High up in the mountains, among the barren rocks with not a tree or bush, was a little stream, coming out of massive, unapproachable rock; it was hardly a stream, it was a trickle. As it came down it made a waterfall, just a murmur, and it came down, down to the valley, and it was already shouting of its strength, the long way it would go, through towns, valleys, woods and open spaces. It was going to be an irresistible river, sweeping over its banks, purifying itself as it went along, crashing over rocks, flowing into far places, endlessly flowing to the sea.* [* He was now in Benares and was recalling the source of the Ganges which he had once visited. He stayed at Rajghat, just north of Benares, on the banks of the Ganges, where there is a Krishnamurti School. The Indians call Benares: Benaras or Varanasi. ] It wasn't getting to the sea that mattered, but being a river, so wide, so deep, rich and splendid; it would enter the sea and disappear into the vast, bottomless waters but the sea was far away, many a thousand miles, but from now until then it was life, beauty and ceaseless merriment; none could stop that, not even the factories and dams. It was really a marvellous river, wide, deep, with so many cities on its banks, so carelessly free and never abandoning itself. All life was there upon its banks, green fields, forests, solitary houses, death, love and destruction; there were long, wide bridges over it, graceful and well-used. Other streams and rivers joined it but she was the mother of all rivers, the little ones and the big ones. She was always full, ever purifying herself, and of an evening it was a blessing to watch her, with deepening colour in the clouds and her waters golden. But the little trickle so far away, amongst those gigantic rocks which seemed so concentrated in producing it, was the beginning of life and its ending was beyond its banks and the seas.
在大山的高处，是裸露的岩石，没有一棵树或小灌木， 流淌着一条小溪，从巨大的、难以接近的岩石中流出； 它几乎不是一条小溪，而是一条涓涓细流。 当它往下时，变成了瀑布，只是喃喃自语， 再往下流，降到了山谷里， 它已经在喊出了自己的力量， 它将走很长的路，穿过城镇、山谷、树林和开阔处。 它将是一条不可抗拒的河流，席卷它的河岸，在前进的过程中净化它自己， 撞击岩石，流向遥远的地方，无休止地流入大海。 [现在，他在贝拿勒斯，正在回忆他曾经访问过的恒河的源头。 他住在恒河畔贝拿勒斯以北的拉杰加特，那里有克里希那穆提学校。 印度人称贝拿勒斯为贝纳拉斯或瓦拉纳西。] 重要的不是入海，而是一条河流，那么宽，那么深，那么丰饶，那么壮观； 它可能会进入大海，消失在浩瀚无底的海水中。 但大海很远，数千里远， 但从现在到那里，是生命，美和无休止的欢乐； 没有人能阻止它，即使是工厂和水坝。 它真的是一条奇妙的河流，宽阔，深沉，它的岸边有那么多城市， 如此漫不经心的自由，永不放弃它自己。 所有的生命都在河岸上：绿色的田野、森林、孤零零的房子、死亡、爱和毁灭； 上面有又长又宽的桥，优雅而好用。 其他溪流和河流也加入了它 但她是所有河流的母亲，无论是小河还是大河。 她总是饱满的，永远净化着她自己， 在晚上，观察她是一种祝福，云层的颜色渐深，她的水呈金色。 但是，那涓涓细流如此遥远， 在那些巨石之间，似乎那么全神贯注地生产出它， 它是生命的开始，它的终点超越了它的堤岸和海洋。
Meditation was like that river, only it had no beginning and no ending; it began and its ending was its beginning. There was no cause and its movement was its renewal. It was always new, it never gathered to become old; it never got sullied for it had no roots in time. It is good to meditate, not forcing it, not making any effort, beginning with a trickle and going beyond time and space, where thought and feeling cannot enter, where experience is not.
冥想就像那条河， 只不过，它没有开始，也没有结束； 它开始了，它的结束就是它的开始。 没有原因，它的运动是它的更新。 它总是新的，它永远不会汇聚成旧的； 它从未被玷污，因为它没有在时间中扎根。 冥想是好的，不要强迫它，不要有任何的努力， 从涓涓细流开始，并超越时间和空间， 那是思想和感觉无法进入的地方，是不存在体验的地方。
It was a beautiful morning, fairly cool and dawn was far away still; the few trees and the bushes around the house seemed to have become a forest during the night and were hiding many serpents and wild animals and the moonlight with a thousand shadows deepened the impression; they were large trees, far above the house and they were all silent and waiting for dawn. And suddenly, through the trees and from beyond came a song, a religious song of devotion; the voice was rich and the singer was putting his heart into it and the song rode far into the moonlit night. As you listened to it, you rode on the wave of the sound and you were of it and beyond it, beyond thought and feeling. Then there was another sound of an instrument, very faint but clear.
一大早，天气凉爽，黎明还很遥远。 房子周围的几棵树和灌木丛似乎在夜晚变成了一片森林 并藏着许多蛇和野生动物 数千的月影深刻了印象； 它们是大树，远在房屋之上，它们安静地沉等待着黎明。 突然，穿过树林，从远处传来一首歌，一首虔诚的宗教之歌； 声音很丰富，歌手全心全意 歌声远远地渗透月光之夜。 当你听它时，你骑在声音的波浪上 你属于它，超越它，超越思想和感觉。 然后，又传来了乐器的声音，很微弱，却很清晰。
The river is wide and splendid here; it is deep and as smooth as a lake, without a ripple. There are a few boats, mostly fishermen's and a large boat, with a torn sail, carrying sand to the town, beyond the bridge. What is really beautiful is the stretch of the water towards the east and the bank on the other side; the river looks like an enormous lake, full of untold beauty and space to match the sky; it is a flat country and the sky fills the earth and the horizon is beyond the trees, far far away. The trees are on the other bank, beyond the recently sown wheat; there are the green spreading fields and beyond them are the trees, with villages among them. The river rises very high during the rains and brings with it rich silt and the winter wheat is sown as the river goes down; it is a marvellous green, so rich and plentiful, and the long, wide bank is a carpet of enchanting green. From this side of the river the trees look like an impenetrable forest but there are villages tucked among them. But there is one tree, huge, its roots exposed, that is the glory of the bank; there is a little white temple under it but its gods are as the water that goes by and the tree remains; it has thick foliage with long-tailed leaves and birds come across the river for the night; it towers over the trees and you can see it as far as you care to walk on this side down the river. It has the presence of beauty, the dignity of that which is alone. But those villages are crowded small, filthy, and human beings foul the earth around them. From this side, the white walls of the villages among the trees look fresh, gentle and of great beauty. Beauty is not man-made; the things of man arouse feelings, sentiment, but these have nothing to do with beauty. Beauty can never be put together, neither the thing built, nor in the museum. One must go beyond all this, all personal taste and choice, be cleansed of all emotion for love is beauty. The river curves majestically as it flows east,** [** Although Rajghat is north of Benares it is downstream, for the river curves north-east at this point before flowing south again.] past villages, towns, and deep woods but here, just below the town and the bridge, the river and its opposite bank is the essence of all rivers and banks; every river has its own song, its own delight and mischief but here out of its very silence, it contains the earth and the heavens. It is a sacred river, as all rivers are, but again here, a part of the long, winding river, there is a gentleness of immense depth and destruction. Looking at it now, you would be enchanted by its mellow age and tranquillity. And you would lose all earth and heaven. In that quiet silence that strange otherness came and meditation lost its meaning. It was like a wave, coming from afar, gathering momentum as it came, crashing on the shore, sweeping everything before it. Only there was no time and distance; it was there with impenetrable strength, with destructive vitality and so the essence of beauty which is love. No imagination could possibly conjure up all this, no deep hidden impulse can ever project this immensity. Every thought and every feeling, every desire and compulsion was totally absent. It was not an experience; experience implies recognition, an accumulating centre, memory and a continuity. It was not an experience; only the immature crave for experience and thereby are caught in illusion; it was simply an event, a happening, a fact, like a sunset, like death and the curving river. Memory could not catch it in its net and keep it and thereby destroy it. Time and memory could not hold it nor thought pursue it. It was a flash in which all time and eternity were consumed, without leaving any ashes, memory. Meditation is the complete and total emptying of the mind, not in order to receive, to gain, to arrive, but a denudation without motive; it is really emptying the mind of the known, conscious and unconscious, of every experience, thought and feeling. Negation is the very essence of freedom; assertion and positive pursuit is bondage.
这条河宽阔而壮观； 它深邃，平滑如湖，没有一波涟漪。 有几只船，基本上是渔船， 还有一艘大船，帆有些被刮裂了，载着沙子到桥外的城镇。 真正美丽的，是向东延伸的水和河堤的对岸； 这条河看起来像一个巨大的湖泊，充满了无尽的美和与天空相匹敌的空旷； 这是一个平坦的乡村，天空覆盖着大地、地平线，超越了树林，很是遥远。 树木在对岸，在刚播种的小麦之外； 绿色的田野遍布，在它们之外是树木，散落在村庄里。 在下雨时，河水会抬升得很高， 并带来丰富的淤泥，随着河水的下降，冬小麦被播种； 它是一种奇妙的绿，如此丰饶和充足， 长而宽的河岸，是一片迷人的绿色地毯。 从河的这一边看，树木就像一片无法穿透的森林 其中却藏着一些村庄。 但有一棵树，巨大，根部露出，那是河堤的荣耀； 下面有一座白色的小庙宇 但它的神灵就像流逝的水，而树依然矗立； 它有茂密的叶子和长尾的叶子，鸟儿穿过河面，到此过夜； 它高耸在树丛中 只要你沿着河边走，你就能看到它。 它是美的存在，一种独立的尊严。 但那些村庄拥挤不堪，肮脏， 人类污染了他们周围的地球。 从这一侧看，树木中的村庄的白色墙壁看起来清新，温柔，非常美丽。 美不是人造的； 人造的东西唤起感觉，情绪，但这些与美无关。 美永远无法被组合在一起，无论是建造的东西，还是博物馆。 一個人必須超越這一切，一切个人的品味和选择，潔淨所有的情緒， 因为爱就是美。 在向东流淌时，这条河雄浑地转了一个弯 [虽然拉杰加特在贝拿勒斯以北，但它在下游， 因为河流在这一点上向东北弯曲，然后再次向南流动。] 穿过村庄、城镇和浓密的树林，但在这个地方，它就在城镇和桥的下面， 这条河及其对岸，是所有河流和河岸的精华； 每一条河流都有它自己的歌、自己的欢乐和灾难 但在这里，在它的寂静中，它包含了大地和天空。 它是一条神圣的河流，就像所有的河流一样， 但又是在这里，作为漫长而蜿蜒的河流的一部分， 有一种无比深沉和毁灭性的温柔。 现在，看着它，你会被它醇厚的岁月和宁静所吸引。 你会失去整个大地和天空。 在那安静的寂寥中，那奇怪的异类来了，冥想失去了它的意义。 它就像一个波浪，远到而来，在它来的路上，聚集着动力， 撞击河岸，席卷眼前的一切。 只是这里没有时间和距离； 它以坚不可摧的力量，带着毁灭性的动力 所以，美的本质就是爱。 任何想象力都无法想象这一切， 任何深藏不露的冲动都无法投射出这种浩瀚。 每一个念头，每一个感觉， 每一种欲望和强迫都完全地不存在。 它不是一个体验； 体验意味着认识、一个积累的中心、记忆和一种延续。 它不是一次体验； 只有不成熟的人才渴望体验，从而，陷入了幻觉； 它只是一个事件，一个发生的，一个事实，就像一个日落，就像死亡和这条弯曲的河流。 记忆无法在捕获它，保持它，从而，摧毁它。 时间和记忆无法容纳它，也无法思考它。 它是一个闪光，所有的时间和永恒都被吞噬掉了，没有留下任何灰烬、记忆。 冥想是头脑的彻底和完整的清空， 不是为了接受，为了获得，为了到达，而是一个毫无动机的剥离； 它实际上是在清空已知、有意识和无意识的头脑，清空每一种体验、思想和感觉。 否定，是自由的本质； 主张和积极的追求是束缚。
Two crows were fighting, they were viciously angry with each other; there was fury in their voices, both were on the ground but one had the advantage driving its hard, black beak into the other. Shouting at them from the window did no good and one was going to be killed. A passing crow dived in suddenly breaking its flight, calling, cawing more loudly than the two on the ground; it landed beside them, beating its black, shiny wings against them. In a second, half a dozen more crows came, all cawing away furiously and several of them with their wings and beaks separated the two who were intent on killing each other. They might kill other birds, other things, but there was going to be no murder amongst their own kind and that would be the end of them all. The two still wanted to fight it out but the others were telling them off and presently they all flew away and there was quietness in the little open space among the trees by the river. It was late in the afternoon, the sun was behind the trees and the really bitter cold was gone and all the birds, all day were singing, calling and making all those pleasant sounds they do. Parrots were flying in crazily for the night; it was a bit early but they were coming in; the large tamarind tree could hold quite a lot of them; their colour was almost the colour of the leaves but their green was more intense, more alive; if you watched carefully you would see the difference and also you would see their brilliant curving be which they used to bite and to climb; they were rather clumsy among the branches, going from one to the other but they were the light of heavens in movement; their voices were harsh and sharp, and their flight never straight, but their colour was the spring of the earth. Earlier, in the morning, on a branch of that tree, two small owls were sunning themselves, facing the rising sun; they were so still you would not have noticed them, they were the colour of the branch, mottled grey, unless by chance, you saw them coming out of their hole in the tamarind tree. It had been bitterly cold, most unusual, and two golden green flycatchers dropped dead that morning from the cold; one was the male and the other female, they must have been mates; they died on the game instant and they were still soft to the touch. They were really golden green, with long, curving bills; they were so delicate, so extraordinarily alive still. Colour is very strange; colour is god and those two were the glory of light; the colour would remain, though the machinery of life had come to an end. Colour was more enduring than the heart; it was beyond time and sorrow.
两只乌鸦在打架，它们互相恶毒地发怒； 它们的声音里含有愤怒，两者都在地上 但其中一个具有优势，将其坚硬的黑色喙插入到另一个。 从窗户对它们大喊大叫，是没有任何好处的，其中一个会被杀死。 一只路过的乌鸦突然跳了进来，打断了它的飞行，叫声比地上的两只还要响亮。 它降落在它们旁边，拍打着黑色的、闪亮的翅膀。 一秒钟后，又有六只乌鸦来了， 所有的乌鸦们都疯狂地嘶吼着 其中几个用翅膀和喙将打算互相残杀的这两只乌鸦分开。 它们可能会杀死其他鸟类，其他生物， 但是它们自己不会相互谋杀同类，那将会是他们所有人的结局。 这两人还是想打起来 但其他人正在让他们停下，现在，他们都飞走了。 河边树林间的小空地里一片寂静。 傍晚时分，太阳落在树后 真正的严寒消失了，所有的鸟儿， 一整天都在唱歌，打电话，发出他们做的所有那些愉快的声音。 鹦鹉疯狂地飞来过夜；时间有点早，但他们要进来了； 大罗望子树可以容纳很多； 它们的颜色几乎是叶子的颜色，但它们的绿色更强烈，更有活力； 如果你仔细观察，你会发现不同 你也会看到他们靓丽的曲线，如往常一样穿透和攀升； 他们在树枝中相当笨拙，从一个枝头到另一个， 但是在运动中，他们是天空的光； 他们的声音刺耳而尖锐，他们的飞行从不笔直， 但他们的颜色是大地的春天。 早些时候，在早晨，在那棵树的一根树枝上， 两只小猫头鹰正在晒太阳，迎着冉冉升起的太阳； 它们是如此安静，你不会注意到它们， 它们是树枝的颜色，斑驳的灰色， 除非运气好，你看到它们从罗望子树上的洞里出来。 天气寒冷得很厉害，很是异常， 那天早上，两只金绿色的捕蝇鸟因寒冷而死去； 一个是雄性，另一个是雌性，他们一定是配偶； 他们在游戏中瞬间死亡，他们仍然柔软。 他们真的是金绿色的，有长而弯曲的喙； 他们是如此的娇嫩，如此的鲜活。 颜色很奇怪； 颜色是上帝，这两只是光的荣耀； 颜色将继续存在，尽管生命的机制已经结束。 颜色比心脏更持久；它超越了时间和悲伤。
But thought can never solve the ache of sorrow. You can reason in and out but it would be there still after the long, complicated journey of thought. Thought can never resolve human problems; thought is mechanical and sorrow is not, Sorrow is as strange as love, but sorrow keeps away love. You can resolve sorrow completely but you cannot invite love. Sorrow is self-pity with all its anxieties, fears, guilt but all this cannot be washed away by thought. Thought breeds the thinker and between them sorrow is begotten. The ending of sorrow is the freedom from the known.
但思想永远无法解决悲伤的痛苦。 你可以推理，进入和回撤 但是，在漫长而复杂的思想旅程之后，它依然存在。 思想永远无法解决人类的问题； 思想是机械的，而悲伤不是， 悲伤和爱一样奇怪，但悲伤远离爱。 你可以完全化解悲伤，但你不能邀请爱。 悲伤是自怜及其所有的焦虑、恐惧、内疚 但这一切都无法被思想冲刷掉。 思想孕育出思想者，他们生出悲伤。 悲伤的终结是从已知中解放。
There were many fishing boats as the sun was deep in the west and the river suddenly was awake with laughter and loud talk; there were twenty-three of them and each boat held two or three men. The river is wide here and these few boats seemed to have taken charge of the waters; they were racing, shouting, calling to each other in excited voices, like children at play; they were very poor people, in dirty rags but just now they had no cares and loud talk and laughter filled the air. The river was sparkling and the slight breeze made patterns on the water. The crows were beginning now to fly back from across the river to their accustomed trees; the swallows were flying low, almost touching the water.
渔船很多，当夕照浓深之时， 河水突然被欢笑声和高声的说话声吵醒了； 他们有二十三个人，每只船上坐着两三个人。 河流很宽，有几只船似乎已经掌控着水域； 他们争先恐后，大喊大叫，用兴奋的语气互相呼唤，就像玩耍的孩子一样； 他们是非常贫穷的人，穿着肮脏的破布 但就在刚才，他们毫不在意，大声的谈话和欢笑声弥漫在空气中。 河水波光粼粼，微风在水面上划出图案。 乌鸦现在开始从河对岸飞回它们习惯的树上； 燕子飞得很低，几乎要碰到水。
January 1st, 1962 [On this day he gave the first of seven talks at Rajghat. ] A winding stream makes its way to the wide river; it comes through a dirty part of the town made filthy by everything imaginable and comes to the river almost exhausted; near where it meets the big one, there is a rickety bridge over it made up of bamboos, pieces of rope, and straw; when it is almost collapsing, they put a pole in the soft bed of the stream and more straw and mud and tie it up with not too thick a rope and the rope has many knots. The whole thing is a ramshackle affair; it must have been fairly straight once but now it dips almost touching the lazy stream and as you walk across it, you hear the mud and the straw dropping into the water. But somehow it must be fairly strong; it is a narrow bridge; it is rather difficult to avoid touching another coming the other way. Bicycles loaded with milk cans, happily go across it, without the least concern for themselves or for others; it is always busy with villagers going to town with their produce and coming back in the evening to their villages, worn out, carrying something or other, tongs, kites, oil, a piece of wood, a slab of rock, and things they can't pick up in their own village. They are dressed in rags, dirty, ill and endlessly patient, walking, in naked feet, endless miles; they have not the energy to revolt, to chase all the politicians out of the country but then they themselves would soon become politicians, exploiting, cunning, inventing ways and means to hold on to power, the evil that destroys the people. We were crossing that bridge with a huge buffalo, several cycles and the crossing villagers; it was ready to collapse but somehow we all got across it and the cumbersome animal didn't seem to mind at all. Going up the bank following the well-worn sandy path, past a village with an ancient well, you came into the open, flat country. There are mangoes and tamarinds and fields of winter wheat; it is a flat country stretching away mile upon mile till it meets far away, the foothills and the eternal mountains. The path is ancient, many thousand years and countless pilgrims have walked upon it, with ruined temples.**** As the path turns, you catch the sight of the river, between trees in the distance. [**** The pilgrims' path runs-through the Rajghat estate, linking Kashi with Sarnath where the Buddha preached his first sermon after Enlightenment. ]
[这一天，他在拉杰加特进行了七次讲话中的第一次] 一条蜿蜒的小溪流向这条宽阔的河流； 它穿过城镇的一个肮脏的地方，被一切可以想象的东西弄得肮脏不堪 几乎筋疲力尽地来到了河边； 在它与大河相遇的附近， 有一座摇摇晃晃的桥，用竹子、绳子和稻草组成； 当它几乎崩溃时， 他们在溪流的柔软河床上放了一根杆子，还有更多的稻草和泥土 并用不太粗的绳子绑起来，绳子有很多结。 整个桥是一个摇摇欲坠的东西； 它一定是相当笔直的一条桥 但现在它几乎触及到了慵懒的溪水， 当你走过它时，你听到泥巴和稻草掉进水里的声音。 但不知何故，它必定相当强大； 它是一座狭窄的桥；很难避免碰到另一个从对面走来的人。 装满牛奶罐的自行车， 愉快地穿越它，丝毫不关心自己或他人； 村民们总是忙着带着他们的农产品进城 晚上回到他们的村庄，疲惫不堪， 携带东西或其他之类的：钳子、风筝、油、一块木头、一块岩石， 以及他们在自己村子里捡不到的东西。 他们衣衫褴褛，脏兮兮的，病恹恹的，无尽的耐心，赤脚走着，无尽的英里； 他们没有精力反抗，把所有的政客赶出这个国家 但随后他们自己很快就会成为政治家， 剥削、狡猾、发明维持权力的方式和手段， 这些毁灭人们的邪恶。 我们在经过那座桥时，还有一头巨大的水牛、几辆自行车和迎面的村民们； 它已经准备好崩塌了，但不知何故我们都通过了它 而这只笨重的动物似乎一点也不介意。 沿着破旧的沙石路，走到岸边，经过一个有古井的村庄， 你来到了开阔、平坦的乡村。 有芒果和罗望子，还有冬小麦田； 这是一个平坦的乡村，绵延一英里又一英里， 直到它与遥远的山麓和永恒的山脉相遇。 这条路很古老，有几千年的历史，无数的朝圣者走过它，带有残破的寺庙。 [朝圣者的道路穿过拉杰加特庄园， 将喀什与萨尔纳斯联系起来，佛陀在那里宣讲了启蒙后的第一次布道。] 当小路转弯时，您可以看到远处树木之间的河流。
It was a lovely evening, cool, silent and the sky was immense, no tree, no land could contain it; somehow, there was no horizon, the trees and the endless flat earth melted into the expanding sky. It was pale, delicate blue and the sunset had left a golden haze where the horizon should have been. Birds were calling from their sheltering trees, a goat was bleating and far away a train was whistling; some village folk, all women, were huddled around a fire and strangely they too had fallen silent. The mustard was in flower, a spreading yellow and from a village across the fields a column of smoke went straight up into the air. The silence was trangely penetrating; it went through you and beyond you; it was without a movement, without a wave; you walked in it, you felt it, you breathed it, you were of it. It was not that you brought this silence into being, by the usual tricks of the brain. It was there and you were of it; you were not experiencing it; there was no thought that could experience, that could recollect, gather. You were not separate from it, to observe, to analyse. Only that was there and nothing else. Time, by the watch, was getting late and, by the watch, this miracle of silence lasted nearly half an hour but there was no duration, no time. You were walking back in it, past the ancient well, the village, across the narrow bridge, into the room that was dark. It was there and with it was the otherness, overwhelming and welcoming. Love is not a word nor a feeling; it was there with its impenetrable strength and the tenderness of a new leaf, so easily destroyed. Pleiades was just overhead and Orion was over the treetops and the brightest star was in the waters.
这是一个可爱的夜晚，凉爽，安静 天空无垠，没有树，没有土地可以容纳它； 不知怎的，没有地平线，树木和一望无际的平坦大地融化在广阔的天空中。 它是苍白的，精致的蓝色 在地平线所在之处，夕阳留下了金色的薄雾。 鸟儿在歇息的树上鸣叫， 一只山羊咩咩叫，远处一列火车在呼啸； 一些村民，都是妇女，挤在火堆旁，奇怪的是她们也安静了。 芥末在开花， 一抹蔓延的黄色，从田野对面的一个村庄里，一股烟柱直冲云霄。 寂静正在奇怪地刺穿。它穿过你，超越你； 它没有动静，没有波浪； 你走进去，你感觉到它，你呼吸它，你属于它。 并不是你通过大脑的惯用伎俩使这种寂静得以实现。 它在那里，你在那里；你不是在体验它； 没有可以体验、回忆、聚集的思想。 你没有与它分离，观察，分析。 只是那在那里，没有别的。 时间，在手表上的，越来越晚了， 在手表上，这种寂静的奇迹持续了近半个小时 但是没有持续的时间，没有时间。 你走回去，经过那口古井，村庄， 穿过狭窄的桥，进入黑暗的房间。 它在那里，随之而来的是异类，压倒性的、热情的。 爱不是一个字，或一种感觉； 它以坚不可摧的力量和新叶的温柔在那里，如此轻易地被摧毁。 昴星团就在头顶，猎户座在树梢上，而最亮的星星在水中。
The village boys were flying kites on the bank along the river; [These villagers were Moslems. ] they were yelling at the top of their voices, laughing, chasing each other and wading into the river to get the fallen kites; their excitement was contagious, for the old people, higher up the bank, were watching them, shouting to them, encouraging them. It seemed to be the evening entertainment of the whole village; even the starved, mangy dogs were barking; everyone was taking part in the excitement. They were all half-starved, there wasn't a fat one among them, even among the old; the older they were the thinner they were; even the children were all so thin but they seemed to have plenty of energy. All of them had torn, dirty rags on, patched with different cloths of many colours. And they were all cheerful, even the old and ailing ones; they seemed to be unaware of their own misery, of their physical weakness, for many of them carried heavy bundles; they had amazing patience and they had to have it for death was there, very close and so also the agony of life; everything was there at the same time, death, birth, sex, poverty, starvation, excitement, tears. They had a place, under some trees higher up the bank, not far from a ruined old temple to bury their dead; there were plenty of little babies who would know hunger, the smell of unwashed bodies and the smell of death. But the river was there all the time, sometimes threatening the village but now quiet, placid with swallows flying so low, almost touching the water, which was the colour of gentle fire. The river was everything, they occasionally bathed in it, they washed their clothes in it and their thin bodies, and they worshipped it and put flowers, when they could get them, in it to show their respect; they fished in it and died beside it. The river was so indifferent to their joy and sorrow; it was so deep, there was such weight and power behind it; it was terribly alive and so dangerous. But now it was quiet, not a ripple on it and every swallow had a shadow on it; they didn't fly very far, they would fly low for about a hundred feet, go up a little, turn and come down again and fly for another hundred feet or so, until darkness came. There were small water birds, their tails bobbing up and down, swift in their flight; there were larger ones, almost the colour of the damp earth, greyish-brown, wading up and down the water's edge. But the marvel of it all was the sky, so vast, boundless, without horizon. The late afternoon light was soft, clear and very gentle; it left no shadow and every bush tree and bird was alone. The flashing river by day was now the light of the sky, enchanted, dreaming and lost in its beauty and love. In this light, all things cease to exist, the heart that was crying and the brain that was cunning; pleasure and pain went away leaving only light, transparent, gentle and caressing, It was light; thought and feeling had no part in it, they could never give light; they were not there, only this light when the sun is well behind the walls of the city and not a cloud in the sky. You cannot see this light unless you know the timeless movement of meditation; the ending of thought is this movement. But love is not the way of thought or feeling.
村里的男孩们在河边放风筝； [这些村民是穆斯林] 他们大声喊叫，欢笑着： 互相追逐，下水进入河里去取掉落的风筝； 他们的兴奋有感染力， 因为堤坝上的老人正在看着他们，向他们大喊大叫，鼓励他们。 这似乎是整个村庄的晚间娱乐活动； 就连饥肠辘辘的狗也在吠叫； 每个人都处于兴奋中。 他们都饿得半死，在他们之中，没有一个胖子，即使是老人； 他们越老越瘦； 孩子们也都很瘦，但他们似乎精力充沛。 他们都穿着破烂的脏布，用各种颜色的不同布料打补丁。 他们都很开朗，即使是年老体弱的人； 他们似乎没有意识到自己的痛苦，没有意识到自己虚弱的身体， 因为他们中的许多人背着沉重的包袱； 他们有惊人的耐心，他们必须拥有它，因为死亡就在那里，非常接近，生命的痛苦也是如此； 一切都在同一时间在那里，死亡、出生、性、贫穷、饥饿、兴奋、泪水。 他们有一个地方，在岸边的高处，被一些树掩映着， 离那座破败的旧庙不远，用来埋葬他们的死者； 有很多可能知道饥饿的滋味的小婴儿们、没有洗过的尸体的气味，以及死亡的气息。 但这条河一直在那里，有时候威胁着这个村庄 但现在是安静的，燕子飞得那么低， 几乎碰到水，那是温柔的火的颜色。 这条河就是一切，他们偶尔在里面沐浴， 他们在河里洗衣服、清洗瘦弱的身体， 他们崇拜它，并把他们能获得的鲜花放在里面，以表示他们的尊重； 他们在里面捕鱼，并死在旁边。 对他们的喜怒哀乐，这条河漠不关心； 它是如此之深，它的背后有如此的厚重和力量； 它非常有生命力，非常危险。 但现在它安静了，没有涟漪，每只燕子身上都有一个影子； 他们没有飞得很远， 他们会低飞大约一百英尺，上升一点，转身再下降 再飞一百英尺左右，直到黑暗来临。 有小水鸟，尾巴上下摆动，飞得很快； 有较大的，几乎是潮湿的泥土的颜色，灰褐色， 在水边上下跳窜。 但是，它的奇迹在于天空，如此广阔，无边无际，没有地平线。 傍晚的光线柔软、清晰、非常温柔； 它没有留下影子，每一棵灌木树和鸟都是独立的。 白天闪闪发光的河流现在是天空的光芒，迷幻，梦想，遗失在它的美和爱中。 从这光中，万物不复存在， 哭泣的心灵和狡猾的大脑； 快感和痛苦消失了，只剩下光，透明、温柔和爱抚，它是光； 思想和感觉在其中没有作用，他们永远无法带来光； 他们不在那里，唯有这光， 当太阳在城墙后面，天空中无云的时候。 除非你知道冥想的非时间的运动，否则你看不到这光； 思想的终结就是这场运动。 但爱不是思想或感觉的方式。
It was very quiet, not a leaf was stirring and it was dark; all the stars that could fill the river were there and they spilled over into the sky. The brain was completely still but very alive and watching, watching without a watcher, without a centre from which it was watching; nor was there any sensation. The otherness was there, deep within at a depth that was lost; it was action, wiping away everything without leaving a mark of what has been or what is. There was no space in which to have a border nor time in which thought could shape itself.
它很安静，没有一片树叶在摆动，天很黑。 所有能填满河流的星星都在那里，它们溢出到天空中。 大脑完全静止，却非常活跃，观察着， 没有观察者，没有一种中心在观察；也没有任何感觉。 异类就在那里，在遗失的深处； 它是行动，扫除一切，不留下过去或现在的痕迹。 没有边界的空间，也没有可以被思想塑造的时间。
There is something curiously pleasant to walk, alone, along a path, deep in the country, which has been used for several thousand years by pilgrims; there are very old trees along it, tamarind and mango, and it passes through several villages. It passes between green fields of wheat; it is soft underfoot, fine, dry powder, and it must become heavy clay in the wet season; the soft, fine earth gets into your feet, into your nose and eyes, not too much. There are ancient wells and temples and withering gods. The land is flat, flat as the palm of the hand, stretching to the horizon, if there is a horizon. The path has so many turns, in a few minutes it faces in all the directions of a compass. The sky seems to follow that path which is open and friendly. There are few paths like that in the world though each has its own charm and beauty. There is one [at Gstaad] that goes through the valley, gently climbing, between rich pasturage, to be gathered for the winter to be given to the cows; that valley is white with snow but then [when he was there] it was the end of summer, full of flowers, with snow mountains all around and there was a noisy stream going through the valley; there was hardly anyone on that path and you walked on it in silence. Then there is another path [at Ojai], climbing steeply by the side of a dry, dusty, crumbling mountain; it was rocky, rough and slippery; there wasn't a tree anywhere near, not even a bush; a quail with her small new brood, over a dozen of them, was there and further up you came upon a deadly rattler, all curled up, ready to strike but giving you a fair warning. But now, this path was not like any other; it was dusty, made foul by human beings here and there, and there were ruined old temples with their images; a large bull was having its fill among the growing grain, unmolested; there were monkeys too and parrots, the light of the skies. It was the path of a thousand humans for many thousand years. As you walked on it, you were lost; you walked without a single thought and there was the incredible sky and the trees with heavy foliage and birds. There is a mango on that path that is superb; it has so many leaves that the branches cannot be seen and it is so old. As you walk on, there is no feeling at all; thought too has gone but there is beauty. It fills the earth and the sky, every leaf and blade of withering grass. It is there covering everything and you are of it. You are not made to feel all this but it is there and because you are not, it is there, without a word, without a movement. You walk back in silence and fading light.
这里有某种奇怪的愉快，在独自散步的时候， 沿着这一条穿行乡村深处的、朝圣者已经使用了数千年的小路上； 路边有非常古老的树木，罗望子和芒果，它穿过几个村庄。 它跨越绿色的麦田；脚下的路是柔软的、细腻的、干粉状的， 在雨季它必定变成沉重的粘土； 柔软、细腻的泥土进入你的脚，进入你的鼻子和眼睛，不会太多。 有古井、庙宇和篶萎的神灵。 大地是平坦的，平如手掌，伸展到地平线，如果有一条地平线。 这条路有很多弯道，在几分钟内，它就碰见了指南针上的所有方向。 天空似乎跟随着那条开放而友好的小路。 世界上很少有这样的路，尽管每条路都有自己的魅力和美丽。 [在格施塔德]有一条路穿过山谷，缓缓地攀升， 蜿蜒于富饶的牧场，牧场在冬天被收割给奶牛吃； 那个山谷白雪皑皑 但那时[他当时在那里]是夏天的尽头，开满了鲜花， 周围都是雪山，有一条喧哗的溪流穿过山谷； 那条路上几乎没有人，你安静地走在上面。 然后，还有另一条路[在奥哈伊]， 在干燥、尘土飞扬、摇摇欲坠的山边，陡峭地攀升； 它崎岖不平，很滑； 附近没有一棵树，甚至没有灌木丛； 那里有一只鹌鹑和她的小新幼崽，十几只， 再往上走，你遇到了一条致命的响尾蛇， 完全地蜷缩着，准备袭击，但给了你一个公平的警告。 但是现在，这条路与其他任何一条路都不一样； 它尘土飞扬，到处被人类弄脏， 还有被毁坏的旧寺庙和他们的雕像； 一头大公牛在生长的稻田里饱餐，而没有受到干扰； 还有猴子和鹦鹉，天空的光芒。 这条路，几千年来被书千人走过。 当你走在上面时，你遗失了； 你走着，没有思想，有那令人难以置信的天空 还有茂密的树林和鸟儿们。 这条路上有一棵芒果树，极好看； 它的叶子太多了，看不到枝条，而且它太老了。 当你走着走着，一点感觉都没有； 思想也消失了，却有美。 它充满了大地和天空，每一片枯萎的树叶和草叶。 它在那里，涵盖了一切，而你就是它。 你没有感受到这一切，但它就在那里 因为你不在，它就在那里，没有一个言词，没有一个运动。 在安静和渐渐消失的光线中，你回去了。
Every experience leaves a mark and every mark distorts experience; so there is no experience which has not been. Everything is old and nothing new. But this is not so. All the marks of all experiences are wiped away; the brain, the storehouse of the past, becomes completely quiet and motionless, without reaction, but alive, sensitive; then it loses the past and is made new again.
每一次体验都会留下印记，每一个印记都会扭曲体验； 因此，没有体验，它不存在。 一切都是旧的，没有什么新鲜的。但这不是。 所有体验的每一个痕迹都被清除； 这颗大脑，这过去的仓库， 变得完全安静，一动不动，没有反应，却是活跃的，敏感的； 然后，它失去了这个过去，再次焕然一新。
It was there, that immensity, having no past, no future; it was there, without ever knowing the present. It filled the room, expanding beyond all measure.
它在那里，那浩瀚，没有过去，没有将来； 它在那里，从不知道这个现在。 它充盈这房间，爆炸并超出一切衡量。
The sun comes out of the trees and sets over the town and between the trees and the town is all life, is all time. The river passes between them, deep, alive and tranquil; many small boats go up and down it; some with large, square sails, which carry wood, sand, cut stone and sometimes men and women going back to their villages but mostly there are small fishing boats, with lean dark men. They appear to be very happy, voluble people, calling and shouting to each other though they are all clad in rags, with not much to eat, inevitably with many children. They cannot read and write; they have no outside entertainment, no cinemas etc., but they amuse themselves singing, in chorus, devotional songs or telling religious stories. They are all very poor and life is very hard, disease and death are always there, like the earth and the river. And that evening there were more swallows than ever, flying low, almost touching the water and the water was the colour of dying fire. Everything was so alive, so intense; four or five fat puppies were playing around their thin hungry mother; crows, many groups of them, were flying back to the other bank; parrots were flying back to their trees, in their flashing, screeching manner; a train was crossing the bridge and the noise of it came far down the river and a woman was washing herself in the cold river. Everything was struggling to live, a battle for its very life and there is always death, to struggle every moment of life and then to die. But between the rising of the sun and its setting behind the walls of the city, time consumed all life, time past and present ate man's heart away; he existed in time and so knew sorrow.
太阳升起，挂在树上，落在城镇和树林间的上空 城镇是生命的全部，是所有的时间。 这条河在它们之间穿梭，深邃，生气勃勃而宁静； 许多小船来来往往； 有些是大而方的帆，可运载木材、沙子、切割的石头 有时是男人和女人回他们的村庄 但大多数都是小渔船，瘦弱的黑人们。 他们看起来非常快乐、活泼，互相呼唤和喊叫 虽然他们都衣衫褴褛，吃的不多，难免生有很多孩子。 他们不会读和写；他们没有外面的娱乐，没有电影院等， 但他们以合唱、虔诚的歌曲或讲述宗教故事自娱自乐。 他们都很穷，生活很辛苦， 疾病和死亡总是在那里，就像土地和河流一样。 那天晚上，燕子比以往任何时候都多，飞得很低，几乎碰到水。 水是快要断气的火的颜色。 一切都是那么鲜活，那么激烈； 四五只胖小狗围着瘦弱饥饿的妈妈玩耍； 乌鸦们，有很多群，飞回对岸； 鹦鹉飞回树上，闪烁着，尖叫着； 一列火车正在过桥，它的声音从河的下游传到很远的地方 一个女人正在冰冷的河里洗澡。 一切都挣扎着生活，为各自的生命而战 总是有死亡，在生命的每一刻挣扎着，然后死亡。 但是，在太阳升起和落在城墙后面之间， 时间吞噬了所有的生命，时间流逝，现在吞噬了人心； 他存在于时间中，所以知道悲伤。
But the village men walking behind along the narrow path beside the river, strung out one by one, somehow were part of the man walking in front; there were eight of them and the old man directly behind was coughing and spitting all the time and the others were more or less walking silently. The man that was in front was aware of them, their silence, their coughs, their weariness after a long day; they were not agitated but quiet and if anything cheerful. He was aware of them as he was aware of the glowing river, of the gentle fire of the sky and the birds coming back to their home; there was no centre from which he was seeing, feeling, observing; all these imply the word, thought. There was no thought but only these things. They were all walking fast and time had ceased to be; those villagers were going back home to their hovels and the man was going with them; they were part of him, not that he was aware of them as being a part. They were flowing with the river, flying with the birds and were as open and wide as the sky. It was a fact and not imagination; imagination is a shoddy thing and fact is a burning reality. All those nine were walking endlessly, going nowhere and coming from nowhere; it was an endless procession of life. Time and all identity had ceased, strangely. When the man in front turned to walk back, all the villagers, especially the old man who was so close, just behind him, saluted as though they were age long friends. It was getting dark, the swallows had gone; there were lights on the long bridge and the trees were withdrawing into themselves. Far away a temple bell was ringing.
但村民们沿着河边的狭窄小路走在后面， 一个接一个地串起来，不知何故，走在前面的是那个人； 他们有八个人，后面的老人咳嗽着 一直吐着口水，其他人或多或少都在安静地走着。 走在前面的那个人知道他们，他们的安静，他们的咳嗽，他们在漫长的一天后的疲倦； 他们并不激动，而是安静，好像有什么欢乐的东西。 他意识到他们，就像他意识到河水的流光、天空的温柔之火一样。 鸟儿们回家了； 他看、感受、观察，却没有中心；所有这些都暗示了这个词：思想。 没有思想，只有这些东西。 他们都走得很快，时间已经不复存在了。 那些村民们正在回家的路上，那个人和他们一起； 他们是他的一部分，并不是说他知道他们是他的一部分。 他们与河流一起流动，与鸟儿一起飞翔，像天空一样开阔。 这是事实，而不是想象； 想象力是劣质的东西，事实是一个燃烧的现实。 这九个人都不停地走，哪儿也不去，也不知从何处而来。 它是一场无休止的生命游行。奇怪的是，时间和所有的身份都消逝了。 前面的那个人转身往回走的时候，所有的村民， 尤其是离他那么近的那位老人， 道别，仿佛他们很久以来就是朋友。 天快黑了，燕子不见了。 长桥上有灯，树木正在回退。 远处，一座寺庙的钟声响起。
There is a little canal, about a foot wide, that goes between the green fields of wheat. There is a path along it and you can walk along it for quite a while, without meeting a soul. That evening it was particularly quiet; there was a fat jay with startlingly bright blue wings that was having a drink in that canal; it was fawn coloured, with those sparkling blue wings; it wasn't one of those scolding jays; you could approach it fairly close without being called names. It looked at you in wonderment and you looked at it with exploding affection; it was fat and comfortable and very beautiful. It waited to see what you would do and when you did nothing, it grew calmer and presently flew away without a cry. You had met in that bird all the birds ever brought into being; it was that explosion that did it. It was not a well planned, thought-out explosion; it just happened with an intensity and fury whose very shock stopped all time. But you went along that narrow path, past a tree which had become the symbol of a temple, for there were flowers and a crudely painted image and the temple was a symbol of something else and that something else was also a vast symbol. Words, symbols, have become, like the flag, so frighteningly important. Symbols were ashes which fed the mind and the mind was barren and thought was born out of this waste. It was clever, inventive, as all things are which come out of arid nothingness. But the tree was splendid, full of leaves, sheltering many birds; the earth around was swept and kept clean; they had built a mud platform around the tree and on it was the image, leaning against the thick trunk. The leaf was perishable and the stone image was not; it would endure, destroying minds.
有一条大约一英尺宽的小运河，在绿色的麦田之间。 沿着它有一条小路，你可以沿着它走一段路，而不会遇到一个灵魂。 那天晚上特别安静。 有一只胖松鸦，有着惊人的、明亮的蓝色翅膀，正在那条运河里喝水； 它是小鹿色的，有那闪亮的蓝色翅膀； 这不是那些责骂的松鸦之一； 你可以相当接近它而不必称呼它们的名字。 它惊奇地看着你，你用爆炸般的感情看着它； 它又胖又舒服，非常漂亮。 它等着看你会做什么，而你什么都没做， 它变得平静起来，一声不吭地飞走了。 在那只鸟身上，你遇见了所有曾经出现的鸟儿； 正是那爆炸做到了。 它不是一次精心策划的、深思熟虑的爆炸； 它只是以一种强烈和狂暴的方式发生，而正是它的震惊，使时间停摆。 但是你沿着那条狭窄的小路走，经过一棵树，它已经成为寺庙的象征， 因为有鲜花和粗糙的画像， 寺庙是某个别的东西的象征，而别的东西，也是一个巨大的象征。 文字，符号，已经变得如此可怕，就像国旗一样，如此可怕地重要。 符号是灰烬，滋养着头脑，头脑是贫瘠的，思想是从这个废品中诞生。 它是聪明的，发明性的，因为所有的东西都是从贫瘠的废墟中产生的。 但是这棵树很繁荣，长满了叶子，庇护着许多鸟儿； 周围的大地被清扫并保持干净； 他们在树周围建了一个泥台，上面是图像， 靠在粗壮的树干上。 叶子是易腐烂的，图像不是； 它会持续下去，持续地毁灭头脑。
The early morning sun was on the water, shimmering, almost blinding the eyes; a fisherman's boat was crossing that brilliant path and there was a slight fog among the trees, on the opposite bank. The river is never still, there is always a movement, a dance of countless steps and this morning it was very alive, making the trees, the bushes heavy and dull, except the birds which were calling, singing, and the parrots as they screeched by. These parrots lived in the tamarind tree beside the house and they would be coming and going all day, restless in their flight. Their light green bodies shone in the sun and their red curving beaks were brighter as they flashed by. Their flight was fast and sharp and you could see them among the green leaves if you looked carefully, and once there they became clumsy and not so noisy as on their flight. It was early but all the birds had been out long before the sun was on the water. Even at that hour the river was awake with the light of the heavens and meditation was a sharpening of the immensity of the mind; the mind is never asleep, never completely unaware; patches of it were, here and there sharpened by conflict and pain, made dull by habit and passing satisfaction, and every pleasure left a mark of longing. But all these darkened passages left no space for the totality of the mind. These became enormously important and always breeding more immediate significance and the immensity is put aside for the little, the immediate. The immediate is the time of thought and thought can never resolve any issue except the mechanical. But meditation is not the way of the machine; it can never be put together to get somewhere; it is not the boat to cross to the other side. There is no shore, no arriving and, like love, it has no motive. It is endless movement whose action is in time but not of time. All action of the immediate, of time, is the ground of sorrow; nothing can grow on it except conflict and pain. But meditation is the awareness of this ground and choicelessly never letting a seed take root, however pleasant and however painful. Meditation is the passing away of experience. And then only is there clarity whose freedom is in seeing. Meditation is a strange delight not to be bought on the market; no guru or disciple can ever be of it; all following and leading have to cease as easily and naturally as a leaf drops to the ground.
清晨的阳光洒在水面，波光粼粼，几乎刺瞎了眼睛； 一艘渔夫的船正在穿过那条辉煌的光路 对岸的树林间有一丝雾气。 河永不静止，总是在动，无数步的舞蹈 今天早上它非常活跃， 使树木，灌木丛显得厚重而沉闷， 除了鸟儿在叫，唱歌，还有鹦鹉的尖叫。 这些鹦鹉住在房子旁边的罗望子树上 他们会整天来来去去，在飞行中焦躁不安。 他们浅绿色的身体在阳光下闪闪发光 它们红色弯曲的喙在闪过时更加明亮。 他们的飞行又快又猛 如果你仔细观察，你可以在绿叶中看到他们， 一旦到了那里，他们就变得笨拙，不像在飞行中那么吵。 时间还早，但所有的鸟儿在太阳落在水面上之前，很久就已经出去了。 即使在那个时候，河水也因天上的光芒而醒来 冥想是头脑的浩瀚的磨砺； 这颗头脑永远不睡著，从来不完全失去知觉； 它的斑块，到处都被磨砺， 通过冲突和痛苦，由习惯和短暂的满足而变得迟钝， 每一次快乐都留下了渴望的印记。 而所有这些昏暗的片段，使整个头脑没有了空间。 这些变得非常重要， 并且总是孕育出更易逝的意义； 那浩瀚被搁置在一边，只剩下小的，易逝的。 那易逝的，是思想的时间 思想永远无法解决任何问题，除了机械的。 但冥想不是机器的方式； 它永远无法被组装以到达某个地方； 它不是到彼岸的渡船。 没有彼岸，没有到达，就像爱一样，它没有动机。 它是无休止的运动，它的运动在时间内，却不属于时间。 易逝的一切行动，属于时间，是悲伤的土壤； 除了冲突和痛苦，没有什么可以生长在上面。 但冥想是意识到这片土壤 无选择地，从不让种子生根，无论有多么愉快，多么痛苦。 冥想是体验的消逝。 然后，只有清晰，它的自由在观看之中。 冥想是一种奇怪的高兴，在市场上买不到； 没有上师或弟子可以成就它； 所有的跟随和引导，都必须像一片树叶一样，掉落在地上，轻易而自然地消逝。
The immeasurable was there, filling the little space and all space; it came as gently as the breeze comes over the water but thought could not hold it and the past, time, was not capable of measuring it.
那不可估量的，就在那里， 填满这片小空间和所有的空间； 它像微风吹拂水面，轻轻地到来 但思想无法容纳它；这个过去，这个时间，无法衡量它。
Across the river, smoke was going up in a straight column; it was a simple movement bursting into the sky. There wasn't a breath of air; there wasn't a ripple on the river and every leaf was still; the parrots were the only noisy movement as they flashed by. Even the little fisherman's boat did not disturb the water; everything seemed to have frozen in stillness, except the smoke. Even though it was going so straight up in the sky there was a certain gaiety in it and freedom of total action. And beyond the village and the smoke was the glowing sky of the evening. It had been a cool day and the sky had been open and there was the light of a thousand winters; it was short, penetrating and expansive; it went with you everywhere, it wouldn't leave you. Like perfume, it was in the most unexpected places; it seemed to have entered into the most secret corners of one's being. It was a light that left no shadow and every shadow lost its depth; because of it, all substance lost its density; it was as though you looked through everything, through the trees on the other side of the wall, through your own self. Your self was as opaque as the sky and as open. It was intense and to be with it was to be passionate, not the passion of feeling or desire, but a passion that would never wither or die. It was a strange light, it exposed everything and made vulnerable, and what had no protection was love. You couldn't be what you were, you were burnt out, without leaving any ashes and unexpectedly there was not a thing but that light.
河的对岸，烟雾直升； 这是一个冲天而起的简单动作。 没有一丝空气； 河面上没有涟漪，每一片叶子都静止不动； 鹦鹉是它们闪过时唯一嘈杂的动作。 就连渔夫的小船也没有打扰到水流； 一切似乎都凝固在寂静中，除了烟雾。 即使它在天空中如此笔直 其中有一定的欢乐和完全行动的自由。 在村庄和烟雾之外，是在夕阳下发亮的天空。 天气很凉爽，天空已经敞开 有一千个冬天的光； 它简短，穿透力强，广阔； 它到处跟着你，不会离开你。 就像香气一样，它在最意想不到的地方； 它似乎进入了一个人最隐秘的角落。 它是一束没有影的光，每一个影子都失去了深度； 正因为如此，所有物质都失去了密度； 仿佛你看遍了一切， 穿过墙另一边的树木， 穿过你自己。 你的自我像天空一样不透明，一样敞开。 它是强烈的，和它在一起就洋溢着激情， 不是感觉或欲望的激情， 而是一种永不枯萎或消亡的激情。 它是一道奇异的光，它暴露了一切，变得脆弱； 而那没有防护的，是爱。 你不可能成为你曾经的样子，你被烧毁了，没有留下任何的灰烬 出乎意料的是，除了那道光，别无他物。
There was a little girl of ten or twelve leaning against a post in the garden; she was dirty, her hair had not been washed for many weeks, it was dusty and uncombed; her clothes were torn and unwashed too, like herself. She had a long rag around her neck and she was looking at some people who were having tea on the verandah; she looked with complete indifference, without any feeling, without any thought of what was going on; her eyes were on the group downstairs and every parrot that screeched by made no impression on her nor those soft earth-coloured doves that were so close to her. She was not hungry, she was probably a daughter of one of the servants for she seemed familiar with the place and fairly well-fed. She held herself as though she was a grown-up young lady, full of assurance and there was about her a strange aloofness. As you watched her against the river and the trees, you suddenly felt you were watching the tea party, without any emotion, without any thought, totally indifferent to everything and to whatever might happen. And when she walked away to that tree overlooking the river, it was you that was walking away, it was you that sat on the ground, dusty and rough; it was you who picked up the piece of stick and threw it over the bank, alone, unsmiling and never cared for. Presently you got up and wandered off around the house. And strangely, you were the doves, the squirrel that raced up the tree and that unwashed, dirty chauffeur and the river that went by, so quietly. Love is not sorrow nor is it made up of jealousy but it is dangerous for it destroys. It destroys everything that man has built around himself except bricks. It cannot build temples nor reform the rotting society; it can do nothing, but without it nothing can be done, do what you will. Every computer and automation can alter the shape of things and give man leisure which will become another problem when there are already so many problems. Love has no problem and that is why it is so destructive and dangerous. Man lives by problems, those unresolved and continuous things; without them, he wouldn't know what to do; he would be lost and in the losing gain nothing. So problems multiply endlessly; in the resolving of the one there is another, but death, of course, is destruction; it is not love. Death is old age, disease and the problems which no computer can solve. It is not the destruction that love brings; it is not the death that love brings. It is the ashes of a fire that has been carefully built up and it is the noise of automatic machines that go on working without interruption. Love, death, creation are inseparable; you cannot have one and deny the others; you cannot buy it on the market or in any church; these are the last places where you would find it. But if you don't look and if you have no problems, not one, then perhaps it might come when you are looking the other way.
有一个十岁或十二岁的小女孩靠在花园里的柱子旁； 她脏兮兮的，好几个星期没洗过头发，满是灰尘，没有梳理； 她的衣服也破了，也没洗，就像她一样。 她的脖子上挂着一块长长的抹布 她看着那些在阳台上喝茶的人； 她完全漠不关心地看着，没有任何感情，对正在发生的事情没有任何想法； 她的眼睛盯着楼下的那群人 每只尖叫的鹦鹉也没有给她留下任何的印象 也不去留意那些离她那么近的、柔软的、大地色的鸽子。 她不饿，她可能是其中一个仆人的女儿 因为她似乎对这个地方很熟悉，而且吃得相当饱。 她把自己当成一个成年的小姐，充满信心 她身上有一种奇怪的高冷。 当你看着她面对着河流和树木， 你突然觉得你自己在看那个茶馆， 没有任何情感，没有任何思想， 对一切的，以及可能发生的任何事情，完全漠不关心。 当她起身走到那棵树，俯瞰河流的时候， 那是你起身走开了，是你坐在地上，脏兮兮的，粗糙的； 是你捡起那根棍子扔在对岸， 独立的，没有笑容的，也从不关心。 不一会儿，你起身，在屋子里走来走去。 奇怪的是，你是这些鸽子，是跑上树的那只松鼠。 还有那个没洗过的、脏兮兮的司机，以及那么安静的、流淌的河流。 爱不是悲伤，也不是嫉妒 但它是危险的，因为它毁灭。 它摧毁了那个人在他自己周围建造的一切，除了砖块。 它不能建造寺庙，也不能改革腐朽的社会； 它什么都不做，但是没有它，什么也做不了，不论你怎么做。 每台计算机和自动化机器都可以改变事物的形状，给人类带来闲暇 —— 当已经有这么多问题的时候，这将变成另一个问题。 爱没有问题，那就是为什么它具有如此的毁灭性和危险性。 人靠问题活着，那些未解决的和持续存在的东西； 没有它们，他不知道该怎么办；他会迷茫，在迷茫中一无所获。 所以问题无休止地、成倍地增加； 在解决一个问题时，又出现了另一个，但是，死亡，当然，就是毁灭；它不是爱。 死亡是衰老，疾病和任何计算机都无法解决的问题。 它不是爱带来的毁灭；它不是爱带来的死亡。 它是灰烬，被精心的建造； 它是自动化设备的噪音，在不间断地、持续地工作。 爱、死亡、创造是不可分割的；你不能拥有一个而拒绝其余的； 你不能在市场上或任何教堂里买到它； 这些地方是你最后能找到它的地方。 但是如果你不看，如果你没有问题，没有一个问题， 那么，也许当你看其它的地方，它可能会到来。
It is the unknown, and everything you know must burn itself away, without leaving ashes; the past, rich or sordid, must be left as casually, without any motive as that girl throwing a stick over the bank. The burning of the known is the action of the unknown. Far away a flute is playing not too well and the sun is setting, a great big red ball behind the walls of the town, and the river is the colour of gentle fire and every bird is coming in for the night.
它是未知的， 你所知道的一切都必须自己燃烧，不留灰烬； 这段过去，无论是富有的还是肮脏的，都必须随意地散去， 没有任何动机，如同那个女孩在岸上扔一根棍子。 已知的燃烧，是未知的行为。 远处的笛子吹得不太好，太阳落山了， 城墙后面，一个大红球， 河水是温柔的火的颜色，每只鸟儿都来过夜了。
Dawn was just coming and already, every bird seemed to be awake, calling, singing, endlessly repeating one or two notes; the crows were the loudest. There were so many of them, cawing to each other and you had to listen with care to catch the notes of other birds. The parrots were already screeching in their flight, flashing by and in that pale light their lovely green was already splendid. Not a leaf was stirring and the river was running silver, wide, expansive, deep with the night; the night had done something to it; it had become richer, deep with the earth and inseparable; it was alive with an intensity that was destructive in its purity. The other bank was still asleep, the trees and the wide green stretches of wheat were still mysterious and quiet and far away a temple bell was ringing, without music. Everything was beginning to wake up now, shouting with the coming sun. Every caw was more loud and every screech and the colour of every leaf and flower, and strong was the smell of the earth. The sun came over the leaves of trees and made a golden path across the river. It was a beautiful morning and its beauty would remain, not in memory; memory is shoddy; it is a dead thing and memory can never hold beauty or love. It destroys them. It is mechanical, having its use, but beauty is not of memory. Beauty is always new but the new has no relationship with the old, which is of time.
黎明降临， 每只鸟似乎都苏醒了，叫换着，歌唱着，没完没了地重复一两个音符； 乌鸦的声音最大。 他们太多了，互相叽叽喳喳 你必须仔细听才能捕捉到其他鸟类的音符。 鹦鹉已经在飞行的尖叫， 一闪而过，在那苍白的光线下，他们可爱的绿色已经灿烂了。 没有一片树叶在摆动，河水在流淌，如银丝带，宽阔，带着黑夜的深邃； 黑夜对它做了某些事情； 它变得更加丰富、深沉，与大地一起，密不可分； 它富有生命力，在它的纯洁中，带着一种强烈，是毁灭性的。 河对岸还在睡梦中， 树木和宽阔的绿色麦片仍然神秘而安静 远远地，寺庙的钟声响起，没有音乐。 现在，一切都开始苏醒了，随着即将到来的太阳大喊大叫。 每一声呐喊都更加响亮，每一声尖叫，每一片叶子和花朵的颜色， 浓烈，是大地的味道。 阳光从树叶上洒下，在河上开辟了一条金色的光路。 这是一个美丽的早晨，它的美丽将驻留，不在记忆中； 记忆是粗制滥造的；它是死物，记忆永远无法容纳美或爱。 它摧毁它们。 它是机械的，有它的用途，但美不是记忆。 美总是新的，但新的无关于旧的，旧的从属于时间。
[He gave the last of his seven talks that morning.] The moon was quite young yet it gave enough light for shadows; there were plenty of shadows and they were very still. Along that narrow path, every shadow seemed to be alive, whispering amongst themselves, every shadowy leaf chattering to its neighbour. The shape of the leaf and the heavy trunk were clear on the ground and the river down below was of silver; it was wide, silent and there was a deep current which left no mark on the surface. Even the afternoon breeze had died and there were no clouds to gather around the setting sun; higher up in the sky, there was a solitary rose-coloured whisper of a cloud that remained motionless till it disappeared into the night. Every tamarind and mango was withdrawing for the night and all the birds were silent, taking shelter, deep among the leaves. A little owl was sitting on the telegraph wire and just when you were below it, it flew off on those extraordinary silent wings. After delivering milk, the cycles were coming back, the empty tins rattling; there were so many of them, single or in groups, but for all their chatter and noise that peculiar silence of the open country and immense sky remained. That evening nothing could disturb it, not even a goods train crossing the steel bridge. There is a little path to the right wandering among the green fields and as you walk on it, far away from everything, from faces, tears, suddenly, you are aware that something is taking place. You know it is not imagination, desire, taking to some fancy or to some forgotten experience or the revival of some pleasure and hope; you know well it is none of these things; you have been through this examination before and you brush all these aside, swiftly with a gesture and you are aware something is taking place. It is as unexpected as that big bull that comes through the darkening evening; it is there with insistency and immensity, that otherness, which no word or symbol can catch; it is there filling the sky and the earth and every little thing in it. You and that little villager who without a word, passes you by, are of it. At that timeless time, only there is that immensity, neither thought nor feeling and the brain utterly quiet. All meditative sensitivity is over, only that incredible purity is there. It is the purity of strength, impenetrable and unapproachable but it was there. Everything stood still, there was no movement, no stir and even the sound of the whistle of the train was in the stillness. It accompanied you as you walked back to your room and it was there, too, for it had never left you.
[那天早上，他进行了七次讲话中的最后一次。] 月亮很年轻，但它为阴影提供了足够的光线； 有很多影子，他们非常静止。 沿着那条狭窄的小路，每一个影子似乎都活了过来，彼此窃窃私语， 每一片朦胧的叶子都在向邻居们叽叽喳喳。 树叶的形状和沉重的树干在地面上清晰可见 下面的河是银色的； 它很宽，很安静，流深，在表面上没有留下任何的痕迹。 就连午后的微风也消失了，夕阳周围没有云朵聚集； 在更高的天空中， 有一朵孤零零的、玫瑰色的低语，一动不动，直到它消失在夜色中。 每一棵罗望子树和芒果树都回撤过夜 所有的鸟儿都安静了，躲在树叶深处。 一只小猫头鹰坐在电报线上 就在你站在它下面的时候，它飞走了，扇动着那些异常的、无声的翅膀。 送完牛奶后，循环又回来了，空罐头嘎嘎作响； 他们太多了，单个的或成群结队的， 但是，尽管他们喋喋不休，喧嚣，开阔的乡村和广阔的天空的奇特寂静依然存在。 那天晚上，没有什么能打扰它，甚至连一列穿过钢桥的货运列车都没有。 小路向右蜿蜒，进入绿色的田野中，当你走在上面时， 远离了一切，远离面孔、眼泪，突然间，你意识到某个东西正在发生。 你知道它不是想象、欲望， 抓取某些幻想，或某些被遗忘的体验，或某些快乐和希望的复活； 你很清楚，这些都不是它； 之前，你已经检查过这些 你把所有这些撇在一边，迅速地一挥手，你意识到有某个东西在发生。 它是出人意料的，就像那头大公牛在黑暗的夜晚走来一样； 它在那里，带着坚持和浩瀚 那个异类，任何文字或符号都无法捕捉； 它在那里，充满天空和大地，及其每一个小东西。 你和那个一言不发的、从你身边经过小村民，属于它。 在那个非时间的时刻，只有那浩瀚， 既没有思想也没有感觉，大脑完全安静了。 所有的冥想性的敏感都结束了，只有那令人难以置信的纯洁。 它是力量的纯洁，坚不可摧，无法接近，但它就在那里。 一切都保持着静止， 没有移动，没有搅扰，甚至火车的汽笛声也在那静止中。 当你走回你的房间时，它陪着你，它也在那里，因为它从未离开过你。
With the heavily-laden camel, we all crossed the new bridge across the little stream, the cyclists, the village women returning from town, a mangy dog and an old man with a long, white beard and haughty. The old, rickety bridge was taken away and there was this new bridge, made of heavy poles, bamboos, straw and mud; it was strongly built and the camel didn't hesitate to cross it; it was haughtier than the old man, its head right up in the air, disdainful and rather smelly. We all went over the bridge and most of the villagers went down along the river and the camel went the other way. It was a dusty path, fine dry clay and the camel left a big wide imprint and couldn't be coaxed to walk along any faster than it wanted to; it was carrying sacks of grain and it seemed so utterly indifferent to everything; it went past the ancient well and ruined temples and its driver his best to make it walk faster, slapping it with his bare hands. There is another path that turns off to the right, past the flowering yellow mustard, flowering peas and rich green wheat fields; this path is not used much and it is pleasant to walk along there. The mustard had a slight smell but the pea was a little stronger, and the wheat, which was beginning to form its ear, had its own smell too and the combination of the three filled the evening air with a fragrance that was not too strong, pleasant but unobtrusive. It was a beautiful evening, with the setting sun behind the trees; on that path you were far away from anywhere, though there were scattered villages all around but you were far away and nothing could come near you. It was not in space, time or distance; you were far away and there was no measure. The depth was not in fathoms; there was a depth that had no height, no circumference. An occasional village passed you by, carrying the few meagre things that he had bought in town and as he went by, almost touching you, had not come near you. You were far away, in some unknown world that had no dimension; even if you wanted to know, you couldn't know it. It was too far away from the known; it had no relationship with the known. It wasn't a thing you experience; there was nothing to be experienced, and besides all experiencing is always in the field of the known, recognized by that which has been. You were far away, immeasurably far, but the trees, the yellow flowers and the ear of the wheat were astonishingly close, closer than your thought and marvellously alive, with intensity and beauty that could never wither. Death, creation and love were there and you didn't know which was which and you were part of it; they were not separate, something to be divided and argued over. They were inseparable, closely interrelated, not the relationship of word and action, expression. Thought could not shape it, nor feeling cover it, these are too mechanical, too slow, having their roots in the known. Imagination is within their ground and could never come near. Love, death, creation was a fact, an actual reality, as the body they were burning on the river-bank under the tree. The tree, the fire and the tears were real, were undeniable facts but they were the actualities of the known and the freedom of the known, and in that freedom those three are - inseparable. But you have to go very far and yet be very near.
伴着这头满载而归的骆驼， 我们都穿过小溪上的新桥， 骑自行车的人们，从镇上回来的村妇， 一只毛茸茸的狗和一个长着白胡子、高傲的老人。 摇摇晃晃的旧桥被拆掉了， 有了这座新桥，用沉重的杆子、竹子、稻草和泥土做成； 它坚固耐用，骆驼毫不犹豫地越过它； 它比老人还要高傲，头正悬在空中，不屑一顾，颇具臭味。 我们都过了桥，大多数村民都沿着河走下去 骆驼走了另一条路。 那是一条尘土飞扬的小路，细腻的干粘土和骆驼留下了很大的印记 它无法被哄得比它想的更快走了； 它扛着一袋袋粮食，似乎对一切都漠不关心。 它经过了古井和废墟寺庙 它的司机尽力让它走得更快，赤手空拳地拍打它。 有另一条路，朝着右拐， 经过开花的黄芥末，开花的豌豆和茂密的绿色麦田； 这条路使用得不多，沿着那里走，很是愉快。 芥末有淡淡的气味，但豌豆有点浓， 开始形成耳朵的小麦也有自己的气味 三者的组合充满了傍晚的空气 带有一种不太浓郁的芬芳，令人愉悦，却不引人注意。 这是一个美丽的黄昏，夕阳在树后； 在那条路上，你远离了任何地方， 虽然周围有零星的村庄 但你离得很远，没有什么能靠近你。 它不是在空间、时间或距离上；你离得很远，无法测量。 深度不是以英寻为单位的； 这是没有尺度，没有边界的深度。 一个偶遇的村民从你身边经过，带着他在城里买的几件微薄的东西。 当他经过时，几乎碰到你，而没有靠近你。 你很远，在某个没有维度的未知世界里； 即使你想知道，你也无法知道。 它离已知太远了；它与已知没有任何关系。 它不是你体验到的东西； 没有什么可体验的， 除此以外，一切的体验总是在已知的领域，被已经存在的领域所辨识。 你离得很远，无比地遥远， 但是这树、黄色的花朵和麦穗却惊人地接近， 比你的思想更近，奇妙地活泼，具有永不枯萎的强度和美。 死亡、创造和爱都在那里 你不知道哪个是哪个，你是其中的一部分； 它们不是分割的、需要划分和争论的东西。 它们是不可分割的，紧密相连的，与言语、行为、表达无关。 思想无法塑造它，感觉也无法掩盖它， 这些太机械化了，太慢了，都根植于已知。 在它们的地盘里，想象力永远无法靠近。 愛、死亡、創造，是一個事實，一個真切的现实， 就像他们在树下的河岸上燃烧的尸体一样。 这树，这火和眼泪是真实的，是不可否认的事实 但它们是已知事物的现实和已知事物的自由， 在这种自由中，这三者 —— 是不可分割的。 但是你必须走得很远，但又要非常地近。
The man on the bicycle was singing in a rather hoarse and tired voice, coming back with the rattling empty milk-cans from the city; he was eager to talk to someone and as he passed by he said something, hesitated, recovered and went on. The moon was casting shadows now, dark and almost transparent ones and the smell of the night was deepening. And around the bend of the path was the river; it seemed to be lighted from within, with a thousand candles; the light was soft with silver and pale gold and utterly still, bewitched by the moon. Pleiades was overhead and Orion was well up in the sky and a train was puffing up the grade to cross the bridge. Time had stopped and beauty was there with love and death. And on the new bamboo bridge there was no one, not even a dog. The little stream was full of stars.
这位骑自行车的人在唱歌，嗓音相当的嘶哑和疲惫， 载着从镇上收回的嘎嘎作响的空牛奶瓶； 他渴望与某个人交谈，当他经过时，他说了些什么，犹豫了片刻，然后继续前行。 月亮现在投下了阴影，深暗而几乎透明的阴影 夜的气味越来越浓烈。 小路的拐弯处是河流； 它似乎从内部点燃，有一千根蜡烛； 月光柔和，呈银色和淡金色，完全静止，被月亮迷住了。 昴星团在头顶，猎户座在天上 一列火车正在使劲地爬坡过桥。 时间停止了，美在这里，携着爱与死亡。 而在新的竹桥上，没有人，甚至连一条狗都没有。 小溪里满是星星。
It was long before dawn, a clear starlit sky; there was a slight mist over the river and the bank on the other side was just visible; the train was chugging up the grade to cross the bridge; it was a goods train and these trains always puff up the incline in a special way, long, slow strokes of heavy puffs, unlike the passengers [trains], who have quick short bursts and are on the bridge almost immediately. This goods train, in that vast silence, made a rattling roar, more noisy than ever before but nothing seemed to disturb that silence in which all movements were lost. It was an impenetrable silence, clear, strong, penetrating; there was an urgency which no time could gather. The pale star was clear and the trees were dark in their sleep. Meditation was the awareness of all these things and the going beyond all these and time. The movement in time is thought and thought cannot go beyond its own bondage to time and is never free. Dawn was coming over the trees and the river, a pale sign as yet but the stars were losing their brilliancy and already there was a call of the morning, a bird in a tree quite close by. But that immense silence still persisted and it would always be there, though the birds and the noise of man would continue.
天还没亮，星空晴朗； 河面上有薄雾，河对岸清晰可见。 火车在坡上嘎嚓响着前进，准备过桥； 这是一列货运列车，这些列车总是鼓鼓的斜着 以一种特殊的方式，长而缓慢地喘息， 不像乘运[列车]，他们有快速的短爆发，几乎立即在桥上。 这个货运列车，在那巨大的寂静中，发出嘎嘎作响的轰鸣声，比以往任何时候都更加嘈杂。 但似乎没有什么能打扰那种寂静，所有动作都消失了。 那是一种难以穿透的寂静，清晰，强烈，刺穿； 有一种紧迫感，没有时间去收集。 苍白的星星很清晰，树在睡梦中，是幽暗的。 冥想是对所有这些事物的觉知，并超越所有这些和时间。 时间的运动是思想 思想不能超越它自己边界并走出时间，因而，永远是不自由的。 越过树和河流，黎明来了， 一个苍白的迹象，但星星正在失去他们的光彩 已经有早晨的叫声，一只鸟在附近的树上。 但那巨大的寂静仍然持续着，它会一直存在， 尽管鸟儿和人类的噪音会延续下去。