A Leisurely Essay on the Year of the Horse
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Speaking of the Year of the Horse, we have to start with a bald pen.
In the twelfth lunar month, I watched people writing Spring Festival couplets. The ink in the inkstone was half-frozen, and when the brush was dipped in and lifted up, it felt rough. The elderly calligrapher was not in a hurry. He exhaled a puff of white steam, suspended his wrist, and began to write. The character "马" landed on the red paper, with the first horizontal stroke resembling a rein, and the four dots at the end, kicking and tapping, sounding like real hoofbeats. The ink was rough, the paper was coarse, yet the character came alive - it didn't seem written, but rather, it seemed to have run out.
I suddenly realized that when Chinese people write about horses, they are not merely depicting an animal, but rather inscribing a spirit.
Flipping through old books, it seems like Ma has hardly had any leisure time. In the "Book of Songs", "four horses trudging along the road" symbolizes the conquering hero's mount; in Tang poetry, "the horse's hooves galloping like lightning" represents the hero's courage; in Xu Beihong's paintings, the mane like a river of raging waves symbolizes the nation's unyielding cry in times of peril. Even in the most gentle moments, it is "riding a horse leaning against a slanting bridge, with red sleeves waving all over the building" - even in this graceful scene, there is a hint of the dust from the journey. Horses never play the role of enjoyers. It seems as if they were sent to the world specifically to carry those heavy words: distance, journey, unfulfilled ambition.
So the Year of the Horse is actually a bit cruel. The twelve zodiac signs take turns at the helm, with the Ox able to chew the cud, the Pig able to sleep soundly, and the Rabbit able to curl up safely in its nest. But the Horse, as soon as it comes on stage, is immediately put on the track, and even taking a moment to catch its breath seems like laziness. Have you ever seen a New Year painting featuring a 'my maiya horse'? No. All of them raised their heads, bristled their manes, and lifted their four hooves into the air, like a bolt of lightning that hasn't had time to solidify.
Surprisingly, this zodiac sign, which is the most tired, happens to have the most relaxed facial features.
Horses don't frown when they run. If you go to the grassland and watch, when the horse-harnessing pole is waved, the horses flood over the grass tips like a tide, and not a single one wears a bitter face. That's not torture, it's exhilaration. It's the instinct in their bones and blood meeting the world, so they pour themselves out completely. People often say "fast horses need fast whips", as if horses need whips to drive them. In fact, the whip is just a reminder - it's not that you're not fast enough, it's that you don't know you can be faster.
This kind of unrecognized exuberance is the true gift of the Year of the Horse.
Of course, we can complain about being tired during the Spring Festival. The Spring Festival travel rush is a run, socializing at banquets is a run, and isn't cleaning before the New Year and resuming work after the New Year also runs? On the 29th day of the twelfth lunar month, the railway station is packed like leaves swept up by the same wind, crowding towards the gates. At the service area at 3 a.m., truck drivers eat bread with cold tea in their thermos cups. On the highway on the fifth day of the New Year, the mother's waving hand is still reflected in the rearview mirror, and the accelerator is already pressed down - not that they don't want to stay, but they know the road is calling.
You say it's a journey, he says it's just living. The horse doesn't say.
The horse merely raised its head and galloped into the wind.
What's even rarer is that this animal never enters the realm of satire. You can satirize pigs as lazy, dogs as obsequious, foxes as cunning, and mice as timid, all vividly. But you can't satirize horses. Horses are too bright. They run when they want to, pant when they can't, and if they don't like you, they just kick their hooves, showing no concealment. Sometimes people live too much like cats, circling around the tree three times, taking every step carefully; the Year of the Horse is just a decree - in this year, put the abacus beads aside, speak your mind directly, and run straight ahead.
Of course, when running, one may fall. Like a horse losing its front hoof, it falls with dust flying and looks extremely awkward. But that's what makes horses so adorable: they stand up, shake their manes, look around, and then run again. They don't hold grudges, don't dwell on past mistakes, and certainly won't pretend they don't actually enjoy running. In this regard, they are stronger than many intelligent people.
So every year of the Horse, I always feel that it's not about being the first to cross the finish line, but about running authentically. You may not reach the goal, but you can't pretend that you don't need to reach it. You may stumble, but you can't tie yourself to a stake just because you're afraid of falling. The Year of the Horse is the most gentle disenchantment of pretense - it uses a zodiac sign, a New Year painting, and an old greeting "success comes like a horse galloping", to tell you clearly: don't pretend this year.
It's the eve of New Year's Eve. Children outside the window are setting off fireworks on the open ground. A cluster of golden threads shoots up into the night sky, spreading out like the mane of a horse that has exploded. The ink has frozen back to the bottom of the inkstone, and Spring Festival couplets have been pasted on the doorframe. The top couplet reads "A thousand miles in a day", and the bottom couplet is "Ten thousand horses galloping".
The horizontal scroll bearing a couplet has only four characters.
The ink was not yet dry, slightly damp under the streetlight. The wind passed by the edge of the paper, causing the red paper to flutter gently, like the snorting of a horse.
Just run.