The road was muddy, deep rutted, full of people; it was outside the town and slowly a suburb was being built, but now it was incredibly dirty, full of holes, dogs, goats, wandering cattle, buses, cycles, cars and more people; shops were selling coloured drinks in bottles, shops that had cloth to sell, food, wood for fire, a bank, a cycle-repair shop, more food, goats and more people. There was still country on either side of the road, palm trees, rice fields, and great puddles of water. The sun was among the clouds behind the palm trees bursting with colour and vast shadows; the pools were ablaze and every bush and tree was amazed by the vastness of the sky. The goats were nibbling at their roots, women were washing their clothes at a tap, children went on playing; everywhere there was activity and nobody bothered to look at the sky or at those clouds, bearing colour; it was an evening that would soon disappear never to appear again and nobody seemed to care. The immediate was all important, the immediate that may extend into the future beyond sight. The long vision is the immediate vision. The bus came hurtling along, never giving an inch, sure of itself, everyone giving way, but the heavy buffalo stopped it; it was right in the middle, moving at its own heavy gait, never paying attention to the horn and the horn stopped in exasperation. At heart everyone is a politician, concerned with the immediate and trying to force all life into the immediate. And later on there would be sorrow, round the corner, but it could be avoided; there was the pill, the drink, the temple and the family of immediacies. You could end it all if you believed in something ardently or drowned yourself in work or committed yourself to some pattern of thought. But you have tried them all and your mind was as barren as your heart and you crossed to the other side of the road and got lost in the immediate. The clouds were now heavy in the sky and there was only a patch of colour where the sun had been. The road went on, past the palm trees, the casuarinas, rice fields, huts and on and on and suddenly as ever unexpectedly, that otherness came with that purity and strength which no thought or madness could possibly ever formulate and it was there and your heart seemed to explode into the empty heavens, with ecstasy. The brain was utterly still, motionless, but sensitive, watching. It could not follow into emptiness; it was of time but time had stopped and it could not experience; experience is recognition and what it recognized would be time. So it was motionless, merely quiescent, without asking, seeking. And this totality of love or what you will, word is not the thing, entered into everything and was lost. Everything had its space, its place, but this had none and so it cannot be found; do what you will you will not find it. It is not on the market nor in any temple; everything has to be destroyed, not a stone left unturned, no foundation to stand on, but even then this emptiness must be without a tear, then perhaps the unknowable might pass by. It was there and beauty.
泥泞的路上，车辙很深，到处都是人； 它在城外，慢慢地被建造成一个郊区， 但现在它非常肮脏，到处是坑坑洼洼、狗狗们、山羊们、 流浪的牛、公交车、自行车、汽车和更多的人； 商店出售瓶装的彩色饮料， 有卖布匹的、食物的、生火的木柴的商店， 一家银行，一家自行车修理店，更多的食品、山羊和更多的人。 路的两旁是乡野、棕榈树、稻田和巨大的水坑。 太阳在棕榈树后面的云层中，带着光彩和巨大的阴影； 池子里燃烧着，每一棵灌木和树木都惊讶于广阔的天空。 山羊在啃它们的草根，女人在水龙头下面洗衣服， 孩子们继续玩耍着； 到处都有活动 没有人费心去看天空，或者那些带有光色的云； 它是一个很快就会消失的夜，再也不会出现，似乎没有人在乎。 眼前的事情都很重要，眼前的事情可能会延伸到看不见的未来。 长远的视野就是眼前的视野。 公共汽车疾驰而来，一寸不退，确信它自己，每个人都会让路， 但沉重的水牛阻挡了它； 它就在正中，以自己沉重的步态移动， 从来没注意喇叭，喇叭在愤怒中停了下来。 在每个人的心中，都有一个政治家， 关注这个眼前，并试图强迫所有的生命进入其中。 之后，就会有悲伤，就在拐角处，但是，它是可以避免的； 有药丸，有饮料，有寺庙和直系亲属。 如果你热切地相信某个事物，你可以结束这一切； 或者把你自己淹没在工作中，或者把你自己投身到某种思维模式中。 但是，那些你都试过了，而你的头脑，如同你的心灵一样贫瘠； 你穿过这条路的另一边，迷失在这眼前中。 天空中的云层现在很重，太阳所在的地方只有一片光。 这条路继续前行，经过棕榈树、木麻黄、稻田、小屋等等。 突然，出乎意料， 那个异类，伴随着那种纯洁和力量而来 任何思想或疯狂都无法表达 它就在那里，你的心似乎爆炸成虚无的天空，带着至乐。 大脑完全静止，一动不动，却敏感，观察着。 它不能跟随着进入虚无； 它属于时间，但时间已经停止，而它无法体验； 体验是认知，那认出来的东西，就是时间。 所以它一动不动，只是静止，没有询问，没有寻找。 而这全部的爱，或者随你怎么称呼它， 词语不是这个东西，进入任何一个东西，就失去了它。 每一个东西都有它的空间，它的位置，但这个没有，所以找不到它； 随便你怎么做，你不会找到它。 它不在市场上，也不在任何寺庙里； 每一个东西都必须被摧毁，没有一块石头不被翻转，没有根基可以立足， 但即便如此，这种虚无必须没有一滴眼泪，那么，也许，那不可知的东西可能会通过。 它在那里，美。
All deliberate pattern of change is non-change; change has motive, purpose, direction and so it is merely a continuity, modified, of what has been. Such change is futile; it is like changing clothes on a doll but it remains, mechanical, lifeless, brittle, to be broken and thrown away. Death is the inevitable end of change; economic, social revolution is death in the pattern of change. It is not a revolution at all, it is a continuity, modified, of what has been. Mutation, total revolution, takes place only when change, the pattern of time, is seen as false and in its total abandonment mutation takes place.
对一切模式的刻意改变，都不是改变； 改变有动机、意图、方向，所以它只是过去事物的延续、修改。 这种改变，是没有用的； 如同给洋娃娃换衣服， 但它依然如故，是机械的，没有生气的，易碎的，被摔碎然后被扔掉。 死亡是改变的末路； 在改变的这种模式中，经济、社会革命就是死亡。 它根本不是革命，它是过去事物的延续、修改。 突变，彻底的革命，它的发生， 只有当这种改变、这种在时间内的模式，被视为虚假，并被完全放弃的时候。
The sea was rough, with thunderous waves that came in from afar; nearby was a village built round a large, deep pond, a tank it is called, and a broken-down temple. The water of the tank was pale green and steps lead down to it, from all sides. The village was neglected, dirty and there were hardly any roads, and round about this tank were houses and on one side was the old temple in ruins and a comparatively new one, with red striped walls; the houses were dilapidated but that village had a familiar, friendly feeling about it. Beside the way that led to the sea a whole group of women were haggling over some fish at the top of their voices; everyone seemed so excited about everything; it was their evening entertainment for they were laughing too. And there were the sweepings of the road in a heap in the corner and the mangy village dogs were poking their noses into it and a shop close to it was selling drinks, things to eat, and a poor woman with a baby and torn rags was begging at the door of the shop. The cruel sea was close by, thundering away and the luscious green rice fields were beyond the village, peaceful, full of promise in the evening light. Clouds were coming across the sea, unhurriedly, with the sun upon them and everywhere there was activity and no one looked up at the sky. The dead fish, the noisy group, the green waters in that deep pond, the striped walls of the temple seemed to hold back the setting sun. If you walk on that road across the canal, beside the rice field and casuarina groves, every passer-by you know, they are friendly, they stop and talk to you, that you should come to live among them, that they would look after you, and the sky is darkening and the green of the rice fields is gone and the stars are very bright.
大海汹涌，雷鸣般的浪花从远处袭来； 附近有一个村庄，边上建有一个又大又深的池塘，被称为水箱，还有一座破庙。 水箱的水是淡绿色的，四围的台阶通向水箱底部。 这个村庄被忽视了，肮脏，几乎没有任何道路， 在这个水箱的周围，散落着房屋 一边是废墟中的旧庙宇，另一边是相对较新的神庙，墙壁上有红色条纹； 这些屋子破旧不堪，但那个村庄有一种熟悉的、友好的感觉。 在通往大海的路上 一群女人们都提高嗓门，在卖鱼处讨价还价。 每个人似乎对一切都很兴奋； 这是他们晚上的娱乐活动，因为他们也在笑。 路边角落里，有一堆垃圾 村里的癞皮狗正伸出鼻子去嗅 附近有一家商店，卖着饮料、一些吃的东西， 和一个带着婴儿的可怜的女人穿着破裂的衣服，在商店门口乞讨。 残酷的大海就在附近，轰隆隆地走了 而绿意盎然的稻田在村外，宁静，在傍晚的阳光下充满希望。 乌云不紧不慢地穿过大海，太阳照在他们身上 到处都是活动，没有人抬头看天空。 死鱼，吵闹的人群，深池里的绿水，寺庙的条纹墙壁 似乎挡住了夕阳。 如果你走在运河对面的那条路上，在稻田和木麻黄树林旁边， 你认识的每个路人，他们都很友好，他们会停下来和你说话， 你要是住在他们中间，他们会照顾你， 天空变暗了，稻田的绿色消失了，星星非常明亮。
Walking on that road in the dark with the light of the city in the-clouds, that inviolable strength comes with such abundance and with such clarity that it took literally your breath away. All life was that strength. It wasn't the strength of carefully built-up will, nor the strength of many defences and resistances; it was not the strength of courage nor the strength of jealousy and death. It had no quality, no description could contain it and yet it was there as those dark distant hills and those trees beside the road. It was too immense for thought to bring it about or speculate upon. It was a strength that had no cause and so nothing could be added to or taken away from it. It cannot be known; it has no shape, form, and cannot be approached. Knowing is recognition but it is always new, something that cannot be measured in time. It had been there all day, uncertainly, without insistence like a whisper but now it was there with an urgency and with such abundance that there was nothing but that. Words have been spoilt and made common; the word love is on the market but that word had a totally different meaning, walking on that empty road. It came with that impenetrable strength; the two were inseparable, like the colour of a petal. The brain, the heart and the mind were totally consumed by it and there was nothing left but that. But yet the buses rattled by, the villagers were talking loudly and the Pleiades were just over the horizon. It continued, walking alone or walking with others, and it went on during the night until the morning came among the palm trees. But it is there like a whisper among the leaves.
夜晚，走在那条路上，城市的灯火染映在云上， 不可侵犯的力量来了， 如此丰饶、如此清晰，以至于它真的带走了你的呼吸。 所有的生命都是那种力量。 它不是精心建立的意志的力量， 也不是许多防御和抵抗的力量； 它不是勇气的力量，也不是嫉妒和死亡的力量。 它没有质量，没有描述可以涵盖它 然而，它在那里，像那些黑暗的远处山丘和路边的那些树木。 它太大了，无法思考或推测它。 它是一种没有原因的力量，因此，无法添加或剥夺任何东西。 它无法被知道； 它没有形状、形式，无法接近。 知道是认出，但它总是新的，是某个无法用时间衡量的东西。 它在那里待了一整天，不确定地，没有坚持，像一声耳语。 但现在它在那里，具有一种紧迫感和如此地丰饶，除了那，什么都没有。 言语被滥用，变得司空见惯； ‘爱’这个词挂在市场上，但这个词有一种完全不同的含义，走在那条空无人烟的路上。 它带着那种坚不可摧的力量而来；两者密不可分，就像花瓣的颜色。 大脑、心灵和头脑，完全被它吞噬了。 除此之外，什么都没有。 但公交车嘎嘎作响，村民们在大声议论。 昴宿星团就在地平线上。 它继续着，独自行走或与他人同行， 它一直持续到晚上，直到早上，来到了棕榈树之间。 但它就在那里，像树叶之间的耳语一样。
What an extraordinary thing meditation is. If there is any kind of compulsion, effort to make thought conform, imitate, then it becomes a wearisome burden. The silence which is desired ceases to be illuminating; if it is the pursuit of visions and experiences, then it leads to illusions and self-hypnosis. Only in the flowering of thought and so ending thought does meditation have significance; thought can only flower in freedom not in everwidening patterns of knowledge. Knowledge may give newer experiences of greater sensation but a mind that is seeking experiences of any kind is immature. Maturity is the freedom from all experience; it is no longer under any influence to be and not to be. Maturity in meditation is the freeing of the mind from knowledge for it shapes and controls all experience. A mind which is a light to itself needs no experience. Immaturity is the craving for greater and wider experience. Meditation is the wandering through the world of knowledge and being free of it to enter into the unknown.
冥想是一件多么不寻常的事情。 如果有任何一种强迫、努力，使思想去顺应、模仿， 那么，它就变成了一个令人厌倦的负担。 这种安静，这被渴望去忘我的开悟； 如果是追求愿景和体验， 那么它就导向幻觉和自我催眠。 只有思想的这种绽放，并因而结束思想，冥想才有意义； 思想只能在自由中绽放，而不是在知识模式的不断扩张中。 知识可能会带来一种更伟大的感觉，更新的体验； 但是，寻求任何一种体验的头脑是不成熟的。 成熟是释放了所有体验的自在； 它不再受‘成为’和‘不成为’的任何影响。 冥想的成熟是将思想从知识中解放出来 因为它塑造和控制着所有的体验。 一颗头脑，就是它自己的一盞光，不需要体驗。 不成熟是对更大、更广泛的体验的渴望。 冥想是在知识世界中游荡， 并摆脱它，进入未知。
They are quarrelling in that little hut, with an oil lamp, on that pleasant road; in a high-pitched, screechy voice she was screaming something about money, there wasn't enough left over with which to buy rice; he in a low, cowed tone was mumbling something. You could hear her voice quite far away and only the crowded bus drowned it. The palm trees were silent and even the feathery tops of the casuarinas had stopped their gentle movement. There was no moon and it was dark, the sun having set among the gathering clouds, some time ago. Buses and cars passed, so many of them, for they all had been to see an ancient temple by the sea and again the road became quiet, isolated and far away. The few villagers that passed talked quietly, worn out after a day's labour. That strange immensity was coming and it was there with incredible gentleness and affection; as a tender, new leaf in spring, so easily destroyed, it was there utterly vulnerable and so everlastingly indestructible. Every thought and feeling disappeared and recognition ceased.
他们在吵架，在那小茅屋里，里面有一盏油灯，在那条愉快的路边； 用高亢而尖锐的嗓音，她尖叫着某个关于钱的东西， 没有足够的钱买大米； 他用低沉而畏缩的语气，忍气吞声地说着什么。 你可以听到她的声音传得很远，只是被拥挤的公交车淹没了。 棕榈树安静下来， 甚至木麻黄树的羽色树尖也停止了它们温柔的运动。 没有月亮，天很黑， 不久前，太阳已经落在云层中。 公交车和汽车经过，有很多辆， 因为他们都去海边的一座古庙。 再一次，这条路变得安静、偏僻、遥远。 路过的几个村民小声交谈着，经过一天的劳动，疲惫不堪。 那奇异的浩瀚来了，它带着难以置信的温柔和深情在那里； 犹如春天的嫩叶，能如此轻易地被摧毁， 它在那里，完全地脆弱，永远坚不可摧。 所有的想法和感觉都消失了，认可消亡了。
It is strange how important money has become, both to the giver and to the receiver, to the man in power and to the poor. They talk everlastingly of money or avoid talking of money, as it is bad form but are conscious of money. Money to do good work, money for the party, money for the temple, and money to buy rice. If you have money you are miserable and if you haven't you are in misery too. They tell you what he is worth as they tell you his position and the degrees he has taken, his cleverness, his capacity and how much he is making. The envy of the rich and the envy of the poor, the competition to show off, knowledge, clothes and the brilliancy of conversation. Everyone wants to impress somebody, the larger the crowd the better. But money is more important than anything else except power. These two things are a marvellous combination; the saint has power, though he has no money; he is influencing the rich and poor. The politician will use the country, the saint, the gods that be, to come to the top and tell you the absurdity of ambition and the ruthlessness of power. There is no end to money and power; the more you have, the more you want and there is no end to it. But behind all money and power, there is sorrow which cannot be denied; you may put it aside, try to forget it but it is always there; you can't argue it away and it is always there, a deep wound that nothing seems to heal.
奇怪的是，钱变得多么地重要， 无论是给予者还是接受者，当权者和穷人。 他们永远在谈论钱，或避免谈论钱， 因为它是糟糕的形式，却都有金钱意识。 善行的钱，党的钱，庙的钱，买米的钱。 如果你有钱，你就会很痛苦，如果你没有，你也会很痛苦。 他们告诉你他值多少钱 正如他们告诉你他的地位和他所获得的学位，他的聪明，他的能力 以及他赚了多少钱。 富人的羡慕和穷人的羡慕， 攀比炫耀，在知识、服饰和口才上。 每个人都想给某人留下深刻的印象，人越多越好。 但除了权力，金钱比什么都重要。 这两个东西是一种奇妙的组合； 圣人有权力，虽然他没有钱；他正在影响富人和穷人。 政治家将利用这个国家， 圣人，众神，来到这个顶端， 并告诉你野心的荒谬和权力的无情。 金钱和权力是无穷无尽的； 你拥有的越多，你想要的就越多，而且没有尽头。 但所有的金钱和权力背后，都有不可拒绝的悲伤； 你可以把它放在一边，试着忘记它，但它总是在那里； 你不能与它争辩，它总是在那里，一道深刻的伤口，似乎没有什么能使它愈合。
Nobody wants to be free of it, it is too complex to understand sorrow; it is all explained in the books, and the books, words, conclusions, become all important but sorrow is there still covered over with ideas. And escape becomes significant; escape is the essence of superficiality, though it may have varying depth. But sorrow is not easily cheated. You have to go into the very heart of it to end it; you have to dig very deep into yourself, never leaving a corner uncovered. You have to see every twist and turn of cunning thought, every feeling about everything, every move of every reaction, without restraint, without choice. It is like following a river to its source; the river will take you to it. You have to follow every threat, every clue to the heart of sorrow. You have only to watch, see, listen; it is all there open and clear. You have to take the journey, not to the moon, not to the gods but into yourself. You can take a swift step into yourself and so swiftly end sorrow or prolong the journey, idling, lazy and dispassionate. You need to have passion to end sorrow, and passion is not bought through escape. It is there when you stop escaping.
没有人想摆脱悲伤，要理解它，太复杂了； 这一切都在书中被解释， 而文字、结论，变得很重要， 可是，被观念所覆盖的悲伤，依然在那里。 逃避变得重要； 逃避是肤浅的本质，尽管它可能有不同的深度。 但悲伤不是那么容易被欺骗的。 你必须进入它的核心才能结束它； 你必须非常深入地挖掘你自己，永远不要放掉任何一个角落。 你必须看到每一个转角 狡猾的思想，对每个东西的每一种感觉，每一种反应的每一个动作， 不去克制，不作选择。 就如同沿着一条河，追朔它的源头；河流会带你去。 你必须追随每一个威胁，每一个通往悲伤之心的线索。 你只需要观察，看，听；一切都在那里，敞亮而清晰。 你必须踏上旅程，不是去月球，不是去众神，而是进入你自己。 你可以迅速地迈入，从而迅速地结束悲伤 或者延长旅程，闲散，懒惰和无动于衷。 你需要有激情来结束悲伤，激情不是通过逃避而买来的。 当你停止逃避时，它就在那里。
Under the trees it was very quiet; there were so many birds calling, singing, chattering, endlessly restless. The branches were huge, beautifully shaped, polished, smooth and it was quite startling to see them and they had a sweep and a grace that brought tears to the eyes and made you wonder at the things of the earth. The earth had nothing more beautiful than the tree and when it died it would still be beautiful; every branch naked, open to the sky, bleached by the sun and there would be birds resting upon its nakedness. There would be shelter for owls, there in that deep hollow, and the bright, screeching parrots would nest high up in the hole of that branch; woodpeckers would come, with their red-crested feathers sticking straight out of their heads, to drive in a few holes; of course there would be those striped squirrels, racing about the branches, ever complaining about something and always curious; right on the top-most branch, there would be a white and red eagle surveying the land with dignity and alone. There would be many ants, red and black, scurrying up the tree and others racing down and their bite would be quite painful. But now the tree was alive, marvellous, and there was plenty of shade and the blazing sun never touched you; you could sit there by the hour and see and listen to everything that was alive and dead, outside and inside. You cannot see and listen to the outside without wandering on to the inside. Really the outside is the inside and the inside is the outside and it is difficult, almost impossible to separate them. You look at this magnificent tree and you wonder who is watching whom and presently there is no watcher at all. Everything is so intensely alive and there is only life and the watcher is as dead as that leaf. There is no dividing line between the tree, the birds and that man sitting in the shade and the earth that is so abundant. Virtue is there without thought and so there is order; order is not permanent; it is there only from moment to moment and that immensity comes with the setting sun so casually, so freely welcoming. The birds have become silent for it is getting dark and everything is slowly becoming quiet ready for the night. The brain, that marvellous, sensitive, alive thing, is utterly still, only watching, listening without a moment of reaction, without recording, without experiencing, only seeing and listening. With that immensity, there is love and destruction and that destruction is unapproachable strength. These are all words, like that dead tree, a symbol of that which was and it never is. It has gone, moved away from the word; the word is dead which would never capture that sweeping nothingness. Only out of that immense emptiness is there love, with its innocency. How can the brain be aware of that love, the brain that is so active, crowded, burdened with knowledge, with experience? Everything must be denied for that to be.
在树下，很是安静； 有那么多鸟儿在叫，在唱歌，在叽叽喳喳，无休止的躁动。 树枝粗壮，形态优美，光滑，圆润 看到他们真是太吃惊了 他们有一种扫除和优雅，让泪水溢出眼眶 让你对地上的事物感到好奇。 这大地上，没有比树更美丽的了，当它死去时，它仍然是美丽的； 每一根树枝都赤裸裸地向天空敞开， 被太阳漂白，会有鸟儿在它的裸体上休息。 猫头鹰会有庇护所，在那深深的空洞里， 明亮的尖叫着的鹦鹉会在树洞里筑巢； 啄木鸟会来，它们的红冠羽毛笔直地伸在头上，对着一些洞钉啄； 当然会有那些长着条纹的松鼠，在树枝上奔跑， 总是抱怨些事物，也总是很好奇； 在最顶端的树枝上，会有一只白红相间的鹰，有尊严地、独自地打量着这片土地。 会有很多蚂蚁，红色和黑色的，在树上乱窜 其他的跑了下来，他们叮咬会很痛。 但是现在这棵树还活着，很棒，有充足的树荫，炽热的阳光从未触及过你； 你可以在那里坐几个小时，看和听一切，活着的和死的，外面和里面的。 如果不向内游荡，你就无法看和听外在的。 实际上，外就是内，内在是外在 而且很难，几乎不可能将它们分开。 你看这棵巨大的树 你想知道是谁在看谁，而现在，根本没有观察者。 一切都是那么强烈地活着，只有生命，观察者就像那片叶子一样，死了。 在树、鸟和那个坐在树荫下的人之间，没有分界线， 大地是如此丰饶。 美德就在那里，没有思想，所以有秩序； 秩序不是永久的；它只不过是每时每刻都在那儿 那浩瀚随夕阳而来，如此随意，如此自由自在。 鸟儿变得安静了，因为天快黑了 一切都慢慢地变得安静，为夜晚做准备。 大脑，那个奇妙的、敏感的、有生命的东西，是完全静止的， 只看，听，没有一刻的反应， 没有记录，没有体验，只有看和听。 伴随着那浩瀚，就有了爱和毁灭，而毁灭是无法接近的力量。 这些都是文字，就像那棵枯树，象征着过去和现在。 它已经消失了，远离这个词； 这个词是死的，它永远不会捕捉到那一望无际的虚无。 只有在那巨大的空无中，才有爱，有它的纯真。 大脑怎么能意识到这种爱， 这颗如此活跃、拥挤、背负着知识和体验的脑袋？ 为此，必须否定一切。
Habit, however convenient, is destructive of sensitivity, habit gives the feeling of security and how can there be alertness, sensitivity, when habit is cultivated; not that insecurity brings alert awareness. How quickly everything becomes habit, sorrow as well as pleasure and then boredom sets in and that peculiar thing called leisure. After habit which has been working for forty years, then you have leisure or leisure at the end of the day. Habit had its turn and now it's the turn of leisure which again turns into habit. Without sensitivity there is no affection and that integrity which is not the driven reaction of contradictory existence. The machinery of habit is thought which is always seeking security, some comforting state from which it will never be disturbed. It is this search for the permanent that denies sensitivity. Being sensitive never hurts, only those things in which you have taken shelter cause pain. To be totally sensitive is to be wholly alive and that is love. But thought is very cunning; it will evade the pursuer, which is another thought; thought cannot pursue another thought. Only the flowering of thought can be seen, listened to, and what flowers in freedom comes to an end, dies without leaving a mark.
习惯，无论多么的便利，都会破坏敏感， 习惯给人以安全感 当习惯被培养出来，怎么会有警觉、敏感？ 并不是说不安全感会带来警觉性的意识。 一切都很快变成了习惯， 悲伤伴随着快乐，接着无聊开始了， 还有一个奇特的东西，叫做闲暇。 在养成了四十年的工作习惯之后，有了闲暇 或者你在一天结束时，有了闲暇。 习惯有它的轮转，现在轮到闲暇了，这又变成了习惯。 没有敏感，就没有感情和那种融合 —— 那不是矛盾所驱动的反应。 习惯的机制是思想 —— 思想总是在寻求安全，寻找某种永远不会被打扰的舒适。 正是这种对永恒的追求，拒绝了敏感。 处于敏感，永远不受伤，只有当你所躲避那些东西的时候，才会引发痛苦。 完全地敏感，就是完整地活着，那就是爱。 但思想是非常狡猾的； 它会躲避这位追捕者，也就是另一个思想；思想不能追捕另一个思想。 只有思想绽放，才能看到，听见， 并在自由中绽放，走到尽头，死亡，不留一丝痕迹。
This cuckoo which had been calling from dawn was smaller than a crow, greyer, with long tail and brilliant red eyes; it was sitting on a small palm tree half hidden, calling in clear soft tones; its tail and head were showing and there on a small tree was its mate. It was smaller, more shy, more hidden; then the male flew to the female who came out onto an open branch; they stayed there, the male calling and presently they flew away. There were clouds in the sky and a soft breeze was playing among the leaves; the heavy palms were still, their time would come, later in the day, towards the evening to do their heavy dancing but now they were still, lethargic and indifferent. It must have rained during the night and the ground was wet and the sand was brittle; the garden was peaceful for the day had not yet begun; the heavy trees were somnolent and the little ones were all awake, and two squirrels were chasing each other playfully in and out of the branches. The clouds of early dawn were giving way to the clouds of day and the casuarinas were swaying.
这只从黎明开始叫的杜鹃比乌鸦还小， 灰色，长尾巴和鲜红色的眼睛； 它坐在一棵半隐蔽的小棕榈树上，用清晰柔和的音调叫着； 它的尾巴和头露出来，在一棵小树上，有它的伴侣。 它更小，更害羞，更隐蔽； 然后雄性飞到雌性身边，雌性飞到一根开放的树枝上； 他们呆在那里，雄性叫了一声，不一会儿就飞走了。 天空中有云彩，微风在树叶间徘徊； 厚重的棕榈树静止不动，他们的时间会到来，在一天的晚些时候， 傍晚时分，他们跳着沉重的舞蹈 但现在他们仍然睡眼朦胧，无动于衷。 晚上一定下过雨 地面潮湿，沙子散落； 花园很平静，因为这一天还没有开始； 厚重的树睡眼朦胧，小家伙们都醒了， 两只松鼠在树枝上顽皮地互相追逐。 黎明的云层让位于白天的云层，麻黄树摇曳着。
Every act of meditation is never the same, there is a new breath, a new shattering; there is no pattern to be torn down for there is no building of another, a new habit covering the old. All habits, however recently acquired, are old; they are formed out of the old but meditation is not shattering the old for a new pattern. It was new and shattering; it was new, not in the field of the old; it had never entered into that ground; it was new as it had never known the old; it was shattering in itself; it was not breaking down something but it itself was destruction. It destroyed and so it was new and there was creation.
每一个冥想的行为，都是不一样的， 有一种新的气息，一种新的粉碎； 沒有模式被拆除，因為沒有另一個模式的建立，没有一個覆盖旧习惯的新习惯。 所有的习惯，就算是最近才养成的，都是旧的；它們是通过舊的事物而形成， 但冥想並沒有为新的模式而打破舊的。 它是新的和粉碎；它是新，不在旧的领域； 它从未进入过那个领域； 它是新，因为它从来不知道旧；它本身就是它自己的粉碎； 它不是在毁灭某个东西，但它本身就是毁灭。 它摧毁，所以它是新，有创造。
There is no toy in meditation which absorbs you or you absorb it. It is the destruction of all toys, visions, ideas, experience that goes to the making of meditation. You must lay the foundation for true meditation otherwise you will be caught in various forms of illusion. Meditation is purest negation, negation which is not the outcome of reaction. To deny and to remain with the denial in negation is action without motive, which is love.
在冥想中，沒有玩具吸引你，或你吸引它。 它毁灭所有的玩具：异象、想法、体验，这些用于制作冥想的材料。 为真正的冥想，你必须奠定基础 否则你会陷入各种形式的幻觉。 冥想是最純粹的否定，否定不是反應的結果。 否定，在被动中保持否定，就是没有动机的行为，也就是爱。
There was a grey speckled bird, nearly as large as a crow; it wasn't a bit shy and it could be watched as long as one liked; it was eating berries, choosing very carefully, which were hanging down in heavy brunches, green and silver. Presently two other birds, nearly as large as the speckled one, came to hang on to other branches; they were the cuckoos of yesterday; there were no soft-throated calls this time, they were all eating busily. They generally are shy birds, these cuckoos, but they didn't seem to mind someone standing so close watching them, only a few feet away. Then the striped squirrel came to join them but all the three flew off and the squirrel set to and was eating away ravenously when a crow came cawing and this was too much for it and it raced away. The crow didn't eat any of the berries but probably didn't like others enjoying themselves. It was a cool morning and the sun was coming up slowly behind the thick trees; there were long shadows and the soft dew was still on the grass, and in the little pond there were two blue lilies with heart of gold; it was light golden in colour and the blue was the blue of spring skies and the pads were round, very green and a small frog was sitting on one of them, motionless, eyes staring. The two lilies were the delight of the whole garden, even the large trees looked down upon them without shadow; they were delicate, soft and quiet in their pond. When you looked at them, all reaction ceased, your thoughts and feelings faded away and only they remained, in their beauty and their quietness; they were intense, like every living thing is, except man who is so everlastingly occupied with himself. As you watched these two, the world was changed, not into some better social order, with less tyranny and more freedom or poverty eliminated, but there was no pain, no sorrow, the coming and going of anxiety and there was no toil of boredom; it was changed because those two were there, blue with golden hearts. It was the miracle of beauty.
一只灰色的斑点鸟，几乎和乌鸦一样大； 它一点也不害羞，只要你想看，它就让你看个够； 它在吃浆果，非常谨慎地挑选着， 它们挂在沉重的树枝上，绿色和银色的。 现在，还有另外两只鸟， 几乎和斑点鸟一样大，在其他树枝上； 它们是昨天的杜鹃鸟； 这次没有柔软的鸣叫，它们都在忙着吃。 它们通常是害羞的鸟，这些杜鹃们， 但它们似乎并不介意有人站得这么近，看着他们，只有几英尺远。 然后带有条纹的松鼠来了，加入了它们，但有三只鸟飞走了 松鼠开始贪婪地吃东西 一只乌鸦啧啧叫时，这对它来说太过分了，它跑走了。 乌鸦没有吃任何浆果 但可能不喜欢别人与它们自己分享。 这是一个凉爽的早晨，太阳在茂密的树林后面慢慢升起。 有长长的影子，柔软的露珠还在草地上， 在小池塘里，有两朵蓝色的百合花，长着金色的花蕊； 它是浅金色的，蓝色是春日天空的蓝色 这些垫子是圆形的，很绿 一只小青蛙坐在其中的一个，一动不动，瞪着眼睛。 两朵百合花是整个花园的喜悦， 就连大树也毫无影子地俯瞰着它们。 它们在池塘里娇嫩、柔软、安静。 当你看着它们时，所有的反应都停止了， 你的思想和感受消失了，只剩下它们，在它们的美丽和宁静中； 它们很激烈，就像每个生物一样， 除了人类，那类永远被他自己占据的生物。 当你看到这两朵时，这个世界被改变了， 不是变成某种更好的社会秩序，更少的暴政，更多的自由，或消除更多的贫困， 而是没有痛苦，没有悲伤，没有焦虑的徘徊， 没有无聊的煎熬； 它被改变了，因为那两朵花，蓝色的金色花蕊。 它是美的奇迹。
That road was familiar with us all now, the villager, the long line of bullock carts with a man walking beside each one of them, fifteen or twenty of them in a long line, with the dogs, goats and the ripening rice fields, and that evening it was smilingly open and the skies were very close. It was dark and the road shone with the light of the sky and night was closing in. Meditation is not the way of effort; every effort contradicts, resists; effort and choice always breed conflict and meditation then only becomes an escape from fact, the what is. But on that road, meditation yielded to that otherness, utterly silencing the already quiet brain; the brain was merely a passage for that immeasurable; as a deep wide river between two steep banks, this strange otherness moved, without direction, without time.
现在，我们都熟悉那条路了， 这里的村民们，长长的牛车队伍，每个队伍旁边都有一个人， 他们中的十五或二十个，排成一长串，有狗、山羊和成熟的稻田， 那天晚上，它微笑着敞开，天空非常地近。 天黑了，这条路闪耀着天空的光芒，在夜幕降临的时候。 冥想不是努力的方式；每一种努力都是矛盾的，是反抗性的； 努力和选择总是滋生冲突 那样一来，冥想就变成了对事实，对什么是的逃避。 但在这条路上，冥想屈服于这个异类，这颗已经安静的大脑完全地静止； 这颗大脑只是那不可估量者的通道； 如同一条宽深的河，从两侧陡峭的岩壁流过， 这个奇怪的异类移动着，没有方向，没有时间。
Out of the window you could see a young palm tree and a tree full of large, pink-petalled flowers among the green leaves. The palm leaves were waving in every direction, heavily and clumsily and the flowers were motionless. Far away was the sea and you heard it all night, deep and penetrating; it never varied its heavy sound which kept rolling in; in it there was threat, restlessness and brutal force. With the dawn the roar of the sea faded and other noises took over, the birds, cars and the drum. Meditation was the fire that burned away all time and distance, achievement and experience. There was only vast, boundless emptiness but in it there was movement, creation. Thought cannot be creative; it can put things together, on a canvas, in words, in stone or in a marvellous rocket; thought, however polished, however subtle is within the boundaries of time; it can only cover space; it cannot go beyond itself. It cannot purify itself; it cannot pursue itself; it can only flower, if it does not block itself, and die. All feeling is sensation and experience is of it, and feeling with thought builds the boundaries of time.
透过窗，你可以看到一棵年轻的棕榈树 还有一棵树，在绿叶间开满了粉红色的花瓣。 棕榈叶向四面八方摇曳，沉重而笨拙，花儿们却一动不动。 远处是大海，你整夜都听见它，深沉而富有穿透性； 它从不改变它沉重的声音，不断滚滚而来； 其中有威胁、躁动和野蛮的力量。 随着黎明降临，大海的咆哮声渐渐消失，其他的声音占据了上风，鸟儿，汽车和鼓声。 冥想是火焰，燃烧所有时间和距离、成就和体验。 只有广阔无边的虚无，但其中有运动，创造。 思想不可能是创造性的； 它可以把东西组装在一起，放在画布上、文字上、石头上，或者在奇妙的火箭中； 思想，无论多么精致，多么微妙，都在时间的边界之内； 它只能覆盖空间；它不能超越它自身。 它不能净化它自己；它不能追求它自己； 它只能绽放，如果它不阻拦它自己，并死亡。 所有的感觉都是感受，而体验从属于感受， 与思想作伴的感觉，构建出了时间的边界。
From a long way you could hear the sea, thundering away, wave after wave, endlessly; these were not harmless waves; they were dangerous, furious, ruthless. The sea looked as though it was calm, dreaming, patient but the waves were huge, high and frightening. People were carried away, drowned and there was a strong current. The waves were never gentle, their high curves were magnificent, splendid to watch from a distance but there was brute force and cruelty. The catamarans, so flimsy, dark thin men on them, go through those waves, indifferent, careless, with never a thought of fear; they would go far out to the horizon and probably would come back late in the day, with their heavy catch. The waves that evening were particularly furious, high in their impatience and their crash on the shore was deafening; the shore stretched north and south, clean washed sand, yellowish, burnt by the sun. And the sun was not gentle either; it was always hot, burning and only in the early morning, just as it was coming up out of the sea or setting among the gathering clouds, was it mild, pleasant. The furious sea and the burning sun were torturing the land and the people were poor, thin, ever hungry; misery, was there, ever present and death was so easy, easier than birth, breeding indifference and decay. The well-to-do were indifferent too, dull, except in making money or seeking power or in building a bridge; they were very clever at this kind of thing, getting more and more - more knowledge, more capacity - but always losing and there is always death. It is so final, it cannot be deceived, no argument, however subtle and cunning, can ward it off; it is always there. You cannot build walls against it but you can against life; you can deceive it, run away from it, go to the temple, believe in saviours, go to the moon; you can do anything with life and sorrow is there and death. You can hide from sorrow but not from death. Even at that distance you could hear the waves thundering away and the palm trees were against the red evening sky. The pools and the canal were flashing with the setting sun.
从很远的地方，你就可以听到大海，轰隆隆地走开，一波又一波，永无休止； 这些不是无害的波浪；他们是危险的，愤怒的，无情的。 大海看起来好像很平静，梦幻，耐心 但海浪很大，很高，令人恐惧。 人们被带走，淹死，那时强劲的海浪。 海浪从来都不温柔， 从远处观察，它们高耸的曲线神奇而壮观， 但那是蛮力和残忍。 这只双体船，如此脆弱、黝黑瘦弱的男人， 穿过那些浪潮，冷漠，漫不经心，从未有过恐惧的想法； 他们会走到很远的地平线上，可能会在当天晚些时候回来，带着沉重的渔获物。 那天晚上的海浪特别狂暴， 它们不耐烦，在岸上的冲击声震耳欲聋； 海岸线向南北绵延，沙子洗得干干净净，淡黄色的，被太阳炙烤。 太阳也不温柔； 它总是很热，燃烧着，只有在清晨， 就像它从海里出来，或者落在聚集的云层中一样，它是温和的，愉快的。 狂暴的大海和烈日折磨着这片土地，人们贫穷、瘦弱、永远饥饿； 痛苦就在那里，永远存在，死亡是那么容易，比出生还容易， 滋生着冷漠和腐败。 富人们也无动于衷，沉闷， 除了赚钱或寻求权力或建造桥梁； 他们在这种事情上非常聪明，聚敛着越来越多的东西 —— 更多的知识，更多的能力 —— 但总是失去，总是死亡。 它是如此得致命，它不能被欺骗，任何争论，无论多么微妙和狡猾，都无法抵御它； 它总是在那里。你不能建造对抗它的围墙，但你可以反对生命； 你可以欺骗它，逃避它，去寺庙，相信救世主，去月球； 你可以用生命做任何事情，悲伤就在那里，死亡就在那里。 你可以躲避悲伤，但不能躲避死亡。 即使在那么远的距离，你也能听到海浪轰隆隆的声音。 棕榈树映衬着红色的夜空。 水池和运河随着夕阳而闪烁。
Every kind of motive drives us, every action has a motive and so we have no love. Nor do we love what we are doing. We think we cannot act, be, live without a motive and so make our existence a dull trivial thing. We use function to acquire status; function is only a means to something else. Love for the thing itself doesn't exist and so everything becomes shoddy and relationship a dreaded affair. Attachment is only a means to cover up our own shallowness, loneliness, insufficiency; envy only breeds hate. Love has no motive and because there is no love, every kind of motive creeps in. To live without is not difficult; it requires integrity not conformity to ideas, beliefs. To have integrity is to be self-critically aware, aware of what one is from moment to moment.
每一种动机，都在驱使我们， 每个行为都有动机，所以我们没有爱。 我们也不爱我们正在做的事情。 我们认为：在没有动机的情况下，我们不能行动、存在、生活 从而，使我们的存在变成了一种无聊的、琐碎的东西。 我们使用技能来获取地位； 技能只是实现其它事物的手段。 对事物本身的爱并不存在 所以，一切都变得粗制滥造，关系变得可怕。 执着只是一种掩盖自己肤浅、孤独、匮乏的手段； 嫉妒只会滋生仇恨。 愛没有動機， 因为没有愛，每一種动机都悄悄地蔓延着。 活着而无动机，并不困难；它需要正直，而不是服从观念、信仰。 拥有正直，就是自我批判的意识，意识到一个人每时每刻是什么。
It was a very young moon that seemed to be hanging between the palm trees; it wasn't there yesterday; it might have been hiding behind the clouds, shyly avoiding, for it was just a slip like a delicate golden curving line, and between the palm trees, dark and solemn, it was a miracle of delight. Clouds were gathering to hide her but she was there open, tender and so close. The palm trees were silent, austere, harsh and the rice fields were turning yellow with age. The evening was full of talk among the leaves and the sea was thundering some miles away. The villagers were unaware of the beauty of the evening; they were used to it; they accepted everything, their poverty, their hunger, the dust, the squalor and the gathering clouds. One gets used to anything, to sorrow and to happiness; if you didn't get used to things you would be more miserable, more disturbed. It is better to be insensitive, dull than to invite more trouble; die slowly, easier that way. You can find economic and psychological reasons for all this but the fact remains, with the well-to-do and with the poor, that it is simpler to get used to things, going to the office, factory, for the next thirty years, the boredom and the futility of it all; but one has to live, one has responsibility and so it is safer to get used to everything. We get used to love, to fear and to death. Habit becomes goodness and virtue and even escapes and gods. A habit-ridden mind is a shallow, dull-witted mind.
它是一轮非常年轻的月亮，似乎挂在棕榈树之间； 昨天它不在那里； 它可能躲在云层后面，害羞地躲避， 因为它只是一张像细腻的、金色的、弯曲的滑条， 在黑暗而庄严的棕榈树之间，它是一个快乐的奇迹。 云聚在一起，隐藏了她，但她在那里，敞开，温柔，如此之近。 棕榈树们安静、简朴、粗粝，稻田随着年龄的增长而变黄。 在傍晚时分，树叶间充满了议论声，几英里外的海水轰鸣着。 村民们没有意识到夜晚的美丽；他们已经习惯了； 他们接受了一切：他们的贫穷，他们的饥饿，尘土，肮脏和聚集的云彩。 一个人开始习惯于任何事情、悲伤和高兴； 如果你不习惯这些事情，你会更痛苦，更不安。 宁可不敏感、沉闷，也不要招来更多的麻烦； 慢慢地死去，那样更容易。 你可以为这一切找到经济上的和心理上的原因 但事实依然如故，伴随着富人和穷人们， 比起去办公室和工厂，更容易习惯这些事情 —— 在接下来的三十年里，这一切的无聊和徒劳； 但是一个人必须生活，一个人有责任，习惯这一切更安全。 我們習慣了愛、恐懼和死亡。 习惯变成了善良和美德，甚至逃避和神。 一个充满习惯的头脑是一个肤浅的、愚蠢的头脑。
Dawn was slow in coming; the stars were still brilliant and the trees were still withdrawn; no bird was calling, not even the small owls that rattled through the night from tree to tree. It was strangely quiet except for the roar of the sea. There was that smell of many flowers, rotting leaves and damp ground; the air was very very still and the smell was everywhere. The earth was waiting for the dawn and the coming day; there was expectation, patience and a strange stillness. Meditation went on with that stillness and that stillness was love; it was not the love of something or of someone, the image and the symbol, the word and the pictures. It was simply love, without sentiment, without feeling. It was something complete in itself, naked, intense, without root and direction. The sound of that faraway bird was that love; it was the direction and distance, it was there without time and word. It wasn't an emotion, that fades and is cruel; the symbol, the word can be substituted but not the thing. Being naked, it was utterly vulnerable and so indestructible. It had that unapproachable strength of that otherness, the unknowable, which was coming through the trees and beyond the sea. Meditation was the sound of that bird calling out of that emptiness and the roar of the sea, thundering against the beach. Love can only be in utter emptiness. The greying dawn was there far away on the horizon and the dark trees were more dark and intense. In meditation there is no repetition, a continuity of habit; there is death of everything known and the flowering of the unknown. The stars had faded and the clouds were awake with the coming sun.
黎明来渐渐地来了； 星星依旧璀璨，树们寂然隐匿； 没有鸟儿在叫，甚至连那些在一整夜里，从一棵树到另一棵树嘎嘎作响的小猫头鹰也没动。 除了大海的咆哮声外，这里出奇地安静。 有许多花朵、腐烂的树叶和潮湿的泥土气味； 空气非常非常安静，到处都是气味。 大地在等待黎明和即将到来的一天； 有期待，有耐心，有一种奇怪的寂静。 冥想继续着那种寂静，那寂静就是爱； 它不是对某物或某人的爱，不是对图像和符号、文字和图片的爱。 那只是爱，没有情感，没有感觉。 它本身就是一个完整的东西，赤裸裸的，激烈的，没有根和方向。 远处的鸟鸣，是那爱； 它是方向和距离，它在那里，没有时间和文字。 它不是一种情绪，那褪色而残忍的东西； 符号、单词可以被替换，但它不能。 赤裸裸的，它完全不堪一击，却又坚不可摧。 它有那种不可接近的力量，那种不可知的， 穿过树林，越过大海。 冥想是那只鸟从虚无中呼唤的声音 还有大海的咆哮声，轰隆隆地拍打着海滩。 爱只能在完全的虚无中。 灰蒙蒙的黎明在遥远的地平线上，黑暗的树木更加黑暗和强烈。 在冥想中，没有重复，一种习惯性的延续； 这是已知事物死亡，未知事物绽放。 星星已经褪色，云层随着即将到来的太阳而苏醒。
Experience destroys clarity and understanding. Experience is sensation, response to various kinds of stimuli, and every experience thickens the walls that enclose, however expanding and wide the experience. Accumulating knowledge is mechanical, all additive processes are, and are necessary for mechanical existence, but knowledge is time-binding. The craving for experience is endless as all sensation is. The cruelty of ambition is the furthering of experience, in sensation of power and the hardening in capacity. Experience cannot bring about humility which is the essence of virtue. In humility alone there is learning and learning is not the acquisition of knowledge.
体验毁灭清明和理解。 体验是感觉，是对各种刺激的反应， 每一次体验都加厚了包围的墙壁， 无论怎么扩张和加宽这个体验。 积累知识是机械性的， 对于机械的存在而言，所有的累积过程是必需的， 但知识受时间的约束。 对体验的渴望是无止境的，就像所有的感觉一样。 野心的残酷在于体验的推进，权力感的增强和能力的硬化。 体验不能带来谦卑，而谦卑是美德的本质。 在谦卑的独立中，有学习，而学习不是获取知识。
A crow began the morning and every bird in the garden joined in and suddenly everything was awake and the breeze was among the leaves and there was splendour.
这天早上，一只乌鸦开始了 花园里的每一只鸟都加入了进来 突然间，一切都醒了，微风在树叶间，壮观。
There was a long stretch of black clouds heavy with rain, from horizon to horizon, north, south, and white were the breakers; it was pouring in the north and slowly coming south, and from the bridge over the river there was a long white line of waves against the black horizon. Buses, cars, bicycles and naked feet were making their way across the bridge and rain was coming in a fury. The river was empty, as it generally is at that time and the water was as dark as the sky; there wasn't even that lovely heron and it was deserted. Across the bridge was part of the big town, crowded, noisy, dirty, pretentious, prosperous, and a little way further to the left were the mud huts, dilapidated buildings, small, unclean shops, a small factory and a crowded road, a cow lying right in the middle of it, the buses and cars going around it. There were streaks of bright red towards the west but they too were being covered up by the coming rain. Past beyond the police station, over a narrow bridge, is the road among the rice fields, going south, away from the noisy filthy town. Then it began to rain, heavy sharp downpour that made puddles in a second in the road and there was running water where there was dry land; it was a furious rain, an exploding rain that washed, cleansed, purified the earth. The villagers were soaked to the skin but they didn't seem to mind; they went on with their laughter and chatter, their naked feet in the puddles. The little hut with the oil lamp was leaking, the buses roared by, splattering everybody, and the cycles, with their feeble lamps, passed with a tinkle, into the heavy rain.
有一大片黑云，携带着沉重的雨水， 从地平线到地平线，北方、南方，白哗哗的雨是破坏者； 它倾泻而下，缓慢地向南移动， 从桥上到这条河，是一条长长的白色波浪线，映衬着黑色的地平线。 公共汽车，汽车，自行车和光脚丫经过过这座桥 雨水疯狂地来临。 这条河是空的，那一刻，如同水和天空一样黑暗； 甚至没有那只可爱的苍鹭，它被遗弃了。 桥的对面是大城市的一部分， 拥挤，嘈杂，肮脏，自命不凡，繁荣， 再往左走一点，是泥土糊的小屋，破旧的建筑，不干净的小商店， 一个小工厂和拥挤的道路， 一头牛躺在路中间，公交车和汽车从它的周围绕过。 在西方，有鲜红的条纹 但它们也被即将到来的雨掩盖了。 越过警察局，穿过一座狭窄的桥， 来到田间的路上，往南走，远离了喧嚣的肮脏的城市。 然后，开始下雨了，倾盆大雨在一秒钟内在路上形成了水坑 干旱的地方有了流水； 这是一场狂暴的雨，一场爆炸的雨，洗涤、清洁、净化了大地。 村民们浑身湿透，但他们似乎并不介意。 他们继续他们的笑声和喋喋不休，他们赤裸的脚踩在水坑里。 带油灯的小茅屋漏水了， 公交车呼啸而过，溅湿了所有人，而自行车，带着微弱的灯， 叮叮当当地路过，进入这大雨之中。
Everything was being washed clean, the past and the present, there was no time, no future. Every step was timeless, and thought, a thing of time, stopped; it could not go further or go back, it had no existence. And every drop of that furious rain was the river, the sea and the unmelting snow. There was total, complete emptiness and in it were creation, love and death, not separate. You had to watch your step, the buses passed almost touching you.
一切都被洗干净了， 过去和现在，没有了时间，没有了未来。 每一步都是非时间的，而思想，是时间的一种东西，停止了； 它不能走得更远，也无法回头，它不存在了。 那狂暴的雨水的每一滴，都是河流、大海和未融化的雪。 有完整的、彻底的虚无，其中有创造、爱和死亡，是分不开的。 你必须注意你的脚步，公交车经过几乎碰到了你。
It was a beautiful evening; a few clouds had gathered around the setting sun; there were a few wandering clouds, heavy with burning colour and the young moon was caught among them. The roar of the sea came through the casuanina and the palm, softening the fury. The tall, straight palms were black against the bright, burning rose of the sky and a whole group of white water-birds were going north, group after group, their thin legs stretched out behind them, their wings moving slowly. And a long line of creaking bullock carts were making their way to the town, laden with the firewood, the felled casuarinas. The road was crowded for a while and became almost deserted as you went further on and as it got darker. Just as the sun sets, quietly there comes over the land a strange sense of peace, a gentleness, a cleansing. It is not a reaction; it is there in the town with all its noises, squalor, bustle and milling people; it is there in that little patch of neglected earth; it is there where that tree is with a coloured kite caught in it; it is there in that empty street, across the temple; it is everywhere, only one has to be empty of the day. And that evening, along that road, it was there, softly wooing you away from everything and everybody, and as it got darker, it became more intense and beautiful. The stars were among the palms and Orion was between them, coming out of the sea, and Pleiades was beyond their reach, already three-quarters of the journey done. The villagers were getting to know us, wanted to talk to us, sell us some land, so that we would be among them. And as the evening advanced that otherness descended with exploding bliss and the brain was as motionless as those trees, without a single leaf stirring. Everything became more intense, every colour, every shape and in that pale moonlight all the wayside puddles were the waters of life. Everything must go, be wiped away, not to receive it but the brain must be utterly still, sensitive, to watch, to see. Like a flood that covers the dry parched land it came full of delight and clarity and it stayed.
一个美丽的夜晚； 夕阳周围聚集了几朵云； 有几朵游荡的云，浓郁的燃烧的色彩，年轻的月亮被夹在其中。 大海的咆哮声穿过木麻黄和棕榈树，缓和了愤怒。 在天空明亮燃烧的玫瑰色的映衬下，高大笔直的棕榈树是黑色的。 一整群白水鸟向北飞，一群接一群， 它们纤细的双腿伸展在身后，翅膀缓慢地移动着。 一长串吱吱作响的牛车正驶向城镇， 满载着柴火，砍伐的木麻黄。 这条路拥挤了一会儿 随着你继续往前走，天越来越黑，几乎变得荒芜。 就在太阳落山的时候， 悄悄地，这片土地上弥漫着一种奇异的和平感，一种温柔，一种洁净。 它不是一种反应； 它在城镇上，到处都是喧嚣、肮脏、喧嚣和历经艰辛的人们； 它就在那一小块被忽视的土地上； 它就在那棵树上，里面夹着一只彩色的风筝； 它就在那条空荡荡的街道上，穿过了寺庙； 它无处不在，只剩一个空无的白天。 那天晚上，沿着那条路， 它就在那里，轻轻地追逐着你，从每个东西和所有人， 随着天色变暗，它变得更加强烈和美丽。 星星在棕榈树之间，猎户座在它们之间，从海里出来， 昴宿星团超出了它们的能力范围，已经完成了四分之三的旅程。 村民们开始知道了我们，想和我们谈谈，卖给我们一些土地， 这样我们就会成为他们中的一员。 随着夜晚的到来，这个异类随着爆炸性的祝福而降临。 这颗大脑一动不动，和那些树一样，没有一片叶子在搅动。 一切都变得更加强烈，每一种色彩，每一种形状 在那苍白的月光下，路边的水坑都是生命的水。 一切都必须离开，被冲涮，而不是去接受它 但是大脑必须完全静止，敏感，观察，观看。 就像洪水覆盖了干燥龟裂的土地，它充满了喜悦和清晰，它停留了下来。
[ The day of his last talk. ] It was long before dawn when the sharp cry of a bird woke up the night for an instant and the light of that cry faded away. And the trees remained dark, motionless, melting into the air; it was a soft quiet night, endlessly alive; it was awake, there was movement; there was a deep stirring with utter silence. Even the village next door, with its many dogs, always barking, was quiet. It was a strange stillness, terribly potent, destructively alive. It was so alive and still that you were afraid to move; so your body froze into immobility and the brain, which had awakened with that sharp cry of the bird, had become still, with heightened sensitivity. It was a brilliant night with the stars in a cloudless sky; they seemed so close and the Southern Cross was just over the trees, sparkling in the warm air. Everything was very quiet. Meditation is never in time; time cannot bring about mutation; it can bring about change which needs to be changed again, like all reforms; meditation that springs out of time is always binding, there is no freedom in it and without freedom there is always choice and conflict.
[ 他最后一次讲话的那一天。] 天还没有亮， 一只鸟尖锐的叫声瞬间惊醒了黑夜 那喊叫的光，渐渐地消失了。 树木仍然黑暗，一动不动，融化在空气中； 这是一个柔和宁静的夜晚，无尽的活泼。 它醒了，有动静；一阵深深的骚动，一片寂静。 就连隔壁的村子里，那里有很多狗，总是吠叫，也很安静。 它是一种奇怪的寂静，非常强大，破坏性地活泼。 它是如此鲜活，静止，以至于你不敢动弹； 所以你的身体冻结，一动不动，这颗大脑， 随着鸟儿尖锐的叫声而醒来，变得静止，更加敏感。 它是一个灿烂的夜晚，万里无云的天空中有星星； 他们似乎很近，南十字星就在树上，在温暖的空气中闪闪发光。 一切都非常安静。冥想永远不在时间里； 时间不能带来突变； 它能带来需要再次改变的变革，就如同所有的改革； 从时间中涌现出来的冥想总是受约束的， 其中没有自由，没有了自由，就总是有选择和冲突。