Lesson 8 * Oath of Land / Hatara Duanmu

Lesson 8 * Oath of Land / Hatara Duanmu

I have a burning love for the vast Kanto wilderness. I heard her calling my name all the time, and I heard her calling me back all the time. I sometimes put my hand on my chest, and I know that my heart is still beating, and my heart is still gushing with blood, because I often feel it flooding with a passion. When I lie on the ground, when I look up at the stars in the sky, when I hold a handful of dirt in my hand, or when I think back to the past of my childhood, I think of the towering green birch forest, and the beautiful birch trees moaning in the field; I saw herds of horses galloping, Mongolian dogs howling in the middle of the night, and I heard the crisp sound of leather whips rolling down mountain streams; I think of red cloth-like sorghum, golden beans, black earth, red jade faces, black jade eyes, colorful mountain eagles, galloping deer herds, coals with the smell of rosin, red gold; I think of the distant car bells, the horses running on the straight avenue wearing string bells on a sunny day, the rumors of fox fairies in the middle of the night, the grotesque wind on the field... Then I heard my hometown calling me, and there was a voice calling to me from my hometown. She called my name in a low voice, her voice so eager that I had to go back. I was always haunted by this sound, and wherever I went, even if I slept deeply, or suddenly woke up in my sleep, I suddenly thought it was time for me to go back. I had to go back, I never thought about leaving her. This sound is unstoppable and unselectable. This voice has been in eternal communication with my heart. When I remember my hometown, I can see that deep in the earth, a ripe red slurry is tumbling, and this sound comes from there. In that ancient formation, there was a torrent of burning water, like my heart gushing blood. I know this, I often put my hand on the ground, I will feel her jumping, the same as my heart jumping. They never stop, their blood is always flowing, in a passionate tacit understanding they call each other, and one day they will converge. 

The land is my mother, and every inch of my skin has grains of earth; As soon as my palm approached the earth, my heart became calm. I am a clan of the land and I cannot leave her. In the land of my homeland, I have made countless footprints. I have buried my laughter in that ridge, I have caught grasshoppers on that rice, and I have kept my handprints on the heavy pickaxe. I've eaten cabbage that I grew myself. The soil of the homeland is fragrant. In spring, when the east wind blows, the aroma of the soil wafts through the fields. The river flowed shallowly, the wicker rushed out like a rain of smoke, and there was a sound of joy in the air. There was a chirping everywhere in the field, the sky was clear and transparent, and the sound of labor sounded from one end to the other. In autumn, silver thread-like spider silk hangs on the horns of cattle, grain carts pull grain back, sparrows are tired of eating, and flying everywhere here and there. The aroma of rice grain is strong, and the field of the new valley is ringing, how beautiful, how rich... No one can forget her. I will fight to the end for her. Land, wilderness, my hometown, you must be liberated! You have to stand! Night and night I heard the sound of horses' hooves galloping, and the son of the steppe calling on the edge of dawn. Then I got up and looked for the great bear of the north in the sky, and under its golden light was my hometown. I looked over there, gaze, until dawn broke. I can never forget because I promised her that I would go back to her, and I promised I would go back. I am willing to give everything for her. I must see a more beautiful homeland appear before me or before my grave. And I will wash away all her filth and shame with my tears.