The cold* had been too severe, it had been below freezing; [* He was now in New Delhi where he gave eight talks, from January 21st to February 14th. He must have flown from Benares to Delhi on January 20th.] the hedge had been burned brown, the brown leaves had fallen off; the lawn was grey-brown, the colour of the earth; except for a few yellow pansies and roses, the garden was bare. It had been too cold and the poor, as usual, were suffering and dying; population was exploding and people were dying. You saw them shivering, with hardly a thing on, in dirty rags; an old woman was shaking from head to foot, hugging herself, the few teeth chattering; a young woman was washing herself and a torn cloth by the cold river [the Jumna] and an old man was coughing deeply and heavily and children were playing, laughing and shouting. It was an exceptionally cold winter they said and many were dying. The red rose and the yellow pansy were intensely alive, burning with colour; you couldn't take your eyes off them and those two colours seemed to expand and fill the empty garden; even though the children were shouting, that shivering old woman was everywhere; the incredible yellow and red and the inevitable death. Colour was god and death was beyond the gods. It was everywhere and so was colour. You could not separate the two and if you did then there was no living. Neither could you separate love from death and if you did it was no longer beauty. Every colour is separated, made much of but there is only colour and when you see every different colour as only colour, then only is there splendour in colour. The red rose and the yellow pansy were not different colours but colour that filled the bare garden with glory. The sky was pale blue, blue of a cold, rainless winter but it was the blue of all colour. You saw it and you were of it; the noises of the city faded but colour, imperishable, endured.
寒气逼人*，低于冰点； [* 现在，他在新德里，从1月21日到2月14日，进行八次讲话。 他一定是在1月20日，从贝拿勒斯飞往德里的。] 树篱被烧成褐色，褐色的叶子掉落下来； 草坪是灰褐色的，是大地的颜色； 除了几朵黄色的三色堇和玫瑰，花园里光秃秃的。 天气太冷了，穷人像往常一样受苦受难、奄奄一息； 人口在爆炸，人们在死去。 你看到他们穿着脏兮兮的破布瑟瑟发抖，几乎没有任何遮蔽； 一个老妇人从头到脚都在颤抖，抱着她自己，几颗牙齿在打颤； 在冰冷的河边[亚穆纳河]，一个年轻女子在洗澡和破烂的布 一位老人在深沉地、沉重地咳嗽 孩子们在玩耍，欢笑和喊叫。 他们说，这是一个异常寒冷的冬天，许多人都快死了。 红玫瑰和黄三色堇生机勃勃，色彩在燃烧； 你无法把你的目光从它们身上移开 那两种颜色似乎在扩张并填满了空荡荡的花园； 即使孩子们在喊叫，那颤抖的老妇人遍地都是； 不可思议的黄色和红色以及不可避免的死亡。 色彩是神，死亡超越了众神。 它无处不在，色彩也是如此。 你不能把两者分开，如果你这样做，那就没有生活。 你也不能把爱从死亡中分开，如果你这样做，它就不再是美。 每一种色彩都被分开了，变成了很多种，但只有色彩 当你看到每一种不同的颜色都只是色彩时， 那么，只有色彩的灿烂。 红玫瑰和黄三色堇不是不同的颜色 而是色彩，使得光秃秃的花园充满了光荣。 天空淡蓝，寒冷无雨的冬天的蓝色，但它是所有色彩的蓝。 你看见它，你属于它；城市的喧嚣褪色，但色彩，不朽，经久不衰。
Sorrow has been made respectable; a thousand explanations have been given to it; it has been made a way to virtue, to enlightenment, it has been enshrined in churches and in every house it is made much of and given sanctity. Everywhere there is sympathy for it, with tears and blessing so sorrow continues; every heart knows it, abiding with it or escaping from it, which only gives to it greater strength, to flourish and darken the heart. But sorrow is the way of self-pity, with its immeasurable memories. Sorrow has its root in memory, in the dead things of yesterday. But yesterday is always very important; it is the machinery that gives significance to life; it is the richness of the known, the things possessed. The source of thought is in the yesterday, the yesterdays that give meaning to a life of sorrow. It is yesterday that is sorrow and without cleansing the mind of yesterday there will always be sorrow. You cannot clean it by thought for thought is the continuation of yesterday and so also are the many ideas and ideals. The loss of yesterday is the beginning of self-pity and the dullness of sorrow. Sorrow sharpens thought but thought breeds sorrow. Thought is memory. The self-critical awareness of this whole process, choicelessly frees the mind from sorrow. Seeing this complex fact, without opinion, without judgment, is the ending of sorrow. The known must come to an end, without effort, for the unknown to be.
悲伤变得可敬； 已经给了它数千种解释； 它已被打造成一条道，一条通往美德、开悟的大道， 它已被供奉在教堂和每家每户中， 它被大量制造，并被赋予神圣的品质。 每一处，都有对它的同情，带着眼泪和祝福，因此，悲伤还在延续； 每颗心灵都知道它，忍受着它，或者，逃避着它 —— 却只会给它更大的力量，使它繁荣昌盛，使心灵黑暗。 但是，悲伤是自怜的方式，具有难以估量的记忆。 悲伤的根源在于记忆，源于昨天的逝去的往事。 但是，昨天总是非常重要的； 它是赋予生命意义的机制； 它使已知的丰饶，是财物的繁茂。 思想的源泉在昨天， 这个昨天，为悲伤的生命赋予了意义。 昨天就是悲伤 不清洗掉昨天的头脑，就在悲伤。 你不能用思想来清洁它，因为思想就是昨天的延续物， 思想也是许多想法和理念。 失去了昨天，是自怜的开始，是悲伤的苦闷。 悲伤锋利思想，而思想滋养悲伤。 思想是回忆。 对这整个过程的自我批判，无选择地意识，释放了悲伤中的头脑。 看这个复杂的事实，没有观点，毫不判断，是悲伤的尽头。 已知必须不费吹灰之力地结束，那么，未知呈现。
The surface was highly polished; every line, every curl of the hair was studied and had its place, every gesture and smile was contained and all movement was examined before the glass. She had several children and the hair was turning grey; she must have money and there was a certain elegance and aloofness. The car was highly polished too; the chromium was bright and sparkling in the morning sun; the white-walled tyres were clean, without any mark and the seats spotless. It was a good car and could go fast, taking the corners very well. This intense and expanding progress was bringing security and superficiality, and sorrow and love could so easily be explained and contained and there are always different tranquillizers and different gods and new myths replacing the old. It was a bright, cold morning; the slight fog was gone with the rising sun and the air was still. The fat birds, with yellowish legs and beak, were out on the little lawn, very pleased, inclined to be talkative; they had black and white wings with dark fawn-coloured bodies. They were extraordinarily cheerful, hopping about chasing each other. Then the grey-throated crows came and the fat ones flew off scolding noisily. Their long, heavy beaks shone and their black bodies sparkled; they were watching every movement you were making and nothing was going to escape them and they knew that big dog was coming through the hedge before he was aware of them but they were off cawing and the little lawn was empty.
表面经过高度地抛光； 每一条线，每一根卷发，都被研究并处于它的位置， 每一个手势和微笑都被遏制，一切的动作都在玻璃前被检测。 她有几个孩子，头发已经变得灰白； 她一定有钱，有一定的优雅和高冷。 这辆车也经过高度抛光； 在晨光下，车上镀的铬明亮而闪光； 白色轮胎很干净，没有任何划痕，座椅一尘不染。 它是一辆好车，可以开得很快，转弯性能很好。 这种紧密的、不断扩大的进步，带来了安全和肤浅， 而悲伤和爱，会很轻易地被解释和遏制 总是有各种镇静剂，各种神灵，新的神话取代旧的。 它是一个明亮而寒冷的早晨； 淡淡的雾随着太阳的升起而消失，空气静止。 这只胖鸟，黄色的腿和喙，在小草坪上，非常高兴，想去找人聊天； 他们有黑白相间的翅膀，身体呈深色。 他们格外开朗，互相追逐。 然后，灰喉乌鸦来了，胖子飞走了，大声地骂着。 他们又长又重的喙闪闪发光，黑色的身体反射着光芒； 他们看着你的每一个动作，没有什么能逃脱他们的视线 他们知道那只大狗在意识到他们之前就穿过了树篱 但是，他们哇哇地叫着，飞走了，小草坪空了。
The mind is always occupied with something or other, however silly or supposedly important. It is like that monkey always restless, always chattering, moving from one thing to another and desperately trying to be quiet. To be empty, completely empty, is not a fearsome thing; it is absolutely essential for the mind to be unoccupied, to be empty, unenforced, for then only it can move into unknown depths. Every occupation is really quite superficial, with that lady or with the so-called saint. An occupied mind can never penetrate into its own depth, into its own untrodden spaces. It is this emptiness that gives space to the mind and into this space time cannot enter. Out of this emptiness there is creation whose love is death.
这颗头脑总是被某件事情或某个东西所占据 —— 无论它是多么愚蠢，或者被认为重要。 如同那只总是焦躁不安的猴子， 总在喋喋不休，从一件事转到另一件事，并试图拼命地保持安静。 空虚，彻底地空虚，并不是一件可怕的事情； 无拘无束，空虚，没有强迫，对头脑来说，是绝对必要的 因为只有这样，它才能进入未知的深处。 每一种占据，都十分的肤浅，无论是被那位女士，还是被所谓的圣人所占据。 一颗被佔據的頭腦，永遠無法深入到它自己的深处，進入它自己未被踏足的空无。 正是这种虚无给了头脑空间，并深入这个时间无法踏进的虚无。 从这虚无中，有创造，其中的爱，就是死亡。
The trees were bare, every leaf had fallen off, even the thin, delicate stems were breaking off; the cold had been too much for them; there were other trees which kept their leaves but they were not too green, some of them were turning brown. It was an exceptionally cold winter; there was heavy snow all along the lower ranges of the Himalayas, several feet thick and in the plains a few hundred miles away it was quite cold; there was heavy frost on the ground and flowers were not blooming; the lawns were burnt. There were a few roses whose colour filled the little garden and the yellow pansies. But on the roads and public places you saw the poor, wrapped up in torn, filthy rags, bare-legged, their heads covered up, their dark faces hardly showing; the women had every kind of coloured cloth on them, dirty, with silver bangles or some ornament around their ankles and around their wrists; they walked freely, easily and with a certain grace; they held themselves very well. Most of them were labourers but in the evening as they went back to their homes, huts really, they would be laughing, teasing each other and the young would be shouting and laughing, far ahead of the older people. It was the end of the day and they had been labouring heavily all day; they would wear themselves out very quickly and they had built houses and offices where they would never live or ever work. All the important people went by there in their cars and these poor people never even bothered to look who went by. The sun was setting behind some ornate building, in a mist that had been hanging about all day; it had no colour, no warmth and there wasn't a flutter among the flags of different countries; these flags too were weary; they were just coloured rags but what importance they had assumed. A few crows were drinking out of a puddle and other crows were coming in to have their share. The sky was pale and ready for the night.
这些树，光秃秃的， 每一片叶子都掉落了，就连细细的茎也折断了； 对他们来说，严寒太过分了； 还有其他树木保留着叶子 但他们并不太绿，其中一些正在变成棕色。 它是一个异常寒冷的冬天。 在喜马拉雅山脉的下游，到处都有大雪， 几英尺厚，铺在几百英里外的平原上，天气太冷。 地上结着厚重的霜，花儿没有盛开； 草坪被毁了。 有几朵玫瑰的颜色充满了小花园，还有黄色的三色堇。 但是在道路和公共场所，你看到这些穷人， 裹在破烂、肮脏的破布里，光着腿， 他们的头被遮住了，黝黑的脸几乎没有露出； 妇女们身上有各种彩色的布，脏兮兮的， 脚踝和手腕上戴着银手镯或一些装饰品； 她们走得自由、轻松、优雅；她们把自己控制得很好。 她们中的大多数是劳工 但是到了晚上，当她们回到自己的家时，其实是小茅屋， 他们会笑，互相取笑 年轻人会大喊大笑，远远超越了老人。 这一天结束了，他们已经辛苦工作了一整天； 他们会很快地疲惫不堪 他们建造了房屋和办公室，他们永远不会在那里生活或工作。 所有重要的人都开着车经过那里 而这些可怜的人，甚至懒得去看是谁经过了。 太阳落在一座华丽的建筑后面，在一整天的雾气中； 它没有颜色，没有温暖，不同国家的国旗没有飘扬； 这些旗帜也疲惫不堪； 它们只是彩色的破布，但它们承担了多么重要的意义。 几只乌鸦从水坑里喝水，其他乌鸦进来分享他们的份额。 天空苍白，准备入夜。
Every thought, every feeling was gone and the brain was utterly still; it was past midnight and there was no noise; it was cold and the moonlight was coming in through one of the windows; it made a pattern on the wall. The brain was very awake, watching, without reacting, without experiencing; there was not a movement within itself but it was not insensitive or drugged by memory. And of a sudden that unknowable immensity was there, not only in the room and beyond but also deep, in the innermost recesses, which was once the mind. Thought has a border, produced by every kind of reaction, and every motive shapes it as with every feeling; every experiencing is from the past and every recognition is from the known. But that immensity left no mark, it was there, clear, strong, impenetrable and unapproachable whose intensity was fire that left no ash. With it was bliss and that too left no memory for there was no experiencing it. It simply was there, to come and go, without pursuit and recall.
每一个念头，每一种感觉都消失了，大脑完全地静止； 已经过了午夜，没有噪音； 天很冷，月光从一扇窗户射进来。 在墙上绘出一个图案。 大脑非常清醒，看着，没有反应，没有体验； 它本身没动，它并不是不敏感，或者被记忆所麻醉。 突然间，那不可知的浩瀚在那里， 不仅在房间内外，而且在最深处，在最里面的凹处，那里曾经属于头脑。 思想有一条边界，由各种反应产生， 每一个动机都在塑造它，就像每一种感觉一样； 每一次体验都源于过去，每一次认知都发源于已知。 而那浩瀚没有留下任何痕迹， 它就在那里，清晰，强大，坚不可摧，无法接近，它强烈是不留一丝灰烬的火。 随之而来的是祝福，也没有留下任何记忆，因为没有体验它。 它只是在那里，来来去去，没有追求和召唤。
The past and the unknown do not meet at any point; they cannot be brought together by any act whatsoever; there is no bridge to cross over nor a path that leads to it. The two have never met and will never meet. The past has to cease for the unknowable, for that immensity to be.
在任何时候，过去和未知都无法相遇； 它们不能通过任何行为而走到一起； 没有可以跨越的桥，也没有通往它的路径。 两者从未见谋面，也永远不会相见。 过去必须消逝，那不可知的，那个浩瀚才会出现。
The sky was intensely blue, the blue that gives colour to all things; that morning, there was colour everywhere. The birds, the neighbours’ children with their brilliant red trousers, the saris and the few flowers in the garden and the yellow pansies. These were extraordinary; one had seen them every day and marvelled at their delicacy and openness but this morning, they seemed to have covered the garden with their colour; they were really yellow not brown yellow or red-green yellow, their purity was the delight of the blue sky and the eyes were filled with the colour. Beauty is beyond personal taste; it is not a reaction which is taste; taste is within the field of things that have been gathered, it can be cultivated, as knowledge can be; it can be sharpened, refined but beauty is not the plaything of thought nor is it the fancy of any sentiment. Beauty as love cannot be put together by the vagaries of the mind. But that brief moment, when the sky and the flowers met was the everlasting. Time totally ceased and there was no space; there was only that and nothing else but that brief moment was the unknowable. No mind could measure it, formulate it or imagine it and there was no word. The crested bird with its black head chattered on the gate and the big brown eagles were circling in the sky, their sharp cry reaching the ground. It was a beautiful morning and at the horizon, over the trees, a few clouds were gathering.
天是深蓝色的，蓝色，赋予万物以色彩； 那天早上，到处都是色彩。 鸟儿们，邻居的娃娃们鲜艳的红裤子， 纱丽和花园里的几朵花和黄色三色堇。 这些都是非同寻常的； 一个人每天都看到它们，并惊讶于它们的精妙和敞亮 但是今天早上，它们似乎用它们的色彩覆盖了花园； 它们真的是黄色的，而不是棕黄色或红绿色的黄色， 它们的纯洁是蓝天的喜悦，眼睛里充满了色彩。 美超越了个人的品味；它不是一种反应，所谓的品味； 品味在已经收集的事物的领域之内， 它可以被培养，就像知识一样； 它可以被磨砺，精炼 但美不是思想的玩物，也不是任何情感的幻想。 作为爱的美，不能由思想的变幻莫测来组合。 但天空和花朵相遇的那一刻，是永恒的。 时间完全停止了，没有空间； 只有那，没有别的，但是那短暂的瞬间是不可知的。 沒有頭腦可以測量它、制定它或想像它，沒有任何的言語。 黑脑袋的凤头鸟在门口叽叽喳喳 棕色的大鹰在天空盘旋， 他们尖锐的叫声传到地面。 它是一个美丽的早晨，在地平线，在树上，几朵云正在聚集。
To be beyond sorrow is to love. Sorrow is the loneliness of the empty mind that has built a wall around itself, the wall of resistance and anxiety. It’s this loneliness that breeds sorrow; the sympathy, the consideration which this loneliness offers is the action of escape. In itself it is poor and out of poverty there is not a new thing. And love is a new thing and sorrow cannot meet it. Sorrow seeks refuge, an escape, the comfort of words and ashes are not love. Love is dangerous, destructive and words are comforting. And sorrow continues, like the weed in the garden; it flourishes and builds temples, churches and tyrannies. To face every fact, not with words and conclusions, to see without thought and so without feeling, to see it without distortion brings about that energy which is essential to meet every movement of life.
走出悲伤，即是爱。 悲伤是孤独 空虚的头脑在自己周围筑起了一堵墙，这是抵抗和焦虑的墙。 正是这种孤独滋生出悲伤； 这种孤独所提供的同情和体贴，是一种逃避行为。 它本身是贫瘠的，在贫瘠的土地上，冒不出新事物。 而爱是新，悲伤无法遇见它。 悲伤寻求庇护，一种逃避，言语的慰藉和灰烬不是爱。 爱是危险的，毁灭性的，言语是令人安慰的。 悲伤还在延续，就像花园里的杂草； 它蓬勃发展，并建造出寺庙、教堂和暴政。 面对每一个事实，而不是面对言语和结论， 看，而不是思考，因此没有感觉， 不失真地看，会带来那种能源，这种能源是必需的，在面对生命的每一次挑战时。
It was a still night and that strange otherness was there with its immensity; it was a flame that left no ash.
它是一个寂静的夜晚，那奇怪的异类来了，携带着它的浩瀚。 它是一簇没有留下灰烬的火焰。
You could hear the lions roaring in the zoo and the roar of the traffic on the main road and the quiet noises of the night. There was a slight breeze which had died with the setting sun; every tree and bush was still, withdrawing for the night, except the flowers which seemed to be awake all day and all night; darkness was as necessary as light and the birds had settled for the night. The traffic grew less and the night was deepening; it was a clear cold night and an aeroplane was coming in to land; it must have been a big plane and it made the windows rattle. And again there was quiet. There’s a quietness which is not the opposite of disturbance; in this quietness the mind can travel very far, beyond the measure of time. It’s free to travel, there are no hindrances, no barriers, no self-imposed restrictions. All resistance prevents this journeying but resistance and commitments do not bring about this quietness for this is born out of freedom, the freedom that is at the beginning. Every talent, every specialization, every ambition prevents this freedom and when there is no freedom, there is death and decline. To be free from the beginning and not that supposed freedom that is said to come after resistances and commitments are over; then there’s no freedom at all; a withered disciplined mind can never be free. It has lost its youth, its innocence. Freedom is at the beginning and not at the end. To wander through life, without ever being shaped to some pattern, by some frustration and guilt is then as the deep wide river which purifies itself; its very movement is the purification. You cannot work for freedom, then it becomes political, a thing to be bargained for, to be cultivated, to be put together, and what is put together or conquered can always be destroyed. You have to see it and not act about it; if you see it then it is there, indestructible, never ending; if you don’t, then no effort, no conniving will ever bring it. It’s there, only see it.
你可以听到动物园里的狮子咆哮声、 主干道上的车辆轰鸣声，以及夜晚的寂静声。 一丝微风，随夕阳而逝； 每一棵树和灌木丛都停了，在夜里回退， 除了那些似乎整日整夜都苏醒着的花儿们； 黑暗，如同光明一样，是必要的，鸟儿们已经安顿好，准备着过夜。 路上的车流越来越稀少，夜色渐深； 这是个清爽、寒冷的夜，一架飞机降落了。 它一定是一架大飞机，它使得门窗嘎嘎作响。 接着，又是一片安静。 这种安静，不是纷扰的对立面； 在这安静中，头脑可以走得很遠，出离了时間的尺度。 它是自由的旅行，没有阻碍，没有栅栏，没有自我设定的限制。 一切的抵抗都在阻止这种旅行 然而，抵抗和奉献无法带来这种安静， 因为它从自由中诞生，这种自由是在一开始。 每一种天赋、每一项专长、每一颗雄心，都阻碍着这种自由； 没了自由，就是死亡和衰败。 自由，在一开始，而不是那期盼的自由 —— 那个在抵抗和奉献之后，所出现的东西； 那就根本没有自由； 一颗枯萎的、受戒的头脑，永远不可能自由。 它失去了它的朝气，它的纯真。 自由是在一开始，而不是在结束。 生命逍遥， 从未被某种准则、某些挫折和内疚所塑造 那么，如同深阔的河流净化它自己； 它的行为本身，即是净化。 你不能为了自由而工作， 那样，它就变成了政治，一个需要讨价还价、被培养、被拼凑的东西， 那拼凑出来的，或者被征服的东西，总是能够被摧毁。 你必须看它，而不对它动手脚； 如果你看它，那么，它就在那里，坚不可摧，永无止境； 如果你不看，那么，任何的努力，任何放纵，都不会带来它。 它在那里，只需看它。
A dog began to bark far in the night; it was a peculiar bark, several short ones and a long drawn out moan ending with two or three short barks; other dogs joined in but the deepthroated barks continued, never changing its rhythm for nearly half an hour. By its voice, it was not a street, stray dog; there was power and strength behind it, like the roar of the lion which came through the barks. It was a deep roar repeated several times but the dog kept up its barks. On that sound, you journeyed again very far, far beyond the measure of time.
一只狗开始吠叫，在夜深处； 这是一种奇特的嘶吼， 几声短促的吼叫，一声长长的呻吟，最后，两三声急促的吼叫； 其他的狗狗们也加入了 但深喉的吼叫声还在继续，持续了近半个小时，都没有改变节奏。 从它的声音来看，它不是街头的流浪狗； 它背后有能量和气力，像狮子的咆哮。 低沉的吼声重复了好几次，但这条狗还是在继续吼叫。 在那个声音中，你又一次旅行得很远，远远超出了时间的测量。
Again, the brain was utterly still, every thought and feeling wholly absent for that otherness, that incredible immensity filled the room and the space beyond the walls. There was bliss.
再一次，这颗大脑完全静止， 每一个想法和感觉，彻底缺席，因为那个异类， 那令人难以置信的浩瀚，充盈这房间和墙外的空。 那就是祝福。
The clouds began to gather in the morning, light, fleecy ones; they were gathering from different directions, mostly from south-west; the sun raced between them and shadows covered the land. Towards the evening, the sky was dark and rain was in the air. The road by the house is not an important thoroughfare, it connects two main streets; there were a great many children on it that evening, all dirty, all in rags, all in torn shoes or barefoot. One or two smiled, the rest were solemn, sad and cold; a small boy was playing with a small piece of iron table; he had it on a string with several knots on it; he would run, holding on to the string and the small cylinder would chase after him; he would look back to see if it was following and each time he looked back, he was delighted to see it was still there; he would smile and talk to it and race off again. He was thin, dark with lack of nourishment, his head covered in a filthy rag. His eyes were far away and would never come back. They would always be poor, always labouring, always hungry; they would never take the salute in the big military and nationalistic parade; they would die without much resistance and live amid squalor, uneducated and lost. The big people, who were always in the papers who ruled and thought they were shaping the world would never know them; there was no affection and no tear and tears only when you died; they seldom laughed and their eyes never smiled. It was a sad world and it began to drizzle; it laid the all-pervading dust, washed the leaves clean and it brought that fragrance of rain on dry earth. It was a pleasant smell and the birds had taken shelter for the night. The buffaloes were getting wet and that was not a nice smell. Suddenly two forks of lightning tore through darkness and for a second in great clarity [were] the naked branches of the trees and the straight electric poles and a man crouching under a tree. And now it had settled down to rain for the night. The little boy with the string was no longer on the road.
清早，云开始汇聚，轻盈而蓬松； 他们从不同的方向汇合，很多来自于西南方； 太阳在他们之间奔跑，阴影覆盖着大地。 入夜，天色阴暗，雨落天空。 屋旁的这条路，不是一条重要的大道，它衔接着两条主要的街道； 那天晚上，有很多孩子在上面， 都是脏兮兮的，破烂的，穿着破鞋或光着脚丫。 一两个在笑，其余的都沉着脸，悲伤，冰冷； 一个小男孩在玩弄一片小铁块； 他用一根绳子在上面打几个结； 他会跑，抓着这根绳子，圆圆的小铁块会追他； 他会回头看它是否在跟在后面， 每一次他回头，看到它仍然在那里，他都很高兴； 他会微笑，和它说话，然后再一次跑。 他瘦弱，黝黑，缺乏营养，头上盖着一块肮脏的破布。 他的眼神很遥远，再也回不来了。 或许，他们总是贫穷，总是劳作，总是饥饿； 或许，他们永远不会在大型军事和民族主义阅兵式上敬礼； 他们会死去，没有太多的抵抗，活在肮脏的、没有教育的和被人遗忘的地方。 这些大人物，总出现在报纸上， 他们统领和思考，塑造着这个世界，永远不会知道他们的存在； 没有感情，没有眼泪，只有你死的时候，才会流泪； 他们很少笑，眼睛也从不笑。 这是一个悲伤的世界，开始下起毛毛雨； 它平息了无所不在的灰尘，树叶被洗干净了 它给干涸的大地带来了雨香。 它是一种令人愉快的气味，鸟儿们归巢过夜。 水牛淋得越来越湿，那不是一种好闻的气味。 突然，两道闪电撕裂了黑暗 有那么一秒钟，树木裸露枝条的非常清晰。 还有笔直的电线杆和一个蹲在树下的男人。 现在，它安定了下来，雨下了一整夜。 那个拿着绳子的小男孩，已经不在路上了。
Attention is seeing. Seeing is an art as listening. But one hardly ever listens or sees; everyone is so occupied, so busy with the things that have to be done, with one’s joys, problems and tears. One has no time to see. But time does not give you sight; time hinders seeing, listening. Time is the space for experiencing and experience only dulls the mind and heart. The mind is filled and the heart has turned away and so there is no seeing. To see knowledge must be kept in the books and not in the mind; knowledge interprets, chooses, giving colour, opinion, weighing, criticising, choosing and then there is no seeing. When the mind is so crowded and the heart dull with sorrow, how can there be seeing? What you see is your own projections, your own desires, your own fears but you don’t see what is. It goes by and you are lost with your own toys. But when you do see, do listen, then that act is the miracle that transforms, that has emptied the mind and the heart of the past. You don’t have to do anything, thought is incapable of this miracle; then that seeing is love, as listening is. You cannot come by these through exertion, through the dullness of discipline, through any bargaining nor through the shock of unanswerable questions. There must be emptiness to see, to listen there must be a quietness.
注意，即是看。 看，是一门艺术，如同听。 但一个人几乎从不听，或者看； 每一个人都如此忙碌， 忙于必须做的事情，带着一个人的享受、问题和眼泪。 一个人没有时间去看。 然而，时间不会带给你风景；时间在阻碍看、听。 时间是体验的空间，体验只会使头脑和心灵迟钝。 这颗头脑被填滿，这颗心灵转头离开了，所以看不了。 要去看，知识必须放在书本上，而不是记在头脑中； 知识在解释和选择，赋予色彩、意见、权衡、批判， 挑选，那么，看不见了。 当这颗头脑如此地拥挤，这颗心灵因悲伤而迟钝时，怎么能看？ 你看到的，是你拥抱的投影，是你自己的欲望，是你自身的恐惧。 但你看不到是什么。 它溜走了，而你迷失在你自己的玩具中。 然而，当你真实地看，真实地听， 那么，这个行为，即是这个奇迹，奇迹转变， 清空这颗头脑和这颗心灵的过往。 你不必做任何事情，思想无法创造这个奇迹； 那么，看即是爱，如同听。 你无法通过努力，通过戒律的沉闷，通过任何讨价还价来获得这些， 也不能通过无法回答的询问的震惊来获取。 要去看，去听，必需虚无，必须这么安静。
It was rather late in the night; lightning and rain were making great noise. Again, the brain was aware of the lightning, and the rain on the window, but it was motionless, astonishingly still, for that immensity was there with clarity and unapproachable strength.
夜深了。 闪电和雨水发出巨大的噪音。 再一次，这颗大脑意识到闪电，打在窗户上的雨水， 但它一动不动，令人惊讶地静止， 因为那浩瀚带着清晰和难以接近的力量在那里。
It was a still morning, cloudy and there was not a sound; it was too early for birds and man; everything was asleep and it would be some hours before day began. It had been cloudy all day and there was an endless procession of clouds, heavy, dark and full of rain. They were rather magnificent, strange shapes, moving across the sky with determined purpose; they were all going north-west; for a moment you had the impression that the earth was moving for the clouds were the mountains, streams and rivers and the cities that man had built; they looked like towers, peaks and the blue waters. The sun came out through a mile-long blue patch and there was glory. Every leaf was washed clean, every leaf shone, with drops of sparkling water, every bird was out, chattering, singing, flying, a whole group of crows were settling down on the wires, thirty-seven of them, and parrots were screeching across the sky. It was a marvellous moment of light, clear and incredibly rich. Far away there was the sound of a bugle and a motor-bicycle roared, but the blue sky remained and there were a thousand shadows. There is no space in light, no journey to be taken, nothing to be fulfilled and the pain of frustration; there was no death in that clear light nor time to gain; it was a marvellous moment and it is always there, not a thing to be remembered, to be pursued. It is there but you have to turn the corner, just beyond your property, your family, your work and responsibility. You have to be alone without loneliness. Meditation is not a means to an end; there is no end to be gained; meditation is a constant flowering, not away from life but in life and that morning, in that deep silence, when not a thing was stirring there was a movement which the meditative mind alone could understand. It was not a movement in time and thought could not follow it; thought can only trace its own patterns moulded in the past. To dissolve the past is the far away beginning of meditation. If you begin to dissolve the past there is no ending to the past. The fire that burns away the past, the structure of time, is the act of seeing. Seeing is complete attention.
一个寂然的早晨，阴云浓密，悄无声息。 对于鸟类和人类来说，时间还很早； 一切都沉睡着，离白天的开始还有几个小时。 整片天都是云层 一望无际的云，沉重，黑暗，充盈着雨水。 他们是相当宏大，奇形怪状，带着坚定的意图，在天空中移动； 他们都朝向西北方； 有那么一刻，你有这种印象： 大地在移动，因为云就是山脉、溪水、河流和人建造的城市； 她们看起来像塔、山峰和蓝色的海水。 太阳出来了，从一英里长的蓝色云块中，那是荣光。 每一片叶子都被洗净，每片叶子都在闪光，带着晶亮的水珠， 每只鸟都出去了，叽叽喳喳，唱歌，飞翔， 一整群乌鸦在电线上安顿下来，它们有三十七只， 鹦鹉在天空中尖叫。 这是奇妙的时光，清明而不可思议的丰饶。 远处传来号角声和摩托车轰鸣声， 但蓝天依然，有成千的影。 光之中，没有空间，没有旅程可走， 没有什么要去满足，没有沮丧的痛苦； 在那清光中，没有死亡，也没有时间去收获； 它是一个神奇的时刻，它总是在那里，不是一个值得被记住、被追逐的东西。 它就在那里，但你必须转头， 走出你的财产，你的家庭，你的工作和责任。 你必须独立而不孤独。 冥想不是抵达终点的手段； 没有终点； 冥想，是一次持续的绽放， 不是远离生命，而是进入生命，进入那个早晨，进入那幽深的寂然， 当没有一个东西搅动，就有一个运动，唯有这冥想的头脑才会理解。 它不是时间的运动，思想无法跟随它； 思想只能追踪它自己在过去塑造的准则。 熔化过往，是冥想的遥远的开始。 如果你开始消熔过去，过去就无法止息。 这火焰，燃烧过去，吞噬时间的框架，即是看的行为。 看，是完全的注意。
A lovely morning it was after the rain, clear, crisp and there was heavy dew; in the air there was slight fragrance of woodsmoke, of grass and of that peculiar odour that freshly washed leaves have. There were sharp shadows of depth and lightness and the sky, so early in the morning was already intensely blue. There was peace in the air in spite of poverty, squalor and the cunning hand of the politician. It was a morning that enticed you away, that took you into the heart of things where beauty was untouched, where affection was always young. It was a morning in which meditation expanded beyond the borders of time, in which goodness flowered and thought was silent. Every little thing was so intensely alive with that strange beauty the common things have. Your eyes were sharpened and you saw the skinny dark leaf of the rose and it was the leaf of every tree and bush; you listened to the birds and it was the voice of the earth and meditation was not some fanciful flight into some illusory vision but the seeing of the fact and going beyond it into regions of death and love; for these two are inseparable. Death is destruction, final and absolute and so is love. Love isn’t the tame domesticated thing of man, made respectable by thought, seasoned in tradition. It is new, dangerous and not the thing of thought. It is a flame that leaves no ashes, of memory, of self-pity. As you cannot argue with death, you cannot entice it into the dark corners of the mind. They are always together, waiting, watching, welcoming. You will know them when meditation opens the door of time; with the burden of time you cannot come to it; you must destroy it, the past must be wiped away. It is wiped away when you see, see without the screen of tradition, without knowledge. The eyes must be young, and far away to see and then the inseparable are there. And then there is something beyond and above them that includes them both. But on a morning like this, the yellow bamboo leaves and the dark leaves of a tall tree intimate the beauty that is besides them. The parrots were screeching across the sky, they never flew straight, but from side to side and they were flying fast, streaks of green light; then a group of crows came to settle on the little lawn, still heavy with dew; they seemed to be cleaning their claws and beaks in it and their black bodies were spilling light. There is a little pool of rain-water on the path beside the lawn; it was full of light and mischief and as you saw it, it was the sky and the earth, the measurable and the immeasurable and the two never come together.
雨后，是一个美好的早晨，晴朗，清爽，露水浓郁； 空气中弥漫着淡淡的树香、青草味和刚洗过的树叶特有的气息。 阴影锐利、浓重而轻盈 天上，一大早就已是深蓝。 尽管有贫穷、肮脏，以及政客的狡诈， 空气中仍然和平。 它是一个引诱你离开的早晨， 带你进入事物的心灵 那儿有未被触碰的美，有永远年轻的感情。 它是一个早晨，冥想在其中扩张，超越了时间的边界， 善良在里面绽放，思想安然。 每一个小事物都具有他们特有的奇异的美，如此浓烈的活泼。 你的眼睛被锋利了 你看见玫瑰的瘦黑叶子，是每一棵树和灌木的叶子； 你听见鸟儿们的声音，是大地的嗓音 冥想不是某种幻想的飞入某种虚幻的愿景中 而是看见这个事实并走出，走进死亡与爱； 因为两者密不可分。 死亡是毁灭，是终极的，绝对的，爱也是。 爱不是被人类驯化的东西，不是用思想和传统调制出来的、受人尊敬的东西。 它是新的，危险的，不属于思想。 它是不留灰烬、不留记忆、不留自怜的火焰。 正如你无法与死亡争辩，你也无法引诱它进入头脑的阴暗角落。 他们总是在一起，等待，观察，欢迎。 当冥想打开时间之门时，你会知道他们； 带着时间的负担，你无法来到它； 你必须摧毁它，过去必须被扫除。 当你看，它被扫除，看，不带着传统的屏幕和知识。 这眼睛必定是年轻的，远远地看，那不可分割的，就在那。 那么，有某个东西，出离和超越了他们，包括了他们俩。 但是，在这么一个早晨， 黄色的竹叶和大树的深色叶片，暗示着它们身旁的美。 鹦鹉在天空中尖叫， 它们从来不直线飞行，而是或左或右，它们飞得很快，如同条纹般的绿光； 接着，一群乌鸦来到小草坪上歇息，草上仍然结满了露水； 它们似乎在清理爪子和喙，黑色的身体在泛光。 草坪旁边的小路上有一小洼雨水； 它充满了光明和灾难，如你所见， 它是天空和大地，可测的和不可测的，两者永远无法同行。
The brain is sharpened and made highly sensitive when it is utterly still. You cannot make it still, if you do you will make it dull and shape it to the pattern of knowledge. It is only in freedom that it can be still to flower. But resistance and desire can only breed conflict which wears it away, giving it age and weight. When the brain is utterly still, then attention, in which alone goodness can flower, is that explosive energy that carries the mind to that which is beyond all measure.
当这颗大脑完全静止，它变得锋利、高度地灵敏。 你無法使它靜止，如果你這樣做，你將使它变得迟钝，并把它塑造成知识的模样。 只有在自由中，它才能静止，绽放。 然而，抵抗和欲望只能滋生冲突，使它疲惫不堪，增添岁月和包袱。 当这颗大脑完全静止， 那么注意，唯有在其中，善良才能绽放， 是那爆炸的能源，带走了这颗头脑，离开了一切衡量。
A little boy in red trousers and in a red coat was playing by himself under a large, spreading tree; there was no one near him, he was by himself, lost in his own world; he must have been five or six, with a happy round face; his eyes were almost closed and he was going round and round the tree in a widening circle, talking to himself, with an occasional gesture. He stopped all of a sudden, looked up the tree, came back to the large, rough trunk and touched it softly, almost caressing it and started running back to his house; he stopped, looked back at the tree, waved his hand and disappeared behind a gate. The tree and the little boy must have been great friends; he was completely at home with it, completely happy. The tree heavy with dark, bright leaves and the red suit were beautiful in the morning light. It was an enchanting morning and they were both part of the morning, like that flower and the sky; the sky was very blue, rain-washed, clear, without a cloud. A military jet came out screaming and disappeared. Once again that tree, that boy and the flower remained, past time and thought, and every blade of grass and leaf were of that timeless space. Only the mind that is completely empty in that freedom from the known could contain not the word but the fact and beyond the fact; the fact then is of no significance. Meditation is the emptying the mind of the known, of knowledge and the fact. It is the fact, the what is, that frees thought; thought cannot free itself; thought is the word of the known. Thought cannot cover the fact but the fact does put an end to thought. Knowledge is the experiencing of the fact, but the fact is not knowledge nor is it the word. Thought is of knowledge and knowledge cannot free the mind of the fact. Meditation is the choiceless awareness of this complex, which empties the mind of the known.
一个小男孩，穿着红色裤子和红色外套，在一棵茂盛的大树下玩耍； 他附近无人，他独自一人，迷失在他自己的世界里； 他一定有五六岁，圆圆的脸上洋溢着快乐； 他的双眼几乎闭上 他绕着树转了一圈又一圈，自言自语， 偶尔做一个手势。 他突然停下来，抬头看树， 回到粗大的树干处，轻轻地触摸它， 几乎拥抱着它，开始跑回他的家； 他停下来，回头看了看那棵树，挥动他的手，消失在一扇门后面。 这颗树和这个小男孩一定是好朋友； 有它作伴，他完全地自在，完全地快乐。 树上长满了深而明亮的叶子，红色的套装在晨光下很美。 这是一个迷人的早晨，他们都是早晨的一部分， 像那朵花和天空；天空很蓝，被雨水冲刷，晴朗，没有一丝云彩。 一架军用喷气式飞机尖叫着出来，消失了。 再一次，那棵树、那男孩和那朵花留了下来， 过去的时间和思想，每一片草叶和树叶都属于那非时间的空。 解放了已知，只有这样完全空无的头脑， 才能容纳非言语的事实，并走出这事实； 那样，事实就失去意义了。 冥想是清空这颗头脑的已知、知识和这个事实。 这个事实，这个是什么，解放了思想； 思想不能解放它自己；思想是已知的言语。 思想不能覆盖这个事实，但这个事实确实结束了思想。 知识是对这个事实的体验，但这个事实不是知识，也不是言语。 思想属于知识，知识不能把思想从这个事实中解放出来。 冥想是无选择地意识这种复合体，这复合体，清空这颗已知的头脑。
The thought that is disciplined with resistance, fear and with the cunning ways of ambition is always a slave to the known. Discipline is conformity, a substitution which prevents the understanding of fear; it is suppression and so sustains conflict which makes the brain dull; a disciplined thought is subservient and ready to obey. Where there is understanding, the destructive discipline ceases.
这个思想，被迫着遵守纪律，受限于阻力、恐惧和雄心的狡诈， 它总是知识的一条奴才。 纪律就是服从，它是一种替代品，阻碍着对恐惧的理解； 它压抑，因此维持着冲突，冲突，使这颗脑袋迟钝； 一个守纪律的思想是卑躬屈膝的，随时准备着服从。 在有理解的地方，这种破坏性的纪律就消亡。
The morning was heavy with fog; you couldn’t see across the road; you couldn’t see the tall, naked tree nor its delicate branches. The leaves were dripping with dew and the few yellow pansies were weighed down with it, and the usual roar of the aeroplane engines was quiet; they couldn’t take off in this thick fog. The birds were silent, only the crows were out, flying low, searching for food. But the sun would come out presently and shadows would begin, the lean ones and the fat ones. How important shadows, symbols have become, a word, an image, a picture. The real is far away, it is too dangerous but the symbol is very close, comforting. You could always worship it, get terribly enthusiastic about it, get violent enough to kill and be killed and also in the name of the symbol talk about peace and exploit. But with the fact, with the real, there is no possibility to deceive and to be deceived; it is too direct, too dangerous. So the word, the book, the image become all important. But the fog that morning hid everything, the squalor, the beauty, the blue sky and the fading rose. The people across the road in their filthy rags were shivering, hugging themselves waiting for the sun; a baby was crying and the buffaloes, with gunnysacks on their backs, had a strong unpleasant smell. And slowly, hesitantly the sun came out and a bank of fog would hide it again and soon all the fog was gone and the blue sky of the morning was there; it was that blue of flowers and their purity. And all the birds were out and high up the vultures were circling again, effortlessly, with hardly a beat of the wing.
早上雾朦朦的； 看不见马路的对面； 看不见那棵裸露的大树，也不见它娇嫩的枝桠。 叶片上躺着露水，露水使几朵黄色的三色堇沉重， 平日里飞机发动机的轰鸣声安静了； 它们无法在这浓雾中起飞。 鸟儿安静了，只有乌鸦们在外面，飞得很低，寻找食物。 但是，现在太阳会出来，影子们会开始，有瘦小的，有圆胖的。 那些影子们，那些代表们，已经变得多么地重要，一个词，一种印象，一幅画。 真实在远处，它太危险了，但代表们非常亲切，令人欣慰。 你总是可以崇拜它，对它抱有极度的热情， 变得足够地暴力，以至于去杀戮和被杀 并以代表的名义谈论和平与剥削。 但是，与这事实、这真实在一起，就没有去欺骗和被欺骗的可能； 它太直接了，太危险了。 然而，这文字、这本书、这幅画变得太重要了。 但晨雾掩盖了一切，这肮脏，这美，这蓝天和正在凋谢的玫瑰。 马路对面，穿着脏兮兮的破布的人们在发抖， 拥抱着他们自己，等待着太阳； 一个婴儿在哭泣，背着麻袋的水牛们，有一股难闻的强烈气味。 慢慢地，犹豫地，太阳出来了 一团雾会再次隐藏它，不久，所有的雾都消失了 早晨的蓝天就在那里； 那是蓝色的花朵和它们的纯洁。 所有的鸟都出去了 高处的秃鹫又在盘旋，毫不费力，几乎没有拍打翅膀。
Meditation is freeing the mind from knowledge for knowledge breeds problems and there is no end to them; one begets another. Freedom from the known is the ending of problems. But you cannot free the mind from the known by thought for thought is the reaction of the known; so it becomes a vicious circle to be broken only when you realize that all search is from the known to the known, and so completely stop all seeking, all finding. Then there is the mind that has no problems but can meet problems without their taking root in the mind.
从知识中把这颗头脑解放出来，就是冥想 因为知识滋生出各种问题，无穷无尽的问题；一个问题引发另一个问题。 解散已知，即是问题的枯亡。 但是，通过思想使这颗头脑从已知中解脱，是不可能的； 因为，思想是对已知的反应； 因此，它变成了恶性循环， 要打破它，只有当你意识到： 所有的寻找，都是从已知到已知，因此，彻底停下一切追求、一切寻找。 那么，这颗头脑放下各种问题， 却能面对各种问题，同时，不让它们在头脑中扎根。
It was a clear cloudless evening, the smoke was going up straight into the sky and no air was stirring and the people were out on the road; the office workers were going back on their bicycles by the thousands; they were crowding the roads four or five abreast and the cars were trying to avoid them; it was an open war between the cyclists and the cars and the pedestrians kept out of their way. It was quite cool and some of the cyclists had on woollen gloves, their faces tired and they eager to get back home. You turned left, past the big hotel and went on past the embassies and then climbed; gears had to be changed; there were bullock carts, several of them, taking rest before going on; an empty bus with a puncture, an army lorry, full of soldiers, thundering up and a man all wrapped up, just showing his face, walking down, wearily. On both sides the road was wild and undeveloped, thorny bushes, rocks and cattle paths; as the road climbed, you saw the town, sprawling miles of it, with its ancient and modern domes, turrets, minarets and far away on the horizon the ancient column. It was a lovely evening and where the earth meets the sky was clear, cloudless and there was great beauty. In this wilderness, overlooking the domes, they are creating a new park, a rock garden with flowers, cactus, open green lawns, with canals of water running among them; it is going to be rather a nice park, full of flowers, trees and rocks. Crowds of school girls were sighing, shouting, stepping out like soldiers; they were not happy groups but boisterous. And the sun was going down, a great big orange balloon, in great splendour and alone. It is strange to be alone, not cut off, withdrawn, isolated, lonely, but to be completely alone; alone without thought, without association, without the relationship of memory. Every influence, known and hidden, understood and so put aside and thus be alone. This is really love. The hermit and the monk are never alone in their cell, in their retreat; they have still the burden of the past, their traditions, their gods, their experiences and knowledge; they are never alone, they are full of thought, determinations and creating visions, disciplines. They have changed their names and their clothes but aloneness is not near them. But yet you must be alone, not to be influenced, not seeking, not resisting. You can build a wall around yourself, of belief, of knowledge, of incessant action but that wall makes of you a prisoner, everlastingly enlarging and decorating the prison. You can’t invite the immeasurable into the prison; what you invite will be your own ideas, projections, images; you can battle with them or embrace them but you are still within the walls. This fact alone brings that energy which will break down the walls.
夜空无云， 炊烟直冲向天，空气没有扰动 人们在路上； 办公室职工们下班了，骑着数千辆的自行车上； 他们四五成行，横行在路上，汽车试图避开他们； 这是骑行者和汽车人之间的公开战争 步行者们不敢阻挡他们的路。 天气很冷，一些骑行者戴着羊毛手套， 他们满脸疲惫，急着回家。 你向左转，经过大酒店，继续经过大使馆，然后爬坡； 齿轮必须切换； 路上有牛车，好几辆，休整之后，又继续前进； 一辆爆胎的公交车空无一人，一辆满载士兵的军用卡车，呼啸而去， 一个男人全身包裹，只露出脸，疲惫地走着。 道路两旁都是荒野，没有被开发，荆棘丛生、散落着岩石和牛道； 随着道路的攀登，你看到了这个城镇，绵延数英里， 有着古老和现代的圆顶、炮台、尖塔和远处地平线上的古老柱子。 这是一个美好的夜晚，大地与天空的相遇处干净、无云，非常美。 在这片荒野中，俯瞰穹顶， 他们正在创建一个新公园， 一个岩石公园，有鲜花、仙人掌、开阔的绿色草坪，水渠流淌其间； 它会是一个相当漂亮的公园，到处都是鲜花，树木和岩石。 成群结队的女学生叹息着，大喊着，像士兵一样走来； 她们不是快乐的团体，而是喧闹的团体。 太阳下山了，一个巨大的橙色球，非常灿烂和独立。 独立是奇怪的，它不是切断、回避、隔离、孤独， 而是完全地自在； 独立，没有思想，没有联想，没有回忆的牵绊。 每一种影响，无论是已知的，还是隐匿的，都被理解，因而放下，如是自在。 这，是真正的爱。 隐士和僧侣们，在他们的牢房里，在他们的闭关中，从来不自在； 他们依然背负着过去，背负着他们的传统、他们的神灵、他们的体验和知识； 他们从不独立， 他们塞满了思想、决心和创造着愿景、戒律。 他们改换他们的名字和穿着 然而，独立不在他们的左右。 但是，你必须独立，不被影响，不寻求，不抗拒。 你可以在你自己的周围筑起一堵墙，墙的材质是信仰、知识、没完没了的行为。 但那堵墙使你成为一个囚犯，总是在扩充和装饰这个监狱。 你无法邀请那不可估量者进入监狱； 你邀请的将是你自己的想法、投影、图像； 你可以和他们战斗，或者拥抱他们，但你仍然在墙内。 这个事实本身，带来了打破这堵墙壁的能源。
There is bliss in this aloneness; it is not a void, a dry aridness of no thought; thought is arid, dry and to be without thought, alone, is not a desert of nothingness. It is there and you will come upon it when thought comes to an end and with it feeling. You cannot buy it at any chemist nor at any altar and without it there is no love.
在独立中，有祝福； 它不是一个空壳，一口无知的枯井； 思想是干枯的，干涸的，没有思想，独立，不是荒芜的沙漠。 它在那儿，当思想带着它的感觉结束时，你就会碰到它。 你不能从任何炼金术士或任何祭坛上买到它；没有它，就没有爱。
The trees were bare, open to the sky, with not a leaf, and a cold wind was blowing from the north; there was fresh snow in the mountains; it had been snowing there for a couple of months and there were several feet of snow. It could be felt here and the leaves were falling; even the evergreen trees were feeling it; they said it was a most unusually severe winter, lasting for so long. The grass was burnt by the cold and so were the hedges and bushes; the birds were going further south, to sunny places. And as usual the poor were suffering. Sorrow is always there and only death could wipe it away. But death also was a greater sorrow, living and dying. The rich in their big houses and the powerful had their share of it, death and life. The few years of power and money were all that mattered and the struggle to live from day to day with little. Death was always there waiting, watching; you couldn’t escape it, even though it was worshipped. There were so many beliefs, so many hopes and so many doctors but it was always there, in every house, in every hut; wherever you lived it was there, with disease or with health. You were burnt on the banks of a river or buried in marble halls; to death it was all the same, young, old or newly born. Tears, the latest drugs and flowers cannot dissuade death; it is so final and absolute. But who thinks of it, till it comes; you avoid it, turn your face away from it. Others will [die] but you may by chance, by luck continue. You are never face to face with it every day; you see it in the street, amidst mountains of flowers, elegant cars and black veil or on a flimsy bamboo stretcher being taken to the river but you never meet it; others meet it. To others in the coffin or on the bank, it is dreadfully real but to you it is still an idea, not a fact. It never is a fact till the last moment but then it’s too late; then you cannot do anything about it; others will cry, sob their hearts out but you are deaf and gone.
树木光秃秃的，向天空敞开，没有一片叶子，一阵寒风从北而来； 山脉积有新雪； 已经下了几个月的雪，有几英尺厚。 在这里可以感觉到，叶子在飘零； 就连常青树也感觉到了。 他们说这是一个异常严酷的冬天，持续了很长。 草被严寒烧焦了，树篱和灌木丛也被毁了； 鸟儿南飞，飞向阳光明媚的地方。 像往常一样，穷人正在受苦。 悲伤总是在那里，只有死亡才能使它清除。 但死亡也是一种更大的悲伤，求生和垂死挣扎。 富人们在他们的大房子里，有权势的人们有他们的份额、死亡和生命。 这几年的权力和金钱，才是最重要的，然后是日复一日的挣扎。 死亡总是在那里等待着，观察着； 你无法摆脱它，即便你去崇拜它。 尽管有那么多的信仰，那么多的希望，那么多的医生，它依然总是在那里， 在每家每户，每一间小屋子里； 无论你住在哪个地方，它都在那里，带着疾病或健康。 你被烧死在河岸上，或者埋进大理石大厅里； 对于死亡来说，都是一样的，不论年轻、年老或刚出生的。 眼泪，最新的药物和鲜花都无法劝阻死亡； 它是那么的致命和绝对。 但谁会想它呢？直到它的到来；你逃避它，背对着它。 其他人会[死]，但你可能会偶然地、好运地继续。 在每一天，你永远不正面看它； 你在街上看到它，在开着鲜花的山丘上，在优雅的汽车和黑色的面纱中 或者，在被抬到河边的脆弱的担架上，但你从未与它谋面；其他人撞见了它。 对于在棺材里的，在岸边的其他人来说，它是可怕的真实 但对你来说，它仍然是一个想法，而不是一个事实。 它永远不会成为一个事实，直到最后一刻，然而，为时已晚； 那时，你对它无能为力； 其他人会哭泣、呜咽，而你却是聋子，走了。
But life is death; they are inseparable. You cannot have one without the other, however much you may love the one. You cannot separate the one from the other and spend all the days of your life cheating the other. It is there as your shadow, night and day, sleeping or waking. Your house is more or less permanent, the government or someone in the family will get it; your family will inherit your name but they too will pass away, with all your beliefs, fears and guilt. There is nothing permanent, not even your bank account, though you may like to have it till the last moment. Nothing is permanent and so your heart says, ‘Let’s live for the day’, but the day is full of sorrow and shadows. The more superficial you are, the more dead you are but even for you, it is waiting there, even for the quick-witted, none can avoid it, do what you will. But it is with life and so live with it, die every day, as you live every day, die to all the miseries, to all the pleasures. Don’t keep one, locked away deep in your heart, die to every thing; to your memories, to your youth, to your gods, to your saviours and also to your family. Be an outsider to everything. Don’t die tomorrow but today, to everything that you have known. Then there is no fear which is the shadow of death. Then you will see that life is not one thing and death another; the ending is the beginning. Then the mind is beyond time; fear is time, thought breeds it. With the death of the past, the experiences, memories, the new and the old traditions, mind is made new and there is the unknown, the not measurable.
然而，生命是死亡；两者密不可分。 没有另一个，你就无法拥有这一个，无论你多么喜欢这一个。 你无法将这一个与另一个分开，并花费你生命中所有的日子去欺骗另一个。 它在那里，如同你的影子，在黑夜和白天，睡觉或醒来的时候。 你的房子或多或少是永久性的，这个政府或家里的某个人会得到它； 你的家人将继承你的姓氏，但他们也会带着你所有的信仰、恐惧和罪业离世。 没有什么是永久的，甚至你的银行账户， 虽然你可能想把它留到最后一刻。 没有什么是永恒的，所以你的心灵说： “让我为今天而活”，然而，今天充满着悲伤和阴影。 你越是肤浅，就越僵死 即便对你来说，它也在这儿等着， 即便你机警，也无法避免它，无论你怎么做。 然而，它与生命同在，所以与它同居，每天去死，如同你每天在活， 你去死吧，掏出你所有的痛苦、所有的快乐。 别留下任何一个东西，别锁在心灵的深处；去死吧，朝向每一个东西； 朝着你的记忆、你的青春、你的神灵、你的救世主、你的家人，去死。 做每一个东西的局外人。 不要把死亡推迟到明天，今天就去死，葬送你所知道的一切。 那么，恐怖，这死亡的阴影，没了。 那么，你会看见：生命不是这一个，死亡不是另一个；死即是生。 那么，这颗头脑走出时间；恐惧是时间，思想滋养着它。 伴随着过去、体验、记忆、新的和旧的传统的死亡， 头脑被更新了，那未知的，无法衡量的，有了。
The wind was still blowing from the north; clouds were darkening the sky and it would rain. It would turn cold and as usual the poor would suffer. There would be disease and death and fears. An aeroplane, one of those new jets, was crossing the sky, ready to land; the screech and the roar were far behind. It was a beautiful thing to see.
风仍然从北方吹来； 乌云染黑了天空，它要下雨。 天气会变冷，像往常一样，穷人会受苦。 会出现疾病、死亡和恐惧。 一架飞机，其中一架是新喷气式飞机，正在穿过天空，准备降落； 尖叫声和咆哮声被远远地甩在后面。 看见它，是一件美好的事。
It had been a splendid day, full of light and deep shadows; it was a light that entered into deep corners, into concealed places; even in the open, it had that penetrating quality that revealed the other side of the leaf and almost the dark side of the trunk. It exposed your heart and mind, if you allowed it; even if you were indifferent, careless, it lighted the fringes of thought and gave a passing delight. If you were willing, it entered into the unexplored regions of your mind where you had never been but had hovered round the edges of it and now you saw the whole of it, without a shadow, where something could hide. There was no secret corner. You were surprised, open, vulnerable. And there was innocency. And every leaf was bright with light and all the birds were in the little garden, the little and the big, the many coloured and the plain ones, chattering away, unafraid and unwilling to leave. And towards the evening there were huge clouds on the horizon; there was one of fantastic shape, without colour, white, and against it four vultures were circling, without a flutter of the wing. There was one that refused to leave the centre of the vast cloud; it circled endlessly but wouldn’t leave its chosen boundaries; it was there for over twenty minutes. Those four must have been at well over a thousand feet and during all that time there was not a beat of the wing; the others wandered off but the central one remained; there was such ease, effortless movement and freedom. You watched it as long as it was there, the dark bird against a white, enormous cloud; there were many in the sky that sunlit afternoon but this one captured your attention. You were there in that garden but you were that thing flying effortless against that massive cloud; it was [not] in thought you were up there; nor in empty fancy and imagination; you were actually up there, not identifying yourself with it but you were that bird; watching the earth and flying on the wind. If it was fancy or imagination, a thing of thought, when that bird left the cloud, you were everything, that man in rags on the road, that black and white bird with its bobbing tail and the man who was talking to you about his difficulties. You were everything and yet nothing; because you were nothing, you were everything. But this nothingness is not a thing of the mind; thought can only beget thought; expand itself through knowledge or belittle itself in self-pity. But thought cannot make itself into nothing; it can only form itself with ideas, with words but it can never be the fact, the nothing.
这是一个灿烂的白天，充满了光和深刻的影； 它是一束光，进入幽暗的角落，进入了隐蔽之处； 即便是在空地，它也有穿透性 —— 曝露出树叶的另一面，几乎是树干的阴暗面。 它暴露了你的心灵和头脑，如果您允许它； 即便你无动于衷，粗心大意，它也点燃了思想的边缘，给予一种短暂的高兴。 如果你愿意，它会进入你头脑中未探索的领域 —— 那片你从未去过的，却徘徊在它边缘的地方 现在，你看见它的整体，没有一丝阴影，没有什么可藏的。 没有隐秘的角落。 你被惊讶到了，那么地敞开和脆弱。那是天真。 每一片叶子都明亮，带着光 所有的鸟儿都在小花园里，大大小小的， 很多，有色彩斑斓的和普通的，尽情地聊天，毫不害怕，也不愿离去。 傍晚临近，地平线上有巨大的云层； 其中一片的形状，如梦幻般，没有色彩，白的， 在它的烘托下，四只秃鹫在盘旋，翅膀没有颤动。 其中一只拒绝离开这片大云的中心； 它无休止地盘旋，却没有离开它所选择的边界； 它在那里待了二十多分钟。 那四只一定在一千多英尺的高度 在那段时间里，没有翅膀的拍打； 其余的离开了，但中间的那只仍然还在； 那么轻松，毫不费力的移动和自在。 只要它在那里，你就观察它，这黑黑的鸟，与白白的大云相映； 在那阳光明媚的下午，天上有很多只，但这只引起了你的注意。 你在那个花园中，但你是那个在巨大的云层下毫不费力地飞翔的东西； [不是]你以为你在那里； 也不是空洞的幻觉和想象； 你真实地在那里，你自己没有认同它，但你是那只鸟； 观察大地，随风飞翔。 如果它是幻觉或想象，一个想法， 当那只鸟离开云层时，你是一切， 那个衣衫褴褛的路人，那只摇着尾巴的黑白相间的鸟 还有那位和你谈论他的困难的人。 你是一切，却什么都没有；既然你什么都没了，你是一切。 但是，什么都没了，这种虚无，并不是头脑的东西；思想只能加工思想； 并通过知识，在自怜中，扩张或贬低它自己。 但思想不能使它自己化为虚无； 它只能用思想、文字来塑造它自己，但它永远不可能是这个事实，这种虚无。
Later that evening that immense cloud was the colour of the rose, delicate, with a purity that eyes could not see. It was now taking the colour of the setting sun but not all of it, there were still the white curves, there were shades of black and russet brown. And there was beauty. On the road there was bustle and movement, smoke and noise; they were selling white cloth and fruit and the cloud was there covering the city with silence and immensity.
夕阳降临 那巨大的云是玫瑰色的，柔弱，具有眼睛无法看见的纯净。 它正在取代夕阳的颜色，但不是全部， 仍然有白色的曲线，有黑色和赤褐色的阴影。 有美。 路上有喧嚣和运动、烟雾和噪音； 他们售卖白布和水果 这朵云在那里，用寂静和浩瀚覆盖着这座城市。
The brain, the product of time and experience, experience is time, was utterly still, not experiencing, sensitive, for that which is beyond time was there filling the room and beyond without measure.
这颗大脑，这个时间和体验的产物，体验就是时间， 完全静止了，它没有体验，它是灵敏的， 因为那超越时间的东西充盈着这房间，流溢着，无可衡量。
She was a woman on the road, poor, dirty, unwashed for days, dark burnt by the sun and ill-nourished, with bangles around her ankles and completely oblivious of what was going on around her. She had on a bright dress torn and patched up; she was like so many others on that road, worn out with labour and with bearing children; she was a cut above the others and walked by herself. She held herself very straight and there was an odd dignity about her with that peculiar indifference which misery or joy brings. She looked straight ahead, her eyes far away; she must have lost everything, not recently but ages ago and now she was lost in it; nothing would ever bring her out of it, employment or another man. She held something on her head, wrapped in a rag not too clean, with one hand, and the other moved with ease and grace; now both hands were free and the thing on her head remained in place; she walked along that path, unconscious that there were others. She was not thinking, she was simply lost; when there is some thought, there is some kind of animation in the face, she had none. She had on layers of skirts, a filthy blouse and a coloured cloth on the top of it; she had on many colours; they were bright but dirty, unwashed, with sweat and dust. She had good, regular features, but all life had gone out of them. The colours, the walk and the face and the dignity were all of one piece; they were not put together at different times, one after another and nothing could ever break it up, except death. And she had no fear of that either; living and dying were the same, both had lost their meaning and nothing could ever give meaning to them again. She didn’t want pity, comfort nor a word; she was by herself and would remain so. There was a flower, hanging over the wall, along that path, full of colour and beauty. The wall was white, recently whitewashed and the flower, in the evening light, was the reality of life, perishable, vulnerable and fragrant. The woman never noticed it, went by, without a glance but the flower remained, alone and destructible.
她在路上， 贫穷，肮脏，几天没洗，被太阳晒黑，营养不良， 她的脚踝上戴着镯子，完全忘了周围的情景。 她穿着一件亮丽的衣服，破破烂烂的，打了补丁； 她和那条路上的很多人一样，因劳动和生育而疲惫不堪； 她比其他人高出一截，独自走着。 她使自己笔挺 她身上有一种奇怪的尊严，那是痛苦或快乐带来的奇特的冷漠。 她直视前方，目光遥远。 她一定失去了一切，不是最近，而是在很久以前，现在，她迷失在其中； 没有什么能把她从工作中带出来，岗位或别的男人。 她一只手把东西顶在头上，头上裹着一块不太干净的布， 另一只手轻松而优雅地摆动； 现在，两只手都自由了，她头上的东西还在原处。 她走在这条路上，没有意识到其余的人。 她没有思考，她只是迷失了； 当有某些想法，脸上就有某种动画，她没有。 她穿着折叠裙，一件脏兮兮的上衣，上面铺着一块彩色的布。 她有很多色彩；它们明亮却肮脏，没有洗，沾着汗水和灰尘。 她有很好的、恰当的特征，但所有的生命都消失了。 这色彩、这脚步、这脸庞和尊严都是一体的； 它们不是在不同的时间，一个接一个地组合成一体的， 除了死亡，没有什么能打破它。 她也不在乎。 生与死都一样， 两者都失去了意义，没有什么能再赋予它们意义。 她不想要怜悯，不求安慰，也不想要一句话；她独自一人，并将继续。 一朵花挂在墙上，沿着那条路，洋溢着色彩和美。 墙是白的，最近刚粉刷过， 这朵花在傍晚的霞光中，是生命的真实，易腐烂的，脆弱而芬芳的。 这个女人没有注意到它，走了过去，没有看一眼 但花朵仍然存在，独立的，易于毁灭的。
The sky had cleared and the sun was setting in a cloudless sky, brick-red, big and unnoticed. The trees were bare and hundreds of birds were there taking rest before going to their shelter for the night; they were noisy but not as noisy as they would be among the leaves, settled down before darkness came. Love is not pity nor is it the acceptance of relationship, with its jealousies, anxieties and guilt; it is not the nurturing kindliness of rich experience nor is it the help that you give to another. It is none of these things. If you knew it; it would not be love. All the cars were going to the big hotel, there was some kind of function there, all the important and rich were going there but not that flower nor that woman.
天空放晴了 太阳落在万里无云的天空中，砖红色的，大，没有被注意。 树木光秃秃的，数百只鸟在那里休息，然后去窝里过夜； 它们很吵，但不像在树叶中那样嘈杂，在黑暗来临之前安定了下来。 爱不是怜悯，也不是对关系的接受，带着嫉妒、焦虑和内疚； 它不是由丰富的体验而滋养出的体贴，也不是你给予他人的帮助。 这些都不是。如果你知道它；它就不是爱。 所有的车都开往这个大酒店， 那里有某种功能， 所有重要和富有的人都去了那里，却没有那朵花，也没有那个女人。
Experience only strengthens the past, conditioning the experiences that come. Experience with its knowledge is never the way of wisdom. That immensity came without any yesterday, pure, impenetrable, alone.
体验只会加强这个过去，限制即将到来的体验。 体验及其知识，从来都不是智慧的方式。 那浩瀚来了，没有任何的昨天，纯净，坚不可摧，自在。
It was an old tomb in the middle of a wide enclosure with thick brick walls, well proportioned, high and there were towers at the four corners; there were green lawns, trees, flowers and in the old days, fountains and water channels. It is rather beautiful and it must have been much more when the tomb was respected. There must be many acres within those walls and there were people everywhere, picnic parties, students and young girls and boys playing. It was a pleasant afternoon, with sun on the trees. The dome was of marble, onion shaped and though there were people, there was the quiet solitude of a garden that was not used much. If you went there on weekdays there was hardly anyone, except a few tourists with their cameras but you would be surprised by the solitude that was there. The late afternoon made long shadows and the sky was blue, the blue of northern skies. There were parrots about, green with sharp red curving beaks; they had nests in the walls around the marble tomb; they were coming in from the surrounding country, screeching, zigzagging in their flight. Perched on the walls, they were motionless light; their long tails were the green of early spring and their wings were late spring and their red beaks shone, made more red by the evening sun; high up there, they were startlingly beautiful and frail. Clouds were gathering around the sun and there was solitude. It was not a thing that you ran after but it was there, in splendour; it surrounded you, it held you. It maintained its purity even though you were in it; nothing could soil it, the noises, the laughing children and the passing tourists. You stayed in it, separate; you had come upon it, unexpectedly, just as, turning round a corner, you met an old friend. You were still separate from it, isolated in your own world; but soon you were of it, without a barrier, without thought. The whole of your consciousness, every little movement of feeling was taken over by it. It didn’t absorb you, like a toy does a child; it would never leave you again. You couldn’t lose it; it was not yours to keep to lose. All the yesterdays were gone and it was not an experience. There is experience only when the dead revives only to die again. Experience is changing recognition and recognition is part of the known. Continuity of the known brings sorrow and the ache of time. But here there was no experience, something to be gained, added on to the past. It was there and every leaf, every bird and the blade of grass were not something different from it. Love is that solitude; it is always alone.
它是一座古老的坟墓，正中是宽大的围墙，墙砖厚重， 坟墓的比例匀称、高耸、四个角落处立有塔楼； 有绿色的草坪，树木，鲜花，在以前，有喷泉和水道。 它很美丽，当坟墓受到尊重时，它一定更美丽。 这围墙之内，一定有很多英亩 这里到处都是人，野餐，派对， 学生们、年轻的女孩子和男孩子在玩耍。 它是一个愉快的下午，阳光照在这些树上。 坟墓的圆顶是大理石的，洋葱形的， 虽然这里有很多人，它却有一种安静的寂寥，在这个没有被过度使用的墓园内。 如果你在工作日去那里，几乎没有人， 除了少数带着相机的游客 但你会惊讶于那里的寂寥。 日头向西，阴影渐长，天是蓝的，北方的蓝天。 周围有鹦鹉，绿色的，带着尖锐的、红色的、弯曲的喙； 他们在大理石墓周围的墙壁上筑巢； 他们从周围的乡村进来，尖叫着，曲折地飞行。 它们栖息在墙壁上，一动不动； 它们长长的尾巴是早春的绿色 它们的翅膀是晚春的，红色的喙闪闪发光，被夕阳染红； 在那里，他们非常美丽和脆弱。 乌云聚集在太阳周围，有寂寥。 它不是你所追逐的东西，但它就在那里，在灿烂中； 它包围着你，它抱着你。 即使你身处其中，它也保持着它的纯洁； 没有什么可以弄脏它，这些嘈杂声，这些欢笑的孩子们和过往的游客。 你待在里面，分开； 你意外地遇见它，很巧，在转角处，你遇见一个老朋友。 你仍然与它分开，孤立于你自己的世界里； 但很快你就属于它了，没有一围栅栏，没有思想。 你的整個意識，每一丝感情波动，都被它接管了。 它没有像玩具那样吸引你；它再也不会离开你了。 你无法失去它；它不是你能够保留和遗失的东西。 所有的昨天都消逝了，它不是一个体验。 只有当死者复活而又湮灭时，才有体验。 体验正在改变认知，认知是已知的一部分。 已知事物的延续，带来了悲伤和痛苦，于时间的领域。 但在这里没有体验，没有可获得的、可添加到过去的东西。 它在那里，每一片叶子、每只鸟和每一片草叶都与它无异。 爱是那种寂寥；它一直独立。
The sun was setting in fire; every cloud was aflame and all the clouds had gathered [with “come” written above] around the sun; there was not one left, all were there burning. All light was there and the birds were silent for the night. Again that incredible immensity was there filling the heavens and the earth.
太阳正在点火； 每一片云都燃烧起来，所有的云都聚集[上面写着“来到”]在太阳周围； 一片都不剩，都在燃烧。 所有的光都在那里，鸟儿们安静的入夜了。 再一次，那不可思议的浩瀚充满这天地。
It was a cloudy morning, cold, without a leaf stirring; there was a mist among the trees and the lawn was heavy with dew and every petal was covered with it. So early in the morning, there was no noise, not even a dog barked. It was a silence that was strangely alive, full of movement and you were part of it. It was a movement that had no origin, it was there without an end. There was not a bird awake and in that stillness, even the slightest sound was an explosion and your body lay still, without thought and feeling. Thought is never free, no reaction can ever be, and every action of that reaction is inaction, though it appear to be very active. Out of this inaction, which is called action, confusion and misery grows; it is the ground in which mischief and mediocrity are bred. Far away, suddenly, the note of a flute exploded, it was a beginner who was playing it. A single note; it was not romantic, it was not in the hands of an expert; it was not played to entertain; in that silence, it had depth, it was pure, it had the quality of unheard melody. That note was being played over and over again, till dawn came and birds began to sing. But that silence persisted, widening with greater depth. It was not more, there was no comparison, the active present had no borders of time. And an aeroplane was coming in to land. And the day had begun.
一个多云的早晨，寒冷，没有一片叶子在摆动； 林间有一丝雾气 草坪上结满了露水，每一片花瓣上都沾着它。 时间还很早，没有声音，甚至没有狗叫声。 它是一种寂静，奇怪的活泼，完全地洋溢，你属于它的一部分。 它是一场没有起源的运动，它在那里，没有尽头。 没有一只鸟醒着，在那静止中， 即使是最轻微的声音也是一个爆炸，你的身体静止不动，没有思想和感觉。 思想永远是不自由的，任何反应也是， 反应的每一个动作都是无所作为，尽管它看起来非常活跃。 这种无所作为，被称之行为，使得困惑和痛苦生长； 它是滋生灾难和平庸的土壤。 在远处，突然间，一声笛音爆炸了，一个初学者在吹奏它。 一个单音符；它不是浪漫的，不是在专家的手中； 它不是为了娱乐而吹奏的； 在那寂静中，它有深度，它是纯洁的，它有从未听过的旋律的品质。 那个音符一遍又一遍地吹奏，直到黎明来临，鸟儿们开始唱歌。 但这种寂静持续着，以更甚的深度扩大。 它不是更多，没有比较，这个活跃的现在，没有时间的边界。 一架飞机降落了。这一天开始了。
There were four parrots on that old tree; they had their nests in the dying trunk; they flew in screeching and became quiet as they settled on the branches; they were endlessly fidgeting, hanging on by their red beaks, to go to a higher branch or to lower themselves. They were lighter green than the leaves, their long tails almost the colour of new leaves; once they got among the leaves it was difficult to spot them; light was colour and colour was light. There were others on other trees but those four on the dying tree seemed to have captured the whole light of heaven. They were intense, ready to fly on the instant, gravely playful; from this distance their eyes couldn’t be seen but their curving red beaks shone in the morning sun. From that window, with traffic roaring by, they seemed so utterly indifferent to the human world but in flocks they came in from the outlying fields and groves to settle for the night among the ruins of old tombs or among the trees that man had planted. You couldn’t take your eyes off them and there was joy in their very existence. A motive to joy is the death of joy. They were the flowers of the sky and looking at them from that room where there was pain, it seemed so incredible that these green birds could exist. Everywhere there was sorrow and pain, decay and corruption and that light among the leaves, moving, restless beauty that knew no pain; they would die, killed or put in a cage but they had tomorrow, there was no time for them; they neither lived for today or for tomorrow; they just lived, the green delight of heaven. Death is time; every thought intensifies time and the many yesterdays had shaped thought, moulded it to fashion tomorrow. But love had no tomorrow nor had it a yesterday. It was the only thing that had no time and it was there, green among the wintry leaves. Sorrow and love cannot live together. Sorrow has a motive, self-pity and memory; every tear is of time, a remembrance and sorrow grows in the soil of time. You cannot be free of sorrow if you are not free of time; they are inseparable as the shadow of that electric pole. Sorrow is in the shadow not in the fact, in the what is. Fact has no time but thought about the fact has. As you were aware of those parrots, the traffic, the pain, in that expanding attention, only fact remained and time was not and even the fact was gone, ceased to have meaning, and [there was] only this attention in which everything was, for it was beyond time and measure.
那棵老树上有四只鹦鹉； 它们在枯死的树干里筑巢； 它们尖叫着飞翔，落在树枝上时，则变得安静； 它们无休止地折腾，用红色的喙悬挂，去更高的或低于它们自己的树枝。 它们的绿比叶子浅，长长的尾巴几乎是新叶的颜色； 一旦它们进入叶子之间，就很难发现它们； 光就是色，色即是光。 在其他的树上，还有其他的动物 但是，在枯树上的那四只，似乎已经捕捉到整个天堂的光芒。 它们很激烈，随时准备飞翔，严肃地嬉戏； 从这个距离，看不见它们的眼睛 但它们弯曲的红色喙在清晨的阳光下闪亮。 从那扇窗口，随着交通的呼啸而过， 它们似乎对人类世界完全漠不关心。 但是，它们成群结队地，从郊外的田野和树林里，到这儿来过夜 在古墓的废墟中，或者人类种植的树木中。 你无法把你的眼睛从它们身上移开，它们的存在本身就是欢乐。 一个欢乐的动机，就是欢乐的死亡。 它们是天空的花，从那个房间里看它们，是痛苦的， 竟然存在这些绿色的鸟，真是不可思议。 遍地是悲伤和痛苦，恶化和腐败 而树叶间的那光，跳动的，无休止的美，不认识痛苦； 它们会死，被杀死或被关在笼子里 但它们有明天，它们没有时间； 它们既不为今天而活，也不为明天而活； 它们只是活着，天堂的绿光。 死亡即是时间； 每一个思想都在强化时间 许多的昨天雕刻出思想，塑造着它去成为明天的时尚。 但爱没有明天，也没有昨天。 它是唯一没有时间的东西，它就在那里，在冬叶的绿色里。 悲伤和爱不能共存。 悲伤有一个动机、自怜和记忆； 每一滴眼泪都是属于时间，回忆和悲伤扎根在时间的土壤里。 如果你没有解放时间，你就无法摆脱悲伤； 它们就像那根电线杆的影子一样形影不离。 悲伤在影子里，而不在事实中，不在什么是中。 事实没有时间，但是，去考虑这个事实，就有。 正如你意识到那些鹦鹉，交通，痛苦，在那不断扩大的注意中， 只剩下事实，没有时间 甚至事实也消逝了，不再有意义， 那么，[这里]唯有这种注意，在这注意中，一切都在，因为它脱离了时间和衡量。
But you could not get to it through that window or through any door; there is no way to it. Neither tears nor time will open the door to the eternal. You must die without effort, without a cry and then perhaps as you turn along the road it will be there. But it is not.
你却无法通过那扇窗户或任何一扇门而获得它； 没有获取它的途径。眼泪和时间都无法打开通往这永恒的大门。 你必须死，毫不费力地、不带一滴眼泪地死去 那么，或许，当你沿着这条路转弯时，它会在那里。 却不是它。
It is a lovely morning, clear and full of perfume; the sky has been very blue and this morning, it is bluer still and it is so close to the earth, so close to the little garden with its few flowers and the dew soaked lawn. Every flower was open to the sky, to the sun that was just coming over the trees. There were hardly any shadows and the flowers were waiting for the sun to touch them. A jet was streaking across the sky with a roar and the blue sky contained all the beauty and the mischief of man; the earth was swallowed up in that blue, in that immensity. A stray dog walked in; it was brushed, clean, fur shining, tail wagging. It was very friendly and it looked straight at you and you were the dog, the flowers and the heavens. Two mynahs were strutting on the lawn and a vendor passed calling out his goods. It was part of the morning so utterly far away and everything was aware of this fragrance; nothing could be hurt, there would be no sorrow, no guilt or the fear of tomorrow for that delicate perfume was everywhere. It wasn’t some fanciful mysticism, some mischief of the mind but a very real thing, as real as those two birds and that friendly dog. You would be aware of it had you been there and it wasn’t an experience, leaving a mark on thought, adding more to the already known. Every experience is a reaction of the known, recognizable by the known, by the uncounted days of the past; every experience darkens the immediacy of life and floods the memory. It was not between yesterday and tomorrow and all experience is caught in time. It wasn’t an experience to be repeated; repetition is the projection of the past, the known, but it wasn’t the known for there was no centre, the known which is always gathering, experiencing, asking, seeking. But that perfume was there, not the word, not the thing you buy in a shop nor the incense, awakening sensation, of the church and the temple; you couldn’t capture it and keep it in the decaying corners of memory. It was there and your heart and mind were of it; it wouldn’t leave you for you were not there. The immense was there, the unknowable and the unexperiencable, and time had come to an end. All this is not imagination, to pick and choose; the brain, the thing of time, was utterly quiet, without its familiar movement and the whole of the mind was completely still. It was there unapproachable in its strength and beauty. The dog had gone and the noise of the day had begun and the postman came with letters.
这是一个可爱的早晨，清明，充满着芬芳； 天空已经很蓝了， 这天早上，天更蓝了，离地球那么地近， 那么地靠近这个小花园，里面有几朵花和被露水浸透的草坪。 每一朵花都向天空敞开，向刚从树上升起的太阳敞开。 几乎没有任何阴影，花儿们在等待阳光触摸它们。 一架喷气式飞机带着轰鸣声划过天空 蓝天包含了人类所有的美丽和灾难； 在那蓝色中，大地被吞噬了，吞入在那浩瀚中。 一只流浪狗走了进来；它清洁过自己，干净，皮毛闪闪发光，尾巴摇曳。 非常友好，直视着你 你是这只狗、这些花和天空。 两个八哥在草坪上大步走来，一个小贩路过，叫着他的货物。 它是这个早晨的一部分，异常地遥远，一切都意识到这芬芳； 没有什么会受伤，不会有悲伤、内疚或对明天的惊恐 因为那美妙的芬芳无处不在。 它不是什么异想天开的神秘主义，这颗头脑的某个灾难。 而是一件非常真实的东西，就像那两只鸟和那只友好的狗一样真实。 如果你在那里，你会意识到它 它不是一次体验，于思想上留下印记，为已知的内容增添更多。 每一次体验都是发源于已知的反应，可被已知识别，已知，就是那无数个日子的过去； 每一次体验都暗淡了生命的逼近，淹没在记忆里。 它不在昨天和明天之间，所有的体验都被时间套牢。 它不是一个可以重复的体验； 重复是过去的影子，是已知的投射， 但它并不是已知，因为没有中心， 已知总是在聚集、体验、询求、寻找。 但那芬芳就在那里，而不是这个词， 不是你在商店里买的东西，也不是香气，那种在教堂和寺庙里的、被唤醒的感觉； 你无法捕捉它，并把它保存在记忆的腐朽的角落里。 它在那里，你的心灵和头脑属于它；它不会离开你，因为你不在那里。 浩瀚就在那里，这不可知的，不可体验的，时间已经终结。 这一切都不是想象，被挑拣的； 这颗大脑，这个时间的东西，是完全安静的， 没有了它熟悉的动作，整颗头脑完全地静止。 它是无法接近的，在它的力量和美中。 这条狗走了，一天的喧嚣开始了，邮递员带着信来了。
A group of about a dozen parrots were flying low, screeching at the setting sun; their flight was noisy always, singly or in groups and that evening they seem to be more loud than ever. They were returning from their day in the country, for the night, to the shelter of the trees in town, and seemed to be very excited to get back. It had been a lovely day, there was the touch of the spring and there were a few clouds making the sky more blue. The ancient and modern domes faded into the sky and the trees were still bare, open to the sky; that evening every thing was open to it and the mind had no secrets. Every corner of it was exposed and in its exposure lost its shape; every region of the mind was the beginning of the new. Thirty or forty crows were sitting on a bare tree of many branches, their black bills caught in the evening sun; others were taking their bath in a puddle, cawing, calling, complaining and shouting their delight. There were mynahs fluttering around the puddle, trying to have their bath if the crows allowed them. There was a great delight among the trees and among the birds and the few men that passed by were not too wrapped up in their own affairs. There was the slip of the new, young moon, just a line, just a suggestion and there was the beauty of a day that was over. A woman in a green sari was carrying a big bundle on her head, her arms swinging freely by her side. You have to die to all things to be aware of this beauty that had no resting place; you couldn’t find it if you sought it; it was not in the museums, in books nor in faces; the smile fades and there are tears. You would never find it if you set out to capture it. You have to die to all things that you have pursued. You have to die not knowing; you have to die without a purpose, without a motive, maturing in a day and dying in a day, without a past. An aeroplane droned overhead, somebody was taking flying lessons and above the plane were the vultures, endlessly circling, without a beat of the wings; there was delight in their movement but soon they would be coming down to be lost in the darkness of the night. You lived for something, you worked for something and your life was intended for something. You had to be useful to society; everything had its use and you of course were of the highest use — for the church, for the government, for the revolutionary. What was the use of that leaf, that flower and those birds taking their evening bath? But that beauty cannot be used; it had no value, there was no market for it and all life is travail and sorrow. Without that beauty there is no love.
一群鹦鹉在低空飞翔，大概有一打，对着夕阳尖叫； 他们的飞行总是嘈杂的，不论是单独或成群 那天晚上，他们似乎比以往任何时候都更吵。 他们从乡下回来， 晚上，回到镇上树林的庇护所， 似乎很兴奋地回来了。 这是可爱的一天， 有春天的触感，有几朵云使天空更加蔚蓝。 古代和现代的墓顶消失在天空中，树依然裸体，向天空敞开； 那天晚上，每个东西都对它敞开心扉，这颗头脑没有秘密。 它的每一个角落都暴露在外，在暴露中失去了它的形状； 这颗头脑的每一处，都是新的开始。 三四十只乌鸦坐在一棵有着许多树枝的裸树上， 他们的黑色喙被傍晚的阳光捕捉到； 其他的鸟儿们在水坑里洗澡，咕咕叫，相互呼唤，抱怨和喊出他们的高兴。 有八哥在水坑周围飞来飞去，如果乌鸦允许的话，他们试图洗澡。 在树林和鸟儿之间，有巨大的高兴 而路过的那几个男人，并没有太忙于他们自己的事情。 新月滑入，年轻的月亮，只是一条线，只是一个建议 一天的美好结束了。 一个穿着绿色纱丽的女人头上顶着一个大包袱，她的手臂在她身旁自由摆动。 你必须向一切死去，才能意识这没不息之地的美； 如果你寻找，你就找不到它； 它不在博物馆里，不在书本上，也不在脸上；笑脸褪色，有了泪水。 如果你开始捕捉它，你永远不会获得它。 你必须葬送你所追求的一切。 你必须去死，而不去认识； 你必须去死，不带着一个意图，没有一个动机，在一天中成熟，在一天中死去，没有一丝的过去。 一架飞机在头顶嗡嗡作响， 有人在上飞行课 飞机上方是秃鹫，无休止地盘旋，没有拍打翅膀； 他们的运动是快乐的 但很快他们就会下来，消失在黑夜中。 你为某个东西而活，你为某个东西而工作，你的命被某个东西左右着。 你必须对社会有用； 一切都有它的用处，你当然有最高的用处 —— 为了教会，为了政府，为了革命。 那片叶子、那朵花和那些晚上洗澡的鸟儿们有什么用？ 但那个美是不能被使用的； 它没有价值，市场上找不到它，所有的生命都是艰辛和悲伤。 没有这种美，就没有爱。
The clouds were gathering around the sun leaving the sky empty. Every bird was now silent and the trees were withdrawing for the night. The moon was too young to cast any shadow but that would come later as she grew older. Innocency and youth were always with death, with the ending of thought. And with death comes that immensity, unapproachable, measureless. And it was there.
云层聚集在太阳周围，使得天空空无一物。 现在，每只鸟都安静了，树木正在回家过夜。 月亮太小，不能投下任何阴影，但随着她年龄的增长，会出现的。 纯真和青春总是伴随着死亡，伴随着思想的终结。 随着死亡而来的，是那浩瀚，无法接近的，无法衡量的。 而它，就在那里。