[* He is now in Bombay where he will give talks until March 13th.] They were small clouds, mere brush strokes with wings, hundreds of them, filling the western sky; the sea was covered with small, dancing ripples and the sun was setting, a gigantic red globe, splendid. But it was those little clouds, with wings, that gave enchantment to the evening; they were just a whisper of clouds, breathlessly flying north, all going north; each was enclosed in its own space, in its own beauty and they conquered space in their flight. And yet they were motionless; there was not a breath of air except just over the sea and over the land close to it. The curving bay, with its many houses, held the breeze but those enchanted clouds never moved but yet they were flying and there was no space. As the sun went down into the sea, they took on its colour; some deep rose, some light pink and others white. And they were flying; they had the beauty of all the earth and heavens; they were delicate, newly born but with that energy that destroys space. And as you watched them and the rippling waters, you were lost; you did not see them; they were there, only you were not there; they existed and nothing else; not even space and time. There was no thought, no feeling and so no experiencing. The essence of immaturity is experiencing. Every form of experience is in the net of the past and in the bondage of time. They were flying in the light of colour and there was emptiness. Seeing is a marvellous thing; you see only when there is emptiness; from emptiness, seeing dissolves space and time is consumed. The horizon, the dancing waters, the ever flying clouds and the abiding earth were in timeless movement and the glory of heaven was in that rock, on which a sea gull was sitting. The man in the car shouted some abusive or warning word; the traffic was heavy and a little girl laughed. Now the flying clouds were fading and the moon was casting transparent shadows. There were lights in the windows and shops and a powerful car dashed by, only to put on its screeching brakes as another car turned, blocking its way. It was a dusty, crowded road, people everywhere; only the poor, it seemed, walked or waited in a long queue for the buses. You walked seeing, observing, listening without a thought and feeling and so you saw everything, leaving no mark, no scratch.

[*他现在到了孟买，将在那里讲话，直到3月13日。] 他们是小云， 仅仅用翅膀笔触，数百只，充满了西天； 海面上布满了跳舞的小涟漪 太阳落山了，一个巨大的红色火球，灿烂。 但正是那些长着翅膀的小云，给夕阳增添了魅力； 他们正气喘吁吁地向北飞，都往北去； 每一片都被封闭在自己的空间中，在自己的美丽中 他们在飞行中征服了空间。然而他们一动不动； 除了在海上和附近的陆地上空，没有一丝空气。 这弯曲的海湾，有着许多房屋，被微风轻拂， 但那些迷人的云，却一动不动 但他们在飞，却没有空间。 当太阳落入大海，它们呈现出它的颜色； 有些是深玫瑰色，有些是浅粉色，有些是白色。 他们在飞；他们拥有天地之美； 他们很柔嫩，刚出生，但具有破坏空间的能量。 当你看着他们和涟漪荡漾的海水时，你遗失了； 你没有看他们；他们在那里，只是你不在； 它们存在，仅此而已；甚至没有空间和时间。 没有思想，没有感觉，所以没有体验。 不成熟的本质，就是体验。 每一种形式的体验都在过去的网罟和时间的束缚中。 他们飞翔在色彩中，那是虚空。 看是一个神奇的东西；当只有虚无时，你才能看； 虚无，看空间消融，时间毁灭。 这地平线，这跳动的水面，这灵动的云，这永恒的大地，在非时间的运动中 天空的荣耀在那块岩石中，一只海鸥歇在上面。 汽车内的男人喊出某些辱骂或警告的话；交通拥堵，一个小女孩笑了起来。 现在，飞云渐褪，月亮投下透明的影子。 窗户和商店里有灯光，一辆强劲的汽车飞驰而过， 突然踩下了尖锐的刹车，当另一辆车转弯时，挡住了它的道。 它是一条尘土飞扬、拥挤不堪的道路，到处都是人； 似乎只有穷人，排着长长的队列，在走路或等公交车。 你走路看，观察，听，没有一丝思想和感觉 所以，你看到了一切，没有留下标记，没有划痕。

The moon was full and from the long, enclosed balcony, she was just over the large tree, serene, clear and very close. There were a thousand shadows, soft and breathless; the city was silent so early in the morning. A large rat was quietly crossing the window-sill, pretending that it wasn’t seen. Not a bird was stirring and the dusty leaves were motionless but the shadows were whispering and a baby began to cry. Meditation is a delight and there was no distraction for there was no concentration; it is a movement in which everything is for it is nothing; it has no centre and so no beginning but then no ending. You cannot enter into that movement; the you must be left in your office, in your church and temple. You may not enter into that movement with experience and knowledge. There must be no you. The moon was now behind a house across the way and the shadows were thickening to disappear with the coming dawn. Then the birds began, a chorus of all the birds, shouting, singing, chattering. You listened but you were not there; you saw the palm tree awakening but you were not there and with the setting moon the light from the east began to cover the earth. Strangely you were aware of everything but you were nowhere, neither in the books nor in the street; you were not lost, you had ceased to be, not only during that silent and awakening morning but it was going to be extremely difficult to find yourself again; you wouldn’t seek to find it because it wasn’t worth it. You lived but it wasn’t you who lived. Living is entirely a different thing, a movement without measure, an ecstasy that no thought or feeling could ever capture. A mother came out, carrying a freshly bathed, combed little girl in her arms and by her side walked an older girl. This little girl was talking to the braided girl, carried around the hips of the mother; she talked in a soft voice, with such pleasure and boundless affection; you felt it, moving you to tears for it was an affection that had in it the earth, the heavens and tears. Those three were all life, neither east nor west, and the immensity of it. They just went by, in the dirty alley and time ceased. And then began the day, with its noises; people love noise. The children going to school were laughing, shouting and a boy was beating a tin can, just for the noise of it and a car going up the hills crashed its gears. The sun was touching the tree tops, so faintly, so delicately that the leaves were trembling. The scent of flowers in the next garden became stronger and the colours vivid, brilliant but you could never come back.

月圆了，从长长的封闭阳台上， 她就在那颗大树的上面，宁静，清晰，非常亲近。 有一千个影子，柔软，令人窒息； 清晨，全城一片寂静。 一只大老鼠悄悄地穿过窗台，假装它没有被看到。 没有一只鸟在躁动，蒙着灰尘的树叶们一动不动 但是影子在窃窃私语，一个婴儿开始哭喊。 冥想是一个高兴，没有分心，因为无需专注； 它是一个运动，包含了一切，因为它一无所有； 它没有中心，所以没有开始，也就无法结束。 你无法进入那个运动； 你必须待在你的办公室、你的教堂和寺庙里。 你可能不会带着体验和知识进入这个运动。 一定没有你。 现在，月亮落到对面的房屋背后 阴影越来越厚，随着黎明的到来，消失了。 然后鸟儿们开始了，所有的鸟儿合唱，喊叫，唱歌，聊天。 你听见了，你却不在那里； 你看见棕榈树苏醒了，你却不在那里 随着月亮的落下，来自东方的光开始覆盖大地。 奇怪的是，你意识到这一切，你却无处可在，既不在书上，也不在街上； 你没有丢失，你已经不在了，不只在那个寂静而苏醒的早晨 但要，重新找到你自己将是极其困难的； 你不会寻找它，因为它不值得。 你活着，但活着的那位，不是你。 生活是一个完全不同的东西，一场没有测量的运动， 一种任何思想或感觉都无法捕捉到的至乐。 一位母亲走了出来，用手臂怀抱着一个刚梳洗过的小女孩， 走在她身旁的是一个年龄较大的小女孩。 这个小女孩正在和辫子女孩说话，抱着这位母亲的臀部； 她用柔和的声音说话，带着那么的愉悦和无限的感情； 你感觉到了，感动得你流下了眼泪，因为它是一种包含大地、天空和眼泪的感情。 这三个人都是生命，既不属于东方也不属于西方，带着她的浩瀚。 她们刚好路过，在肮脏的小巷里，时间消逝了。 然后开始了新的一天，伴随着它的噪音；人们喜欢噪音。 上学的孩子们欢笑着，喊叫着， 一个男孩正在敲打一个锡罐，只是为了它的噪音 一辆汽车在爬山，齿轮撞击着。 阳光触碰到树梢，那么微弱，那么细腻，以至于那些叶片在颤抖。 隔壁花园的花香变得更强烈， 色彩鲜艳，灿烂，但你再也回不来了。

A little boy was throwing a stone tied to a long red string; he threw it high up in the mango tree and by chance, the string caught around a branch on which there were some mangoes the size of large pebbles; he pulled the string; it broke; he went up the wall, like a monkey, tied the two ends, came down the wall and this time, pulled the string more gently. Three or four raw, small mangoes fell which he pocketed, gave the string a jerk and was gone in a flash. It was late in the afternoon and the sun was still hot and glary. Two sparrows, male and female, came into the room and began to chatter; they came in whenever they could, full of chatter and curious; they would talk to you if you talked to them and they had become quite friendly. There’s a long mirror on the wall and the male would do a battle with itself in the mirror; it was an endless and futile battle; the female would sit on the little table and encourage him on with little chirps. They had to be pushed out, literally but they would come back; the female would be at the mirror first and then the male and the battle was on. The sun was now behind the trees and on the road it was dusty, dirty and crowded; there were people everywhere, endlessly talking, poor, ill-clothed, hungry looking and worn out. And there was the sea, restless and the water would be alight with the setting sun. Everywhere there was movement, every colour was alive and the black rocks were intense. Action is not something separate from living; the idea of action and action are two different things; idea is not action; life based on idea is inaction which breeds endless conflict and misery. Idea is the invention of thought in conflict and action based on ideation can only lead to contradiction, and the tension born of this is inaction, though it may produce books and pictures, gods and visions. Living is action; living is not memory; the ashes of memory is not the fire of life. Ideation is of these ashes. Living and dying, every moment without time is action. Continuity, permanency is mechanical inaction which needs conflict to keep it going. Conflict and sorrow, self-pity and memory are the fuel of inaction. Complete living is total action. The sun was now a fading line in the water and there was beauty, which no thought or feeling could ever capture. It cannot be put in a museum or hung up on a wall; it is not those two couples nor that family with so many children. Love, beauty and death are inseparable for life is ever dancing on the water.

一个小男孩正在扔一块石头，石头上绑着一条长长的红绳子； 他把它抛向芒果树上，偶尔， 这条绳子会缠在树枝上，上面有某些大鹅卵石大小的芒果； 他拉动这条绳子；绳子被拉断了； 他像猴子一样爬上墙，把两端绑起来，从墙上下来， 这一次，更轻柔地拉动了绳子。 三四个生的，小小的芒果掉下来了，他把芒果装进口袋，给绳子一个猛拉，一闪而逝。 此时已是傍晚时分，太阳依然炎热刺眼。 两只麻雀，雄性和雌性，走进这个房间，开始聊天； 他们一有机会就进来，充满了喋喋不休和好奇； 如果你和他们交谈，他们会和你说话，他们已经变得非常友好。 墙上有一面长镜，雄性会在镜子里与它自己战斗； 这是一场无休止而徒劳的战斗； 雌性会坐在小桌子上，用轻微的叽喳声鼓励他。 他们必须被赶出去，真是地，但他们会回来； 雌性会先对着镜子照，然后是雄性，战斗开始。 现在，太阳在树后，路上尘土飞扬，肮脏而拥挤； 到处都是人，没完没了地说，穷困潦倒，衣衫褴褛，看起来很饿，很疲惫。 还有大海，躁动不安，夕下的太阳会点燃水。 到处都在动， 每一种颜色都是活的，黑色的岩石很凝重。 行为不是与生活分开的某个东西； 关于行为的想法和行为本身是两回事；想法不是行为； 基于想法的生命是无所作为，滋生出无休止的冲突和痛苦。 在冲突中，思想发明了想法 而基于理念的行为只能导致矛盾， 由此而产生的紧张，就是无所作为， 虽然它可以产生书籍和图片、神灵和愿景。 生活就是行为；生活不是记忆；记忆的灰烬不是生命的火焰。 理念是这些灰烬。 无时不刻地生活和死亡，就是行为。 延续、永存，是机械性的无所作为，它靠冲突来吊命。 冲突和悲伤、自怜和记忆，是无所作为的燃料。 完整的生活就是完全的行为。 现在，太阳是水中一条褪色的线 那里有美，任何思想或感觉都无法捕捉到的美。 它不能放在博物馆里或挂在墙上； 它不是那两对配偶，也不是那个有很多孩子的家庭。 爱、美和死亡是密不可分的，因为，生命永远在水上跳动。

He was a poor boy, in a dirty, torn shirt, too long for him; he was running across the road, with an eye on the traffic; he was very thin, very dark with regular, clear features. He stopped on the other side of the road for a while and then went on aimlessly in front of us; he was about seven or eight, his eyes sparkling, ready to smile, barefooted, large of head and infinitely sad. He wouldn’t know what sadness was; he wanted a good meal, a long undisturbed sleep and clean clothes. There was no one to talk to him, other boys along the street must have quarrelled with him or left him alone. He was lonely but he wouldn’t know what that meant either; his father and mother must be labouring somewhere, probably helping to build those endless flats, in which they will never live. He turned sharply and ran into us; there was a moment of hesitation, apprehension and pain for he must have been beaten often. He stood there, so surprised and smiling; he was rooted in that filthy road, eager and tearful. His hands were rough, small, dirty, eager to hold. We walked together, not talking for he didn’t understand English but there was no need for words. Everything was forgotten except those two, walking hand in hand; there was no traffic, no people, no dirt and the sea was there, quiet to the horizon. He wanted to say something and words came pouring out, though he knew they were not understood; he stopped, freeing his hands, we looked at the sea, the palm trees, the little dog on a leash and the bus thundering by. It was a cloudless evening, clear, warm and those brown eagles were circling in the empty sky. Meditation is the emptying of the mind of time and thought; feeling distorts and every experience shapes thought; making it dull, insensitive. When time is not there is no experiencing and experiencing is the essence of immaturity. Total negation is emptiness and in it alone there is creation — not the picture and the book but complete nothingness. It is love. The brain was without a movement, sensitive, seeing not recording, listening without gathering. In those flats lights came on and a man with a long pole was turning the gaslights on. Night was coming in and the dust-covered trees were silent for the night. A car passed by with a lot of children laughing and shouting; a woman with a garland of jasmine in her hair went by and that scent was the earth, the people and that little boy. Mind was without space and time. The immensity was there.

他是一个穷小孩，一身脏兮兮的、破烂的衬衫，对他来说太长了； 他跑着穿过这条马路，注视着车流； 他很瘦，很黑，五官很清晰。 他在马路的另一边停了一会儿 然后漫无目的地在我们面前继续走； 他大约七八岁，眼睛闪亮，准备微笑，光着脚丫，头大，有无限的悲伤。 他可能不知道什么是悲伤； 他想要一顿美餐，一次不受干扰的充足睡眠，以及干净的衣服。 没有人和他说话， 街上的其他孩子一定和他吵架了，或者让他一个人呆着。 他很孤独，但他可能也不知道那意味着什么； 他的父亲和母亲一定在某个地方干活， 可能在帮助建造那些数不清的公寓，他们永远不会住在里面。 他猛地转身，撞上了我们。 有片刻的犹豫、忐忑和痛苦，因为他一定经常被殴打。 他站在那里，那么惊讶，微笑； 他定在那条肮脏的道路上，热切，泪流满面。 他的手粗糙，小，脏兮兮的，渴望握住。 我们一起行走，没有说话，因为他不懂英语，但不需要言语。 一切都被遗忘了，除了那两个人，手牵着手走着； 没有交通，没有人，没有尘土，大海在那里，安静，直到地平线。 他想说些什么，话语涌出，尽管他知道这些话不被理解； 他停了下来，松开他的手， 我们看着大海，棕榈树，拴着皮带的小狗和轰隆隆的公交车。 它是一个万里无云的夜晚，干净，温暖，那些棕色的鹰在空旷的天空中盘旋。 冥想是清空时间和思想的头脑； 感觉就是扭曲，每一次体验都塑造出思想；使它变得沉闷，麻木。 当时间不在，就没有体验，体验是不成熟的本质。 完全的否定，就是虚无，唯有如此，才有创造 —— 不是这些图片和书本，而是彻底的无。 它是爱。 大脑没有动静，灵敏，观看，不记录，听而不聚集。 在那些公寓里，灯亮了，一个拿着长杆的男人正在开煤气灯。 夜幕降临，蒙上尘土的树木一夜寂静。 一辆车经过，载着很多欢笑叫喊的孩子们； 一位头发上戴着茉莉花环的女人走过 那气味是大地，是人们和那个小男孩。 头脑没有时间和空间。无量在那里。

Two parrots were streaking across the sky, screeching as usual in their flight; they were green light full of that strange beauty and grace that only birds seem to have; they seemed to be without weight, a flash in the evening sky; they had tireless energy; they were going home to roost for the night, hidden among the dark leaves. They liked the town with all the noise, the glare of lights and probably it was safer here than the country; these two disappeared behind a house into a mango tree but they had left a light in the sky. Just around the bend of the road, there’s a gate and behind it, there are four cages, with green parrots in them. They were calling and a man with a fat rolling belly, half naked, was sitting on a cot, with nothing on but a scrap of cloth round his loins; he was chatting to a woman standing beside him. They were small cages, too small for these birds and their tail feathers were out of the cage; they were dirty and the glory was going out of them, but they were very beautiful still, they were sleek and fat and their beaks were bright red. The fat man must have liked them for that was the only beauty he had in his life; they were his companions and not that woman who was standing beside him; she only bore him children. But those four birds were his joy, his care, you felt that; he never would understand the immensity of the crime he was committing, the darkness he had brought about, a bird in a cage, but they were the visible sign of his possessions; his children would leave, die but they would remain. He was scratching himself and looking at them. And the evening sun touching the sparkling water made a path of burnt gold, and a sail was against the sun. It was an evening when meditation was the complete stillness of the brain; it was empty and wholly aware of the activities around itself but sensitive in its stillness. There was no thought, no reaction for there was a movement which was without a cause, without a motive; there was no end, no beginning. There was no observer to experience. It was movement that had no continuity; it is the only active present. The sun was below the water now and the circling birds were over the town, endlessly wheeling till the stars came out. They were chanting, four voices, deep throated but light and filling the air; they might have been in an ancient cathedral and temple but the voices came from a room. And suddenly everything became quiet, not oppressively and the voices went on; there was an eagerness and depth and a heightened penetration into nothingness. You were riding on it, it was carrying you; actually, you were not there, only that nothingness. It was not nothingness of being or not being. It was empty without the borders of time; there was no measure for space. It was immeasurably empty as the mind was. There was not mind separate from that nothingness; there was only that. It was there beyond all asking and seeking and recalling. It was incorruptible for thought cannot touch it.

两只鹦鹉在天空中划过，像往常一样在飞行中尖叫； 它们是绿光，充盈着只有鸟类特有的美和优雅； 他们似乎没有重量，在傍晚的天空中闪过； 他们有不知疲倦的精力； 他们要回家过夜，藏在黑暗的树叶中。 他们喜欢这个有噪音的城镇，刺眼的灯光， 也许，这里比乡村更安全； 这两只消失在一所房子背后，进入一棵芒果树，但他们在天空中留下了一道光。 在这条路的拐弯处，有一扇门， 门后有四个笼子，里面有绿色的鹦鹉。 他们正在打招呼，一个肚子肥大的男人，半裸着， 坐在小床上，除了腰间有一块布，什么都没有。 他正在和站在身旁的一个女人聊天。 它们是小笼子，对这些鸟来说太小了，它们的尾羽不在笼子里； 它们很脏，光彩正在从他们身上消失， 但它们仍然非常漂亮，它们光滑而肥胖，它们的喙是鲜红色的。 这个胖男人一定喜欢它们，因为那是他一生中唯一的美； 它们是他的同伴，而站在他身边的那个女人却不是； 她只给他生孩子。 但那四只鸟是他的喜悦，他的关怀，你感觉到了那； 他永远不会明白他所犯下的罪行的滔天， 他给笼中的鸟所带来的黑暗， 但它们是他所占据的财物的标志； 他的孩子们会离开，死去，但它们会留下来。 他挠着他自己，看着它们。 夕阳触及波光粼粼的水面，烧成了一条金色的道路，一叶帆逆着太阳。 夜晚，冥想是大脑完全的静止； 它是虚无，完全意识到周围的活动，在它的静止中，却敏感。 沒有思想，沒有反應，因为一个沒有原因，沒有動機的運動； 没有结束，没有开始。 没有观察者在体验。 它是没有延续的运动；它是唯一活跃的现在。 太阳落在水下 盘旋的鸟儿在城镇上空盘旋，不停地转，直到星星出来。 他们在吟唱，四个声音，低沉而轻盈，弥漫在空中； 他们可能在一座古老的大教堂和寺庙里，但声音来自一个房间。 突然间，一切都变得安静了，没有压抑，声音还在继续。 热切和深沉，强烈的锋锐透入虚无。 你骑在它上面，它载着你； 其实，你不在那里，只有那虚无。 它不是在或不在。 它是虚无，没有时间的边界；没有空间的测量。 它无量的虚，如同这颗头脑。 头脑与无没有分开；仅此而已。 它在那里超越了所有的询问、寻求和回忆。 它是不朽的，因为思想无法触及它。

The road goes past flats, houses, empty lots, rich houses with gatekeepers and well kept gardens, with green fresh lawns; the houses and flats may be clean inside but the road is filthy, only the centre of the road is comparatively clean, so many cars and buses pass by. Where one walks, there’s no pavement, it’s really dirty; banana and orange peel, bits of paper, spit, the dropping of dogs and everything imaginable. People walk there every day, unmindful; they are mostly poor people; the rich go by in cars; they have their golf-courses or take a car and walk along the beach; here it’s noise and dirt; everyone has got used to it as they get used to sorrow, privation, insults and death. Here they sell coffee with all the dust of the road in it, the little shops sell bananas and grain and there are plenty of flies. There are a few old mango trees and they are in bloom. There’s a faint fragrance, mixed with monoxide gas but you can smell it; nobody looks at these flowers but the fruit they will eat. They are rather nice pinkish flowers; they are high up and open to the hot sun and this evening the setting sun was upon them, gently afire and the sea breeze was stirring them. A man went by selling small garlands of jasmine which the ladies wore round their knotted hair. On that dirty road the smell of jasmine, so unexpected, opened the door to an enchanted garden to a fleeting immensity, to a paradise of emptiness. A poor old man, almost blind, pushed his way and nobody seemed to notice him. Everyone was busy talking, waiting for the bus or rushing home. Meditation is the destruction of habit; habit is a continuity, a mechanical momentum that prevents the flash of an eternal moment. It will ever be a flash, a spark of no time and thought cannot make of it a continuity, a series of related thought, habit. Thought builds relationship, the getting used to things, to people, to ideas. This relationship is time and through time, do what you will, that flash can be never seen. Meditation is the ending of thought and the beginning of emptiness. There is no resting place in that emptiness, no thought as experience can take root which is the beginning of time. From this emptiness there is love whose death is creation. A little girl, freshly washed, with long, plaited hair, with a clean blouse and frock and a flower in her hair, passed by, following her fat mother, so occupied with her own thought. A juggler with three little brown monkeys, went by beating a tiny little drum and the sun was setting in a clear horizon; it was close and it seemed to have no end. A big man in a big car got out and walked as though he owned the little earth he was walking on; he was an important man, at least he thought he was and that little stretch of earth along the sea was meant to be used for his daily walk. The evening light was gone and swiftly came darkness. Thought was still and the night was that emptiness.

这条路经过公寓、房屋、空地、 富宅，有着守卫，维护良好的花园，绿色新鲜的草坪； 这些房屋和公寓内部可能很干净，但这条路很脏， 只有路中央稍微干净点，因为有很多汽车和公交车经过。 一个人走在上面，没有人行道，它真的很脏； 香蕉和桔子皮、纸屑、口水、狗掉落的，以及一切可以想象的东西。 人们每天走在那里，漫不经心；他们大多是穷人； 富人是开着车经过的； 他们有自己的高尔夫球场，或者坐车，沿着海滩散步； 在这里，是噪音和污垢； 每个人都习惯了它，如同他们习惯了悲伤、贫困、侮辱和死亡。 在这里，他们出售带着所有尘土的咖啡 小商店在卖香蕉和谷物，有许多的苍蝇。 几棵古老的芒果树正在盛开。 有一股淡淡的香气，混合着一氧化物的气味，但你可以闻到它； 没有人看这些花，只是盯着他们要吃的果实。 它们是相当漂亮的粉红色花朵； 它们高高在上，在烈日下绽放 傍晚，夕阳降临在它们身上，轻轻地点燃，海风吹拂着它们。 一个人边走边卖茉莉花做的小花环，女士们会把这些花环戴在打结的头发上。 在那条肮脏的路上，茉莉花的味道，如此地出乎意料， 打开了通往迷人花园的大门，通往转瞬即逝的浩瀚，通往虚无的天堂。 一个可怜的老人，几乎失明，推搡着他的路，似乎没有人注意到他。 每个人都忙着聊天、等公交车或急匆匆地回家。 冥想是对习惯的毁灭； 習慣是一種延续，一种机械性的冲动，阻止着永恆時刻的閃光。 它将永远是闪光，非时间性的火花 思想无法使它成为一种延续物，一系列相关的思想、习惯。 思想建立关系，并习惯于这些事物、这些人们、这些观念。 这种关系是时间，通过时间，不论怎么做，永远见不着那闪光。 冥想是思想的结束和虚无的开始。 在那虚无中，没有歇息的地方，没有作为思想的体验的落脚处，也就是时间的开始。 这虚无中，有爱，它们的死亡就是创造。 一个小女孩，刚洗过，留着长长的辫子，穿着干净的衬衫和连衣裙， 她的头发上还有一朵花，刚经过，跟着她肥胖的母亲，被她自己的思想所占据。 一个杂耍者带着三只棕色的小猴子， 敲着小鼓走过，太阳落在晴朗的地平线上； 它很近，似乎没有尽头。 一个大男人从大车里走出来，仿佛他拥有他所踏上的这个小地球； 他是一个重要的人，至少他认为他是 海边那一小片土地，是他用来日常散步的。 夕阳消失了，黑暗很快降临。 思绪静止，黑夜，是那虚无。

A little girl, about four or five, was sitting by the side of the dirty road and she had beside her another little girl, two or less; probably her sister; both were small, in dirty clothes, uncombed hair but full of smiles and tenderness. The older girl was forcing the little one to sit in her lap, but the little one preferred to sit, cross-legged on the hard, dirty road, with cars, buses, lorries rushing by; to the people, it was a common sight and an everyday event. They were very nice looking children; as yet the sun had not burnt their skin too much. They weren’t too thin, their hair wasn’t combed but they were happy and smiling, especially the older one. They had clear eyes and there was beauty in them, unspoiled and new. The older girl was holding the other’s hand and telling her something; they were utterly oblivious of the traffic, the people and the agony of life. The older girl was stroking the little girl’s hair to make it look neat; she was mothering the little one and there was no sorrow. And a policeman came along with a gesture and a word to get closer to the wall; they did as they were told and now the baby was in the lap of the other and there was peace with the abundance of love. Over the wall was a mango tree full of bloom and fragrance and there were also small, pebble-sized mangoes. It was an evening full of charm and space, everything seemed so close, so near; you could almost touch the horizon and there was that light that showed the beauty of everything. It was a light that revealed and in its revelation, there was neither beauty nor ugliness. Thought has continuity, not ugliness or beauty, thought has relationship and not love; love is not in time. Time and thought are interrelated; one does not exist without the other. These two destroy love. For love is not a feeling nor can it be shaped by thought; the love that thought breeds is sorrow. Love has no sorrow and love is not the response of memory which has continuity. The flash of beauty and ugliness is not of two different things; that light reveals without relationship but thought joins them together. It was clarity and not the beautiful and the ugly. It was the light as of the quivering sea in which everything seemed to live; the big was not the small. Meditation is the emptying of the mind of time which is thought and feeling and that emptiness is light. The two little girls had gone for it was dark now, the street lamps were lit and there weren’t so many cars; but where they had been there was perfume of the mango blossom.

一个大约四五岁的小女孩坐在肮脏的路边。 她身边还有另一个小女孩，两岁或更少；可能是她的妹妹； 两人都很小，穿着脏兮兮的衣服，头发没有梳理，但洋溢着笑容和温柔。 稍大一点的女孩尽力让小家伙坐在她的腿上， 但小家伙更喜欢盘腿坐在坚硬、肮脏的路上， 汽车、公交车、卡车在上面飞快而过； 对人们来说，这是一个常见的景象，是一件普通的事情。 她们是非常好看的孩子； 到目前为止，太阳还没有把她们的皮肤烧得太厉害。 她们不太瘦，头发没有梳理 但她们很开心，微笑着，尤其是稍大一点的那个。 她们有一双清澈的眼睛，里面有美，未受污染和清新。 大女孩握着对方的手，告诉她一些事情； 她们完全忘记了交通、人们和生命的痛苦。 大女孩抚摸着小女孩的头发，让它看起来整齐； 她正在照顾这个小家伙，没有悲伤。 一个警察走过来，带着手势和话语，靠近墙壁； 她们按照他们的吩咐做了，现在这个婴儿在另一个人的腿上 那里有和平，带着爱的富饶。 墙对面是一棵开满鲜花和芬芳的芒果树 还有鹅卵石大小的小芒果。 它是一个充满魅力和空旷的夜晚，一切似乎都那么亲密，那么亲近； 你几乎可以触摸到地平线，那里的光显示出一切的美。 它是一道光，显露，在它的展现中，既没有美，也没有丑。 思想具有延续性，而不是丑或美，思想有关联，而爱没有； 爱不属于时间。 时间和思想是相互关联的； 一个没有，另一个就不存在。两者毁灭爱。 因为爱不是一种感觉，也不能由思想塑造； 思想滋生出的爱，是悲伤。 爱没有悲伤，爱不是记忆的回应，记忆有延续性。 美与丑的闪光，不是两样东西； 那道光露出，没有关联，但思想将它们联系在一起。 它是清明，而不是美和丑。 那道光，如同颤抖的大海，每一个东西似乎都活在里面； 那么大，不是这么小。 冥想是清空头脑的时间，也就是思想和感觉 而那虚无就是光。 两个小女孩已经走了，因为天已经黑了， 路灯亮着，没有了那么多的车辆； 但是她们去过的地方有芒果花的香味。

The sea was empty, there was not a sail on it; it was restless, agitated, wide and open; it was so alive, every ripple was whispering; the tide was coming in, gently with an insistence that the black rocks knew. In that little bay, with palm trees at one end of the curve and the dust and noise of a new building going up at the other end, there were black rocks on which were spread newly washed saris of many colours, bright and luminous; they caught the light of the setting sun and you forgot the world. There was only colour and light was upon them. It was not the light of fancy or of the fast fading evening; it was the light which only the god of colour can give and the black rocks were heavy with age and countless storms. On this ancient blackness was colour, every colour that eyes could see; and the traffic ceased and the man standing next to you, smoking a cheap cigarette, disappeared. You were alone with colour; you were colour, not the many saris that were spread out but just colour; nothing existed and the dark sea was of it. Colour was god and that god was everywhere. And as you watched meditation came upon you, not forced, without thought. It was the meditation of expanding, open emptiness which had no horizon, no time; it was that immeasurable space of the mind meeting the vast space of time and distance and in the meeting there was emptiness. It was the death of everything known, every movement of pleasure, joy and sorrow; thought could not travel in that emptiness of timeless space and it became silent; it could not experience and so all recognition ceased. Experience is the recognition, the continuity of the known. Meditation is the uprooting of the known. Words, recognition, the known had come to an end and the immeasurable space of the mind moved with its own swiftness that left no mark. It was energy without frontiers. The road was crowded with cars; there was hardly any space to walk; they pushed you into the gutter; the chauffeur looked and was indifferent and a child was playing on the verandah. It would cross and uncross its legs, tuck them in more and more and sit upon them, to see how little space she could cover. She was dirty, with a skirt that wasn’t washed for days but she had a sweet face, mischievous and enjoying. The whole street was filled with cars and they were all going to a wedding party and every car was full with well dressed people, jewels, bright saris and the sober dress of men. The little girl never even looked at them for there was nothing much to see; they were the respectable, dead people. Now, the evening light was gone and Orion was overhead, filling the little space between the trees and the house.

海是空的，上面没有帆； 它不安，躁动，宽阔而敞亮； 它是如此鲜活，每一个涟漪都在低语； 潮水涌来，温柔地，带着黑色岩石知道的坚持。 在那个小海湾里，曲线的一端长有棕榈树丛 而在另一端，升起了新建筑的灰尘和噪音， 这黑色的岩石上，铺着新洗过的各种颜色的纱丽， 明亮而发光； 它们抓住了夕阳的光芒，你忘记了这个世界。 只有色彩和光在它们身上。 它不是花哨的光芒或快速消逝的夕照； 它是只有色彩之神才能给予的光 黑色的岩石随着岁月的流逝和无数的风暴而沉重。 在这古老的黑色上是色彩，眼睛能看到的每一个色彩； 来往的交通消逝了，站在你旁边、抽着廉价的香烟那个人，消失了。 你与色彩自在； 你是色彩，不是展开的许多纱丽，只是色彩； 什么都不存在，黑暗的大海在其中。色彩是上帝，而上帝无处不在。 正当你观察，冥想来到你身上，不是強迫的，沒有思想。 冥想在爆炸、敞开的空，没有地平线，没有时间； 它是头脑的无量空，面对着广袤的时间和距离的空。 相遇在虚无中。 它是一切已知的死亡，每一个快乐、欢笑和悲伤； 思想无法在非时间的虚无中旅行，它安静了； 它无法体验，因此，所有的认知消亡。 体验是认出，是已知事物的延续。 冥想是将已知事物连根拔起。 言语、认知、已知，穷途末路； 头脑的无量空以它自己的迅捷移动，没有留下任何痕迹。 它是能源，无边无际。 这条路挤满了汽车；几乎没有任何行走的空间； 他们把你推到阴沟里； 司机瞧着而无动于衷，一个小娃娃在走廊上玩耍。 她会交叉和松开双腿，把它们收进去点，并坐在上面， 看她能折叠的空间有多小。 她脏兮兮的，裙子好几天没洗 但她有一张甜美的脸，调皮又欢乐。 整条街上都挤满了汽车，他们都要去参加婚礼派对。 每辆车上都挤满了衣冠楚楚的人、珠宝、鲜艳的纱丽和男人稳重的着装。 小女孩甚至没有看他们一眼，因为没什么好看的。 他们是可敬的死人。 现在，傍晚的光线消失了，猎户座在头顶，填满了树和房子之间的小空间。

It’s strange how little humility there is. A car went by, with a very smart, bejewelled woman inside; she was so terribly conscious of herself, of her hair, dress and of her body. She was patting her hair, adjusting her dress and in a little mirror looking at herself; probably she was going to some party or other. The man beside her seemed so insignificant, so bored, so sloppy. She was everything and he was nothing; she ruled and he followed but probably in the office, he was the tyrant. Both of them had that peculiar atmosphere of the rich, of the arrogant; probably they could buy anything they wanted, including the men in position. They had a large expensive car, with a chauffeur, smartly turned out; he was conscious too of driving an expensive car and rich people. There was money and more of it but not too ostentatious. She had stopped looking at herself and was looking out of the window and nobody existed, not even the setting sun and the light on the water. It was a look of infinite boredom, waiting to be [“entertained” with “amused” written above]. But the sea wouldn’t wait nor that mass of people on the beach. It was a mass of people that was alive because it was together. At the end of the day, it was cool near the water and the sun was setting behind the wooded hill. The streets were crowded; and the beauty of the evening was there everywhere, but not in the cars, in the people. You can’t find beauty, nor the tree nor the bird will give it to you, but you will find it everywhere if you look. Beauty as love, is not an act of experience; experience is the interaction of the thinker and thought and so of conflict. Beauty, as love, is there where the thinker is not and thought with its feeling has come to an end. All knowledge must come to an end for beauty, as love, to be. But you know about everything; you have argued and counter argued and come to many conclusions; you have become so clever for you have known dullness. You know everything and if you don’t you can always find it in books. You can go to the moon but you have no space in the mind; you have little open spots, but not space where the infinite past and the infinite future have met and lost their meaning completely. It is only in that space that there is beauty as love. There is no space for thought, there is, to go to the moon but beauty, as love, is not there. It’s there, in that unspotted space of the mind and it’s difficult to find the mind for there is only exploding space. For creation is beauty, as love and death. But the expensive car slipped through and a taxi, yellow and black, took its place.

奇怪的是，谦卑如此之少。 一辆车驶过，里面一个非常娇小的珠光宝气的女人； 她严重地意识到她自己，她的头发、着装和她的身体。 她拍打着她的头发，调整着裙子，在一面小镜子里看着她自己。 可能她要去参加某个聚会或其他活动。 她身旁的男人显得那么微不足道，那么无聊，那么邋遢。 她是一切，他什么都不是； 她统治，他跟随，但在办公室里，他可能是暴君。 他们俩都有那种富人和傲慢者特有的气质； 也许，他们可以买到他们想要的一切，包括那些在位的人。 他们有一辆昂贵的大车，配着一个司机，聪明地转弯； 他也意识到驾驶着昂贵的汽车，以及富人们。 有钱，而且更多，但不太张扬。 她不再看她自己，望着窗外， 没有人存在，甚至没看到夕阳和水面上的光。 那是一种无限的无聊，等待着[“娱乐”上面写着“挑逗”]。 但大海不会等待，海滩上的人们也不会等待。 那是一群富有活力的人们，因为在一起。 在一天的结束时期，水边很凉爽，太阳落在树木繁茂的山丘后面。 街上人头攒动；夜晚的美无处不在， 却不在车里，不在人群中。 你无法找到美，树和鸟儿也不会给你， 但是，假如你看，你会在任何地方找到它。 美，如同爱，不是一种体验行为； 体验是思想者和思想的互动，因而冲突。 美，如同爱，在没有思想者的地方 思想与它的感觉已经结束。 对于美，所有的知识都必须结束，就像爱一样。 但你什么都知道；你已经争论和反驳，并得出了许多结论； 你变得如此的聪明，因为你已经知道，迟钝。 你什么都知道，如果你不知道，你总能在书中找到。 你能够去月球，但在头脑中，你没有空间； 你有一点空闲， 却不是无限的过去和无限的未来相遇并完全失去意义的空。 只有那空，才如同爱一样美。 那里没有思想的空间，思想就是登月，然而美，如同爱，不在那里。 它在那里，在头脑那未被玷污的空中 而且很难找到这颗头脑，因为那里只有爆炸的空。 因为，创造就是美，如同爱和死亡。 可是，那辆昂贵的汽车滑过，一辆黄黑相间的出租车取而代之。

It was a magnolia flower, not the large variety, about the size of a small rose; it was still attached to its leaf, long, sparklingly green and beautifully shaped. The flower was pale yellow, with a delicate smell; the whole flower was the size of a large marble, with darker yellowish green petals outside. Somebody had picked it off the tree, carelessly, leaving it short of stem. As it lay on the leaf, it was designed to contain the structure and colour of the earth and heavens and there was space within it, not the space that’s measured but it was endless. You saw it in a flash, a swiftness that the eye and the heart could not follow. It left you as empty as that space around that flower; it was an explosion without the time fuse and you were left marvelling that such a thing should be. All this in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye. And therein lay the beauty of the everlasting. Beauty is the seeing the immediacy of the whole. You can see the immensity only in a flash, the whole of life in a fleeting second. It is not thought that sees; thought is put together through time; when thought sees, it is within the field of time and so there is continuity and decay follows; age and sorrow set in. But it was there on the table, the flower and the leaf, waiting to be put in water, if somebody cared. People didn’t care; it would be put in a vase and a few gurgling words said about it; people were too occupied, too committed to everything but to the flower and to see there must be space in the mind, vast, limitless space in the mind and only in that emptiness can there be the flash which wipes away all time. It would wither away in a few hours and if you cared, you would have no memory of it, the dead ashes of the past second. But then your mind would be full and there would be no space. The beauty of that space is silence; not the silence that time has bred. It is only in that immeasurable silence that there is the flash of the immense. You looked at that sculptured flower, with its sparkling leaf and wondered that such a thing could happen. In that wondering was humility which the earth cannot yield and beyond that flower was the noisy dirty lane, with children shouting, crying and laughing; it came out of the road more noisy, more dirty. There was always somebody on it, coming and going and only in the depth of night was there quiet. The whole city slept and forgot; you would hear, if the tide was high, the far away roar of the sea and the mechanical hum of the air-conditioners. The streetlight made shadows and there is a shadow on the frosted window pane that comes every evening; it’s always dancing, always whispering and you are among those delicate leaves, lost and forgotten and you can never come back to the chaos and misery of the lane. Everywhere there were ashes and that immensity of the fleeting second was gone. You could not recall it, and there was the road which had awakened to the coming day.

它是一朵玉兰花，不是很大的那种，只有一朵小玫瑰那么大。 它仍然附着在它的叶子上，长长的，闪闪发光的绿，形态优美。 花呈淡黄色，有一股娇嫩的气味； 整片花有一块大理石那么大，外面有更深的黄绿色花瓣。 有人不小心把它从树上折断了，让它没有了茎。 当它躺在叶子上时，它被设计成包含了地球和天空的结构和色彩 它里面有空间，不是被测量出的空间 它是无穷无尽的。 你看见它，在那一闪中，一种眼睛和心灵都无法追随的迅捷。 它甩掉了你，你就像那朵花周围的空间一样虚无； 它是一次没有时间保险丝的爆炸，会发生这样的事！你惊呆了。 一切都在一闪之中，眨眼之间。 其中躺着永恒的美。 美是看到整体的瞬间。 只有在那一闪之中，你才能看到这浩瀚，在那转瞬即逝的一秒钟，看见整条生命。 不是思想在看；思想随时间的推移而合成； 思想在看，位于时间的领域内 因此，延续和衰颓随之而来；岁月与悲伤接踵而至。 它却在桌子上，这朵花和叶子，等待着放入水中，如果有人在乎。 人们不在乎； 它会放在一个花瓶里，然后咕哝几句关于它的话； 人们太忙了，总是投身于各种事物 然而，对于花朵和看，头脑必须有空，旷渺而无垠的空 在那虚无中，才有总在消逝的闪光。 它会在几个小时内枯萎， 如果你在乎，你不会对它有记忆，那段过往时光的余烬。 否则，你的头脑就会被填满，就没有了空。 空之美，在于静；不是时间滋生的静。 在那无量的静中，才有浩瀚的闪光。 你看那朵雕刻的花，闪闪发光的叶子 讶异道：怎么有这样的东西。 那惊奇之中，有大地无法产生的谦卑， 在那朵花之外，是嘈杂而肮脏的小巷，孩子们大喊、大叫、欢呼； 使得这条路更嘈杂，更脏。 总有人走在上面，来来去去，只有在深夜，才会安静。 整个城市都睡着了，忘记了；你会听， 如果潮水很高，远处咆哮的大海和空调的机械嗡嗡声。 路灯制造出阴影， 每当入夜，在冰冷的窗玻璃上，都有影子； 它总是跳动、窃窃私语， 你在那娇嫩的叶片之间，走丢了，遗忘了。 你永远无法回到混乱而悲惨的小巷。 那里到处是灰烬，时光飞逝，浩瀚消逝了。 你不会记住它，那条路已经苏醒，天亮了。

You should never be here too much; be so far away that they can’t find you, they can’t get at you to shape, to mould. Be so far away, like the mountains, like the unpolluted air; be so far away that you have no parents, no relations, no family, no country; be so far away that you don’t know even where you are. Don’t let them find you; don’t come into contact with them too closely. Keep far away where even you can’t find yourself; keep a distance which can never be crossed over; keep a passage open always through which no one can come. Don’t shut the door for there is no door, only an open, endless passage; if you shut any door, they will be very close to you, then you are lost. Keep far away where their breath can’t reach you and their breath travels very far and very deeply; don’t get contaminated by them, by their word, by their gesture, by their great knowledge; they have great knowledge but be far away from them where even you cannot find yourself. For they are waiting for you, at every corner, in every house to shape you, to mould you, to tear you to pieces and then put you together in their own image. Their gods, the little ones and the big ones, are the images of themselves, carved by their own mind or by their own hands. They are waiting for you, the churchman and the Communist, the believer and the non-believer, for they are both the same; they think they are different but they are not for they both brainwash you, till you are of them, till you repeat their words, till you worship their saints, the ancient and the recent; they have armies for their gods and for their countries and they are experts in killing. Keep far away but they are waiting for you, the educator and the businessman; one trains you for the others to conform to the demands of their society, which is a deadly thing;** [** They have a thing called society and family: these two are their real gods, the net in which you will be entangled. _Krishnamurti’s insertion.] they will make you into a scientist, into an engineer, into an expert of almost anything from cooking to architecture to philosophy. Keep far, far away; they are waiting for you, the politician and the reformer; the one drags you down into the gutter and then the other reforms you; they juggle with words and you will be lost in their wilderness. Keep far away; they are waiting for you, the experts in god and the bomb throwers: the one will convince you and the other [show you] how to kill; there are so many ways to find god and so many, many ways to kill. But besides all these, there are hoards of others to tell you what to do and what not to do; keep away from all of them, so far away that you cannot find yourself or any other. You too would like to play with all of them who are waiting for you but then the play becomes so complicated and entertaining that you will be lost. You should never be here too much, be so far away that even you cannot find yourself.

你永远不应该在这里逗留太久； 疏远，以至于他们找不到你，他们无法来装扮、塑造你。 疏远，像山脉一样，像未受污染的空气； 疏远，如同你没有父母，没有亲戚，没有家庭，没有国家； 疏远，你甚至不知道你在哪里。 不要让他们找到你；不要和他们靠得太近。 保持疏远，你甚至找不到你自己；保持一段永远无法跨越的距离； 保持一条通道始终畅通，却无人能进。 别去关门，因为没有门，只有敞开的、无尽的通道； 如果你关上任何一扇門，他們就会非常地靠近你，那样，你就迷失了。 疏远，以至于他们的气息无法碰到你， 他们的气息传播得很远、很深； 不要被他们污染，被他们的话语、他们的手势、他们渊博的知识； 他们知识渊博，但远离他们，连你都找不到你自己。 因为他们在等你，在每一个转角，在每一间屋子， 他们想装扮你，塑造你，把你撕成碎片，然后按照他们自己的样子，把你组装起来。 他们的神灵，大大小小的，就是他们自己的样子， 由他们自己的头脑或他们的双手雕刻而成。 他们在等你，那些教士和共产主义者们，信徒和非信徒们， 因为他们都一个样； 他们以为他们不同，但他们没什么不同 因为他们都在给你洗脑， 直到你属于他们，直到你重复他们的话，直到你崇拜他们的圣人，古代的和最近的； 为了他们的神灵和他们的国家，他们有军队，他们是杀戮的专家们。 疏远，然而他们在等你，那位教育者和商人； 他训练你，要求你为了他人而服从他们的社会 —— 这是一个致命的东西；[他们有一个叫做社会和家庭的东西： 这两个是他们真正的神灵，这是一张网，你将会被它缠住。_克里希那穆提的附注。] 他们会让你成为科学家，成为工程师、成为几乎各行各业的专家。 从烹饪到建筑，到哲学。 保持疏远，疏离； 他们在等你，这位政治家和这位改革者； 一个把你拖进阴沟里，另一个改造你； 他们玩弄文字，你会迷失在他们的荒野中。 保持疏远；他们在等你，精通于上帝的专家们和炸弹的投掷者们： 一个会说服你，另一个会[向你展示]如何杀戮； 有很多方法可以找到上帝，也有很多、很多方法可以杀戮。 但是，除了这些之外，还有很多人告诉你该做什么和不该做什么； 疏远所有这些人，如此地疏远，以至于你找不到你自己或任何人。 或许，你想与所有等你的人们一起游戏 但随后游戏变得如此复杂和娱乐化，以至于你会迷失。 你永远不应该在这里待得太久， 保持疏远，甚至连你都找不到你自己。

They were all sitting in a row in the fairly well kept garden; they had on the light and they were eating and the big house was behind them. There was the scent of many flowers in the air and the breeze was coming from the restless sea. On that road there was hardly any car and your brain was utterly still and the movement of a flash was taking place. The meditation was the flash and that flash can only be in emptiness; the flash that opens the door into the unknown. That flash has no time but it’s only a fleeting second. You can never keep that flash any more than you can hold the winds in your fists.

在这个养护得不错的花园里，他们都坐成一排； 他们开着灯，正在吃饭，大房子在他们身后。 空气中弥漫着许多花的香味，微风从躁动的大海吹来。 那条路上，几乎没有车 你的大脑完全静止了，闪光的运动正在发生。 冥想是闪光，而闪光只能在虚无中； 闪光，开启未知之门。 那一闪，没有时间，而是消逝的时光。 你永远无法保持那闪光，如同你永远无法把风握在拳头里。

She had a yellow flower in her hair and she was sweeping the front steps of the big flats; her green sari was not clean, she was lean and had many, many children. The husband was supposed to be a gardener; he took care of the few dilapidated bushes and flowers around the place; he too was lean, haggard and he just managed to carry the heavy bucket of water to water the plants, and they weren’t watered every day either; his shirt was torn, unmended, dirty and as dirty as the entrance, and dogs used the place. And nobody seemed to care. The family lived in the alley, under a thatched roof of palm leaves; their house was built around a few loose bricks, a couple of posts and a filthy gunny-sack. It was their house where they could breed and if allowed died there. He was getting as a gardener a mere pittance, a generous tip you would give to the waiter in a good restaurant and they had to live on that, his whole family of five or six or eight children who were always playing, shouting, crying in the alley, just below the windows. Of course they would never get any education and they would always remain poor, lean, dirty and lost. There’s a little girl of about two, who used the alley as her toilet and all children of the neighbourhood used to race up and down that alley, screaming, calling and laughing. The rich people had a temple higher up on the crowded hill with roaring traffic at its doorstep. But everywhere there were the desperately poor, lean, hungry; and the polished cars went by and the people in there were sad too. Their day was over, never to return; they had money and nothing else.

她头发上有一朵黄花 她正在扫大公寓前的阶梯； 她绿色的纱丽不干净，她很瘦，有很多很多孩子。 丈夫应该是一名园丁； 他照顾着周围为数不多的残破的灌木丛和鲜花； 他也很瘦，憔悴 他只是勉强地扛着沉重的水桶给植物浇水， 他们不是每天都浇水； 他的衬衫破烂不堪，没有修补，脏兮兮的，和门前一样脏，狗狗们占用着这个地方。 似乎没有人在乎。 这家人住在小巷里，在棕榈叶的茅草屋顶下； 他们的房子是用几块松散的砖头、几根柱子和一个肮脏的麻袋建造的。 那就是他们的窝，他们可以在那里繁殖，如果允许的话，他们会死在那里。 作为一名园丁，他得到的只是微薄的一笔小费，你会给一家好餐厅的服务员的慷慨小费 他们必须以此为生， 他全家五个、六个或八个孩子， 总是在巷子里玩耍、喊叫、哭泣，就在窗户下。 当然，他们永远不会接受任何教育，他们将永远保持贫穷、瘦弱、肮脏和迷失。 有一个大约两岁的小女孩，她把小巷当作厕所。 邻居家所有的孩子们经常在那条小巷里跑来跑去，尖叫，叫喊和欢笑。 富人在拥挤的山丘上建了一座寺庙，门口的交通声在咆哮。 但是，到处都是极度贫穷、瘦弱、饥饿的人； 擦得光亮的汽车经过，里面的人也很伤心。 他们的日子结束了，再也回不来了；他们有钱，却别无他物。

You never saw anything so utterly innocent; she was lying on her back; you could just see the whole delicate line of her and she was almost touching the water; it was a stroke of light of the very young, new moon, appearing for the first time in a cloudless sky. You never saw her before, though you had seen her a thousand times; it was so innocent that you in that crowded noisy street were made innocent. You were innocent, without striving, without thought; everything about you was new, you had never seen them before. Your eyes were washed clean and you had not a spot in your heart; you were so far away that nothing could touch you. You could never be polluted again for there was no again; there was no in the meantime; there was no past or future; there was only that vast empty space of now, of innocency whose immensity was blessedness. It was a benediction and you couldn’t carry another to it, even though you loved. There was no saviour, no teacher could bring you to it; you have to abandon them and get lost where your thought couldn’t find you. It was the innocency of complete aloneness, not a thing that you had carefully carved out of life, a corner of self-immolated isolation. You were not alone, for you were where experience could not reach you. You did not know it was aloneness; you were not aware of anything but there was that immense innocency in that nothingness. It was the innocence of all energy and life and if you ever came there casually, and it must always be casual never determined, then you would be in an ecstasy that had no reason and no death. The long line of cars honked behind you, and in front of you a political meeting was going on, on the beach, and the bellowing voice of the politician, through the loudspeaker, came to you. The new moon was below the sea.

你从未见过如此完全纯洁的东西； 她仰面躺着； 你可以看到她整个细腻的线条，她几乎要触碰到水； 它是一缕缕年轻的、崭新的月光，第一次出现在万里无云的天中。 你以前从未见过她，尽管你见过她一千次； 它太纯洁了，你在那条拥挤的嘈杂的街道上被净化了。 你是纯洁的，没有挣扎，没有思想； 对于你来说，一切是崭新的，你以前从未见过它们。 你的眼睛被洗干净了，你的心里没有一个斑点； 你太遥远了，没有什么能碰到你。 你再也不能被污染了，因为没有了再； 也没有不；没有过去或将来； 只有那片广阔而虚无的空，纯真，无垠，是祝福。 它是一个祝福，你不能把它给另一个人，即便你爱它。 没有救世主，没有老师能把它给你； 你必须抛弃他们，迷失在你的思想找不到你的地方。 它是完全独立的纯真， 不是你小心翼翼地从生命中雕刻出来的，从自我牺牲的隔绝的墙角边冒出的东西。 你没有独立，因为你在体验你无法触碰到的地方。 你不知道它是独立的； 你什么都没有意识到 但在那虚无中，却蕴含着无比的纯真。 它是一切能源和生命的纯真，如果你偶然地到来， 必定总是偶然的，绝对没有决心， 那么，你将处于一种没有理由、没有死亡的至乐。 长长的车流在你的身后鸣喇叭， 在你的面前，一场政治会议正在海滩上举行， 政治家的咆哮声音，通过扬声器，来到了你。 新月沉在海底。

The dirty street was terribly crowded; it was more dirty than ever; they spat all over the place; the narrow pavement was incredibly filthy, never swept and it would be many months before the torrential rains would come and wash away the brutal ugliness of an overcrowded and callous city. The sea was just on the other side of the road. The purifying tide was coming in, covering the black rocks and the sands made dirty by man. Wherever he went there was dirt, brutality and a terrifying indifference to everything, and those who cared a little soon became social workers or those undying politicians. The hideous posters on the walls were telling the world what marvellous things they would do if you only elected them and nobody else. Every dog left a mark on that road where you walked; no incoming tide would wash the street clean; the mind was tired and the heart had withered and a small girl was using the street as her toilet. You wept and out of the car a man threw the butt of a cigarette and before a man could pick it up, the tyres of a car went over it; it was a half-smoked cigarette too. And going through the crowded street, you came to a bit of road that went round the curve of the sea and on the black rocks were the many coloured saris, stretched out to dry; they were collecting them now and carefully folding them up. And the red sun was touching the water and the horizon was clear, without a sail, without a cloud. You went with the sun, far away; you didn’t withdraw you just went away, not knowing where; if you withdrew, you would come back, now or later, and then you would repeat the whole weary cycle again, endlessly. Your withdrawal bred callousness and the agony of despair. Don’t ever withdraw or isolate yourself; don’t retreat into corrupting family or into the dead ashes of ideas, beliefs and the cheap gods of your mind. There is no love there. But if you just went away, not knowing where, not planned, not cunningly plotted out, then you can walk in that filthy street, with dead men and you would know love. As you walked, pushed around by cars and people, you would meditate, with delight; then meditation became an ecstasy, a movement of infinite tenderness and you held the hand of a passing child. Then you would give the garland of fragrant jasmine that had just been given to you to that passing beggar and you would see his immense surprise and delight. Then you would know that the everlasting was always there, round every corner, under that dead leaf and the fallen flower. The man ahead of you was smoking a strong cigarette and the brown eagles had stopped circling in the sky.

肮脏的街道非常拥挤； 它比以往任何时候更脏； 他们到处吐口水；狭窄的人行道污秽得难以形容， 从来没有打扫过，暴雨要过几个月才能降临 冲走这过度拥挤和冷酷无情的城市的残暴的丑陋。 大海就在路的另一边。 净化的潮水涌来， 覆盖着黑色的岩石，沙子被弄脏了。 无论他走到哪里，都是污秽、残暴和对一切事物的可怕冷漠， 而那些关心一点的人很快就变成了社会工作者或那些不死的政治家们。 墙上丑陋的海报在告诉世界，他们将要做多么了不起的事情 —— 如果你只选举他们而不选其他人。 每一只狗都在你走过的那条路上留下了印记； 没有潮水会把街道冲得干干净净； 这颗头脑累了，这颗心灵也枯萎了 一个小女孩正在用这条街道作为她的厕所。 你哭了，一个男人从车里扔出一根烟头， 还没等人拾起，汽车的轮胎就越过了它； 那也是抽了一半的烟。 穿过拥挤的街道， 你来到了一小段路，它绕着大海的曲线延伸 黑色的岩石上，有许多彩色的纱丽，铺开着晾晒； 他们现在正在收集它们，并小心翼翼地将它们折叠起来。 红日触碰水面，地平线清澈， 没有帆，没有云。你跟着太阳，走了很远； 你没有退缩，你只是走远了，不知道在哪里； 如果你退缩，你可能会回去，现在，或以后， 那么，你会无休止地重复整个疲惫的循环。 你的退缩滋生出冷漠和绝望的痛苦。 永远不要退缩或孤立你自己； 不要退缩到腐化的家庭或观念、信仰和廉价的神灵的余烬中。 那里没有爱。 但如果你只是走远，不知道在哪里，没有计划，没有狡猾地策划， 那么，你能走在那条污秽的街道上，和死人在一起，你就会知道爱。 当你走路时，被汽车和人们推来推去，你会冥想，带着高兴； 那么，冥想变成了一种至乐，一个無限溫柔的运动。 你握住一个路过的小娃娃的手。 然后，你会把刚送给你的芬芳的茉莉花环送给那位路过的乞丐 你会看到他巨大的惊讶和高兴。 那么，你会知道永恒总是在那里，在每一个转角处， 在那片枯叶和落花下。 你面前的那个人正抽着浓烈的烟草，棕色的鹰们已经在天空中停止了盘旋。

[He flew today from Bombay to Rome.] We were flying at 32,000 feet; the endless clouds were far below us and the clear, spotless blue sky above; the sun was coming out of the clouds, dazzlingly white. There wasn’t a break in them and they stretched from continent to continent; they were over the desert, sea and islands and at that height the sky was of intense blue; from the earth, from the mountains, you never saw such blue; it was so solid that you could cut it and keep it in your pocket and the horizon was white where the blue met. From a deep valley or from a high mountain sometimes you saw the blue of the sky, but it was never like this. It filled your eyes and carried you very far, beyond the measure of time. The plane wasn’t crowded yet, probably, it would fill up at the next landing, so you had the next two seats to yourself. There was the roar of those jets and it wasn’t too noisy, you could hear the conversation of those ladies, seated across the aisle. But there was silence. Amidst all that chatter and roar, it was there as clear and spotless as the blue sky. You were aware of it not as an observer [of] something to be experienced and put away into endless memory; you could not think about it, there was no time; it was there with such intensity that there was no experiencing of it. Out of this silence, suddenly and unexpectedly, there was that immensity. Your whole being became utterly still, without a thought, without a feeling; there was that unapproachable strength that was not put together by man. It was the strength that nothing could penetrate and so utterly vulnerable. And there was that strange intensity which no will or passion could conjure up. They were not separate things, the immense, that impenetrable strength and intensity; they were inseparable, never to be broken up, like death and love and creation. Your brain could not grasp the vastness, the majesty of it; it had become still, many centuries ago, before you came aboard the plane when they were playing some light music; out of the humid heat of the night, you came in and instantly were lost, many, many centuries ago, only an hour ago or perhaps a little more. You sat there motionless and totally lost and you would never be back completely. Three hours passed and you thought you had just got in and they were telling you to fasten your belt. And the two seats next to you were taken by a man and woman. And again we were in the blue sky, innocent and spotless, and that immensity was there. No man or god could disturb it and your mind and heart were of it, past belief and past beyond all time. Such a thing should happen in such a place! The man was smoking and it was in your face; the baby across the aisle was crying in breathless sobs, there was no milk and the mother couldn’t quieten it; the strain of it all was beginning to tell on the mother. The hostesses came and took the baby away, to clean it up, to quieten it and now the mother began to cry. The roar of the jets changed and we were coming down to land again. There was a river and green fields; the river was like a snake winding in and out through the fields and the fields were like men’s mind, all broken up, divided; the property of each owner. And beyond was the sea, blue, rough and incredibly alive. And there were the hills and the islands.

[今天，他从孟买飞往罗马。] 我们在 32，000 英尺的高度飞行； 无尽的云层远在我们脚下，头顶是清澈、一尘不染的蓝天； 太阳从云层中出来，耀眼的白。 它们并未中断，它们从一个大陆延伸到另一个大陆； 它们在沙漠、海洋和岛屿的上空 在那个高度，天是深蓝色的； 从大地，从山脉上，你从未见过这样的蓝； 它如此坚固，你可以把它剪下来放在口袋里 在蓝色相遇的地方，地平线是白色的。 从深谷或高山上，有时你会看到天空的蓝， 但从来没有像这样。 它充满了你的眼睛，把你带到了非常远的地方，超越了时间的衡量。 飞机还不拥挤，可能，下次着陆的时候会装满， 所以，你自己拥有身旁的两个空座位。 那些喷气式飞机的轰鸣声，也不太嘈杂， 你可以听到坐在过道对面的那些女士的谈话。 但这里一片寂静。 在所有的聊天声和咆哮声中，它像蓝天一样清晰而一尘不染。 你意识到它，不是作为观察者的， 某些值得体验并放入无尽记忆中的东西； 你不会思考它，没有时间； 它在那里，如此地强烈，以至于没有对它的体验。 在这寂静中，突然地，出乎意料地，出现那浩瀚。 你的整个存在变得完全静止，没有思想，没有感觉； 有一种难以接近的力量，不是人类拼凑起来的。 它是任何事物都无法穿透的力量，如此完全的脆弱。 一种奇怪的强度，任何意志或激情都无法召唤出。 它们不是分离的东西，巨大的、坚不可摧的力量和强度； 它们是不可分割的，永远不会被打破，如同死亡、爱和创造。 你的大脑无法抓住它的浩瀚和威严； 它变得静止了，在许多世纪以前， 在你上飞机之前，在他们播放一些轻音乐的时候； 出离潮湿的夜晚， 你进入，立即消失了，在很多、很多个世纪之前， 只有一个小时前或更多一点。 你坐在那里，一动不动，完全消失了，你彻底地，永远不会回来了。 三个小时过去了，你以为你刚进入， 他们叫你系好你的安全带。 而你旁边的两个座位被一男一女占据。 我们又一次在蓝天上，纯真，一尘不染，浩瀚就在那里。 没有人或神灵可以打扰它，你的头脑和心灵都属于它， 穿过了信念，穿过并出离了一切时间。 这样的事情竟然发生在这样的地方！ 那个男人在抽烟，在你的面前； 过道对面的婴儿在哭泣，喘不过气来， 没有牛奶，母亲无法让它安静下来； 这一切的压力开始告诉这位母亲。 空姐来了，把孩子带走了，清洁它，让它安静下来 而现在，母亲开始了哭泣。 喷气式飞机的轰鸣声变了，我们又要降落了。 有一条河和绿色的田野； 河流就像一条蛇，在田野中蜿蜒进出 田野就像人的头脑，都是破碎的，分裂的； 是每个所有者的财物。 远处是大海，蓝色，波涛汹涌，生机勃勃。 还有山丘和岛屿。