have to think about anything. But if the environment and mood are quiet enough, you will feel some thoughts that have escaped the form of thought, if you can say so, flowing in your mind. You will feel that you seem to be thinking about something, but there is no conceptual shell, so you don't know what you are thinking about. Once you try to grasp it, such as suddenly asking yourself what you were thinking just now, you will immediately return to the conceptual shell, and what you get is nothing more than the daily product of the mind, stale, rigid, and frustrating. Therefore, an experienced meditator can often find a way to linger in this half-asleep and half-wakeful state for a while. He can find a quiet but not dead environment, and he also needs something new to stimulate him.
I discovered the benefits of sleeping in a car on a stupid trip about 15 years ago, when four of us spent two nights freezing in a car.
I was responsible for falling into this field, at least on the first day. I had never touched a steering wheel before, so I drove the car off the road and landed on the roof of a greenhouse in the field. After struggling to get out, I fled in a panic (because I had damaged someone's property). After driving for a while, I found that the headlights were shining on nothing but snow and grass, and the car tracks were everywhere. I didn't know where to go. After groping for an hour or two, the most experienced driver among us said with a sullen face that we couldn't go any further. I had just caused trouble, so it was naturally inconvenient to object. Judging from the itinerary, we were probably in the area of Gangba County, but this knowledge was obviously useless. No one knew if there was any village nearby that could take us out of the cold, or whether we had taken the wrong road. We parked where we were, frustrated and silent, and endured the cold and hunger until dawn, and then found that just a few hundred steps away from us, there were two huge cowhide tents, children were playing, steam was rising, and herdsmen were making breakfast. The journey on the second day was even more painful. At two or three o'clock in the late night, in the doubly cold, the old driver decided to stop the car on the mountain road again, not daring to go another step. As a result, he drove another one or two kilometers in the morning, turned a corner, and arrived at Rongbuk Monastery.
I didn't think much about it at the time, but now I wonder if the old driver had a strange hobby and deliberately spent the night in the snow so that the cold could stimulate his brain to become active; if that was the case, then his goal was achieved. The next morning, my legs were numb from the cold, so I went outside the car to stretch my legs and feet. The light at that time was very strange. The reflection of the snow made people think that the day was about to dawn. When I looked up, the sky was still dark, but the few stars were dazzling. I sat on the front of the car for an hour, a little dozed off, and heard dogs barking in the distance, but I didn't know if it was an illusion. James friend came out of the car crookedly and said, "It's dawn." I said no. He said it again. Sure enough, the sky above my head was changing. Some of the feelings of this night left an unforgettable impression, which drove me to still want to relive it many years later.
I know that there is a smart way, which is to live in a tent. I think it is suitable for hikers, and although I yearn for long-distance hiking, I have never really tried it. To lazy people, setting up a tent is a troublesome thing. There are so many ropes, sticks, various tie-ups and supports. Even if you follow the instructions in the manual every step, you still don't know what you are doing before the last step. In my opinion, it is a job that requires eight arms to do, and each arm must be two or three meters long. Even if you succeed in setting up a container-shaped thing in the end, it will look extremely strange. You know that you must have made some mistakes in the middle, but who has the energy to set it up again? Such a tent, even if it doesn't collapse suddenly in the middle of the night due to a grasshopper's jump, and you have nightmares for several months, it is still unsafe to live in, especially on windy nights. I heard that tents nowadays are much better, easy to fix, light and strong, but I haven't experienced it.
I admit that tents are beautiful little things, especially at night, when the lights are turned on, and when viewed from outside, especially from a distance, they look like strange, glowing plankton. But I don't want to sleep in them. In addition to the reasons mentioned above, there is another point, that is, tents will evoke certain memories of childhood. Everyone, or almost everyone, has a period of time when they are young, using quilts as protection, especially if you have an elder who likes to tell stories. Adults naturally don't deliberately use stories to scare children, but I found that what adults think of as stories, especially those good stories in their minds, more or less have some elements that stimulate imagination, strange, unnatural characters, plots and sudden events. Usually, after telling a story, adults kindly say "Go to sleep" and tuck in the corners of the quilt, just like a killer helping the dead to close their eyes after finishing his work. In addition, before leaving the room, they must not forget to do the most hateful thing, turning off the lights. Children are either scared to death, pretending to be too sleepy to open their eyes, just to make the elders shut up and leave, or they become scared after the lights are turned off and everyone is quiet, because the familiar things around them are vivid at this time. In this case, how many children would not shrink into the quilt? There is no need to be ashamed to admit that the quilt was once our barrier; but it is an imaginary barrier, because it has no other use except keeping warm, and in my opinion, the tent is the same. Especially when traveling alone, getting into a tent is a bit like burying your head in the sand, which is somewhat disturbing.
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