(a)

We have a lot of boxes. Pen? Interesting? Pavilion wWw. ｂiquge。 ｉｎfo

They fill every crevice, every nook and cranny of daily life. They are like a net from heaven and earth.

They come in a variety of names. Some boxes are called justice, some boxes are called morality, some boxes are called countries, some boxes are called nations, some boxes are called gender, some boxes are called sects, some are called families, some boxes are called identity, some boxes are called hobbies, some boxes are called character, some boxes are called culture, some boxes are called traditions, some boxes are called technology, some boxes are called theory, some boxes are called emotions, some boxes are called poverty, some boxes are called responsibility, some boxes are called age, Some boxes are called family, and some boxes are called alive.

They are simply infinite. We are defined by these many boxes. We are also cut by these many boxes. At the same time, we are covered and imprisoned by these many boxes.

We are so entangled with these boxes that we feel like they are them, that they become us, that we feel that without these boxes, we are nothing, that we are all horrified of it.

We clung to the pile of boxes, and we fell into the trap of the boxes. We have simply forgotten why we got into these boxes.

We've all forgotten about the gift inside.

(b)

So, how can we see the world as it really is? We've never even seen a bigger picture.

We can't see, not because it's not around us, but because we don't see it.

We've been so focused on these boxes that we've been blind to and deaf to the huge crowds of people and the countless TV show details that pass by us every day.

So, truth has always been there and open. But it will only manifest itself to those who are focused on looking at it.

It is only when you focus on the most central gift that it comes into your view.

Why is it that someone can see God, so really, so emotionally, while others can't?

Why?

Is it that throughout the ages, people have been telling the same old and boring lie in different languages?

Man can only see what he notices.

(c)

Do we really live in the same world? I'm not so sure.

Each person may live in a different world at any moment, and the face of the world at each moment may depend on the number of layers of the box he was in at that time.

The world may be different in everyone's eyes, and the world may be different at different moments of the same person.

Because each person's box is different, and each person's box is arranged and combined differently, its size, its good and evil, its beauty and ugliness, its warmth and coldness, all its shapes and all its attributes may all be different from time to time.

Is there a world that can be shared? Is there a firm and unchanging world? Does it exist? Whatever for what?

Won't there be as many existences, as many specimens of dust, as many moments as there are, and how many worlds there are?

Wouldn't we be living in a world with more sand than there is on the banks of the Ganges?

(iv)

We are in the deepest part of the cascading box, reaching out to a focal point, a fleeting shadow that we see, trying to grasp something, just as we reach out to the water of a pond to pick up the bright moon in the water, can we get anything?

Can you?

(5)

We don't want to give up. But did we ever have?

Do we have husbands when we leave them to go to work?

Do we own the house when we leave it? How many uninhabited houses are owned by nannies, doormen and doorkeepers? Is it owned by ants, cockroaches, and all kinds of small creatures that live in the room?

Do we have money when we keep it in the bank?

Do we own the clothes when we leave them in the closet?

We just thought we had it, and that's it.

(f)

Just like this novel, since everything is fiction, then you can make up it at any time and be free.

Is there anything stopping us from turning back time in fiction?

Is there anything stopping us from reuniting in fiction?

Is there anything stopping us from crossing life and death in fiction?

Are there any restrictions? Not really.

Is this different from our lifelong encounters? Have it?

(g)

We are our own Creator.

We are the Creator.

(viii)

Did I lose you?

If I didn't really own you, how could I lose what I never gained?

(ix)

At the magazine, a Ph.D. and I talked about it.

The pen name of this doctor was Mahler, because the musician he admired the most was Mahler, who was known for his tragic and majestic symphonies and excellent conductive performances.

This Dr. Mahler said to me, "You are dreaming of having the power of God. But you are not God. You can't be God's either. ”

Is it impossible? This is like the wall of the Laoshan Taoist priest, is it impassable?

Who condemns us to live only as we do now?

It is we who make this decision.

(x)

However, Mahler is not wrong in one respect.

I am not God. How can a woman who is entangled in the death of her past love have anything to do with God?

But I do see the possibilities limitless.

That's what I want to pursue for you.

(xi)

I know my madness.

My madness doesn't lie in following all the way and crying behind your death.

My madness lies in my desire to defeat death.

I want to put an end to death.

I want to make death disappear.

I want to see it for what it is.

I always think that if you really love someone, how can you sit back and watch death engulf him, and be helpless to resist him?

(xii)

I know that I have left the mundane society, and I have come a long way.

The vast majority of people pretend that they won't die in the next second, and they base their daily lives on this pretend.

But your departure shook me again and again.

I can't do that anymore.

I truly experienced the fragility and horror of impermanence.

Everything we think is solid will fall apart at any moment.

If you don't solve the problem of life and death, everything in life seems so absurd and ridiculous.

I can't live like that and be caught by death in a daze.

(xiii)

If you hadn't loved me so much, if you hadn't left me, I wouldn't have been here.

Both are indispensable.