Goose Landing Rock was at the junction of three provinces, Shaanxi, Henan and Hubei. The joint of three provinces or ancient states was largely a mystery spot.
A daring stream flew down from the wide-shouldered mountains from the Shaanxi side, that was called Eagle Fly Creek. There wasn't much water in the flow actually. However, the height of the mountains and steepness of the slopes pushed that small stream of water off rocks and their horrifying formations. As they said in Chinese, when the mountains werer barren, the water was also vicious. An angry eagle jumped off some ugly protruding mountains and stirred up a valley full of vexatious virility in the form of mist and shrieking noise. Yang Qi or the energy of Yang over-spilled the valley and the 50 mile radius. Screaming, crying, echoes, mists, non-stop noises, this part of world was alive and kicking, for thousands of years and still going.
Small Goose River from the Henan side, however, had more than ten times of the water flow, compared to Eagle Fly Creek. By contrast, she strolled leisurely amidst mountains and valleys, played with flowers and birds, kissed grasses and tree leaves, clear to the river bed, tender and sweet. Small schools of little fish of bright colors and strange fins could be seen with vivid details in the body of her dancing water. One could stop and count the pebbles down and under. Small Goose River also sang, in her small and tender voices. Only attentive ears could hear, of course.
Small Goose River and Eagle Fly Creek met, exactly at the provincial border between Shaanxi and Henan. The strangest thing was that the joint of two rivers did not produce a bigger river as it was supposed to be. Goose Landing Valley was green, fantastically green all year long. Big trees with giant leaves blocked off everything. The sky was always gray and the clouds never adrift. There were shades, damp shades forever. Outside world ceased to be. The Goose Landing Valley forest grew too thick even for birds to fly through or wild animals to pass. The seasoned hunter had to take a detour here. Such a thickety seemed like a dark conspiracy, a cover-up of a secrecy with the size of the heaven or the earth. It was all peaceful inside the forest and nowhere could the sound of a running river be heard. There was no river, without a hint of water. The running water disappeared, dried up, and left forever. Big tree trunks joined each other to lift up smooth black rocks of giant proportion. A heavy, heavy silence prevailed, aided by all the rocks. Rocks, rocks, lips were all sealed.
The rocks in Goose Landing Valley were as smooth as black marble; clean, no dust could land on them, no moss could grow. Never even try to walk on those rocks, for you might slip and fall and crack your skull. You might become liquid and disappear into the rocks. Locals called them black gold. Heavy, and silent. Rocks, rocks, lips all were sealed.
The thick jungle stretched a few miles to the banks of the Crimson River; yet in the backside of this majestically mysterious forest, one could find the largest rock of all, black in color of course, lying there peacefully amidst some of the tallest trees all the three provinces could produce. This rock had roughly a rectangulor shape, about 10 yards wide and 20 yards long, shining like a black mirror. As if blessed with divine power, it cut out a small inner world of interesting size in a heavily guarded and hostile environment. The surface of the rock was so even and smooth that one easily could envision divine design. There must have been a divine ax that cut it to make this magic mirror, a mirror so shiny and so black that every particle of dust shall slip off and moss shy away from growing on it. According to legend, when the sun reached the pinnacle at midday, all kinds of colors danced and weaved around the rock, a magic world of charm and beauty was created and veiled in a matter of a few minutes. Through the corridor of time not many common soul had ever witnessed such magic. Yet a few dynasties back, a high court official journeyed through this place on his self-awarded plain-clothes vacation. For the deeply devoted Taoist, wandering the mountains was his way to pay his pilgrimage of learning. He was the one who saw everything, including the dancing colors. That moment of heavenly revelation inspired him to the point of contemplating about resigning from the emperor's court and becoming a hermit right here at this spot. However, the images of his wife and children and all other this-worldly things pulled him back from his day dream. Instead, he ordered and allotted land and funds under his mighty power to construct an exquisite temple around the rock, Black Gold Mirror or Buddha's Halo, as it was ordained. A small pagoda was erected at the spot where the two waters join. The minister was a meticulous man, he emphasized that no human hand touch the rock. Any blemish would result in severe punishment. All the building material must be taken from outside of the forest. The trees that must be cut down for the sake of the temple should be buried with due respect. It was quite a spectacle and yet persuasive in a Chinese way. There was a higher logic in the Chinese way, even though nobody understood it.
The temple was small in size but rather extraordinary in craftsmanship, all the doors, windows, walls and gardens were carefully laid out and decorated with class and taste. Red pine trees are cut from elsewhere to erect this great pagoda of five stories, the high point of the pagoda is about a few feet above the tall trees around it. The entrance of the pagoda faced the Crimson River, or the South. It was a miracle, a small man-made treasure swayed her elegance in the majestic ocean of nature, preserving its holy harmony by adding serenity and dignity, something that lasted in one's heart and soul till the end of time.
The pagoda was plainly named Goose Landing Pagoda. Did the minister believe that the Small Goose (River) was indeed struck down by a Flying Eagle (Creek)? Maybe his learning into the Taoism blessed him with the insight that this rock was the bed of Mother Goose of all. This place saw hordes of geese come and go, in their particular formation which resembled the Chinese character 'person' or Ren. It had been a long, long time, since the temple and the pagoda were first built. The structure was gone, forever, with only the wind bells left. Nobody remembered the pagoda, its shape and magic. The same could be said about the three provinces which used to be independent states with their own kings and princes. Yet, nobody remembered. Goose Landing what? The only thing that was still certain today in many minds of the locals was the exact location of this ancient temple, a spot that was blessed by exceptional Fengshui. Maybe Mother Goose was a phoenix? You prove to me otherwise. Never mind that two rivers disappeared here. They may have flied high and dove deep. Centuries washed by, dynasties rose and fell, only the super craftsmanship still stands above winds and storms of all sizes.
And also nobody knew when the temple suddenly were attended by civilian monks, or monks who were married with children. Even the chief monk changed his Taoist name back to his civilian name, He was an Ouyang. Ouyang might also be the family name of that ancient minister but no one had any proof one way or the other.
The sound of the wind bells only made the forest seem more dense, silent and even mysterious from time to time. The sound had this unique quality, not too loud from distance or even under the pagoda. And through the years, the wind bells never stopped tingling. Not even in my dreams or unconsciousness, that clear summer night sky.
哈哈哈哈 O(∩_∩)O哈哈~ 好久不来了，不小心看了一眼自己主页，发现自动关联了自己以往发过的帖，点进这个看了一眼，笑个半死。。。敢情我当初还发过这么搞笑的东西啊，我自己完全不记得了 
雷达卡
发表于 2011-1-11 18:02:31
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发表于 2011-1-12 20:51:14
