If there is heaven and hell, I believe that heaven and hell must be interconnected. Heaven and hell, neither can be without the other.
Just like my two worlds, the one at home, the one online, and the one in my mind... I guess that counts as three worlds. But I still prefer to refer to them as two worlds. Because these two worlds are equivalent to the countless worldly worlds I live in.
I am fortunate that the world in my mind has never collapsed, it is the castle in the air that I have built.
I am also in pain because the world outside of the one I constructed is not of my making.
Here, there are curtains with moon patterns, aluminum alloy windows, the computer by my side, the clothes I wear, including the land outside the window that has been worked on... Everything here has more than one story. These stories are usually silent, hidden in my mind, quiet and soundless. It is because of their truth and quietness that I have overlooked the truth and power of the real world.
Those of us living in this world, no matter how much we despise, disregard, or love this world, after deliberate thinking and floating logic, reality with its unparalleled truth, unified pace, ignores all the constructed inner worlds.
Every object in real life has more than one story, and these real objects, the ones that have stories for us, are endless. In a daze, the patterns on the curtains remind you of someone's aesthetics; the nearby wardrobe, desk, bookshelf, and even the sound of this cheap keyboard are all telling you one hint after another, one story after another.
If the constructed inner world has several theoretical cornerstones, hundreds of stories, thousands of visual phenomena, and three hundred thousand dreams... but none of them compare to the multitude of stories contained in a bottle of Da Vinci ink on my desk, the multitude of stories in a desk lamp, or the multitude of stories in my worn-out desk.
Suddenly, I laughed like a madman. The chilling sensation made me understand that this is the dimensional reduction of reality.
Our inner world, even if it is picturesque mountains and rivers, vast sky and sea, the afterglow of the setting sun, and the eternal day of the stars. But compared to this bottle of Da Vinci ink on my desk, they are all too thin, helpless, and elusive.
When I buy this bottle of ink, its story, what I have recently written, and why I wrote it... all perfectly blend with this real world. If I were to bring this bottle of ink to a different world, it would definitely be a sacred object from a higher dimension. This is the power of the real world. Everything about us is imprinted on it, difficult to escape.
Therefore, everything is not as I wish. If we were in Zhuangzi's dream of a butterfly, what would our world be like? Which of these two worlds am I referring to?
One is the moon in the sky, the other is the moon in the water. One is the real butterfly, the other is the dream butterfly. The gap between them must be deep.
But this ink is in my mind, and the inner world is also in my mind. Although there may be differences in the number of stories, the emotions in the inner world surpass the reality. This may be the reason for the dream butterfly.
The (real) world is vast, the inner world is small, but the inner world shares the same beauty as the world. Although the inner world is inferior to the world, the few thin stories in the inner world are brilliant time and time again. Just like the flowers of the world blooming and withering, waxing and waning.