THE HOUSE STOOD on a hill overlooking the main road, and beyond the road was the dull grey sea, which never seemed to have life. It was not like the sea in other parts of the world – blue, restless, immense – but was always either brown or grey, and the horizon seemed so close. One was glad it was there, for a cool breeze generally came from it when the sun was going down. On rare occasions there would be not a breath of air, and then it was suffocatingly hot; the smell of tar would come up from the road, along with the exhaust fumes of the ceaseless traffic.
房子矗立在一座小山上，俯瞰着主路， 在路之外，是沉闷的灰色大海，似乎从未有过生命。 它不像世界其他地区的大海 —— 蓝色、不安分、巨大 —— 但总是棕色或灰色，地平线似乎如此接近。 人很高兴它在那里， 因为当太阳下山时，凉风通常从它那里过来。 在极少数情况下，不会有一丝气息，那样就非常热； 柏油的气味会从路上冒出来，伴随着不停的来往车辆的废气。
There was a small garden below the house, with many flowers, and it was a delight to the passers-by. From the overhanging bushes, yellow flowers fell on the roadside, and occasionally a pedestrian would stoop to pick up a fallen blossom. Children went by with their nurses, but most of them were not allowed to pick up the flowers; the road was dirty, and they mustn’t touch dirty things!
房子的下方有一个小花园，有很多花， 给路上的行人带来了愉快。 从悬垂的灌木丛中，有黄色的花朵落在路边， 偶尔行人会弯腰捡起掉下的花朵。 孩子们和他们的护送者一起走过， 但他们中的大多数人不被允许捡花； 路很脏，他们一定不能碰脏东西！
Not far away there was a temple by a pond, and around the pond there were benches. people were always sitting on those benches, and on the brick steps leading down to the water. From an open space at the edge of the pond, four or five steps led up into the temple. The temple, the steps and the open space were kept very clean, and people removed their footwear before coming there. Each worshipper rang the bell that was hanging from the roof, placed flowers near the idol, folded his hands in prayer, and went away. It was fairly quiet there, and although you could see the traffic, the noise didn’t come that far.
不远处有一座池塘边的寺庙，池塘周围有长凳。 人们总是坐在那些长凳上， 坐在通往水边的台阶上。 在池塘边的一块空地上，有四五梯台阶通向寺庙。 寺庙、台阶和空地，都保持得非常干净， 人们在进去之前脱掉了鞋子。 每个敬拜者都按响了挂在屋顶上的铃铛， 把花放在偶像附近，双手合十祈祷，然后离开。 那儿相当安静，虽然你可以看到来往的车辆，但噪音并没有传得那么远。
Every evening, after the sun had set, a young man would come and sit near the entrance of the shrine. Freshly bathed and wearing clean clothes, he looked well-educated, and was probably an office-worker of some kind. He would sit there cross-legged for an hour or more, with his back straight and his eyes closed; in his right hand, under a newly-washed cloth which was still damp, he would be holding a string of beads. His covered fingers would move from one bead to the next as his lips pronounced the words of each prayer. Apart from this, he never moved a muscle, and he would sit there, lost to the world, till it was quite dark.
每天傍晚，太阳落山后， 都会有一个年轻人来，坐在神社入口附近。 刚洗过澡，穿着干净的衣服， 他看起来受过良好的教育，可能是某种上班族。 他会盘腿坐在那里一个小时或更长时间，背部挺直，闭上眼睛。 在他的右手里，在一块新洗过的仍然潮湿的布下， 他会拿着一串珠子。 他遮盖的手指会从一颗珠子移动到另一颗珠子， 在他的嘴唇说出每个祈祷的话语的同时。 除此之外，他从来没有移动过一块肌肉，他会坐在那里， 迷失在这个世界上，直到天黑。
There was always a vendor or two near the entrance of the temple, selling nuts, flowers and coconuts. One evening three young men came and sat there. They all appeared to be under twenty. Suddenly one of them got up and began to dance, while another beat out the rhythm on a tin. He had on only a singlet and a loincloth, and he was showing off. He danced with extraordinary agility, moving his hips and arms with easy grace. He must have watched not only the Indian dances, but also the dancing that went on at the fashionable club near by. Quite a crowd had gathered by now, and they were encouraging him; but he needed no encouragement, and the dance was getting rather crude. All this time the man of prayers was sitting there, his body erect, with only his lips and his fingers moving. The little temple pool was reflecting the light of the stars.
寺庙入口附近总是有一两个小商贩， 在卖坚果、鲜花和椰子。 一天晚上，三个年轻人来了，坐在那里。他们似乎都不到二十岁。 突然，其中一人站起来开始跳舞，而另一人则在锡罐上敲打节奏。 他只穿了一件背心和一条腰布，他正在炫耀。 他跳得非常敏捷，轻松优雅地移动臀部和手臂。 他一定不仅观察过印度舞蹈， 还去附近时尚俱乐部跳过舞。 现在已经聚集了相当多的人群，他们正在鼓励他。 但他不需要鼓励，舞蹈也变得相当粗俗。 一直以来，那个祈祷者都坐在那里， 他的身体直立，只有他的嘴唇和手指在动。 寺庙的池塘反射着星星的光芒。
We were in a small, bare room overlooking a noisy street. There was a mat on the floor, and we all sat around it. Through the open window could be seen a single palm tree on which a kite was perched, with its fierce eyes and its sharp, overhanging beak. There were three men and two women in the group that had come. The women sat on one side, opposite the men, and never spoke; but they listened attentively, and often their eyes would glisten with understanding, and a slight smile would appear on their lips. They were all quite young, and all had been to college, and now each of them had a job or a profession. They were all good friends and called each other by familiar names, and they had evidently talked over together a great many thing. One of the men had the feel of the artist about him, and it was he who began.
我们住在一个小而光秃秃的房间里，俯瞰着嘈杂的街道。 地板上有一块垫子，我们都围坐在它周围。 透过敞开的窗户可以看到一棵棕榈树， 上面栖息着一只风筝，有凶猛的眼睛和尖锐的悬垂喙。 这群人中有三男两女。 女的坐在一边，对着男的，从不说话。 但是她们专心地听着，她们的眼睛常常因理解而闪光， 嘴唇上会露出轻微的笑容。 他们都很年轻，都上过大学， 现在他们每个人都有工作或职业。 他们都是好朋友，用亲密的名字互相称呼， 他们显然在一起谈过很多事情。 其中一个人对他自己有艺术家的感觉，他开始发言了。
“I always think,” he said, “that very few artists are really creative. Some of them know how to handle colour and brush; they have learnt design and are masters of detail; they know anatomy to perfection, and are astonishingly capable on canvas. Equipped with capacity and technique, and moved by a deep creative impulse, they paint. But presently they become known and established, and then something happens to them – money and flattery, probably. Creative vision is gone, but they still have their superb technique, and for the rest of their lives they juggle with it. Now it’s pure abstraction, now it’s double-faced women, now it’s a war scene with a few lines, space and dots. That period passes, and a new period is begun: they become sculptors, ceramists, church builders, and so on. But the inward glory is lost, and they know only outward glamour. I’m not an artist, I don’t even know how to hold a brush; but I have a feeling there’s something enormously significant that we all miss.”
“我总在想，” 他说， “真正有创造力的艺术家太稀少了。 他们中的一些人知道如何处理色彩和笔刷； 他们学习了设计，是细节大师； 他们完美地知道解剖学，并且在画布上的能力惊人。 他们具备了能力和技术，并被深深的创作冲动所感动，他们画画。 而目前，他们变得众所周知并建立了声望， 然后发生了一些事情 —— 可能是金钱和奉承。 创造性的异象已经消失了，但他们仍然有他们精湛的技术， 在他们的余生中，他们一直在玩弄它。 现在它变成了纯粹的抽象、双面女性， 一幅只有几条轮廓线、空白和点的战争场景。 那段时期消逝了，一个新时期开始了： 他们成为雕塑家、陶艺家、教堂建设者，等等。 但内在的荣耀却失去了，他们只知道外在的魅力。 我不是艺术家，我甚至不知道如何握画笔； 但我有一种感觉，有一些非常重要的东西，我们都错过了。”
“I’m a lawyer,” said one of the others, “but the practice of law is to me only a means of livelihood. I know it’s rotten, one has to do so many dirty things to get on, and I would give it up tomorrow were it not for family responsibilities, and one’s own fear – which is a greater burden than the responsibilities. From childhood I have been attracted to religion; I almost became a sannyasi, and even now I try to meditate every morning. Most definitely I feel that the world is much with us. I am neither happy nor unhappy; I just exist. But in spite of everything, there’s a deep yearning for something greater than this shoddy existence. Whatever it is, I feel it is there, but my will seems to be too weak and ineffectual to break through the mediocrity in which I live. I have tried going away, but I had to come back – because of the family, and all the rest of it. I am inwardly torn in two directions. I could escape from this conflict by losing myself in the dogmas and rituals of some church or temple, but all that seems so silly and infantile. Mere social respectability, with its immortality, means nothing to me; but I am respected in my law practice, and I would go ahead in that profession – but that’s even a greater escape than the temple or the church. I have studied the books and the double talk of Communism, and its chauvinistic nonsense is a terrible thing. Everywhere I go – at home, in court, on solitary walks – this inward agony is with me, like a disease for which there’s no remedy. I have come here with my friends, not to find a remedy, for I have read what you say about such things, but if possible to understand this inward fever.”
“我是一名律师，” 其中一位说， “但法律实践对我来说只是一种谋生手段。 我知道它里面的腐败，一个人必须做那么多肮脏的事情才能继续， 明天我就会放弃它，如果不是因为家庭负担，以及自己的恐惧 —— 这是比责任更大的负担。 从孩提时代起，我就被宗教所吸引。 我差点成了一个桑雅生，即使现在我每天早上都试着冥想。 最确定的是，我觉得世界与我们息息相关。 我既不快乐也并非不快乐；我只是存在。 但尽管如此， 人仍然深切地渴望一种比这种粗制滥造的存在更伟大的东西。 不管它是什么，我觉得它就在那里， 但我的意志似乎太软弱和无效， 无法突破我在生活中的平庸。 我曾试图抛弃，但我不得不回来 —— 因为家庭，以及所有其他原因。 我内心被两个方向撕裂。 通过某个教堂或寺庙的教条和仪式中来使自己迷失，逃避这场冲突， 但这一切似乎都是如此愚蠢和幼稚。 仅仅的社会尊严，以及它的不朽，对我来说毫无意义。 但我在我的法律实践中受到尊重，我会继续从事这个职业 —— 而这甚至比寺庙或教堂更能有效地逃避。 我研究过这些书和共产主义的双标谈话， 它那本国至上的胡说八道是一件可怕的事情。 无论我走到哪里 —— 在家里，在法庭上，或独自散步 —— 这种内在的痛苦都伴随着我，就像一种无可救药的疾病。 我和我的朋友一起来这里，不是为了寻找补救措施， 因为我读过你对这些事情的看法， 但如果可能的话，来理解这种内在的狂热。”
“When I was a boy, I always wanted to be a doctor,” said the third one, “and I’m a doctor now. I can and do make quite a bit of money; I could probably make more, but what for? I try to be very conscientious with my patients, but you know how it is. I treat the well-to-do, but I also have patients without a penny, and there are so many of them that even if I could treat a thousand a day, there would still be more. I can’t give all my time to them, so I see the rich in the mornings, and the poor in the afternoons, and sometimes far into the night; and with so much work, one does tend to become somewhat callous. I try to take as much trouble with the poor as with the well-to-do but I find I am becoming less sympathetic and am losing that sensitivity which is so essential to the medical practitioner. I use all the right words and have developed a good ‘bedside manner’, but inwardly I am drying up. The patients may not know this, but I know it all too well. I loved my patients at one time, especially the wretchedly poor; I really felt for them, with all their filth and disease. But over the years I have slowly been losing all that; my heart is becoming dry, my sympathy withering. I went away for a time in the hope that a complete change and rest would kindle the flame again; but it’s no good. The fire simply isn’t there, and I have only the dead ashes of memory. I attend to my patients, but my heart is empty of love. It has done me good to tell you all this – but that’s only a relief, it’s not the real thing. And can the real thing ever be found?”
“当我还是个孩子的时候，我一直想成为一名医生，” 第三个说， “我现在是一名医生。我可以而且确实赚了不少钱； 我也许可以赚更多，但为了什么呢？ 我试图对我的病人非常认真，但你知道这是怎么回事。 我治疗富人，但我也治疗没有一分钱的病人， 而且他们人太多了， 即使我每天可以治疗一千个，仍然会更多。 我不能把我所有的时间都给他们， 所以我在早上给富人看病， 下午给穷人看病，有时甚至持续到深夜； 有了这么多的工作，人确实会变得有些冷漠。 我试图平等地看待穷人和富人， 但我发现我变得越来越没有同情心， 并且正在失去对医生来说至关重要的敏感性。 我用了所有正确的词，并养成了良好的‘床边礼仪’， 但内心却在干涸。 病人可能不知道这一点，但我太了解了。 我曾经爱过我的病人，尤其是那些可怜的穷人。 我真的为他们感到难过，他们所有的污秽和疾病。 但多年来，我慢慢地失去了这一切。 我的心变得干燥，我的同情心正在枯萎。 我离开了一段时间， 希望彻底的改变和休息能再次点燃火焰。 但火还是不存在，我只有记忆中已死的灰烬。 我照顾我的病人，但我的心里没有爱。 告诉你们这一切对我来说是件好事 —— 但这只是一种释放，而不是真实的东西。真实还能被找到吗？”
All of us were silent. The kite had flown away and a large crow had taken its place on the palm tree. Its powerful black beak was shining in the sun.
我们所有人都沉默了。 风筝飞走了，一只大乌鸦在棕榈树上占据了一席之地。 它有力的黑色喙在阳光下闪闪发光。
Aren’t all these problems interrelated? One has to distrust similarity; but these three problems are not essentially dissimilar, are they? “Come to think of it,” replied the lawyer, “it looks like my two friends and I are in the same boat. We are all after the same thing. We may call it by different names – love, creativity, something greater than this tawdry existence – but it’s really the same thing.”
这些问题不都是相互关联的吗？ 一个人必须不信任相似性； 但这三个问题本质上并没有什么不同，不是吗？ “想想看，” 律师回答说， “看起来我和我的两个朋友在同一条船上。我们都在追求同样的东西。 我们可能用不同的名字来称呼它 —— 爱、创造力、比这种低俗的存在更伟大的东西 —— 但它真的是同一个东西。”
“Is it?” asked the artist. “At moments I have felt the astonishing beauty and vastness of life; but those moments soon pass, and a void is left. This void has its own vitality, but it’s not the same as the other. The other is beyond the measure of time, beyond all word and thought. When that otherness comes into being, it’s as though one had never existed; all the pettiness of life, the tortures of daily existence, are gone, and only that state remains. I have known that state, and I must somehow revive it. I am not concerned with anything else.”
“是吗？” 艺术家问。 “时不时地，我感受到了生命的惊人之美和浩瀚。 但那些时刻很快就过去了，留下一种空白。 这个空白有它自己的生命力，但它和其它的是不一样的。 另一个超越了时间的衡量，超越了所有的言语和思想。 当另一个出现时，就好像一个人从未存在过。 生命中所有的琐碎，日常生活的折磨，都消失了，只存在这种状态。 我已经知道这种状态，我必须以某种方式恢复它。 我不关心其他任何东西。”
“You artists,” said the, doctor, “think that you are set apart from the rest of us. You are above other men; you have a special gift with special privileges; you are supposed to see more, feel more, live more intensely. But I don’t think you are so very different from the engineer, or the lawyer, or the doctor, who may also live intensely. I used to suffer with my patients; I loved them, I knew what they were going through, their fears, their hopes and despairs. I felt as intensely for them as you might feel for a cloud, for a flower, for a leaf blown by the wind, or for the human face. Your intensity of feeling is not different from mine, or from that of our friend here. It is this intensity of feeling that matters, not what one feels intensely about. The artist likes to think that his particular expression of it is something far superior, nearer heaven, and I know the world holds its breath when it utters that word ‘artist; but you are as human as the rest of us and our intensity is as keen, alive, vibrant, as yours. I am not belittling the artist, nor am I jealous of him; I am only saying that intensity of feeling is the important thing. Of course, it may be wrongly directed, and then the result is chaos and suffering both for oneself and for others, particularly if one happens to be in a position of power. The point is, you and I are after the same thing – you in wanting to recapture what you call the beauty and vastness of life, and I in wanting to love again.”
“你们这些艺术家，” 医生说， “以为你们和我们其他人是分开的。你高于其他人； 您有一份具有特殊特权的特殊天赋； 你认为能看到更多，感受更多，活得更强烈。 但我不认为你和工程师、律师或医生有太大的不同， 他们也可能活得很充实。我曾经和我的病人一起受苦； 我爱他们，我知道他们正在经历什么，他们的恐惧，他们的希望和绝望。 我对他们的感受很强烈， 就像你对云、花、被风吹动的叶子或人脸的感受一样强烈。 你感受的强度与我或我们这里的朋友们没有什么不同。 重要的是这种强烈的感觉，而不是属于某个人的感觉。 艺术家喜欢认为 他对它的特殊表达是一种更优越、更接近天堂的东西， 我知道在说出‘艺术家’这个词的时候，世界会屏住呼吸。 但你和我们其他人一样，都是人， 我们的强度和你一样敏锐，充满活力，充满能量。 我不是在贬低艺术家，也不是在嫉妒他。 我只是说，感觉的强度是重要的东西。 当然，它可能被错误地引导， 然后结果是混乱和痛苦，无论是对自己还是对他人， 特别是，如果一个人碰巧处于权力地位。 关键是，你和我都在追求同样的东西 —— 你想要重新获得你所谓的生命的美丽和浩瀚， 而我想要再次去爱。”
“And I also am seeking it, in wanting to break through the mediocrity of my life,” added the lawyer. “This ache which I feel is similar to yours; I may not be able to put it into words, or on canvas, but it’s as intense as the colour you see in that flower. I, too, long for something infinitely more than all this, something that will bring peace and fullness.” “All right, I yield; both of you are right,” admitted the artist. “Vanity is sometimes stronger than reason. We are all vain in our own peculiar ways, and how it hurts to admit it! Of course we are in the same boat, as you say. We all want something beyond our petty selves, but this pettiness creeps up on us and overwhelms us.”
“我也在寻求它，想要突破我生活中的平庸，” 律师补充道。“我觉得这种疼痛感和你们的差不多。 我可能无法用语言或画布表达它， 但它就像你在那朵花中看到的色彩一样强烈。 我也渴望比这一切无限多的东西， 一些能带来和平与充实的东西。 “好吧，我屈服了。你们俩都是对的，” 艺术家承认。 “虚荣有时比理性更强大。 我们都以自己独特的方式虚荣，承认这一点是多么痛苦！ 当然，正如你所说，我们在同一条船上。 我们都想要超越我们娇小的自我的东西， 但这种琐碎悄悄地爬到我们身上，压倒了我们。”
Then what’s the problem we want to talk over? Is it clear to all of us? “I think so,” replied the doctor. “I should like to put it this way. Is there a permanent state of love, of creativity, a permanent ending of sorrow? We would all agree to this statement of the question, wouldn’t we?”
那么，我们想要讨论的问题是什么呢？我们所有人都清楚吗？ “我想是的，” 医生回答。“我想这样说。 有没有一种永恒的爱、创造力的状态，一种终结悲伤的永恒？ 我们都会同意这个问题的这种说法，不是吗？”
The others nodded in assent. “Is there a state of love, or creative peace,” went on the doctor, “which, once having been attained, will never degenerate, never be lost?”
其他人点头表示同意。 “有没有一种爱的状态，或者创造性的和平，” 医生继续说， “一旦达到，永远不会退化，永远不会失去？”
“Yes, that’s the question,” agreed the artist. “There is this extraordinary height of exhilaration which comes unexpectedly, and fades away like a fragrance. Can this intensity remain, without the reaction of dull emptiness? Is there a state of inspiration which does not yield to time and mood?”
“是的，就是这个问题，” 艺术家同意。 “有一种非凡的强烈的激情，出乎意料地来了， 像香水一样消失了。 这种强度能保持下去，不再有沉闷而空虚的反应吗？ 有没有一种灵感的状态，却并非来自于时间和情绪？”
You are asking a great deal, aren’t you? If necessary, we shall consider later what that state is. But first of all, is there anything permanent? “There must be,” said the lawyer. “It would be very depressing and rather frightening to discover that there’s nothing permanent.”
你问了很多，不是吗？ 如有必要，我们稍后将考虑该状态是什么。 但首先，有永久性的东西吗？ “一定有，” 律师说。 “如果发现没有什么永恒的东西， 那将是非常令人沮丧和相当可怕的。”
We may find that there’s something much more significant than permanency. But before we go into this, do we see that there must be no conclusion, no apprehension, no wish which will project a pattern of thought? To think clearly, one must not start from a supposition, a belief, or an inner demand, must one? “I’m afraid this is going to be exceedingly difficult,” replied the artist. “I have such a clear and definite memory of the state I have experienced, that it’s almost impossible to put it aside.” “Sir, what you say is perfectly true,” said the doctor. “If I am to discover a new fact, or perceive the truth of something, my mind cannot be cluttered with what has been. I see how necessary it is for the mind to set aside all that it has known or experienced; but considering the nature of the mind, is such a thing possible?”
我们可能会发现，有些东西比永久性更重要。 但是，在我们进入这个领域之前， 我们是否看到：必须没有结论，没有忧虑，没有愿望 —— 那会投射出一种思想模式？ 要清明地思考， 一个人不能从一个假设、一个信念或一个内在的要求出发，不是吗？ “恐怕这将是非常困难的，” 艺术家回答。 “我对我所经历的状态有如此清晰和明确的记忆， 几乎不可能把它放在一边。” “先生，你说的完全是真实的，” 医生说。 “如果我要发现一个新的事实，或者感知某个东西的真实性， 我的头脑就不能被过去的东西弄得一团糟。 我看到，头脑是多么有必要把它所知道或经历过的一切都放在一边。 但考虑到头脑的本质，这种事情可能吗？”
“If there must be no inner demand,” said the lawyer, thinking aloud, “then I must not wish to break through my present petty condition, or think of some other state, which can only be the outcome of what has been, a projection of what I already know. But isn’t this almost impossible?”
“如果一定没有内在的要求，” 律师大声说， “那么我就一定不想突破我现在琐碎的状况， 也不会要求其他的状态， 这只能是已经发生的事情的结果，是我已经知道的东西的投射。 但这不是几乎不可能的吗？”
I don’t think so. If I want to understand you, surely I can have no prejudices or conclusion about you. “That is so.”
我不这么认为。 如果我想理解你，我当然不能对你有偏见或结论。 “那倒也是。”
If for me the all-important thing is to understand you, then this very sense of urgency overrides all my prejudices and opinions about you, doesn’t it?
如果对我来说，最重要的是理解你， 那么这种紧迫感压倒了我对你的所有偏见和意见， 不是吗？
“There can of course be no diagnosis until after an examination of the patient,” said the doctor. “But is such an approach possible in an area of human experience where there’s so much self-interest?”
“在对患者进行检查之前，当然不可能有诊断，” 医生说。“但是，在一个有如此多自我利益的人类经验领域， 这种方法是可能的吗？”
If there’s the intensity to understand the fact, the truth, then everything is possible; and everything becomes a hindrance if this intensity is not there. That much is clear, isn’t it? “Yes, at least verbally,” replied the artist. “perhaps I shall slip into it more as we go along.”
如果有这种强烈的感受去理解事实，真相，那么一切皆有可能； 如果这种强度不存在，一切都会成为障碍。 这很清楚，不是吗？ “是的，至少在口头上，” 艺术家回答说。 “也许我会随着我们的前进而更多地溜进去。”
We are trying to find out if there is, or is not, a permanent state – not what we would like, but the actual fact, the truth of the matter. Everything about us, within as well as without – our relationships, our thoughts, our feelings – is impermanent, in a constant state of flux. Being aware of this, the mind craves permanency a perpetual state of peace, of love, of goodness, a security that neither time nor events can destroy; therefore it creates the soul, the Atman, and the visions of a permanent paradise. But this permanency is born of impermanence, and so it has within it the seeds of the impermanent. There is only one fact: impermanence.
我们试图找出是否存在一个永久的状态 —— 不是我们想要的，而是真实的事实，事物的本质。 关于我们的一切，无论内在还是外在 —— 我们的人际关系、我们的思想、我们的感受 —— 都是无常的，处于不断变化的状态。 意识到这一点，头脑渴望处于永恒的状态， 其中有和平、爱、善良、一种时间或事件都无法摧毁的安全； 因此，它创造了灵魂、阿特曼和永恒的天堂的愿景。 但这种永恒，是从无常中诞生的， 所以它里面有无常的种子。 只有一个事实：无常。
“We know that the cells of the body are undergoing a constant change,” said the doctor. “The body itself is impermanent; the organism wears out. Nevertheless, one feels there’s a state untouched by time, and it’s that state one is after.”
“我们知道身体的细胞正在经历不断的变化，” 医生说。 “身体本身是无常的；生物体磨损。 然而，一个人感觉有一种状态没有被时间触及，这就是人所追求的状态。”
Let us not speculate, but stick to facts. Thought is aware of its own impermanent nature; the things of the mind are transient, however much one may assert that they are not. The mind itself is the result of time; it has been put together through time, and through time it can be taken apart. It can be conditioned to think that there’s a permanency, and it can also be conditioned to think that there’s nothing enduring. Conditioning itself is impermanent, as is observable every day. The fact is that there’s impermanence. But the mind craves for permanency in all its relationships, it wants to perpetuate the family name through the son, and so on. It cannot abide the uncertainty of its own state, and so it proceeds to create certainty.
让我们不要猜测，而是坚持事实。 思想意识到它自己无常的性质； 头脑内的事物是短暂的，无论一个人如何声称它们不是。 头脑本身就是时间的结果； 它经过时间的推移而组合起来， 而经过时间的推移，它可以被拆解。 它可以局限性地思想：存在一种永久性， 也可以局限性地思想：没有什么是永久的。 局限的条件本身是无常的，就像每天可以观察到的那样。 事实就是，存在无常。 但是头脑渴望在所有的关系中保持永恒， 它想通过儿子来延续姓氏，等等。 它无法忍受自己的这种不确定性的状态，因此它在继续创造确定性。
“I am aware of this fact,” said the doctor. “I once knew what it meant to love my patients, and while love was there I didn’t care two pins whether it was permanent or impermanent; but now that it’s gone, I want it to be made enduring. The desire for permanency arises only when one has experienced impermanence.” “But is there no lasting state of what may be called creative inspiration?” asked the artist.
“我意识到这个事实，” 医生说。 “我曾经知道爱我的病人意味着什么， 爱在那里，但我不在乎它是永恒的还是无常的。 但现在它已经消失了，我希望它能持续下去。 只有当一个人经历过无常时，对永恒的渴望才会产生。” “但是，对于所谓的创作灵感，难道没有一种持久的状态吗？” 艺术家问道。
Perhaps we shall understand that presently. Let us first see very clearly that the mind itself is of time, and that whatever the mind puts together is impermanent. It may, in its impermanence, have had a momentary experience of something which it now calls the permanent; and having once experienced that state, it remembers and desires more of it. So, from what it has known, memory puts together and projects that which it calls the permanent; but that projection is still within the scope of the mind, which is the field of the transient.
也许我们现在应该理解那一点。 让我们首先非常清楚地看到，头脑本身就属于时间， 无论头脑怎么去拼凑，都是无常的。 它可能，在它的无常中， 对它现在称之为‘永恒’的东西有过短暂的体验； 曾经体验过这种状态，它就记住并想要更多的这种状态。 因此，从它所知道的，记忆开始拼凑，并投射出它称之为‘永恒’的东西； 但那个投影仍然在头脑的领域，这个瞬变的领域。
“I realize that whatever is born of the mind must be in a constant state of flux,” said the doctor. “But when love was there, it was not born of the mind.”
“我意识到，无论什么东西，只要是由头脑产生的，都必定处于不断变化的状态，” 医生说。“但当爱在的时候，它不是从头脑中产生的。”
But now it has become a thing of the mind through memory, has it not? The mind now demands that it be revived; and what is revived will be impermanent. “That’s perfectly right, sir,” put in the lawyer, “I see it quite clearly. My ache is the ache of remembering the things that should not be, and longing for the things that should be. I never live in the present, but either in the past or in the future. My mind is always time-bound.”
但现在，它通过记忆变成了头脑的东西，不是吗？ 现在，头脑要求它复活。而复活的东西将是无常的。 “那完全地正确，先生，” 律师说，“我看得很清楚。 我的痛苦是唤醒了那些不应该发生的事件， 以及对应该发生的事件的渴望，由此而产生出痛苦。 我从不活在当下，而是活在过去或将来。 我的头脑总受到时间的限制。”
“I think I am getting this,” said the artist. “The mind, with all its cunning, with its intrigues, its vanities and envies, is a whirlpool of self-contradictions. Occasionally it may catch a hint of something beyond its own noise, and what it has caught becomes a remembrance. It is with these ashes of remembrance that we live, treasuring things that are dead. I have been doing this, and what folly it is!”
“我想我抓住了这点，” 艺术家说。 “头脑，及其所有的狡猾、诡计、虚荣和嫉妒， 是一个自我矛盾的漩涡。 偶尔，它可能会捕捉到超越自身噪音的某种东西的暗示， 它所捕捉到的东西就会成为一种记忆。 正是带着这些记忆的灰烬，我们活着，珍藏着死了的东西。 我一直在这样做，它是多么地愚蠢！”
Now, can the mind die to its remembrances, its experiences, to all the things it has known? Without seeking the permanent, can it die to the impermanent? “I must understand this,” said the doctor. “I have known love – you will all forgive me for using that word – and I cannot ‘know’ it again because my mind is held by the remembrance of what has been. It is this remembrance that it wants to make permanent, the remembrance of what it has known; and remembrance, with its associations, is nothing but ashes. Out of dead ashes, no new flame can be born. Then what? please let me go on. My mind is living on memories, and the mind itself is memory, the memory of what has been; and this memory of what has been wants to be made permanent. So there is no love, but only the memory of love. But I want the real thing, not just the memory of it.”
现在，头脑能葬送它的记忆、它的经历、它所知道的一切吗？ 不再寻求永恒，永恒能死在无常中吗？ “我必须理解这一点，” 医生说。“我曾经知道爱 —— 你们都会原谅我使用这个词 —— 我不能再一次‘知道’它， 因为我的头脑被已经被曾经的记忆所控制。 这种回忆想要永久化它 —— 那个它所知道的记忆； 而记忆及其关联的东西，只不过是灰烬。 从死灰中，没有新的火焰可以诞生。然后呢？ 请让我继续。我的头脑活在回忆中， 而头脑本身就是回忆，是对曾经发生的一切的记忆。 这个记忆体想要永生。 所以没有爱，只有对爱的回忆。 但我想要真实的东西，而不仅仅是对它的回忆。”
Wanting the real thing is still the urge of memory, isn’t it? “You mean I mustn’t want it?” “That’s right,” replied the artist. “Wanting it is a craving born of memory. You didn’t want or cling to the real thing when it was there; it was simply there, like a flower. But as it faded, the craving for it began. To want it is to have the ashes of remembrance. The supreme moment which I have been longing for is not the real. My longing arises from the remembrance of something that once happened, and so I am back in the fog of memory, which I now see is darkness.”
想要真实的东西仍然是回忆的冲动，不是吗？ “你是说我不能去要它？” “没错，”艺术家回答。 “想要它，是一种源于记忆的渴望。 你不想，或不依附于真实的东西，当它来临的时候； 它只是在那里，像一朵花。 但随着它的消退，对它的渴望开始了。 想它，就是拥抱记忆的灰烬。 我一直渴望的至高无上的时刻不是真实的。 我的渴望源于对曾经发生的事情的记忆， 所以我又回到了记忆的迷雾中，我现在看到的，是一片黑暗。”
Craving is remembrance; there is no craving without the known, which is the memory of what has been and it is this craving that sustains the ‘me’, the self, the ego. Now, can the mind die to the known – the known which is demanding to be made permanent? This is the real problem, isn’t it? “What do you mean by dying to the known?” asked the doctor.
渴望是回忆； 没有知道的东西，就没有渴望，知道的东西，即是对过往事物的回忆， 正是这种渴望维持着‘我’、自己、自我。 现在，这颗头脑能死于已知 —— 那个要求永生的已知吗？ 这才是真正的问题，不是吗？ “死于已知是什么意思？” 医生问道。
To die to the known is to have no continuity of yesterday. That which has continuance is only memory. What has no continuity is neither permanent nor impermanent. permanency or continuity comes into being only when there’s fear of transiency. Can there be an ending of consciousness as continuity, a dying to the total feeling of becoming without gathering again in the very act of dying? There is this feeling of becoming only when there is the memory of what has been and what should be, and then the present is used as a passage between the two. Dying to the known is the complete stillness of the mind. Thought under the pressure of craving can never be still.
死于已知，就是没有昨天的延续。 延续下来的东西，只不过是回忆。 那没有延续性的东西，既不是永恒的，也不是无常的。 对无常的恐惧，才产生了永久性或延续性。 能结束作为延续体的意识吗？ 能死于达成的完美感吗？ 在每一次死亡中，能不去收集吗？ 达成的感觉之所以存在，只是出现于这种情形： 在曾经的记忆与‘应该是’的理想之间， ‘现在’被利用，当作两者之间的桥梁。 死于已知，是这颗头脑的完全静止。 处在渴望的压力下的念头，永远不会静止。
“I followed with understanding up to the point when you mentioned dying,” said the lawyer. “Now I am confused.”
“我跟着理解，直到你提到死亡时，” 律师说。 “现在我很困惑。”
Only that which has an ending can be aware of the new, of love, or the supreme. What has continuance, ‘permanence’, is memory of the things that have been. The mind must die to the past, though the mind is put together by the past. The totality of the mind must be completely still, without any pressure, influence or movement from the past. Only then is the other possible. “I shall have to ponder over this a great deal,” said the doctor. “It will be real meditation.”
只有结束，才能意识到新生、爱、或至高无上。 有延续性的，‘永久性’的，是对曾经的回忆。 头脑必须死于过去，尽管头脑是由过去拼凑起来的。 头脑的整体必须完全静止， 没有任何来自过往的压力、影响或运动。 只有这样，另一个才有可能。 “我必须对此进行深思熟虑，” 医生说。 “它将是真正的冥想。”