我有失去自由的自由
这两天读到了一位奇思妙想的70后老文艺青年的自传体小说，让我佩服不已。相比于积极向上的名人自传，我更喜欢这篇脑洞大开的回忆录。再仔细一想，这应该是我在读完《月亮与六便士》之后最喜欢的作品了。一部分原因是我自认为我们心气相像，但更主要是我很佩服作者，在真真假假的现实世界里保持自我，在漫无边际的思想和文学世界里不脱离现实。
我把我最喜欢的部分摘抄下来，阅读全文请点击下面两个链接阅读。
下：失去自由的自由
我用那扇铁门把全世界关进了监狱，而自己逍遥法外。
我一生都没上过正规的全日制大学，我不知道正规全日制大学是否教会了你们应对环境的有效捕食技巧，是否教会了你们面对不测风云，走出痛苦焦虑的精神治愈能力；亦或抹杀每个人的独立个性，独立思考，只是把大家变成了标准罐头投放社会，供少数权贵大快朵颐。
多年以后，我更理解了刘院长的那句话：人这一辈子，没有谁能一直光明磊落，但千万别放弃对光明磊落的追求。要想看清人性，首先要敢于把自己的灵魂放在手术台上解剖。要正视自己人性灰暗的那一面。
年少的时候，我们厌恶恶，讨厌一切不美好的东西。成年以后，经过人生的跌跌撞撞，我们不得不承认恶的存在，开始想控制恶，消灭恶。实不知，当我们定义善的时候，恶就已经如影相随。当我们定义了好人的时候，坏人就已经存在了。
往深了说，这也是人类认知的局限，人类想要认知实物，就必须要下定义，而任何定义都无法涵盖全部，必会产生非定义的事物。比如，当你定义美人标准那一刻，实际上非美人就同时产生了，非美人是什么人呢，平庸的人，丑的人，或更丑的人。
有些事未经他人苦，就理解不了他人的难，直到后来我自己创业才理解，在中国，真正的较量远不是台面上的明刀明枪，而是人性深水区的你死我活。
最损的就是报善以恶，尤其那些没事倒地装病，等好心人来救，然后反咬一口讹人钱财的最缺德，本来社会上好人就不多了，她偏在万人中把他挑出来，给与重重一击，似乎在宣告：让你做好人，活该！更败坏的是连法官都会认为这合理，都会问，你没撞倒人家为什么扶。
我认为的任性不是有钱没钱都点龙虾，抽中华。我认为任性是活出真性情，是年近不惑，还敢善良，还敢真诚，还敢酒后吐真言，还敢爱，敢恨，爱的彻底，恨的畅快。还敢瞪眼睛说不，微笑说我愿意；还敢有理想，有追求，而不顾是否能实现；还敢哭，敢笑，敢酒后去KTV吼几嗓子，而不在乎是否失态丢人；还敢迎着世俗的眼光，坚持特立独行，做自己。
做实业这事，还真不是靠着一腔热血就行的。从进货到包装，到定价到宣传，到渠道拓展，到运营管理，到应对各个山头的吃拿卡要。都需要丰富的行业经验才能应对，而我们除了在宣传环节略有擅长外，其他各个环节全靠摸石头过河，试错成本极高。
有一次，我们向业内一家非常有实力的米业公司老总请教。酒席间，这个老总对我们这种瞎胡闹打法，嗤之以鼻。他说：你们根本就不懂这行业咋玩的，我们每年都有国家巨额农业补贴，我1元进的大米，可以卖8毛还能赚钱，你们咋跟我们抢市场。更别说我们通过规模效应，可以把成本降的更低，你们这种体量的想在这个领域存活，简直连炮灰都不配。
有句话，“一切为我所用”。听起来有点狂妄，其实里面有大智慧。“一切”都是工具，但有一样东西不是工具，那就是“我”。这个“我”不是肉体的我，而是觉悟的生命，本来面目，或者说是真正的我。正因为“我”是觉悟的，所以才能用的起来。否则“一切”给你用，你也用不了。佛经里有句话，“天上地下，唯我独尊”，听起来也是狂话，其实不是，这里的“我”也是觉悟的我，是人人都有的觉性，有什么值得狂妄的？
为了让生命最根本的“我”不被工具化，我们需要在发展中保持想象力和诗性，保持善的进化的动机，保持有机、变化、热爱，也就是保持意义生成的可能性。
但现实是残酷的，从来就没有什么救世主。在天灾人祸面前，每个人都像在溺水，拼命想抓住一根稻草，却毫无所获，越陷越深。眼睁睁看自己一点点沉入水底。我非常能体会那种绝望，焦虑与悲凉。
我给你的意见是，要么你就教会他如何去写。要么你就换个能写的助理。记住，你是将，不是兵，你要照顾的是上百人的市场团队，而不是某个人。作为将，你的作用是如何给整个团队战斗力加成，如何让整个团队效率更高，效果更好。你要处理的永远是一类事，而不是一件事。教会他或者换掉他都是处理一类事的办法，而替他做只是处理一件事的办法。
在GM口腔工作这三年，经过不断学习思考和实践，我把如何当好一个团队领导归纳为以下三点。
第一，要有独特的人格魅力让大家尊重和喜欢……
第二，要有高超的分配技巧，让大家竞争而不纷争……
第三、要有资深的专业能力，能够带领大家克服困难走向胜利。
宇鹏来到GM集团后，最突出的改变，就是建立起了一整套的可量化的数字工作体系。
第一：描述可量化……
第二：评估可量化……
第三 、预测可量化……
咱们小时候都学过木桶理论，讲的是，木桶的短板决定装水的多少，这导致每个人都想全面发展。动不动就既要，还要，都要，这是不现实的。真正能决定你高度的其实是你的长板，你只有集中精力把长板做的更长，才能在激烈竞争中获得突破。
如何界定你在某件事上是否有天赋？1、当你对做某件事享受过程而不在意结果时；2、当你做某件事很容易，别人却很难时；3、当你总是心心念念某件事，没有条件创造条件也想做，而不是被逼无奈去做时。
黑格尔说：人类从历史中学到的唯一教训，就是人类无法从历史中学到任何教训。
即便是骂我的回复，我都不会删除，尽管我们身处一个思想备受禁锢的时空，但我希望能用心中的铁门把全世界关在门外，独在这篇文章下，留一个自由的空间，让大家可以在这里透透气，尽情的表达自己。
我认为，人性是兽性、人性、和灵性三者结合的综合体。兽性、人性和灵性就像三原色，不同的配比调和，形成了形形色色的人。
人类的进化经过了数百万年，人类的文明只有区区几千年，我们至今无法用几千年的文明来对抗数百万年的基因。这就是，我们活到今天，身体依然里存在兽性的原因。
失去人性失去很多，失去兽性失去一切。
回到现实，面对大家现在的处境，我想问大家一句，你现在的生活到了会饿死的地步吗？如果没有，请多保留一些人性，多存有一份希望。
如果说，兽性是站在个体角度思考，人性是站在种族角度思考，那么，灵性就是站在宇宙角度的审视。除了人性和兽性外，人体到底还有什么？人的思想是否就止步于兽性和人性？
灵性是一切皆可存在和一切皆不存在的宇宙本身。我们即是宇宙，宇宙即是我们。
我们只能按时间维度把先观测到的称之为因，后观测到的称之为果。我们试图在因果之间找到稳定的规律。
A Horsie Named “Donkey”
There was a little horse with a round belly and short legs, only capable of swaying back and forth as he walked.
People often mistook him for a donkey, which left him feeling somewhat speechless.
With puffed cheeks and drooping eyes, he had come to accept being called a donkey.
One day, he met a little girl with short hair and round eyes, resembling him with her chubby cheeks and a cute tummy.
She had a bright, shiny pink hairpin in her hair, looking truly beautiful.
At first glance, the girl instantly took a liking to the little horse.
"Oh, so you're a horse," she approached the little horse.
"But you look like a donkey, hehe."
"Well, in that case, I'll call you Donkey!"
She embraced the little horse, affectionately stroking his head and gently patting his belly, her smile becoming even more radiant.
The little horse's eyes suddenly brightened, taking on a gentle curve as he felt a happiness he had never experienced before.
He lowered his head to look at his round belly and, for the first time, found himself quite adorable.
一匹名叫“驴”的小马
有一匹小马，他的肚子又圆又大，腿又短又粗，每次走路都摇摇摆摆的。
常常有人误以为他是只驴，他总是默默无语。脸颊鼓胀，眼睛低垂。
反正，就算别人叫他驴，他也不在意了。
有一天，他遇到了一个短头发圆眼睛的小女孩，就像他一样，有着胖嘟嘟的脸颊。女孩头上夹着一个亮闪闪的粉色发夹，看起来真漂亮。
“哦，原来你是马啊。” 她走近小马。
“不过你看起来有点像驴呢，呵呵。”
“那好吧，我就叫你‘驴’吧！”
她把小马拥到怀里，喜欢地摸摸他的头，轻轻拍了拍他的肚子，笑容愈发灿烂。
小马的眼睛一下子亮了起来，变得温柔弯曲，感受到了前所未有的幸福。
他低头看看自己圆圆的肚子，这是他第一次也觉得自己很可爱。
坐在三轮摩托车上兜风
小时候生病的时候爸爸妈妈抱着我慢慢地摇来摇去，一直唱着 “小燕子，穿花衣，年年春天来这里，我问燕子你为啥来？燕子说：‘这里的春天最美丽！‘”
夏天的傍晚，爸爸下班后骑着边三轮摩托车载着我去买菜，无论多贵爸爸都会买我爱吃的大虾，买完菜我们骑车穿过狭窄的街道，我坐在侧边的挎斗里享受着迎面出来的暖风，开心地和路上遇见的邻居爷爷奶奶打招呼。那一刻，爸爸和我仿佛是整条街道最酷的两个人。
八岁的时候，夏天一个人去上美术课，走过车来车往的南京路，顶着烈日爬很长很长的台阶，在老师家画一整天的画，中午泡一盒康师傅红烧牛肉面，香喷喷地吃着面和高中的哥哥姐姐们聊天，下午终于画完后我都会兴奋的一路小跑回家，带着我临摹的梵高或雷诺阿，来不及要给爸爸妈妈看。
小学的时候，睡前妈妈会陪我读英语，她比我学得快，所以都是妈妈先学会，然后她先说一句然后我跟着重复一句。有时候我累了，会在妈妈的朗读中睡着。现在妈妈在老年大学学英语，换我来帮她读课文，一句一句通过微信语音信息，穿过太平洋和十三个小时，让妈妈听到。
喜欢过年的原因很多，其中一条是过年前都要买新衣服，大年初一一定要从头到尾穿新的衣服。我和爸爸妈妈过年前的几个周末都会去中山路逛街，中午来顿肯德基，我开心得不得了。大年初一的早上，我会早早醒来，兴奋地穿上自己崭新的衣服，迫不及待地要出门见邻居和亲戚拜年，展示我的新衣服。这身新衣服的喜悦可以持续一整个春天。
刚有电脑的时候，我和爸爸妈妈会一起凑在电脑前看铁齿铜牙纪晓岚，一集接一集得笑不停，看到错过睡觉时间，很晚的时候三个人才会恋恋不舍地去睡觉。好久没和爸爸妈妈看电视了。
夏天晚上洗完澡后，全家一人一根雪糕。每年夏天我家都去批发雪糕，几乎每天都吃。每一种雪糕都有好像独特的记忆，哪个是在小花园跳皮筋时吃的，哪个是我妈最爱吃的，那个是邻居娘娘推荐的，绿舌头，小咖啡，奶砖，红豆棒… 每个都吃得没心没肺。
今天早上醒来突然很想和我爸一起去街道里的早市买油条豆浆，可现在我身边没有我爸，楼下也没有油条豆浆。
The Razor’s Edge
The book that made me cry on an airplane. One of my two favorite books. Have you ever read a book that made your heart feel an overwhelming sense of belonging? Here are some parts from the books that I loved while reading and wrote down.
Death ends all thing and so is the comprehensive conclusion of a story, but marriage finished it very properly too and the sophisticated are ill-advised to sneer at what is by convention termed a happy ending.
The dead looks terribly dead when they’re dead.
“Perhaps whatever it is that happened to him during the war has left him with a restlessness that is won’t let him be. Don’t you think he may be pursuing an ideal that is hidden in a cloud of unknowing—like an astronomer looking for a star that only a mathematical calculation tells him exists?”
“He gives me such an odd impression sometimes; he gives the impression of a sleep-walker who’s suddenly wakened in a strange place and can’t think where he is.”
Solitude, and an air so pure that it goes to your head like wine and you feel like a million dollars.
“What would happen to America if everyone shirked as you’re shirking?”
“You’re very severe, honey,” he smiled. “The answer to that is that everyone doesn’t feel like me. Fortunately for themselves, perhaps most people are prepared to follow the normal course; what you forget is that I want to learn as passionately as—Gary, for instance, wants to make pots of money.”
(Lin: there is the same thing in the moon and sixpence)
“I wish I could make you see how exciting the life of the spirit is and how rich in experience. It’s illimitable. It’s such a happy life. There’s only one thing like it, when you’re up in a plane by yourself, high, high, and only infinity surrounds you. You’re intoxicated by the boundless space. You feel such a sense of exhilaration that you wouldn’t exchange it for all the power and glory on the world. I was reading Descartes the other day. The ease, the grace, the lucidity. Gosh!”
… and they talked so brightly, with so much conviction that what they were saying was worth saying, that you almost thought they were talking sense.
“… there are men who are possessed by an urge so strong to do some particular thing that they can’t help themselves, they’ve got to do it. They’re prepared to sacrifice everything to satisfy their yearning.”
“Even the people who love them?”
“Oh, yes”
“Is that anything more than plain selfishness?”
“I wouldn’t know.” I smile.
It’s a toss-up when you decide to leave the beaten track. Many are called but few are chosen.
“He said that the world isn’t a creation, for out of nothing nothing comes; but a manifestation of the eternal nature; well, that was all right, but then he added that evil is as direct a manifestation of the divine as good.”
“I’ve always said that eight was the perfect number,” said Elliott, determined to look on the bright side of things. “It’s intimate enough to permit of general conversation and yet large enough to give the impression of a party.”
He greeted me with pleasant cordiality and indeed seemed as glad to see me as if I were an old friend, but I had the impression that his rather noisy heartiness was a habit of manner that scarcely corresponded with his inner feeling.
And now, as thought she had sought to catch a sunbeam in her hand and it slipped through her fingers as she grasped, she was a trifle dismayed.
Unless love is passion, it’s not love, but something else; and passion thrives not on satisfaction, but on impediment.
Passion is destructive. It destroyed Anthony and Cleopatra, Tristan and Isolde, Parnell and Kitty O’shea. And if it doesn’t destroy it dies.
In business sharp practice sometimes succeeds, but in art honest is not only the best but the only policy.
“I very nearly fell in love with him myself once. You might as well fall in love with a reflection in the water or a ray of sunshine or a cloud in the sky. I had a narrow escape. Even now when I think of it I tremble at the danger I ran.”
“I strove with none, for none was worth my strive.
Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art;
I warmed both hands before the fire of Life;
It sinks, and I’m ready to depart.”
“… self-sacrifice is a passion so overwhelming that besides it even lust and hunger are trifling.”
I think he’s been seeking for a philosophy, or maybe a religion, and a rule of life that’ll satisfy both his head and his heart.
(To be continued…)
The Moon and Six Pence
The Moon and Six Pence is one of my two favorite books (the other one is The Razor’s Edge also by Maugham). I read it in one sitting during a beautiful summer trip visiting Cadaqués in Spain and many towns in the south of France - an absolute heavenly experience. Here are some quotes I wrote down during reading.
“Look here, if everyone acted like you, the world couldn’t go on”
“That’s a damned silly thing to say”
It was a night so beautiful that your soul seemed hardly able to bear the prison of the body.
Art is a manifestation of emotion, and emotion speaks a language that all may understand.
It is not difficult to be unconventional in the eyes of the world when your unconventionality is but the convention of your set. It affords you then an inordinate amount of self-esteem. You have the self-satisfaction of courage without the inconvenience of danger.
Beauty is something wonderful and strange that the artist fashions out of the chaos of the world in the torment of his soul. And when he has made it, it is not given to all to know it. To recognize it you must repeat the adventure of the artist. It is a melody that he sings to you, and to hear it again in your own heart you want knowledge and sensitiveness and imagination.
Each one of us is alone in the world. He is shut in a tower of brass, and can communicate with his fellows only by signs, and the signs have no common value, so that their sense is vague and uncertain. We seek pitifully to convey to others the treasures of our heart, but they have not the power to accept them, and so we go lonely, side by side but not together, unable to know our fellows and unknown by them. We are like people living in a country whose language they know so little that, with all manner of beautiful and profound things to say, they are condemned to the banalities of the conversation manual. Their brain is seething with ideas, and they can only tell you that the umbrella of the gardener's aunt is in the house.
I do not know what infinite yearning possesses you, so that you are driven to a perilous, lonely search for some goal where you expect to find a final release from the spirit that torments you. I see you as the eternal pilgrim to some shrine that perhaps does not exist. I do not know to what inscrutable Nirvana you aim. Do you know yourself? Perhaps it is Truth and Freedom that you seek, and for a moment you thought that you might find release in Love.
I have an idea that some men are born out of their due place. Accident has cast them amid certain surroundings, but they have always a nostalgia for a home they know not. They are strangers in their birthplace, and the leafy lanes they have known from childhood or the populous streets in which they have played, remain but a place of passage. They may spend their whole lives aliens among their kindred and remain aloof among the only scenes they have ever known. Perhaps it is this sense of strangeness that sends men far and wide in the search for something permanent, to which they may attach themselves. Perhaps some deep-rooted atavism urges the wanderer back to lands which his ancestors left in the dim beginnings of history. Sometimes a man hits upon a place to which he mysteriously feels that he belongs. Here is the home he sought, and he will settle amid scenes that he has never seen before, among men he has never known, as though they were familiar to him from his birth. Here at last he finds rest.
我的世界，我的星空宇宙
闭上眼睛
是只属于我自己一个人的宇宙
浩瀚无穷的天际
倍感熟悉的深邃
温暖地包裹着我
星光闪烁，好像是这个宇宙的呼吸
与我的呼吸节拍应和
好快活，好自由
这个宇宙与尘世分离
分离得彻彻底底、干干净净
这里是我千万思绪的归属
是我作为一个存在的唯一意义
只要闭上眼睛
就能看见我的星空宇宙
就知道我的世界还在
<3
黑色的、灰色的、彩色的一天
从来没觉得自己吃过苦
每天都活得满满当当
黑色的、灰色的、彩色的天都有个
但无论是什么天
过一晚再睁开眼，就能看到远处的一缕曙光
但就在深夜关灯前的一个瞬间
看了一眼自己在这个出租房搬弄的小家具
和挂在门后错乱搭配的睡衣睡裤
突然想起他们在每个城市呆过的故事
这些黑色的、灰色的、彩色的故事
就像放电影一样
在我眼前一幕幕飞过
从山东到北京
从北京到美国
一路的折腾，一路的倔强
在自我探索中会时而迷茫
在爱与不爱间也哭哭笑笑
仿佛这睡衣睡裤默默地承载了这一路所有的苦乐
仿佛关灯前的这一刻
他们突然告诉我
原来这一路吃了很多的苦啊
爱我的人也吃了很多的苦啊
我只能继续前行
更努力地去爱
爱是温暖的、是强大的
在爱面前，无论是什么天
苦也都让我觉得很甜
Dear Louis
Dear Louis,
Oh my, how did I get this lucky to have met you?
You have the kindest eyes, lips, and soul
Every warm breath you take
Every gentle word you say
Every intimate hug you give me
Followed by a soft kiss, a long playful nose rub, giggles, and seeing my own reflection in your clear, loving eyes
Every good morning text animated with a heart balloon or full-screen eggs
Every sparkle in your eyes when you see I’m sad
Every silly laugh we shared and forget the next minute
All of these make me fall deeper and deeper in love with you
In our two-person bubble
I feel so safe to take off my makeup completely
To forget my name and
Embrace all of the emotions and questions that are exploding inside me
We will have many more fond moments together
We will paint together
Read in the sun together
Walk the alleyways of Seville together
Dance to 80s Chinese pop songs, or your favorite Italian rap, while pasta is cooking
Go on weekend “grocery tours” just like you did in Paris as a child
Work hard, side by side, on our jobs, hobbies, real and surreal dreams
And kiss more
Lips and Eskimo
Till the butterflies wake up and fly out to dance in the brightest sunshine
Life has no meaning unless one lives it with a will, Gauguin said
Did I tell you that you inspire me every day to search for my will?
Happy Valentine’s, my love <3
Forever Yours,
Lin
Crossing Half of China to Sleep with You
I love poems. I’m sharing one of my favorite Chinese poems with you today, in both English and Chinese. Enjoy.
Crossing Half of China to Sleep with You
— Written by Yu Xiuhua, originally translated by Ming Di and edited by me
To sleep with you or to be slept with, what’s the difference if there’s any?
Two bodies collide – the force, the flower pushed open by the force
The spring mirage in the flowering – nothing more than this
And this we mistake as life restarting.
Across China, things are happening:
Volcanoes erupting, rivers running dry
Political prisoners and displaced workers forgotten
Elk deer and red-crowned cranes shot
I cross the hail of bullets to sleep with you
I press many nights into one morning to sleep with you
I run across many of me and many of me run into one to sleep with you
Yet I can be misled by butterflies of course
And mistake praise as spring
A village like Hengdian as home. But all these
All of these are absolutely indispensable reasons that I sleep with you
(Note: Hengdian is a film studio town in China)
穿过大半个中国去睡你
— 余秀华
其实，睡你和被你睡是差不多的，无非是
两具肉体碰撞的力，无非是这力催开的花朵
无非是这花朵虚拟出的春天让我们误以为生命被重新打开
大半个中国，什么都在发生：火山在喷，河流在枯
一些不被关心的政治犯和流民
一路在枪口的麋鹿和丹顶鹤
我是穿过枪林弹雨去睡你
我是把无数的黑夜摁进一个黎明去睡你
我是无数个我奔跑成一个我去睡你
当然我也会被一些蝴蝶带入歧途
把一些赞美当成春天
把一个和横店类似的村庄当成故乡
而它们
都是我去睡你必不可少的理由