Shanghai is prosperous

Chapter 393 Qingming, Qingming!
Familiar voices flash in the fireworks
the past file out
I put my head close to the loess
pay tribute to that with sad feelings

past life compassion

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There has been a drizzle in the sky.The more paper money is burned, the more prosperous it is.According to the hometown, the bigger the burned paper money, the better the joy, which means that the "people over there" are happy.

Wang Yiyuan kowtowed deeply.The candlelight was flickering, and the incense sticks were wafting up. He suddenly saw clearly that on a dark night when he was a child, the fire in the hearth reflected the kindly faces of his parents on the stool in front of the hearth. The anticipation of his hunger and hunger was ripe... He unknowingly burst into tears.

Imagining the once real warm embrace under the loess, and the vivid stories under the cover of the weeds, tears turned into Qingming rain, and every drop of rain carried endless thoughts!

It is said that yin and yang are separated, but in fact, how can they really be separated?
Just like the "Qingming Diaozi" swaying gently in the breeze in front of him, Wang Yiyuan still clearly remembers that when he was young, his family never had to buy it because his mother never let him buy it, saying it was too expensive.

So in the early years, the Qingming hangings used to go to the grave at home were cut by my mother every year.

Every year before the Ching Ming Festival comes, my mother will choose a sunny day, take out the dumpling, sit facing the gate, and spend a whole day folding and cutting——
In my impression, my mother's hands are very skillful, a pair of scissors, a piece of white paper, in her hands, folded left and right, up and down, cut horizontally, vertically and obliquely, with a shake and a pull, the flat through-sewed paper hangs instantly, Put on the paper, tie a knot at the waist with colored paper in the middle, and hang it on the bamboo pole. The white and clean Qingming hanging becomes a three-dimensional work of art.

At that time, the mother used scissors to cut out the silhouette of the time and the stories of the ancestors within the frame of the gate.

It is only now that Wang Yiyuan finally understands that the mother's concentration and devotion, the sadness but not gloomyness, is a kind of inner communication and silent remembrance with the deceased relatives.The mother clearly wanted to integrate her own thoughts into the stack of scissors through her own hands, tie up a kind of bond, and make a decoration for her own thoughts.

Often at this time, when my father was alive, every Qingming Festival would "fold the package", write the "package", and send it to "over there".

Fubao is a unique form of Mingqian. Most of them are folded with a stack of paper money made of yellow stick paper or fire paper as the inner core, and then sealed with paper. Character.The word "seal" in a large book on the interface on the back can be regarded as a "seal" affixed to the bank.

The big and small bags after writing are piled up on the table of the Eight Immortals at home, and lined up to burn incense and offer them, often in a very tall pile.

"Burden bag" is a memorial to the dead in ancient times, and the underworld coins are sent to the dead souls in the nether world in the form of a letter to express their grief, which is equivalent to people sending money by mail today.Burning burdens is intended to send money to the dead ancestors so that they can have money to enjoy in the underworld and better protect their descendants.

Wang Yiyuan can't remember how the tradition of writing burdens and remitting money to ancestors on New Years and festivals came about.He only remembered that when his father was doing these things, he always looked worried, focused and respectful.

Father wrote his ancestors, his father's generation, and his deceased wife's name on the burden bag.Write, write, stop.Stop and write.

The hall was silent.Wisps of sunlight crawled over from the treetops behind the house, slanted against the dirt wall, dipped into the words bit by bit, squeezed into the father's clothes, until it completely covered his insteps.

Later, after my father died, no one ever wrote "Bao" again.

Today's Qingming hangings, colored cellophane, are machine-made, gorgeous and colorful, shining in the sun, looking magnificent and flashy, but they no longer have the charm of mother's handicrafts.

When Wang Yiyuan was a child, he was always ignorant and didn't know how to taste his mother's scissors. Whenever his mother was cutting Qingming hangings, he would play some pranks, secretly take a few and hang them on the branches, or pick them up with bamboo poles and run around.

His mother never beat him. In the face of this kind of excessive farce, the best solution for his mother was to threaten him, saying that if he took the Qingming hanging hanging, his soul would be taken away by ghosts, and he would have nightmares at night!
At that time, Wang Yiyuan was still young, and he was inexplicably afraid of ghosts, so he quickly threw away the Qingming Diao and hid far away.

But now, after going through the vicissitudes of the world and having the experience of parting from life and death, Wang Yiyuan realizes that this is actually a devotion from the adults to the dead.

My sister babbled on the sidelines: Add more soil to the graves of my parents.Your father likes to visit, cover up more, and be careful of catching cold.Burn more paper money for your mother, she is never willing to spend money,...

The precipitous weather in early spring has contributed to the cloudy and cloudy weather of Tomb-sweeping Day.In this season when green and yellow meet, old and new alternate, sweeping tombs and offering sacrifices to ancestors, light rain, decaying grass, rape blossoms, wheat seedlings, small intestine trails, sorrow drenched by rain, melancholy tainted by curling blue smoke, and life-giving love for the end a kind of thinking.

This kind of worship has no extravagant demands, no desires, no transactions, only the naked treatment of souls, just so quietly, quietly, crouching, and throwing the five bodies to the ground.In front of the ancestors, putting the forehead close to the soil is to have a dialogue with the ancestors, transcending life and death, chatting about the family, and chatting about the old days.Not status, not money, abandoning fame and fortune, abandoning troubles.

However, without the mother’s nagging, without the “burden bag” sacrifice, how far can the nostalgia for the ancestors go? Imagine what it will be like to lie in such a place after many years?Is the Qingming at that time still the same as the Qingming now?
After the wind and rain, the pear blossoms and the cold food, how many graves will the descendants come? If the descendants forget their ancestors, what a terrible tragedy it is?

Wang Yiyuan sobbed softly at first, and finally prostrated himself on the ground, crying loudly.

Xiao Xiaoxiao wanted to go over to persuade her, but was stopped by her aunt.She said softly, a man doesn't flick his tears easily, only because he hasn't reached the point of sadness.Just let him cry for a while, maybe a hurdle in his heart will pass and he will feel better.

I have always been stubborn and reluctant to go back to my hometown, and I have always been unwilling to face the fact that my parents left prematurely. Every time I saw all the familiar entanglement and sadness, Wang Yiyuan cried a lot this time, and he suddenly felt , the layer of shackles in my heart has been wiped out, even if I let go of it completely today, a clearness suddenly rises in my heart.

What is worshiped today is family affection and faith, so why not a period of Wang Yiyuan's own growth?

After a long, long time, all sacrifices and sweeps were completed, and Wang Yiyuan and the others went down the mountain.Turning around the mountain depression, I can no longer see the lonely white shadow swaying on the grave of my parents...

i'm crumbling

like paper banners hunting in the spring breeze

or in the clouds

The relatives I look back on frequently
　It's Ching Ming Festival soon, just in time.But, who are you missing?
　　
　
(End of this chapter)