The Hidden Spring in Desert

Author Yu Qiuyu，Translator Hyus

Even in a desert you could find a road, but not here.

Viewing afar, rows of footprints existed, crooked and twisted.

What if I followed the footprints? No, it’s too slippery to step on, therefore, I could only take a new path with my own feet. I was quite delighted with the long trail of footprints coming to my eyes when I turned back, but still a little confused: how long would it last?

I was blocked by several gigantic sand mountains, and I had no choice but getting over these mountains. It was a really hard labor when I walked towards the top of the sand mountain because once I stepped on it firmly, even with just a little bit more strength, my feet slipped smoothly. The harder I stepped, the deeper I sank into sands, and the longer distance I slipped down. Within minutes, I began to pant for my breath, making this trip an inevitable grumbling and tough journey.

I was raised in the eastern mountainous area of Zhejiang Province, and even when I was a young child I was able to climb the big mountains briskly. Though tired, I could still gallop like a wind, reaching the top through forcing my strength. But here, you definitely could not force your strength, for the soft grit, fine and smooth, would not hurt your feet, or trip you down, but erase all your strength mildly and tenderly, which drove you crazy and made you blame the abundant meekness which sprouted underneath your feet: how “hateful” the meekness is! However, complaining was vain, so only by calming your thunder, relaxing your steps and fighting in the gentle way of the grit could you continue to trek forward.

If you want to make a mountaineering with full speed, you'd better never come here, for in many other hills there are trails such as plank roads and stones steps, where thousands of people have passed by, and thousands of new travelers would follow. However, you won't see your footprints there—the footprints that belong to your own. So, when you stand on this sands, you should try to calm down, for the principle of Zen¹ which a desert walker should observe and for the pretty footprints of your own.

My mind turned peaceful while I was climbing slowly, with every time I looked up, I felt the top of the sand hill getting higher and higher. Alas, I was like a child chasing the moon.

As time went by, I began to worry about the accommodation for tonight. What if I couldn't cross this hill till midnight? What if I ran out of my food or water? Never mind, if so, just let it happen, for the only word left in my mind was: Climb! Climb, and ignore that high top. Why should I scare myself with this ethereal and untouchable height? If I looked up the top was right there, and if not, the top was still there. So, what's the benefit of raising my head?

What about turning around and seeing the path that I had been through? Alas! How long the route taken by me was, and how small the world beneath my sight was! I was amazed by my footsteps like silk belt tied to my feet at one end. The belt, waving tranquilly and elegantly, was like an undulating curve which extended towards the foot of the sand hill.

What a masterpiece! I couldn't help admiring myself.

Climb, not for the higher and higher top of hill, but for the curve drawn by me.

Climb, not for how far away I could reach, but for the live of mine passing behind.

In any case, with all this trip along I had always been the top of my footprints, the top of the belt floating upon the surface of yellow sands, the top of the permanent climbing, and the top of a never retreating soul.

The top of the sand mountain, was secondary to me.

Suddenly, a feeling of flat came to my feet and the view broadened. I looked up, hesitantly and timidly, only to find the top was right here.

There's no need to worry about lodging, because the setting sun in the west was still very bright.

The sand dunes, rolling under the setting sun, made the incomparable beauty of the world, with the light and shadow separated by the smoothest straight line, and the unadorned, pure, golden ocher, which as if sifted through a huge sieve. The wind, blowing day and night, swayed the hillside, shaped the ridge into extremely smooth waves, even without a ripple.

As a result, my mind was filled with pleasure, for the sky with wind upon my head, and the land with sands beneath my foot. It seemed that everything was arranged in a tidy, gentle and silent way by the wind and the sands. The color was pure to holiness, and the aura was harmonious to loftiness.

Why did the monks, believers and artists of all ages choose desert and sand mountains to pour their faith in and build Mogao Grottoes², Yulin grottoes³ and other caves? By standing here, I understood. The sound of heaven, playing gracefully and sacredly in the sky, came to my heart lightly as my feet integrated with the top of the sand mountain.

When I was in the ridge at the first time, I spotted something at the foot of the mountain, but I was absorbed in my journey, thus I didn't make any effort to see its full appearance. While I stood at the top of hill and made an overlook with a bird's-eye view, I finally distinguished that thing—a clear spring lying at the bottom of the mountain.

For quite a moment I couldn’t believe my eyes that how reckless and weird this scene was! It was a crystal-like spring hiding serenely and peacefully in a place where it never should have been. Believe it or not, to praise the spring with any modifier was a blasphemy to it. No matter how young a traveler is, he would cry out like a loving father: Why are you here? Why do you come to such a desolate place?

Indeed, the desert was not the right place for the spring in any case. If any liquid must exist here, it shouldn't be a limpid and tranquil spring. Instead, a dirty and yellow torrent may suit, or a bigger and richer pond could present, but definitely not a frail or weak spring to survive here. By her beauty, the spring, should meet her destiny down the Fuchunjiang⁴, perch at the foot of Yandang Mountain⁵, or sitting amid the trees which grow from Hupao to Jiuxi⁶.

Why hadn’t the flying sand ever filled her? Why hadn’t the hurricane, blowing in the middle of the night, ever sucked her dry? Had any robbers haunted nearby, and survived by this sweet spring water? Had any bandit gang gathered in swarms here and left a muddy mess behind?

After those impractical fancies came a question immediately: how can I approach that spring? I was standing on the top of the mountain with my whole body wearily, while the spring was at the bottom of the mountain, lying coyly. The slope between us was steep like a chip, implying that if I wanted to see the spring, the effort of climbing I had just payed would become a sorrow in vain. All of a moment, my face was full of anxiety and despondency.

I yearned for the summit, yearned for the height, but only to find that the summit was a merely narrow ground for standing. Although I could continue to enjoy the pleasure of overlooking, I couldn’t still here all the time, for I never wanted to be trapped in such a narrow summit. However, there was no way up and it was also a hard journey down, which made me feel lonely and scared as never before: I couldn’t stay here all the time!

Even though you have the opportunity to stand at the height above all things in the world, you still can't escape the fate of self-mockery, for the real warming and beautiful scenery is always lying prostrate upon the soil, lurking in the deep valley. The spring below, teasing like a naughty girl, eagerly drove me to challenge the steep slope.

What a hard life! You were not able to discover the spring without reaching the top, while you could not get close to the spring when you arrived at the top. It appears that neither of us can get rid of the destiny of an incessant walking uphill and walking downhill.

Eventually, I was resolute to go down the slope, and with tension all the way I was biting my teeth. Once I felt that something was going to happen, I shrunk my neck tightly and tensed my muscles on my face, exploring with one step after another, in order to get my bones ready to a heavy fall.

Nevertheless, oddly, nothing happened. I was astonished to realize that I had already slipped quite a few meters down with my first two steps ahead. It seemed that I neither fell forward nor leaned back, but stood firmly. All of a moment, I became Prometheus on the mountain of Caucasus.

With a little bit more force, like dancing in a slow motion, I managed to arrive at the foot of the hill after only a dozen steps or so.

I was really shocked: for several hours I had been climbing so hard, but it was just a few steps down! I couldn't suppress my laugh when I recalled the solemn and stirring determination I made to stretch my feet forward. Kant⁷said that farce is a serious imbalance between expectation and consequence. What a true saying!

There was no time to think more about Kant, I rushed to the spring eagerly.

The spring is not a so tiny one, with three or four hundred steps long and its widest part in the middle is equivalent to the width of a medium river. While approaching, I could see several clumps of green water plants, waving beneath the surface, and on the surface floating three reddish black duck with long ripples behind both wings, which really made me wonder how they could get through thousands of miles by crossing mountains and rivers and find here. There are trees by the water and most of which had twisted roots, implying they were hundreds of years old mostly.

In short, where I was standing on existed all the necessary appearance which a beautiful and clear spring should preserve, thus making the spring a Lone Ranger—In the desert world, it relies on its own efforts, and has created a lovely world.

Behind the tree, there was a shabby hut. I was hesitating whether to greet or not, when an old nun with a wrinkled and serene face, came out gently, holding a Buddha's bead.

She told me that there was a temple here, which had been destroyed twenty years ago. I could not imagine the supply of her life, so I asked obtusely. She just pointed to a road behind the hut and said faintly, “Someone will send.”

With no doubt that I wanted to ask her about a lot of things. For example, why did she keep watching here alone all the time? When did she first come here? However, I felt it too blunt and clumsy to ask this kind of questions for a Buddhism, so I gave up. My eyes turned to the quiet pool again, for the answer should be right there.

There are many other vast deserts and flowing waters in this world, however, they could never touch me like the hidden spring in this desert. Here, I saw the tranquil moment in sands and winds, I saw the scenery behind the endless desolation and I experienced the most adventurous fall on the high slope. It was the divine god and the ingenious nature that created such a melody, which drove me intoxicated.

From this adventure came a deduce that life, world and history are all like the scene in front of my eyes, only by turning the hustle and bustle into the peace and quiet, the irritable into the cool and crisp, the high-profile into the plain and natural, and the rough and rude into the bright and beautiful can we live a light and graceful life, build an elegant world and create a history with charm.

Therefore, the old nun's lonely watching was reasonable. Though the wind blew fiercely for the whole night, and she shrunk inside the humble hut, trembling with her ears buzzed by frantic dust, she didn't need to be afraid or worried, because when the sun rose and the sky was clear, she was able to pick up a hand of spring water, to wash away all the fatigue and cleanse her soul, and when she looked up, the wall of sand was above the green water, shining brightly and gloriously. The mountain is called Mingsha mountain, and the spring is called Yueya spring. They are all in Dunhuang.

Notes

¹ A form of Buddhism, which usually describes a quiet state of mind.

 ² The Mogao Grottoes, located at Dunhuang, is the largest and richest Buddhist treasure trove in the world.

 ³ A famous grotto which is similar as the Mogao Grottoes, located at Guazhou County.

 ⁴ Fuchunjiang is known for its beautiful river and clear water, with many pretty mountains on both sides.

 ⁵ A famous mountain in southeast Zhejiang Province, China. Known as the first mountain in Southeast China, the main peak is 1047 meters. It is a tourist attraction, famous for its peaks, streams and waterfalls.

 ⁶ Both the Hupao and Jiuxi are known for their charming landscape and beautiful scenery. In this passage, the author wants to emphasize his tender love for the spring by using these Chinese well-known locations.

 ⁷ A famous German philosopher.

沙原隐泉-原文鉴赏

作者：余秋雨

沙漠中也会有路的，但这儿没有。

远远看去，有几行歪歪扭扭的脚印。

顺着脚印走吧？不行，被人踩过了的地方反而松得难走。只能用自己的脚，去走一条新路。回头一看，为自己长长的脚印高兴。不知这行脚印，能保存多久？

挡眼是几座巨大的沙山。只能翻过它们，别无他途。上沙山实在是一项无比辛劳的苦役。刚刚踩实一脚，稍一用力，脚底就松松地下滑。用力越大，陷得越深，下滑也越加厉害。才踩几脚，已经气喘，不禁恼怒。

我在浙东山区长大，在幼童时已经能够欢快地翻越大山。累了，一使蛮劲，还能飞奔峰巅。这儿可万万使不得蛮劲。软软的细沙，也不硌脚，也不让你磕撞，只是款款地抹去你的全部气力。你越发疯，它越温柔，温柔得可恨至极。无奈，只能暂息雷霆之怒，把脚底放松，与它厮磨。

要腾腾腾地快步登山，那就不要到这儿来。有的是栈道，有的是石阶，千万人走过了的，还会有千万人走。只是，那儿不给你留下脚印——属于你自己的脚印。来了，那就认了吧，为沙漠行走者的公规，为这些美丽的脚印。

心气平和了，慢慢地爬。沙山的顶越看越高，爬多少它就高多少，简直像儿时追月。

已经担心今晚的栖宿。狠一狠心，不宿也罢，爬！再不理会那高远地目标了，何必自己惊吓自己。它总在的，看也在，不看也在，那么，看又何益？

还是转过头来打量一下自己已经走过的路吧。我竟然走了那么长，爬了那么高！脚印已像一条长不可及的绸带，平静而飘逸地画下了一条波动的曲线，曲线一端，紧系脚下。

完全是大手笔，不禁钦佩起自己来了。

不为那越来越高的山顶，只为这已经画下的曲线，爬。

不管能抵达哪儿，只为已耗下的生命，爬。

无论怎么说，我始终站在已走过的路的顶端——永久的顶端，不断浮动的顶端，自我的顶端，未曾后退的顶端。

沙山的顶端是次要的。爬，只管爬。

脚下突然平实，眼前突然空阔，怯怯地抬头四顾——山顶还是被我爬到了。

完全不必担心栖宿，西天的夕阳还十分灿烂。

夕阳下的绵绵沙山是无与伦比的天下美景。光与影以最畅直的线条进行分割，金黄的黛赭都纯净的毫无斑驳，像用一面巨大的筛子筛过了。日夜的风，把风脊、山坡塑成波荡，那是极其款曼平适的波，不含一丝涟纹。

于是，满眼皆是畅快，一天一地都被铺排得大大方方、明明净净。色彩单纯到了圣洁，气韵委和到了崇高。

为什么历代的僧人、信众、艺术家要偏偏选中沙漠沙山来倾注自己的信仰，建造了莫高窟、榆林窟和其他洞窟？站在这儿，我懂了。我把自身的顶端与山的顶端合在一起，心中鸣起了天乐般得梵呗。

刚刚登上山脊时，已发现山脚下尚有异象，舍不得一眼看全。待放眼鸟瞰一过，此时才敢仔细端详。那分明是一湾清泉，横卧山底。

动用哪一个藻饰词，都会是对它的亵渎。只觉它来得莽撞，来得怪异，安安静静地躲藏在本不该有它的地方，让人的眼睛看了很久还不大能够适应。再年轻的旅行者，也会像慈父心疼女儿一样叫一声：这是什么地方，你怎么也跑来了！

是的，这无论如何不是它来的地方。要来，该来一道黄浊的激流，但它是这样清澈和宁谧。或者，来一个大一点的湖泊，但它是这样纤瘦和婉约。按他的品貌，该落脚在富春江畔、雁荡山间，或是从虎跑到九溪的树荫下。

漫天的飞沙，难道从未把它填塞？夜半的飓风，难道从未把它吸干？这里可曾出没过强盗的足迹，借它的甘泉赖以维生？这里可曾蜂聚过匪帮的马队，在它身边留下一片污浊？

我胡乱想着，随即又愁云满面，怎么走进它呢？我站立峰巅，它委身山底。向着它的峰坡，陡峭如削。此时此刻，刚才的攀登，全化成了悲哀。

向往峰巅，向往高度，结果峰巅只是一道刚能立足的狭地。不能横行，不能直走，只享一时俯视之乐，怎可长久驻足安坐？上已无路，下又艰难，我感到从未有过的孤独与惶恐。

世间真正温煦的美色，都熨帖着大地，潜伏在深谷。君临万物的高度，到头来只构成自我嘲弄。我已看出了它的讥谑，于是亟亟地来试探下削的陡坡。

人生真是艰难，不上高峰发现不了它，上了高峰又不能与它亲近。看来，注定要不断地上坡下坡、上坡下坡。

咬一咬牙，狠一狠心。总要出点事了，且把脖子缩紧，歪扭着脸上肌肉把脚伸下去。一脚，再一脚，整个骨骼都已准备好了一次重重的摔打。

然而，奇了，什么也没有发生。才两脚，已出溜下去好几米，又站得十分稳当。不前摔，也不后仰，一时变作了高加索山头上的普罗米修斯。

再稍用力，如入慢镜头，跨步若舞蹈，只十来下，就到了山底。

实在惊呆了：那么艰难地爬了几个时辰，下来只是几步！想想刚下伸脚时的悲壮决心，哑然失笑。康德说，滑稽是预期与后果的严重失衡，正恰是这种情景。

来不及多想康德了，亟亟向泉水奔去。

一湾不算太小，长可三四百步，中间最宽处相当一条中等河道。水面之下，飘动着丛丛水草，使水色绿得更浓。竟有三只玄身水鸭，轻浮其上，带出两翼长长的波纹。真不知它们如何飞跃万里关山，找到这儿。水边有树，不少已虬根曲绕，该有数百岁高龄。

总之，一切清泉静池所应该有的，这儿都有了。至此，这湾泉水在我眼中又变成了独行侠——在荒漠的天地中，全靠一己之力，张罗出了一个可人的世界。

树后有一陋屋，正迟疑，步出一位老尼，手持悬项佛珠，满脸皱纹布得细密而宁静。

她告诉我，这儿本来有寺，毁于二十年前。我不能想象她的生活来源，讷讷地问，她指了指屋后一条路，淡淡说：会有人送来。

我想问她的事情自然很多，例如，为何孤身一人长守此地？什么年岁初来这里？终是觉得对于佛家，这种追问过于钝拙，掩口作罢。目光又转向这脉静池，答案应该都在这里。

茫茫沙漠，滔滔流水，于世无奇。唯有大漠中如此一湾，风沙中如此一静，荒凉中如此一景，高坡后如此一跌，才深得天地之韵律、造化之机巧，让人神醉情驰。

以此推衍，人生、世界、历史，莫不如此。给浮嚣以宁静，给躁急以清冽，给高蹈以平实，给粗犷以明丽。唯其这样，人生才见灵动，世界才显精致，历史才有风韵。

因此，老尼的孤守不无道理。当她在陋室里听够了一整夜惊心动魄得风沙呼啸时，明晨，即可借明净的水色把耳根洗净。当她看够了泉水的湛绿时，抬头，即可望望灿烂的沙壁。 山，名为鸣沙山；泉，名为月牙泉。皆在敦煌境内。