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Almost every work that touches the deepest depths of the reader's soul, profoundly reflecting the essence of human existence, has a certain devastating effect on the creator. The author releases, consumes, exhausts, bleeds, collapses, their brain plundered, their brain wrung out, their spirit weightless, uncertain if they still have strength or value. To write the next book, they must start all over again-accumulating knowledge and experience, summoning up intelligence and skills. Masters become alienated from their own lives, as if their very lives have been reset to zero. Why? These works open a secret passage, offering a glimpse into the mysteries of existence. These mysteries are invisible to the naked eye, almost invariably afflicted by cataracts. These mysteries are close to divine secrets: as the ancient Chinese said, ""Heaven's secrets must not be revealed."" Eyes that behold the glare of truth are bound to be wounded. ""Heaven is jealous of a talented person"" is not about jealousy, for nothing within human reach is worthy of envy. God thwarts him unintentionally, without extra effort. God may be a vast black hole; by connecting with Him you may tap into its energy, but your own energy is also being sucked away. I've always had a vague feeling that artists are more likely to offend God than scientists. Within God's vast scale, scientists perceive the scales of reality with specificity, yet God has the overall view. Artists suffer and agonize while a ball of fire or obscuring mist hovers overhead. Sometimes, God doesn't know what he's doing-it seems human folly isn't so simple-and it annoys him, ultimately imposing a price on human ""artists."" Shakyamuni attained Buddhahood at the cost of obscuring Prince Suddhodana. God created humanity, and though he lived, he could only sacrifice his own son to allow others to understand his vast inner being. Does creation by human artists come easily? Do they have priority over the gods in influencing others? 几乎所有触及读者心灵最深处，在极大程度上反映了人的本质存在的作品，对于创作这作品的的人都有一定杀伤力。作者释放，消耗，疲惫，喋血，虚脱，大脑被洗劫一空，智力下降，精神失重，不清楚自己还有没有力气有没有价值。若要写下一部书，需要重头做起--知识与经验积累、智力水平、技艺，高手被自己陌生化了，似乎自己的生命归零了。为什么？ 这些作品开启了一个秘密通道，让人窥见了生存的一些幽奥。这幽奥是常人几乎无一例外地患有白内障的肉眼看不到的。这幽奥近乎天机，中国古人云：""天机不可泄露。""看见那真理强光的眼睛一定会受伤。""天妒英才""，不是妒，人力所及的一切都不值得嫉妒，上帝在不经意之间、不曾发力就挫败了他。上帝也许是个巨大的黑洞，你和他接通，获得能量的同时你的能量也被吸摄走了。我一直有一个模糊的感觉，艺术家比科学家更容易冒犯上帝。在上帝巨大的尺幅中，科学家认知的刻度很具体，上帝看得很清楚。艺术家痛苦、纠结，头顶一团火光或雾气，上帝有时也不知道他在做什么--看来人类的愚蠢不是那么单纯--使他有点烦，最终要让人间的""艺术家""付出代价。释迦牟尼成佛，以遮蔽净饭王王子为代价，上帝造人，他没死，竟也只能以牺牲自己的儿子来让人读懂自己浩瀚的内心，难道人间的艺术家可以轻轻松松分泌作品，他难道在对他人施加影响的过程中比神祗更有优先权吗？

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