悉达多讲的什么 名著精读:《悉达多》-船伕(6)

名著精读:《悉达多》-船伕(6)  

And time after time
his smile became more similar to the ferryman's
became almost just as bright
almost just as throughly glowing with bliss
just as shining out of thousand small wrinkles
just as alike to a child's
just as alike to an old man's. Many travellers
seeing the o ferrymen
thought they were brothers. Often
they sat in the evening together by the bank on the log
said nothing and both listened to the water
which was no water to them
but the voice of life
the voice of what exists
of what is eternally taking shape. And it happened from time to time that both
when listening to the river
thought of the same things
of a conversation from the day before yesterday
of one of their travellers
the face and fate of whom had occupied their thoughts
of death
of their childhood
and that they both in the same moment
when the river had been saying something good to them
looked at each other
both thinking precisely the same thing
both delighted about the same answer to the same question.
There was something about this ferry and the o ferrymen which was transmitted to others
which many of the travellers felt. It happened occasionally that a traveller
after having looked at the face of one of the ferrymen
started to tell the story of his life
told about pains
confessed evil things
asked for fort and advice. It happened occasionally that someone asked for permission to stay for a night with them to listen to the river. It also happened that curious people came
who had been told that there were o wise men
or sorcerers
or holy men living by that ferry. The curious people asked many questions
but they got no answers
and they found neither sorcerers nor wise men
they only found o friendly little old men
who seemed to be mute and to have bee a bit strange and gaga. And the curious people laughed and were discussing how foolishly and gullibly the mon people were spreading such empty rumours.
The years passed by
and nobody counted them. Then
at one time
monks came by on a pilgrimage
followers of Gotama
the Buddha
who were asking to be ferried across the river
and by them the ferrymen were told that they were most hurriedly walking back to their great teacher
for the news had spread the exalted one was deadly sick and would soon die his last human death
in order to bee one with the salvation. It was not long
until a new flock of monks came along on their pilgrimage
and another one
and the monks as well as most of the other travellers and people walking through the land spoke of nothing else than of Gotama and his impending death. And as people are flocking from everywhere and from all sides
when they are going to war or to the coronation of a king
and are gathering like ants in droves
thus they flocked
like being drawn on by a magic spell
to where the great Buddha was awaiting his death
where the huge event was to take place and the great perfected one of an era was to bee one with the glory.
Often
Siddhartha thought in those days of the dying wise man
the great teacher
whose voice had admonished nations and had awoken hundreds of thousands
whose voice he had also once heard
whose holy face he had also once seen with respect. Kindly
he thought of him
saw his path to perfection before his eyes
and remembered with a smile those words which he had once
as a young man
said to him
the exalted one. They had been
so it seemed to him
proud and precocious words; with a smile
he remembered them. For a long time he knew that there was nothing standing beeen Gotama and him any more
though he was still unable to accept his teachings. No
there was no teaching a truly searching person
someone who truly wanted to find
could accept. But he who had found
he could approve of any teachings
every path
every goal
there was nothing standing beeen him and all the other thousand any more who lived in that what is eternal
who breathed what is divine.