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A place for Writing 12 students to read each other's writing, to critique, to suggest, to improve.
About Me
- Brad
- Former adult teacher who loves island beaches. Happy homebody and family man; once devoted dog owner, now without Tashi, my Tibetan Terrier. I prefer the absurdity of the imagination to the absurdity of imagining nothing.
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Blog Archive
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2009
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May
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- Things I Learned in Writing 12 (short essay)
- An Exercise in "Memory" (with eyes closed)
- What did You Collect?
- Help! I Need Somebody (Pieces for Comment)
- Why Don't You Forget?
- Imitating a Great Writer
- Hongxin's Piece, "Visiting Laoshan Mountain" Edited
- Something that Happened
- Makassia's Story, "Sunrise in Jala" Edited
- Fibonacci Poem
- Punctuation Practice (A Long Sentence)
- A Piece to Publish
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May
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4 comments:
Travel note of Laoshan Mountain
Everyone who visits Qing-Tao, a beautiful harbor city in China, would visit Laoshan Mountain. And everyone who visits Laoshan Mountain would dream to see the Upper Taoism Abbey. It is not only for its wonderful landscape but also for the famous legend of the fairy lady--“Purple snow”-- written by the great writer Pu song-ling three hundred years ago. The story was widely read, so the Upper Abbey became a more famous history interest.
Laoshan Mountain was located at the east end of the Shan-Tong peninsula facing the vast East Sea. The Upper Abbey was a history site full of mystery.
In an early summer day, we climbed the majestic Laoshan. Beside the trail, trees were thick and lush. Between the clefts and huge boulders, the clear spring water ran their way. Under the shadows of trees and facing the refreshing mountain breeze, we felt summer were away from here. Laoshan Mountain was really a special chilly world in this time.
The trails led us going to the top. They zigzagged up and had many turns. In the way, we often met creeks –it was said nine-times. Luckily, some glacier boulders lied on the stream benefiting for our crossing. However, most of times we would rather wade across for the water were cool. The feeling was so strange to those city dwellers.
“Ouch!”-- It was Xiao Xi fording with barefoot, and the gravels hurt him. “You deserve it!”—someone said, and that made us laughing. Surely, he was a daredevil sometimes.
Climbing up and high, we left the noise and turmoil behind and becoming a kind of instinct humming. We already went into a peace world.
Being surprising, a huge inscription carved on the cliff—saying “Listening the water”—appeared before us.
Yes, it was sure! Before I saw, I heard the sound of rushing water. Turned around the cliff, I felt the deliciously cool that the misty spray from the fall on my skin. Water tumbled over the rocks from high, and formed a deep pool under its foot. This wonderful place invited us to rest and to have a snack.
Someone laid and stretched limbs under the sunshine. The others scattered and searched around the bushes to find berries and wild fruits. Xiao Xi swam and splashed in the pond. I just stood on a huge cliff to have a sight-seeing.
Surveying down the trail that we had trudged, I stunned at the wonder scene: the town we left was as small as a bean; the following hikers straggled a lone line and seemed as if the ants climbing a tree.
Far at the distance, the East China Sea waved in horizon. High above us, the Laoshan Mountain loomed behind up to the cloud sky. On this midway, the noises were totally fading out and the hubbub world was away from us—oh, Laoshan, what a heaven of peace!
While we freshened, we continued our long march.
Then the trail turned into a ravine, and the environment was quiet as if an untouched area. Only the footsteps of ours could be heard. Occasionally one or two bird chirpings broke this perpetual tranquil.
”Purple snow, how are you? I’m coming to see you!”--suddenly Xiao Xi shouted. Then the sound echoed back and forth in the valley many times.
“Are you crazy, or spellbound? Xiao Xi.”--another one teased him aloud and the echoes responded once more.
Ascended on and on. Among the luxuriant green pines and the mist, the famous Upper Taoism Abbey was insight.
Unexpectedly, the Abbey was simple both in shape and colour. Far from a palace, it was only a common cottage – the black brick wall with the stone tiles. A limpid pond crippled in the yard, and the purple, scarlet peony flowers opened their beauty to the visitors. A tall mulberry tree attracted my attention, for a big stone tablet stood by, signed “Purple Snow”.
Hundreds years later, her canopy still flourished enough. Some secret admirers took photos with her; Xiao Xi was the one. The fictitious, mysterious love story caused so much imagination in mind generation and generation. Hundreds years over, none had a chance to meet the beautiful fairy lady. But the yard, the flowers and the tree reminded the pilgrims of her.
Turned out of the central yard, I went to the side yard. There was a fountain—the headwater of the pond. Beside the fountain, a Taoism priest was drawing water. He was at his middle ages wearing a black robe and white stockings. He grew a beautiful long beard and wore a hair coil on the top.
“Hello, Master.” I saluted to him. “May I have a scoop of this water?”
“Certainly, please benefactor.”
“It’s truly the mineral water, better than any bottled water. Thanks a lot.” And then I asked: “I wonder to know why this Abbey is so different from the majesty Wu-dang Mountain Abbey?—that’s grand as a palace! “
“Wu-dang was built by the Emperor of Ming dynasty for showing off his subjects. But ours embodies the true qualities of the Taoism—simple and nature.”
“How many priests remained in your abbey?”
“The four young priests you’ve seen at the central yard, my master and I.”
“Congratulations, you’ve got the successors.”
“But, they are the youth league too.”
“Do you believe the immortal?”
“Yes. However, practice is the most difficult thing in this world —perhaps only one thousandth or ten thousandth could be the successful one. Anyway, we are lucky-- the public worship never stopped—have you heard the Lower Abbey and the Middle Abbey?”
“On the way, we see the relics—some debris, dry well and crumbling walls. The other abbey is used as a barn. We also see some slogans written on the barn walls.”
“So I say we are lucky. Over thousand years we still stand here. Benefactor, you enjoy this spring water; have you gotten some enlightenment from water?--it is the water which nourishes all things without trying to . . . therefore, it is like the Tao.”
“These sentences come from Tao Te Chin. I remember some of them.”
“Do you?” a little surprising expression appeared in his eyes.
“But I don’t understand their deep meanings.”
“Sure, we are destiny luck, benefactor. If you wish I‘d like to show you the site I practice.” Then I followed him out of the yard along a trail to the back summit. Before a huge boulder we stopped; behind the boulder a tall pine tree stood by.
“Every dawn, I do Tai Chi under this pine tree. The scenery of sun arising from the East Sea is wonderful and much fantastic than what you see the sea now. And then I sit in meditation on the boulder.”
“What a fairyland!” I appraised.
Standing on the summit of the Taoist sacred land, I pondered about the Taoism teaching—the
harmony of the heaven and human being. Someone said we “conquered” the mountain. I‘d rather say that I was the part of this majesty mountain. The white clouds floated leisurely above, and the boundless East China Sea in the distant. What vast scenery the great nature was! In this place, all the worldly considerations were stayed away—neither the luring of power and money, nor the tantalizing of “purple snow”! In this eternal, the question through the ages welled up: “who am I?” and “where am I going?”
The Laoshan’s scenery was pleased to both the eye and the mind--majesty, vast, verdant, and tranquil. But the visiting of the famous Taoism wonderland, the Upper Abbey, was lingered in my mind till now. It was a baptism that made people soul more purify.
Words: 1279
Dear Brad
Hello!
I post my essay here for publishing. I eager to get your help. It is valuable for me.
Sincerely
H. Guo
Tree
Carpenter Jiang promised himself that after finishing one hundred coffins for his customers, he would make an excellent one for himself. The raw material was ready--the huge elm in his yard planted by his grandfather. The stem was straight and thick. The bark was oily bright like being painted.
“I can make it the best coffin,” he always told this to his young wife, “Lord Wang offered me five hundred silver Yuan for this tree but I didn’t sell him. He won’t have such a good coffin after he dies even he is richest guy in the town.”
“This is a great tree.” Jiang’s wife always appreciated. She collected the fresh leaves and flowers during the spring and blended them with the flour. The honey in the dough smelled sweet after steaming. When winter came, they embraced their first son named Yu-sheen meaning the son was born under the elm.
In the year 1937, Japanese came. Many people died, however their business dived too. Most of their neighbours run away to south China. Corpses could be easily seen everywhere with wild dogs and crows working on them.
After Jiang finished his 82nd order, he never got another. He coughed badly. In the beginning, he thought it was just a cold until he started puking blood.
He couldn’t work, eat, sleep or even breathe. They went to see the doctor and were told it was phthisis.
They sold everything they could to afford his medicine. Soon enough, nothing’s left.
“Let’s sell it, the elm.” Jiang’s wife wept. She couldn’t believe her strong husband became so fragile.
“No, we can’t. . . ” carpenter Jiang sighed, followed by terribly coughing and choking.
“You still want to make it a coffin?” Liang’s wife asked tentatively.
“No,” Jiang shook his head. “Keep it after I die. It’s too cheap to sell now. . . Japanese would leave. People would come back after the war. . . .Our son is too young. . .” he paused, tried to his wife’s face. Tears drooped from his hollow eyes. “It will be very tough for you to raise our son along. . . I’m so sorry. . . .”
“No, you’ll be fine! You will recover soon. . . .” Liang’s wife wailed.
“Listen to me, kow, kow kow. . . Pick our son a good wife.” He stroked her hair and smiled—even the smile looked so pathetic, “Pick a girl like you. You’ll need money for the bride-price. Sell the tree when our son is ready to get married. . . . Burry me in the yard after I die, so I’d be with you. . . kow, kow, kow.” He coughed again and spitted out more blood which dropped on the sheet and made some scarlet blossoms. “After Yu-sheen grows up, he can buy us both a nice coffin and burry us together after you die. I’ll be waiting for you. I’m not a good husband, I’m so sorry. . . .”
Three days later, Jiang died.
Jiang’s wife covered him with the decent clothes. Wiped her own tears, she buried her husband under the elm tree as he wanted.
Eight years passed; Japanese was defeated. Then it was the civil war. Yu-sheen was eight too. Most of the time, he was alone playing with bugs and butterflies with a chain confined him in the yard His mother was busy—going out everyday with high heels and heavy makeup. He couldn’t understand why she always came back so late, collapsed sometimes with her hair massed up and her make up gone. But she always came back with the food, sometimes with Yu-sheen’s favourite Japanese snacks even.
In the year 1949, China was liberated. Yu-sheen was 12 years old. He was tall and strong—unlike other Chinese, he’d never experienced starvation.
“What’s your name?” People asked him.
“Yu-sheen.” He heehawed dribbling all the time.
“How old are you?” people asked again.
“Yu-sheen, hei hei.”
“Are you an idiot?”
“Yu-sheen.”
“Idiot.” Soon enough, people were tired of those questions. “Do you know your mom is a whore?”
Yu-sheen confused-- “whore” was a strange word to him.
“A whore means a beautiful lady.”
“Beautiful?”
“Yes, beautiful. Your mom is a whore.”
Yu-sheen remembered. He ran back to his yard and yelled, “Mom, you are a WHORE.”
“Bang!” the glass dropped from Jiang’s wife’s hand. Her face paled
In the year 1966, the Chinese Culture Revolution started. A woman stood in the middle of the crowed. Her hair was shaved bald in half side. Her eyes were punched into black. Her lips were puffy and bleeding with a piece of board hanging on her neck and painted in red—“WHORE”.
“Tell us have you slept with the Japanese.”
“Yes, I have. I was a whore.”
“How many of them? Tell us in details, you shameless bitch.”
“I, I don’t remember.” She choked.
“How dare you have this attitude! You are NOT honest!” A man kicked on her chest.
“Beat her! Take her clothes off!” the crowed were excited, “She is a bitch! She has no husband! Her son must be a Japanese bastard too!”
“No, he is not!” Jiang’s wife was frightened, “His father was a carpenter. He made coffins. My son was born in the year 1937 before his father died. ”
“Great, that’s the year Japanese invaded China. This is a proof that your son is a Japanese bastard! You are a slut!” A fat woman jumped out and split on her face, started stripping her clothes off and pinching her. “You never had a husband, you are telling lies! You are a whore and your son is a Japanese bastard!”
“No, I’m not lying. My husband was died of phthisis. I buried his body in my yard under the elm.”
“Show us, where? Guys, Let’s go and see how she makes up her lies.”
The crowed followed Jiang’s wife to their yard. She staggered, bowing her head to her chest like a ball. People kicked her butt and pushed her. She pointed the ground under the elm and said, “Here, I buried my husband right here.”
“Mom!” Yu-sheen came out form the house, “Wow, you have so many buddies to play with. You cut a new hair. Are you playing game? Can I join you?”
“Yes, your mom is sleeping with us.” A stocky man said. Yu-sheen found everybody laugh, he giggled too with his thirty-year-old face moved disorderly.
Somebody threw to Jiang’s wife a shovel, “Dig! Show us you told the truth.”
“No, I can’t, really. Not the timing yet. . . .” she begged.
“Bind the bastard on the damn tree!” the fat woman ordered. Yu-sheen’s size was simply intimidating.
“Oh, mom, they are hurting me. This is not funny.” Yu-sheen flounced among the crowd kicking and crying.
“Don’t, please don’t hurt him! I’ll dig.”
The bones were found one by one: the rips, the legs, the arms, and the skull.
“She didn’t lie.” People grunted with disappointment losing the further excuses to torture the poor woman, “Let’s go.”
“Even you had a husband, you still slept with the Japanese. You betrayed your country and your people. This is not finished yet.” The fat woman said.
People left, stepped on the bones. Someone kicked the skull.
Holding her son’s hand, Jiang’s wife stroked the elm. It was still lush: with the straight stems and chunky trunks; the crown was fully covered by fresh leaves and white flowers. She remembered her wedding day; carpenter Jiang kissed her the first time under this tree. The sun reflected their shadows on the ground like a part of the elm.
“Son, do you like to play a game with mom?” she asked Yu-sheen.
“I love playing games. Which game?” Yu-sheen clapped his hand.
“We are going to see your dad. . . .”
Few days later, people came and saw Jiang’s wife and her son were hung on the elm.
1324 words
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