Life stories - Contemporary Chinese art - oil painting artist, chinese painting, prose, poem

	Spiritual Diaryl (1st part)

	Second part

By Xiaoyang

There is no loneliness in spiritual days.

My love, with thick and slightly curly hair, went away in the crowds. Years go by; I am amazed to find I have not forgot that moment. When the train started, we passed each other face by face without a word. How could we have no word to say?

The lonely blue waited under the platform bridge. You felt your belly faintly bloated. The light was dark and songs were indistinct. Just wanted to be with you. The rosy red was waiting for the surprises in life.

Love was intoxicating. The skin and tongue were intoxicated. Tears had no way to hide and songs burst out. She had been fermented for too long. How did you get to the state today? You had had everything ----a man caring, considerate, comforting and tolerant, although he was so to every woman. Indeed, it had been too long. Daily trifles entangled him. He could no longer care what you did and what you thought. The river between you had dried up. Bed at night, little by little, turned into the dreadful Holy Land for death. When things become superfluous, one seems to have them or have nothing.

In spiritual days, the only one you could trust is God. And you finally know that God is the lover you are seeking for long.

To be with God, there is no embarrassment.

Those days in winter, it rained occasionally. Tender eyes rested on the yellow corduroy shirt. You looked at the virgin, say, we would be together forever. But it is over and times have changed. One day in 1998, you said over the telephone ' miss much, we should have been together…' And I know at last human worship God because of their weakness.

All these are out of my expectation. After these years I didn't expect still to be so sad. Tears accumulate more, voice becomes sensitive, and music changes into blood. Do Not know whether moved by you or by myself. I fancy the things about purity and virginity like your simile. Where have they been? At the very beginning.

When the voice on the phone became dried, love, this word shy to say, had been trampled for times. Perhaps, not for long, the new will be tanned into the old, with only some warmth of wind and interval sunshine on the surface. But, how could I forget by just shaking my head? The white sadness and kindness.

The favorite part is composed by several musical notes. Over and over I read and taste your fragrance as that of a boy. I even forgive the filthiness. I want to floor the land with essence and luxury. And you could run willfully over there.

If it could not continue then it shouldn't despite the yearnings.

Again and again you came unexpectedly with kindness on your face and tender love in your eyes.

I was defeated. Feather falls about.

It was not a season for fallen flowers although it was drizzling. Father said, 'Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and you shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you'.

The footprints on the red floor look good, the cigarette kept for long smell nice, a glass of fresh tea remains hot and strong. This is the season.

Good men are prone to hurt.

In such a season you came and left.

Don't cry.

15-5-1998

Memory 2

Better wait 31-5-1998

Alleluia, thank God. God will be with me, 'kingdom of heaven is in the midst of thin heart', what a wonderful and simple doctrine!

1-6-1998

Midnight

In the midnight, I am drawing an over-white flower.

This is a misunderstanding.

'Piaopiao'(cat) has sapphire blue eyes, sleepless, deep and serene.

I doubt

Prepared to sacrifice but not know why

Prepared to choose but not know if worthwhile

Prepared to love but not know if it is true

Love to watch the red of propylene dripping and flowing in water.

MidnightI am alone.

Oh, the sleepless midnight, tomorrow I will catch the train.

The heart following you is unpredictable.

1-7-1998

In the later years, I will live in a longing. That's beautiful enough, my love.

There will be some good paintings and sentences for souvenirs.

Father is waiting for the daughter's marriage. But dad, I could not.

The perfect feverish chin, the ever-touched face, the eyes waiting for caress.

Why I always think you are innocent? God, I am turbid!

Only a few days but look much older. 'Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame'.

Jesus Christ, take me away!

Walk all around, could not stop the eyes and feet.

The spacious desert, the colorless winter, your essence is loneliness.

Heartbroken, break the heart of the lover and the one you love.

BLUES, the perfect and classical partial tone dilutes the black coffee.

Afterwards your feet are rotating, your dance could not stopping the woman with you whirling above the ground.

Give yourself a room, but BLUES could not fly on the river. You decide to float, float.

Let wild flowers blossom wantonly, regardless of the season, the color and the shape.

Let wild flowers blossom wantonly; let yourself float eternally.

Everybody will protect himself. There is a distance in a few days. It is tanned into the old.

But the old makes heart hurt. Smiling with tears and saying 'no longer intimate'.

Once lost it is irretrievable. Again.

The nature of winter is loneliness.

To be continued.

Second part