Above the mortal world
1
Wandering atop the lofty Yellow Stone Fortress, I look down upon the vast expanse...
Billions of years ago, this place was quite ordinary. Seabirds sunned their love songs on beaches spread with quartz sand, and tiny shellfish flickered an ancient dream among the coral reefs on the seafloor. Only when the seawater gradually receded, and this place slowly deposited and even uplifted into a sandstone plateau, and after enduring countless crustal movements, countless collisions and fractures of continental plates, volcanoes and earthquakes, as well as lightning strikes and thunderbolts, weathering and rain erosion... did it finally gestate, transform, and attain nirvana into the incredible beauty before my eyes—beauty beyond imagination, beauty unparalleled!
Consider this breathtaking sandstone peak forest before me. Had it not embraced nirvana through the vicissitudes of seas turning into mulberry fields—through such great rises and falls, great sufferings and hardships, great sorrows and joys, great awakenings and enlightenments—had it not possessed this utmost passion and authenticity, daring to die and to live, to love and to hate, to weep and to sing, to rise and to abandon, it would probably have resigned itself to mediocrity, like so many of its kind in the world, guarding its years in dull wholeness until the end of time.
Beauty requires courage and the willingness to pay a price.
—So speak the great sandstone peak forests.
2
The most unique aspect of the great sandstone peak forests lies in their forms.
Each rock peak stands steeply and upright with edges and corners, eliminating the slopes of conventional mountains, overturning the concept of mountains in conventional thinking. They face each other as distinct individuals, yet all stand together within a collective, braving wind and rain: like pillars, like whips, like swords, like bamboo shoots, like snails, like Qin terracotta warriors, like stele forests, like stalwart warriors "leaning alone on a halberd, pacing in hesitation," like battle formations "reviewing troops on an autumn battlefield," like the mast tips of a thousand ships racing, like the treetops of a boundless forest, like the skyscrapers of a modern metropolis... The common crowd fears nothing more than uniformity that lacks individuality.
Any standardization can only lead to monotony and rigidity.
Rare indeed it is that these rock peaks defy convention and boldly take shape, brewing within the mountains of the Wuling Range's hinterland, above the mundane world, this towering spectacle "seeing neither the ancients before nor the newcomers after."
Thus—
The wind weathers you, the rain erodes you, thunderbolts split you, tree roots wedge into your flesh and devour you, ice creeps into your crevices and swells you, mountain torrents seize your waist and legs and tear at you... Because of your deviation from the norm and your pursuit of novelty, compared to those ordinary mountains with their undulations, slopes, and broad bases tapering upward, you must endure far more encroachment and hardship.
In the struggle, some partially collapse, some entirely topple. Those partially collapsed but unbroken in spirit still hold firm with upright bearing to their own patch of sky, still wearing an expression of composure that says "I love what I love, with no regrets." Oh, love and beauty are never complete—yet incomplete, they remain beautiful!...
Those who have entirely toppled have never knelt in spirit. Though they understand the principle that "a fallen rock is still a rock, but a fallen peak is no longer a peak," in order to cherish this individual freedom and uphold this dignity of "rockhood," they do not hesitate to crash down with a thunderous roar, shattered to pieces—a sight that inspires solemn awe and proclaims the values they hold dear.
A heroic death is a thousand times stronger than a cowardly life!
3
This reminds me of a story:
Once there was a man of cheerful disposition who was always accompanied by joy. One time, just as he bent down to check whether his joy was still there, joy seemed to suddenly fall into a crack in the earth and vanished. So he stooped and searched every corner, but simply could not find his share of joy. Then he resolved to stop searching: "Lost is lost—what can be done? Am I to spend my whole life bent over searching?" Strangely enough, the moment he straightened up, joy returned to him. However joy had been lost, that was how it came back.
In truth, whether joy or suffering, all originates from one's own perception. Twisting yourself in pursuit of external happiness will lead you astray onto the path of losing yourself. Take those rock peaks that have never once bowed—though scarred by collapses and fractures, they remain neither servile nor overbearing, unchanging in their original aspiration, radiating a happiness of steadfastness, solemn grandeur, and abundant confidence. Even when they crash down with a thunderous roar, form and substance shattered, no longer rock peaks, they leave behind space for their kind in their infinite pursuit of life, and at the same time leave behind a spirit—a vast and noble energy that fills and rises within.
4
Yet fine scenery is often accompanied by solitude. Think about it: this vast spectacle of sandstone peak forests spread across Zhangjiajie, Tianzi Mountain, and Suoxi Valley—how many tens of thousands of years must it have kept company with solitude?
A essayist who has traveled to famous mountains and great rivers across the country never fails to sigh with deep emotion whenever he speaks of this. He cannot recall any other scenic mountains or waters that could match the richness and variety here, let alone the fact that the wonders here are so vast in depth and breadth, stretching on unbroken. Yet it was only in the past decade or so that their extraordinary value was truly discovered. Because a famous painter named Wu Guanzhong happened to set foot here, gaped in amazement, and declared it absolutely stunning, people finally turned their eyes here and regarded it with new respect. Why did such a jewel of scenery lie dust-covered in deep mountains for thousands upon thousands of years, unknown to the world? Some mountains and waters, though graced with heavenly beauty, are ignored by passersby because no one has named them; other mountains and waters, though in reality nothing special, are praised by the famous and their words spread far and wide, so everyone chimes in agreement. From mountains and waters, one thinks of the fortunes of people—how strikingly similar!
Fortunately, "standing a thousand fathoms sheer, desireless, one is firm." In the vast silent years of keeping company with solitude, the sandstone peaks possess a calm and open-minded equanimity. Even when those with discerning eyes finally recognize their worth and tourists come in throngs, jostling shoulder to shoulder, they have never become dizzy with success or puffed up with self-importance. A Buddhist verse says: "Spring has its hundred flowers, autumn its moon; summer its cool breeze, winter its snow. If one faces the world with an ordinary mind, every season is a good season." Unmoved by favor or disgrace, knowing warmth and cold for themselves—the rock peaks may be said to have grasped the Way.
5
Absolute majestic beauty, grand beauty, sublime beauty.
The serene atmosphere that only great landscapes can exude, and the transcendent quality capable of conquering all, are fully displayed here. Because of the tranquil, extraordinary atmosphere and mysterious aura harbored by thousands of rock peaks of roughly equal height and similar form, a term suddenly leaps into my mind: magnetic field.
—Oh no, unified field!
That kindly old man with childlike eyes and a pipe in his mouth, that genius who created the theory of relativity, that towering figure and great man of his generation who, in order to establish a harmonious cosmic order—the "unified field"—completely abandoned the utilitarian and purposive aspects of science!
From the late 1910s through the mid-1950s, for nearly forty years, Einstein poured all his scientific passion and all his intellectual activity into formulating this great grand plan. Yet until his mighty heart stopped beating, the "positive solution" of the unified field was tragically left unfinished. Moved by this, a very thoughtful woman writer reflected thus: If Einstein's unified field had been completed on schedule, and science and society had thereby become more rational and advanced—would Einstein's personal charisma still be so captivating? Would his image as a scientific martyr still inspire awe across ages and endure forever? In the face of contemporary society with its surging materialism and torrent of utility, it is hard for a person to be strong enough to remain unmoved by the utilitarian world, indifferent to the fluctuating values of society. Had Einstein been less obsessively devoted to his unified field and instead turned to more specialized and practically valuable physics problems, his achievements would have far surpassed any scientist of his time. Yet he ultimately rejected all paths of quick success and instant benefit, and with the greatness of his thought and the purity of his spirit, composed the most tragic and moving movement of humanity's truth-seekers!
Without tragedy there is no sublimity. I thank the great sandstone peak forests for reminding me of Einstein and his "unified field." Einstein said: A person's true value lies in the degree and the sense in which he can free himself from the "self." I think this should be the best annotation of the life of Einstein—the "cosmic incarnation"—who was "transpersonal."
To possess the self yet transcend the self, to be in the mundane world yet dwell high above it—this is the model of life that old Einstein showed us...
6
Sitting alone atop the assembled peaks, immersed in the saintly vastness of Einstein's "unified field," I gaze to the four directions.
The pure fragrance of the soul's stamen escapes beyond time and space.
The poet says every path here leads to a cliff. Every path leading to a cliff, each in its own unique and unrepeatable way, steps toward the threshold of life and death, making those who come in search of scenery rein in their raised front hooves like spirited horses, and even arousing a desire to take the final step across the eternal boundary of life and death...
At last, eyes and thoughts follow that valiant eagle, shooting with a whistle into the vast blue sky. At this moment, because the path has vanished, "that precipitous cliff has become the last foothold that compels me to take flight." And so, with the graceful posture of a true eagle, in flight I instead feel unconstrained freedom and exhilaration.