Why are the customs in Hunan mountain area of Qinling Mountains in Shaanxi so similar to those in Tang Dynasty?

Strange, why are the customs of Qinling Mountain in Shaanxi so similar to those of Hunan Mountain area of writer Tang?

Unexpectedly, in the process of submission, unexpected interesting things often happen. On August 3, 20 17, I received an online email from a magazine named Impression of Qinling Mountain in Xi 'an, Shaanxi Province, saying that their online publication would adopt some chapters from my previous series of essays, and asked me to send a recent photo and add their WeChat. So I added the work WeChat of their publication, and I also sent a photo email obediently. But on second thought, why don't I publish my articles in their paper magazines, but online, and online magazines don't pay the author's manuscript fee? So I sent a message to the editor. The editor said that they have not paid the author's manuscript fee for the time being recently. If they post it online, they will pay the author 60% of the remuneration. I will say that my contribution is for the paper magazine of your magazine. If there is a reward, forget it. At present, the novelty of readers' online reward has passed, and it is already difficult to reward. When the editor sent me the edited article, I said I would forget it. He also agreed at that time, but in the evening, that is, on the evening of August 14, he said that he had also sorted out the other two articles and sent me the links, saying that they were for my reference.

I have always respected the editor. I really worked hard to open the sample of the article sent by the editor. He focused on the chapters about customs written in my article and added subtitles. I have to say, just send these weaves out.

Finally, the editor replied that although I was in Hunan, the customs I described in my hometown mountain village were exactly the same as those he experienced in Qinling when he was a child. What he said was that I promised to keep him serializing online. I can only say that it will be published in their paper magazines first, and then it will be added online. He said that their paper magazines have been closed for half a year, and now they can only exist in the form of online magazines. I have to say, check me online and see my influence on the internet. I just want to find a suitable paper magazine to publish. If I had hung up on the Internet, I would have hung up long ago. I said, but he found that the customs in my hometown were so similar to those in the Qinling mountain village when he was a child. This is a big historical topic. Is my hometown the Qinling Mountains? But I heard from my father that my ancestors in surnamed tang lived in Tang State in Shanxi Zhou, and then moved to Quanzhou, Guangxi, and then moved to Tuqiao and Jinta Village in maoping town, Chengbu County, Hunan Province, and then moved to the mountain village where I was born.

I was shocked when I saw what he sent me. Is my hometown far from the Qinling Mountains? Am I descended from the Qinling Mountains? Speaking of Shaanxi, I feel very close. At first, I stepped into the literary world. Among the first few articles published, one was published in Xi Yanhe, Shaanxi Province, with the title "I am such a poet". Later, at 20 1 1, my "Archaeological Restoration of Cao Wen after the 1980s in a Dream of Red Mansions: 8 1 to 100" and the "goose feather poem style" I created began to become popular on the Internet, which was also reported by Xi Evening News for the first time. At that time, this report was seen by an important person who visited Xi 'an, and people who paid attention to it kept mentioning it. In retrospect, Shaanxi is really close to me and feels at home. There is another person who was born and raised in Qinling Mountains and has been engaged in cultural work in Xi 'an for many years. Suddenly, he read my manuscript and let him see his past. It seems that my childhood and his childhood experience in the countryside unexpectedly crossed the time and space overlap.

I am surprised that a mountain village in Hunan and a mountain village in Qinling, Shaanxi have the same thing. To say the least, we are of the same origin. Because of the seclusion of the mountain village, all this has been passed down intact. In this rapidly changing era, everything is about to disappear. When I talk to my father about the past during the Spring Festival every year, my father also has many things that are difficult to remember. More than once, I was afraid that my old customs would disappear with the passage of time, so I quickly used my memory of the past, so I began to write it down on 20 14, so as to leave it to future generations to let them know what old customs his father grew up in, how to make achievements and achievements in life, and how to come to the city step by step and stay away from home in a rapidly changing era. Even though I have been cut off by the invisible sickle of time and slowly cut off like grass, fortunately, I have become a writer, poet and scholar-style cultural person, and it is a great pleasure in life to record it in words and pass it on to future generations for use when they think it is necessary.

Thanks to the editor of Impression Qinling, who gave me the impulse to write this article. I attached his excerpts from my original text for the wanderers in Qinling Mountains and those who are far away from home and can't find such old customs to read, so as to eliminate the pain of "relying on others". At the same time, it can also be used by historians who focus on the textual research of customs history to find the truth behind it.

Attached:

A series of rural folk customs in Tang dynasty;

Chestnut tofu

After the bumper harvest in summer and autumn in rural areas in childhood, adults began to collect our calligraphy in the mountains as soon as they were free. Yin Bao? Mechanical watering of virtual cherry blossoms? Comment on ankle prints! ? How can you print money? Oblique condyle? Take the bag and relax? Lucky? What's going on? Printed barium brain with cherry blossoms? Small wall? Understand the milk with six thin letters, ok? Xing Huan? Guanidine lies? A spike about10mm long. If we remove "? With thin insurance? Sudden drinking? There is a small hole into which a stick can be inserted. We usually like to insert a stick from this small hole, put it on a flat ground or slate, and hold it with two fingers to rotate. Are printed books ridiculous? Idle? Turn like a fly. We children often get together and spin our own "? Yin Beiren is pregnant? Copy? Seal and kill? Turn the longest. Adults, on the other hand, carry bags sewn with white linen on their backs or on the ground. "? Why are you lying there? Is it a meal? Excuse me, Sue? Hey? Indian baking? What's next? Stupid copying, right? Bitter fairy terrier? Lemon? What? What do you mean? What's your impression? Are you scared? What about the dam? Brain fragments are frequently copied, folded and displayed by servants. What is wrong with me? Excuse me. Pavilion? Harsh? Stupid fundraising? What's the matter with you? -Jing's personal photo selection, publishing house servant, for Joe? After the water in the yellow bucket was cleaned overnight, I saw a thick layer of powder at the bottom of the yellow bucket. The adults let the water at the bottom of the yellow bucket flow through the hole half a centimeter high from the powder surface, and the rest is still wet. What about India? Yan Yan? Copy? What's the matter with you? What happened? What happened to all the boats? Imitate coastal dirt? I'm sorry, but I'm sorry Dirt? What's wrong with you, o? Promise? ∫ ring jiao harmonic sharp yellow? Yellow? Mode？ Is it too bad to smell benzene? Hey? Flash into a rotten prison and let it out? Accept Shen Lang's forgiveness? /p & gt；

Fern root powder

Did you do it? Double pollution? Where's the thumb? Guangdong, Jiangsu and China returned together? Addicted, they went to the mountains in droves to dig fern roots. When digging fern roots, they had to find a place with loess. Fern roots growing in loess only gave birth to "ferns". We call it "playing with ferns". After the adults picked up the tied fern roots, they smashed the fern roots in a stone trough with only one hole with a pair of bamboo tubes, smashed the fern roots with two one-meter-long wooden barrel pestles with thick bamboo handles, or directly used a two-meter-long big wooden bobbin as Ciba. The turbid water after washing fern roots enters the "yellow barrel" along a bamboo tube, which leads to a hole connecting rhubarb barrels. After the cleaned fern root residue can no longer wash out turbid water, take out the bamboo slips that lead water into the stone trough, and also take out the bamboo tube that connects the stone trough with the "rhubarb bucket" and cover it with a yellow bucket. After one night, remove the plug from the bottom of the yellow bucket for more than half an inch, and let out clear water. What is left at the bottom of the yellow barrel is white fern powder about two millimeters underwater. Take out the white fern powder, put it in a dustpan with white gauze, dry it in the sun, and it will dry into a plate structure. When you want to eat, take a piece and put it in a pot with oil and salt. The white powder immediately turns dark and the fern cake is ready. Adults usually pick dried bamboo shoots in spring and wrap them for lunch in the mountains. That kind of waxy soft taste lingers in my memory for a long time, just like a local flavor.

Beat rice cakes

The villagers have not only fern cakes for lunch, but also Ciba. Before the Chinese New Year, the glutinous rice was soaked in water for a few days, then the wood filled with glutinous rice was pierced with sickle-shaped holes in the bottom with white gauze or brown clothes, and put in a pot with water on the stove to "steam", and the water in the hot pot was regenerated, so that the glutinous rice was steamed. Put the steamed glutinous rice into an oval groove dug with big wood, which we adults call "Baba rack". The two ends of Baba frame are U-shaped, such as forked on both sides. Adults who play Baba stand at both ends of the Baba frame, with their feet on the side of the U-shaped landing. The two ends are made of "round bead wood" and the middle is gradually narrowed from both ends. It is a heavy and large wooden bobbin with a small round shape for holding. We call it Baba here. Two adults are pounding "glutinous rice" in the trough. I pound, you pound, I pound, you pound, I pound. Generally, two adults tamp the glutinous rice at both ends of the trough, then tamp it in the middle until the glutinous rice becomes a thin and long white strip, forget it, then fill a wooden basin with warm water, dip a bamboo rice spoon in it, and scrape off the "Baba" on the "Baba". Adults will still be there. As long as you take a ball of Baba in the trough and put it in a dustpan that has been sprinkled with white rice flour, a small ball of Baba will be sandwiched between your thumb and forefinger, and small round Baba will fall out from the gap between your thumb and forefinger and lay eggs one by one. We children roll these "egg Baba" from the fingers of adults until they are covered with white rice flour, then put them on a wooden board in rows, then fill them with wooden boards, press a wooden board on Baba, and then put Baba on this wooden board, and so on, layer by layer. We take them off the board layer by layer, put them in the "tower" and cover them. In order to prevent air leakage, we add water to the edge of the "tower cover", so that they can be sealed up until the busy farming month, and then open the "tower cover". Adults put "Baba" in their pockets, and when they work in the mountains, they will regenerate a fire and make Baba when they are hungry.

The second series of rural folk customs of Tang Dynasty;

Kill this road

Building roads and bridges, in the hearts of villagers, is a good thing to accumulate good deeds for future generations for thousands of years. Our village has a tradition of building roads and bridges every summer. On the seventh day of the seventh lunar month, everyone in the village will gather at the head of the road leading to the outside of the mountain, and then fill in the uneven parts of the road together, cut off the weeds extending from the roadside to the road, and cut off the branches that have just grown in the road. This is a lively scene of people building roads. People in our village are generally called "killing roads". Every time "killing the road" ends, when a group of people return to the village at sunset, they meet people from other villages on the road, and people from other villages will greet them head-on and say, "You killed the road again!" Everyone laughed. After a busy and tiring day, the villagers gathered in a house to eat "killing the road".

Every time my father takes me to the mountains to cross the wooden bridge on the stream. If he sees that one of the wooden bridges is a bit rotten, his father will pick up the axe in his hand, cut down a Chinese fir nearby, flatten it and put it on.

In our village, wooden bridges built on streams or gullies are usually made of three Chinese fir trees, and people in our village walk on them as if they were stepping on the ground. Urban residents outside the mountain village are definitely afraid to leave. Every time I cross the bridge on the road, I sometimes see a small Chinese fir tree added to the bridge and a small bamboo wrapped with ribbons inserted at the bridge head. My father told me that it was a flower bridge built by people for safety and health.

Pigs and dogs

If adults in our village are given a choice of what to do, they will generally choose to be pigs. The pigs in our village ate and slept, and slept and ate. The pig in our village can be said to have tasted everything in the world before it was killed, so when it was killed, it would make a long "safety" sound, as if it didn't feel any pain and was very happy. The last thing an adult wants to do is to be a dog. All the "dogs" in the village grew up eating shit and went hunting with their owners. Sometimes dogs can't even eat bones. The bones you eat unless you spit them out of a person's mouth.

Piggy wants to bring money back, paparazzi don't want money. The adults in our village said, "I sold dogs in my last life, and I have no children in my life." From the day when the pig was locked in the pigsty, we children had to carry bamboo baskets to fight pig grass. Pig grass has five sides and eight doors. Just in winter, the leek-leaf-like grass has just grown out of the ground, and the paddy field is floating on the water. "Floating" is a blue-red creature, and we adults call them "floating". There are cabbage leaves in the garden, sweet potato vines that died in winter, "pig's mouth" with thick leaves on the ridge, some leaves, even flowers that reflect sunlight, a new firewood called "Bangbangye", and banana leaves. In summer, the white-haired leaves, Houttuynia cordata Thunb., called Zegen by adults, cold fern thorns, red as vines, wild konjac and wild eight live are all eaten by pigs growing in deep mountains. Every time I wok, I smell a burst of Chinese herbal medicine. In winter, pigs can eat sweet potatoes, radishes, cabbages and everything in the garden before being killed. Compared with the pigs outside the mountain, our pigs are so much more expensive. But adults never realized this and never sold it outside. They just kept the "pig" until the New Year and killed it, and their family ate it slowly. Just keep one head a year, which can provide enough oil for the whole family for one year.

I remember when my family killed the first pig, it was snowing heavily, and the snow was blown by the wind outside our house. After killing pigs, it will be the New Year. In the first year, I hung a lot of bacon on my kang, and adults were always reluctant to eat it, always waiting for guests to come. As soon as my sister and I sat by the fireplace, we looked up and counted how many pieces of bacon there were every day. Once my mother was heartbroken that we had to eat, so she fried a bowl when there were no guests. We put it in a bowl like eating delicacies, licked it with our tongues, and ate a mouthful of rice, reluctant to take a bite. My mother said that we were like ancient landlords, stuttering with sauerkraut. Dad came back from outside and saw that we had fried bacon to eat. To kill him, he slapped his mother first, and then scolded him: "black sheep, you black sheep, remember to go." "Remember the tongue on the road" means eating the meal before death. Of course I understand how my father feels now.

At that time, we all raised bacon, and one day we got up early in the morning to count and found that three pieces of bacon were missing. Three pieces of bacon weigh at least 20 kilograms. As soon as we said it, the adults looked at the kang and found that it was really less. They found that a bundle of firewood placed outside the kitchen window was overturned and the thief climbed in through the window. Our village has never had a sense of preventing thieves. There is only a skateboard in that window, and there is no glass. Our family lost meat, and my father began to wonder who it was in the village, which meant that he was ill and went to the hospital at once. Finally, I couldn't find a clue. One night, my sister had a dream that the stolen bacon was hidden in the cellar of our village. In the cellar of our village, adults generally choose to open holes near the loess, where it is cool in summer and warm in winter, which is a good place to put sweet potatoes. My sister woke up from a dream, took me with a basket and went to the cellar where she dreamed. After we went in, we saw nothing but the cold mice. It's a pity that my dog was beaten around by adults, saying where he died that night and stopped barking, but he was usually happy at night. I feel sorry for the dog. I haven't eaten a meal since a puppy came to my house. My sister and I felt sorry for it. When we want to shit, we go to the back of the house and take off our pants, so that the puppy can eat while shitting. The puppy ate a round belly and ran with us, wagging its lovely tail and hugging our legs tightly. Sometimes those women who just gave birth to a baby and sat on the ground in the sun, just walked into the sun, smelled the shit and knew that the baby had shit, so they lifted the baby's ass into the air, took off the diaper and shouted, "I remember, I remember." All the big dogs and puppies in the village will come running and stick out their tongues to lick the shit-stained ass of the children. If someone loses his personality in order to please others, adults will scold others to lick their asses. Also said that I don't know if XXX licked XXX's ass clean. Adults hate dogs. If we hold the dog to play, adults will scold: "Don't put it down, a dog who grew up eating shit has nothing to hold."

black

My father is a hunter, my little dog, maybe our sister, takes a shit for him selflessly behind his parents' back every day. It grows long and strong, and sometimes it comes back with rabbits to play in front of us. I took the rabbit home. When the adults saw it, they said, "Look, dogs don't need to be taken care of. They can support themselves. " I think adults are really unfair to dogs. Not only are they not given food, but they are also allowed to look after their homes, hunt and deprive them of their prey. We call the dog who has deep feelings for me "Xiaohei" because it is so black that it has no hair. I went hunting with adults once and never came back. Come to think of it, I think animals have more foresight than us. Early in the morning, when his father took him hunting, the skylight just came out of the window, and he only heard the sound of opening the door with a "wow". "Little Black" made a "uh-huh" sound, came to the bed where I slept, and licked me from my dream to the bed with his feet. He kept licking my face with tears in his eyes. Finally, I left helplessly in the cry of my father. In the evening, I saw my father come back, and "Little Black" didn't come back. I asked my father, "Where is Blackie?" Father sat by the fire, didn't even put down his gun, sighed, and his eyes lit up and said, "Little Black was bitten by a snake, and I was buried deep in the forest." I cried as soon as I heard this. My mother also shed tears, held me in her arms and said, "Don't cry, son, I'll catch a little black for you later." I said I don't want another dog, I just want "little black". I hated my father in my heart and shouted to him, "Why did you take him hunting?"? He is still a puppy, less than one year old. " My father used to beat me, but not this time. He just stared at those wild and ferocious eyes like a lion and looked at the burning flames in the fireplace. The adult who went hunting with his father said, "Don't cry. At that moment, we heard Blackie suddenly screaming and running over. We saw him lying on the ground, unable to move. Unfortunately, he lost a good hunting dog. "

I cried so much that I couldn't eat that night. In my dream, I saw Blackie come back and lick my little face. Since then, I have never been near a dog or eaten dog meat. I often hear the shrill barking of dogs in the village. I know who hung an old dog on the stairs with a rope to eat dog meat and see it off. However, villagers usually see the dog off in this way because it is really old. Generally, they don't hang dogs for eating dog meat.

My parents, who are over 60 years old, still have dogs in the village. Every time my mother talks about dogs, she still talks about Blackie, who was as powerful as a lion. I remember that it was not an ordinary local dog at all. I remember my parents brought it back to the village from far away.

The third series of Tang rural folk customs;

Admit dry dad

In rural areas, if a family's children are in poor health after birth, adults will put up a flower bridge to set up a road monument for their children to live a long life. Generally, the road ahead leads to a village or a place on the road monument. Usually standing at a fork in the road. Some have set up memorial tablets of land gods and bodhisattvas on the roadside. The memorial tablet of the Land Bodhisattva consists of three or four stones, and a slate is placed horizontally on two slates vertical to the sky. Inside stood a stone with the words "Land of God" engraved on it. Almost every year when a child is ill, he will see a square box made of slate filled with incense sticks and paper ash for burning paper money.

Some even let the old trees or big stones on the roadside be godmothers and fathers for the sake of their youngest son's longevity. Our village is called "Songming". A child who recognizes a tree as an adoptive parent and a stone as an adoptive parent is called his son and daughter. When "giving names", it is nothing more than burning incense and paper money in front of trees and stones, especially the ancient trees and stones at the entrance of the village are "giving names". Some people don't cry all night for their newborn children. They wrote the words "The sky is grey, there is a crying lang at home" on red paper and posted them on the tree. So at that time, there were many ancient trees and stones on the roadside of our village, and no one dared to touch them, because they became gods in the hearts of villagers who could save them from disaster. Unfortunately, many children in the village always die of illness. They also chose big trees and big stones to "send their names" to save money. Because in reality, it costs a lot of money to recognize a godmother. Not only a load of food, but also four pairs of cloth shoes, and the fabric of two clothes. I usually have a date to sew the New Year's birthday. So parents choose this convenient and mysterious method for the safety and health of their children.

Call back the patient's soul

When children in rural areas get old with colds, their fathers will turn over an ancient book that they don't know when to copy. According to the illness I made that day, I met some ghosts and gods, and then I said to the gods we met in front of the shrine: So-and-so God, if you bless my son to live a long life, I will give you two "loyalty" and "money". This kind of behavior is called "gambling god" in the village. If we "bet" money on God for three days, our cold will be cured, and our father will send God away on the way where he should go. When sending a gift, you should not only burn incense paper, but also soak a bowl of rice in water. After the paper is burned, you can play "hexagrams" and then sprinkle paper ash on the rice, and it's over. If we can't cure the cold by betting paper money on God, our parents will borrow some tung oil from some uncles who have tung oil and burn it on the fire with an iron ladle, saying, "If you ghosts come again, I will fry you with tung oil." Spoon a little hot tung oil. In the cry of parents, we began to realize that there are ghosts and gods in the world at an early age. We seem to hear ghosts screaming when they are really blown up. If our parents are not around at night, we will be afraid of ghosts and often hide our heads under the covers to imagine what ghosts look like. If you can't fry ghosts with tung, and you still can't get better after using various indigenous methods, please ask the "fairy" to "seduce the soul".

My family has never invited a "fairy". My father is Mr. Feng Shui. If we are too thin, if we are sick, or look like we are going to die, our mother will say that we have "miscarried" and wonder if we are reborn. Mother will use scissors to cut off a bunch of hair, nails of ten fingers and nails of ten toes above our heads, wrap them in red paper, then put the red paper in yellow mud that is as soft as clay, knead the yellow mud into a ball as big as a fist, and then put it in a fire pit to cover it with an open flame. After being put into the fire pit for seven days, throw away the hard yellow ball. In my memory, I don't know what magical effect it has. Sometimes, once I die, I am full of energy again. Sometimes, when our parents see that we are neurotic or sick, they will wonder what scares us out of our wits. Mom will call us sooner or later. Now, the cry of the soul still echoes in the mountain village deep in my memory. My mother usually wraps a cup of rice in my underwear and puts it on the roof. The house shouts to the sun, "Guo Ming, come back!" " "I followed her voice in the room and said," Mom, I'm home. " My mother came up to me in the room while shouting, then patted me on the head, patted me on the shoulder and back and said, "Don't be afraid, son, your seven souls and six souls are back." "Then I was dragged to the shrine to kowtow. After kowtowing, the mother will say, "Ancestor, bless my son Tang to live a hundred years and get married easily." "Then burn paper and incense, and my mother will put some oil and salt in the pot to cook a wine glass for me. Some people generally shout "three mornings and three nights", some even shout "seven mornings and seven nights", and some even shout "fifteen mornings and fifteen nights". If the child's health gets better every day at the sight of screaming, parents will keep shouting until the child recovers from a minor illness.

Resurrection after death

If evocation doesn't work, you have to call "immortals" or "Taoists" to "seduce souls". The "immortal" in the village is usually a woman. Suddenly, she didn't eat or drink for a few days, saying that she was possessed by the "immortal" and couldn't help singing. Suddenly, in the form of singing folk songs, she said that her family was "disaster" and was dying. The "disaster" described by our parents is an invisible light flying from the ground, and whoever disappears will suffer. "Disaster" means "curse".

People who pretend to be "immortals" go to lie on the bed in the main house first. After burning incense and paper money in front of the shrine of the main house and outside the hall, the people who came with her went to the hall and set a table on which a liter of rice was filled with bamboo tubes and three incense sticks were inserted. Under the fragrant rice tube, there is a bowl of "knife head" meat and a row of white rice cakes made of glutinous rice flour. The people in the village are very lively. Men, women and children will gather around a pot of "paper money" that has just been ordered in the hall, throwing clear water with or without burning paper money, and singing "Calling Fairy Songs" such as "Immortals come down to earth quickly and every dust can save all beings" to each other. After singing for a while, I saw the woman dressed as a fairy coming out of the main room, sitting on a stool on the wooden wall next to the table where she bought incense, wine and rice, her hands, feet and limbs trembled in horror, and then sang like a possessed fairy. After the concert, the host asked the host, and Hezekiah asked the west. Then the master wants fairy water, and the west wants fairy water. Fairy water is the fairy water that a woman dressed as a fairy sings and hovers for a while on the top of a burning cup, and it becomes a magical "fairy water". After these games, I will "send gods" or "lure souls" or "build bridges" for my family. The routine of sending gods is no different from my father's, but there is always a link of "catching souls". Usually, a "fairy" catches a spider in the corner, even if it catches a "soul" that has lost its mind. We children always regard the spider we call "Bos" as their own or other people's souls. The difference is that my father is "reading" and "becoming immortal" is just singing. "Fairy" usually plays the role of "seven fairies". "Seducing the soul" means holding underwear that people who are considered to have lost their souls often wear. The "immortal" covered a cup of rice with the underwear of the lost soul, kept circling with burning incense, singing and singing, and then gave the cup of rice to the host family, saying that the soul would return to its original body after cooking and eating it. After the "soul-returning meal", we walked a flower bridge. Huaqiao means to write the words "bless someone to live a long life and be easy to repair" on a flat small Chinese fir. A small bamboo is covered with ribbons, and then the fairy walks and sings with the bamboo covered with ribbons, and walks to the bridge near the main house. The main house and the villagers followed with the written bridge wood, and also put a ceremony of burning incense and paper at the bridge head. The immortal asked his master to put the small bridge on the wooden frame, and the immortal stepped on the bridge and sang the words "From now on, your son will grow up easily". This is a soothing activity for children to bless healthy adults. For the elderly and adults, some have to "replace the dead for life." My father and villagers often call it "replacing death with life".

I've seen my father do this. If he tells Fortune that an old man will be sad for a certain year, he will help others to "replace life with death". The act of "replacing life with death" is to prick a grass man, put on the old man's rotten clothes and burn them with paper money. Of course, there are also rituals of asking God for divination. In my young mind, it left a mysterious impression on me. The ceremony of "replacing death with life" is to tell the gods that this person is dead and reborn, and that the disaster of such and such death has passed, and life still needs to be extended.

It seems that people in our village have been busy exploring life and death for themselves and their loved ones. Even though they live a very poor life, they are always full of greed for life, afraid of premature death, and afraid of their relatives leaving. They build roads and bridges all the year round, and few people move bridges at ordinary times. If someone has a black sheep, a person who endangers the peace of society and the village, and a person who climbs the ashes and doesn't talk, most people will scold: "That's because his family has too many wooden backs." In this way, the villagers not only seek happiness, wealth, children and grandchildren in reality, but also keep repeating the things of building roads and bridges year after year, and also communicate their imaginary roads to another world through various ceremonies of "offering sacrifices to the gods". Under the intersection of the road of reality and the road of imagination, they are continuing the incense of their family and even a nation.

20 17 Aug 15 Written at the foot of Yuelu Mountain

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About the author:

Tang, male, Han nationality, now lives in Changsha, a member of Hunan Writers Association and a goose feather poet. Since the publication of his works, he has published millions of words in poetry magazine, Zhongshan, Beijing literature, star poetry magazine and other domestic and foreign publications. In 20 16, the Chinese version of international daily was published in the United States and Peru. Through repeated reading, Cao Xueqin's writing style buried in the last forty chapters of Cheng Gaoben was excavated, and the work of A Dream of Red Mansions, Archaeological Restoration in Cao Wen after 80 chapters of A Dream of Red Mansions: 8 1 to 65438+, was revived in an archaeological scientific way. His dream-chasing deeds have been reported by Hunan Satellite TV, Zhejiang Satellite TV, Beijing Satellite TV, Guizhou Satellite TV, Liaoning Satellite TV, Hubei Satellite TV and countless newspapers such as New Weekly, China Daily, China Culture News, Guangzhou Daily, xiaoxiang morning herald, Sanxiang Metropolis Daily, Changsha Evening News and Xi Evening News. In 20 17, the world mathematical puzzle "Goldbach conjecture 1+ 1" and the world mathematical puzzle "3x+ 1" were successively conquered.