深河

近來聯網不太穩定，一直聯不上新版，只能回來用舊版，彷彿回到最初。起始，我給部落格取名為「微塵世界」，筆名「好希望」，這名字除了呼應自己所在的開普，也有前程樂觀的光明，更有難得欲求之希冀。沿用迄今十餘年，直到最近才更換，只留「微」字。微小微妙，或許就是最初想要的意思。所以我將微塵世界改成微風岸，筆名改成深河。深河曲折從山中來，流經門前濕地而後大海。開普敦以好望角舉世聞名，深河卻不然，世人見它流過沙洲流過木橋，多不知其名。

深河與我的本名也有淵源：閃電轟雷落下，震動四方，雨水流瀉大地，撫平了所有缺陷，並以雷霆萬鈞之勢，不盡長江滾滾來，湍流的水啊湍流而逝，逝向生命的大海。小時候不太明白，外公起的名字筆畫繁多，覺得特殊而奇怪，直到年歲漸長，愈來愈喜愛。然而來到國外，多是稱呼外文名，本名倒不常用了。

深河有木橋，橋上凝視桌山夕落，別有景致。夕陽餘暉，映照山前，澄黃的光均勻灑落，空茫一片。光在山岩折射，隨著時間角度變化色澤，散發醉心的柔和。黃昏點亮岸邊的路燈，這裡沒有絢麗光廊，只有溫暖的鵝黃，暈染逐漸深邃的水波。人在深河，痴痴望著，散步山水之間忘情忘我，也是人生一樂。

我期許的微風岸，書寫景色實則書寫靈魂，沿途風光純粹自然，它是漂泊的靈魂歇下的休憩所。那裡綠草如茵，那裡微風輕拂，晴空瀲灩，狂風偶爾暴雨，風光所以無限。

若問為何而寫？為誰而作？若要認真回答，我會不知所措。偶爾會覺得，文字中活出另個生命，他與現實相去甚遠，應該說是理想的自己，借由寫文來凝結散亂的思緒，昇華塵世的情感。他是深河，是流淌的微風岸，來自無限寬廣，雷震轟隆而瀟瀟灑下，湍流奔馳而大海回歸。

提及微風岸，自然想起子美的詩，細草微風岸，危檣獨夜舟。人生這趟，汎若不繫之舟，願能縱一葦之所如，多麼嚮往的之所如啊！深河流淌而我在斜陽夕暮，寄情此身於開普，頹敗儘管這個國度。且容我再垂首沉思，天地一沙鷗 ，它的歸宿！

Deep River

Recently, access to my blog on UDN has been unstable. The newer interface still refuses to let me in, so I have to go back to the classic version, as though returning to the beginning. In those first days, I named my blog World of Minuscule Dust and chose the pen name Good Hope (Speranza). This name not only echoes the Cape where I live but also shines with an optimistic future; moreover, a sense of rare and unattainable yearning. It endured for over a decade, until very recently, when I changed my pen name and retained only the character wei, shared between the two names, meaning small and subtle. Perhaps that was my original intention. World of Minuscule Dust (Wei-Chen) was thus renamed Breezy Shore (Wei-Feng); and Good Hope became Deep River.

The Deep River (Dieprivier) originates from the mountains, meandering through the wetlands before my door, and then into the great sea. Cape Town is world-renowned for the Cape of Good Hope, but the Deep River is not famous. Though the world sees it flowing past sandbars and under the Woodbridge, many do not know its name.

There is a deep connection between the Deep River and my original name: tremendous thunder and resounding lightning splitting the sky, shaking the earth, while rain pours upon the land, smoothing every fracture. With the power of thunder, torrential waters surge like the endless Yangtze, rushing forward toward the great sea of life.

As a child, I did not yet understand the name my grandfather gave me; its many strokes felt intricate, unique yet awkward. Only through the passage of time did I grow to love it more. Yet here, in a foreign land, I am mostly known by my Western name; my original name is seldom spoken.

At the Deep River stands the Woodbridge. From there, one gazes at the sunset over Table Mountain, a view beyond compare. The afterglow settles upon the mountain’s face, suffused with the soft radiance of mellow saffron light, opening into a vast stillness. As the light refracts against the crags, its hues shift with the passing minutes, radiating a softness that intoxicates the soul.

At dusk, the streetlamps along the bank are lit, their warm goose-yellow glow gently tinting the water as the ripples deepen with the coming night. Standing by the Deep River, wandering between mountain and water, one drifts into oblivion of self and world—one of the quiet joys of life.

The Breezy Shore I envision, where to depict the scenery is to unveil the soul, serves as a sanctuary for the wandering spirit, its landscape remaining ever pure and natural. There, the grass is a lush carpet of green; there, the breeze brushes gently by. The clear skies shimmer with light, yet at times fierce winds and torrential rains break through. It is precisely because of this that the vista feels boundless.

If asked why I write, or for whom I write, I would be at a loss for a serious answer. Occasionally, I feel as though another life breathes within my words—one far removed from reality, perhaps my ideal self. Through writing, I crystallize my scattered thoughts and sublimate the stray emotions of this earthly world.

He is the Deep River; he is the flowing Breezy Shore. He comes from the infinite expanse—descending as rumbling thunder and pattering rain, racing as a mountain torrent, only to return, at last, to the great sea.

The mention of the Breezy Shore naturally brings to mind Du Fu’s lines: “Slender grass, on the breeze-brushed bank; A lone mast, in the night-bound boat.” This journey of life is much like a drifting, untethered canoe; how I long to let it float, as Su Shi wrote, "wherever a single reed might drift." Oh, how I yearn for that freedom to simply be!

The Deep River flows on, while I stand in the glow of the setting sun, entrusting this life of mine to the Cape—despite the decay of this land. Let me bow my head once more in silent contemplation: a lone gull between heaven and earth, seeking its true home.