Chapter 52 "prophet"

(Lebanon) by Gibran sequence Gibran was born in Mount Lebanon in 1883.He went to the United States when he was twelve years old, and returned to the East two years later, where he entered the Ahima University in Beirut. In 1903, he went to the United States again and lived there for five years, mostly in Boston.After that, he went to Paris to study painting, and at the same time roamed around Europe. He returned to New York in 1912 and lived there for a long time. At this time, he wrote many books in Arabic, some of which have been translated into languages ​​of various European countries.Later, he wrote several books in English, such as The Madman (The Madman, 1918), The Forerunner (1920), The Prophet (1923), Jesus the Son of Man (1928), etc. Published at Knuff Books in New York -- is his most popular work.

That's all I know about the author's life.I also know that Rodin, the famous French sculptor, called him the Blake of the twentieth century; I also know that his works have been translated into 18 languages ​​and are warmly welcomed everywhere. I read this book from a friend in the United States in the winter of 1927. Its superb philosophy and fluent words full of oriental flavor left a deep impression on me!In the spring of 1928, I asked my classmates in the "workout" class to translate it segment by segment.Somehow later, the translation was never collected.In March 1930, I was bored on the sick bed, so I read it again and felt that this book was worth translating, so I translated it paragraph by paragraph.From April 18th of that year, it was published daily in the literary supplement of Tianjin Yishibao.Unfortunately, the supplement stopped soon, and my translation did not continue.

It was only this summer that I translated it in one go.I feel many difficulties. Philosophical prose is inherently difficult to translate, and philosophical prose poetry is even more difficult to translate.I am confident that I will try my best, but there are still many words and sentences in the book. After the translation is finalized, I still have infinite hesitation. This is my first translation work, and I would like to receive corrections and guidance from readers. Eight, twenty-three, nineteen thirty-one.Bing Xin The dawn of this age, the chosen and beloved Almustafa, waited twelve years in the city of Orphalese for his ship to return to the island where he had been born.

On the seventh day of the harvest month of Jelool in the twelfth year, he went out of the city and climbed to the top of the hill, and gazed toward the sea; and he saw his ship coming in the smoke. The door of his heart was flung open, and his joy soared across the sea.He closed his eyes and prayed in the stillness of his soul. But when he went up the mountain, a sudden sadness hit him.He thought to himself: How can I walk so peacefully without some sadness?No, I want to leave this city without trauma. In this siege, I have spent long painful days and lonely nights; who can leave this pain and loneliness without some regrets?

I have sprinkled too many fragmented spirits in this street market, and there are too many my beloved children walking naked in this mountain. I can't help but feel burdened and sad when I leave them. It is not that I have cast off a piece of clothing today, but that I have torn off a piece of my skin with my own hands. Nor do I forsake a thought, but a sweet heart wrought with hunger and thirst. But I can't stay any longer. The sea that calls all things, calls me too, and I must come aboard. Because, if I stay here, my thoughts, although they are still hot and vigorous at night, will gradually turn cold and turn to stone.

How happy I would be to take everything here, but how could I? No sound can take away the tongue and lips that gave him wings.He himself must seek the "ether". The hawk must also leave his nest and fly alone across the sun. Now he came to the foot of the mountain and turned to face the sea again. He saw his boat sailing slowly into the mouth of the bay, and those boatmen at the bow were the people from his hometown. Then his spirit called out to them, saying: Tidemakers, my mother's children, how many times have you floated in my dreams.Now you come in my deeper dreams, when I wake up.

I'm ready to go, my longing and the sail are ripped up, waiting for the wind. I only need one more breath in this still air, I only need to throw back another loving glance, Then I will stand among you, a voyager of voyagers. And you, this boundless sea, sleepless mother, you alone are the peace and freedom of the rivers and streams. One more turn of the stream, one murmur in the woods, and then I will come to you, the immeasurable trickle down to the immeasurable ocean. As he was walking, he saw from a distance many men and women leaving the fields and hurrying to the edge of the city.

He heard them calling his name, calling to each other in the fields, to announce the approach of his ship. He said to himself: Can a day of separation be a day of gathering? Is my twilight really my dawn? What shall I give to those who have let down the plow for plowing and the wheel for pressing wine? Can my heart become a fruitful tree that can be plucked and distributed to them? Can my wishes flow like a fountain, can they fill their cups? Am I a harp that the hand of the Almighty might play, or a flute that the Almighty can play? I am a seeker of stillness.In silence, what treasures have I discovered that I can give with confidence?

If this is the day of my harvest, when and where did I sow the seed? If this is indeed the time when I lift up the lamp, then I did not light the flame in the lamp. I will lift up my lamp in emptiness and darkness, and the watchmen will add oil and light the fire. These are what he said out of his mouth, and there are many unspoken things in his heart.Because he couldn't tell the deeper secrets in his heart. When he entered the city, all the people came to meet him and called out to him with one voice. The elders of the city came forward and said: You don't leave us yet. In our twilight, you are the trendy person at noon, and your youthful demeanor gives us dreams.

You are neither a stranger nor a guest among us, but our son and dear lover. Do not make our eyes sore with longing for your face. A group of Taoists and female crowns said to him: Don't let Haibo separate us at this time, making the years you spent among us just a memory. You were a god who walked among us, and your shadow shone brightly in our faces. We love you dearly.But our love has no sound, and is covered by a light veil. But now he will call out to you and reveal himself before you.Love will never know its depth unless it comes time to part. Others also came to him and entreated him.He didn't answer.He only bowed his head; those near him saw his tears fall on the socks.

He and the others walked slowly towards the square in front of the temple. A woman named Almacha came out of the temple, and she was a prophet. He watched her with infinite tenderness, for she was one of the first people he had sought to believe him, on his first day in town. She congratulated him, saying: Prophet of God, supreme seeker, you have often looked afar for your sails. Now your ship has come, and you must return. So deep is your longing for the home of memories and the abode of your greater desires that our love cannot bind you nor our needs detain you. But before you leave, we ask you to speak the truth to us. We are to pass this truth on to our children, and they pass it on to their children, on and on. In your solitude you have guarded our day; in your waking hours you have listened to our cries and laughter in our sleep. Now please reveal to us our "true selves" and tell us everything you know about life and death. He replied: People of Orphales, what can I say but that which now stirs in your souls?Ai Ermacha said: Please tell us about love. He looked up at the crowd, and they fell silent for a moment.He said in a loud voice: When love calls to you, follow him, though his way is hard and steep. Yield to him when his wings enclose you, though the blade hidden among the feathers may wound you. And when he speaks to you, believe in him, though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the gardens. Though love crowns you, he will crucify you.Though he cultivated you, he also pruned you. Though he ascends to your highest heights, and caresses your trembling branches in the sun, he will come down to your roots, and shake every joint of your roots, and bring them to the ground. Like a sheaf of millet, he gathers you together. He beats you and makes you naked. He sifts you to shed your husks. He grinds you until you are white.He kneads you until pliable; then he sends you to his holy fire, and makes you the bread of God's feast. These are all things that love will do for you, to make you know the secrets of your own heart, and in this knowledge you become a speck in the heart of life. If in your doubts you seek only love's peace and love's pleasure, it is better that you cover your nakedness, and escape love's sifting, into the seasonless world, where you will laugh, but not as much as you can. Smile; you will weep, but not dry your tears. Love gives nothing but itself, love receives nothing but itself. Love neither possesses nor is possessed. For love is fulfilled in love. When you love, you don't say, "God is in my heart," but, "I am in God's heart." Don't think you can guide the course of love, because if he finds you worthy, he will guide you. Love has no other wish but to fulfill itself. But if you love and need wishes, let the following be your wishes: Melting yourself, like a stream singing songs to the clear night. To know the pain of excessive tenderness. Let your knowledge of love mutilate yourself; and bleed willingly and joyfully. Wake up in the morning and give thanks with joy for another day of love; rest during the day and meditate on the joy of love; when the tide ebbs, go home thankful; In your heart there are songs of praise on your lips. Ermacha said again, master, what about marriage? He replied: You were born together, and you will be one forever. And they shall be one when the white wings of death separate your days. Ay, be united even in the silent remembrance of God. But in your oneness, there is a gap. Let the wind of heaven dance among you. Love one another, but make no chains of love: Just let him be a moving sea among the sandy shores of your souls. Fill each other's cup, but drink not from the same cup. Give each other bread, but don't eat from the same loaf. Dancing and singing together happily, yet leaving each other alone, even the strings on the harp are alone though they vibrate to the same tune. Give each other your hearts, but withhold not each other. Because only the hand of life can hold your heart. To stand together, but not too close together: For the pillars of the temple were also set apart, neither did the oak and the cypress grow in each other's shade. Then a woman with a child in her arms said, Please tell us about the child. He said: Your children are not your children. They are the children that life desires for itself. They come through you, but not from you; they are with you, but they do not belong to you. You may give them love, but not thoughts. Because they have their own minds. You may shade their bodies, but not their souls. Because their souls live in tomorrow's house, which you can't even imagine in your dreams. You may try to imitate them, but you cannot make them like you. For life does not go backwards nor stay with yesterday. You are the bow from which your children are the arrows of life. The shooter sees the target in the infinite, and he also draws you all with divine power, causing his arrow to shoot out quickly and far away. Let your bending be joy in the hand of the archer; for he loves the arrow that flies, and the bow that is still. Then a rich man said, please tell us about giving. He replied: When you give your inheritance to others, it is only a small amount. When you give with your body, that is real giving. For are not your possessions things which you keep in fear that you may need them tomorrow? But tomorrow, the careless dog will follow the pilgrim to the holy city, but bury his bone in the untraceable sand, what can he give him tomorrow? What is need to fear but need itself? When you are thirsty when the well is full, is not your thirst more difficult to quench? There are those who have much, and give but little of it—they give for the sake of fame, and the hidden lust makes their gifts imperfect. Some people have only a little property, but they give it all to others. These people believe in life and its abundance, and their treasure chests are never empty. Those who give joyfully give, and that joy is their reward. Some people give painlessly, and that painlessness is their baptism. There are also people who give, but they don't feel that giving is painless, they don't seek happiness, and they don't have the heart to do good; Their giving is like sweet-scented osmanthus in the valley over there, the fragrance floats in the air. From the hands of these men, God speaks; behind their eyes, God bends down and smiles upon the earth. It is good to give when asked; it is better to give unasked, but by metaphor. To a benevolent man, the pleasure of seeking help from those in need is greater than that of giving. Is there anything you must keep? There will be a day when all that is yours will be given away; give now, for the time to give is your own, not your posterity's. You often say, "I will give, but only to those who deserve it." Say not so to the trees in your orchard, and your sheep in your pasture. They give in order to live, because to keep is to destroy. Whoever deserves the day and the night, deserves all that you give. Whoever is worthy to drink from the ocean of life is worthy to fill his cup from your fountain. What virtue is greater than courage, faith, and goodwill to receive? Who can make people open their hearts, strip their pride, so that you can see their naked worth and shameless pride? First examine whether you are worthy of being a giver, and whether you are worthy of being a vessel for giving. Because really, it's just life giving life—you think you're the giver, but you're really just a witness. Those whom you receive—you are all recipients—do not take up the burden of repayment, lest you put a yoke upon yourself and the giver. Better to soar with the giver in the gifts; for to think too much of your debts is to doubt the benevolence of him who has merciful earth as his mother and God as his father. An old man who runs a restaurant said, please tell us about food and drink. He said: I wish you could live on the fragrance of the earth, just as plants are nourished by the sun and the air. Since you must kill for food, and quench your thirst by taking its mother's milk from the mouth of a newborn animal, let it be a godly ritual. Let your food be set upon the altar, that which is pure and innocent of the jungle and the fields, sacrificed for purer and more innocent men. When you kill, say to him in your heart: "Under the power that kills you, I will be killed in the same way, and I will be eaten in the same way. The law that sent you into my hands will send me into the hands of a Greater One. Both your blood and mine are but a kind of sap that waters the tree of heaven. " When you chew an apple, say to it in your heart: "Your seed shall grow in me, and the bud of your afterlife shall sprout in my heart, and your fragrance shall be my breath, and we shall rejoice all year round." In the autumn, when you were picking grapes in the orchard to press the wine, you said to yourself: "I too am a vineyard, and my fruit shall be picked for the winepress. Like new wine, I too will be received in the cup of eternal life. " In winter, when you pour out the wine, let your heart sing to every glass; let that song be a song of autumn and of the vineyard and of the pressing. So a farmer said, please talk to us about work. He replied: You work to move forward with the earth and its spirit. Because love makes you a stranger in an era, a laggard in the life team, which is solemn, proud and obedient, and marching towards infinity. When you work, you are a flute, blowing from your heart the whispers of time into music. Which of you will be a reed pipe, and you will be dumb and silent when all things sing together? You have often heard it said that work is a curse and labor is a misfortune. But I say unto you, while you labored, you wrought out one of the deepest dreams of the earth, and he showed you when that dream began. And while you labored, you did love life. To love life at work is to understand the deepest secret of life. If in your hard work, you write the distress of pregnancy and the curse of nourishing your body on your eyebrows, then I will answer you, only the sweat on your eyebrows can wash away these words. You have also heard it said that life is darkness.In your fatigue you echoed what the tired man said. I say that life is indeed dark unless there is an inspiration; all inspiration is blind except when there is knowledge; all knowledge is vain unless there is work; all work is vain, Unless there is love. When you work lovingly, you are one with yourself, with humanity, and with God. What does it mean to work with love? Weave silk from your heart into a cloth, as if your beloved were to wear it. Build the house with enthusiasm, as if your lover would live in it. Sow tenderly and reap joyfully, as if thy lover were to come and eat the produce. It's about filling everything you make with the breath of your own soul. You must know that all the blessed ancients are watching over you. How often have I heard you say, as if in a dream: "He who expresses the image of his own soul in wax stone is nobler than the man who plows the ground. The person who catches the rainbow and paints it vividly on the cloth is much better than the person who weaves the shoes. " I will say, not in sleep, but in waking noonday, that the wind does not speak sweeter to the great oak than to the slender blade of grass. Only he is great who by his love turns the wind into a sweet song. Work is love that can be seen. If you do not work with joy and loathing, you might as well leave your work and sit at the door of the temple and beg alms from those who work with joy. If you bake your bread listlessly, your bread will be bitter and will only save half a man from hunger. If you squeeze the wine with resentment, your resentment will drip the liquid of worship into the wine. If you can sing like an angel, but don't love to sing, you've blocked the ears of men who hear the sounds of day and night. Then a woman said, Tell us about joy and sorrow. He replied: Your joy is your unmasked sorrow. Even your well that overflows with joy is often filled with your tears. What else? The deeper the scars of sorrow are on you, the more joy you can tolerate. Is not your cup of wine the same as which was burned in the potter's kiln? Isn't the flute that pleases your heart a wooden pipe that has been carved with a sharp knife? When you are happy, look deeply into your heart, and you will know that only what once made you sad is making you happy again. When you mourn, look into your heart again, and you will see that it is indeed that which once pleased you is making you weep again. Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow." Others say, "No, sorrow is greater." But I say to you, they cannot be separated. They come together, and when one sits with you, remember that the other is fast asleep in your bed. Truly, you are scales between sorrow and joy. Only when you are empty can you be still and even. When the treasury keeper lifts you up to weigh his gold and silver, your mourning must rise and fall. So a plasterer came forward and said, please tell us about the living room. He replied: Before you build a house in the city, use your imagination to build a gazebo in the wild. For you have a home in the twilight, and your wandering spirit, more lost and solitary, has a home to return to. Your house is your larger shell. He grows in sunlight, sleeps in the silence of night; and cannot be dreamless.Doesn't your house dream?Don't you dream of leaving the city and climbing mountains into the forest? I wish I could gather your houses in my hand and scatter them like seeds in the jungle and the green fields. May the valley become your market, and the green path become your alley, so that when you visit each other in the vineyard, the fragrance of the earth will be on your clothes. But this is not yet possible. In the fear of your ancestors, they have gathered you too close together.This fear will be extended a little bit.Your walls shall still separate your homes from your fields. Tell me, people of Orphales, what is in your houses?What are you locking the door for? Have you not peace, the stillness and encouragement that express boldness? You have memories, isn't it the brilliant bow bridge that spans the peaks of your heart? You have beauty, is it not that which draws your heart from wood and stone to the holy mountain? Tell me, do you have any of these things in your house? Or do you only have the desire for comfort and comfort, that mysterious thing that creeps in as a guest and gradually becomes a host, and eventually becomes the master? Ay, he becomes a tamer, who with hook and scythe makes a puppet of your greater desires. Although his hands are soft as silk, his heart is made of iron. He hypnotizes you, just stand at your bedside and laugh at the dignity of your flesh. He teases your sane senses, stuffing them in thistle down like flimsy cups and plates. Verily, the desire for comfort kills your spiritual zeal and trots through your funeral procession with a smile. But you sons and daughters of space, you rest in silence, you should not be snatched and domesticated. Your house should not be an anchor, but a mast.It should not be a shiny skin covering a wound, but the eyelash that protects the eye. You should not fold your wings for going through doors, nor bow your head for fear of touching the roof, nor stop breathing for fear of the walls collapsing. You should not live in the grave that the dead make for the living. However splendor and splendor your house may be, it shouldn't make it hide your secrets and veil your wishes. For the infinity within you dwells in the palace of heaven, whose door is dawn and smoke, and the silence and song of night is its window. Then one of the weavers said, Please tell us about clothes. He replied: Your clothes cover up a lot of beauty, but they cannot cover up ugliness. You may find hidden freedom in your clothes, but you have also found pins and restraints. I wish you would face the sun and the wind with more skin and less clothing. For the breath of life is in the sunshine, and the hold of life is in the wind. Some of you say, "It is the North Wind that weaves and clothes us." And I say, Yes, it is the North Wind, but his loom is a shame, and it is his threads that make the sinews weak. When his work was done, he laughed in the woods. Do not forget that shyness is but a shield over unclean eyes. When impurity is completely gone, isn't shyness just a fetter and bondage of the heart? And don't forget that the earth is happy to touch your bare feet, and the wind wants to play with your hair. So a businessman said, please talk to us about business. He replied: The earth offers you fruit, and if you only know how to take it alone, you should not receive it. You will feel abundant and content as you trade the gifts of the earth. However, if it is not exchanged with love and fairness, some people will be gluttons and others will be starved to death. When in the marketplace, you workers of the sea, of the field, and of the vineyard, meet the weavers, potters, and spice-gatherers—invoke the Lord God of the earth to come among you.To sanctify the scales, and the reckoning of worth. Do not allow idlers to join your business, who will exchange words for your labor. Say to such a man: "Go with us to the field, or with our brothers to the sea and cast a net; for the sea and the land are as good to you as they are to us." If those who play flute and sing and dance come, you should also buy their presents. For they are also gatherers of fruit and frankincense, and the things they bring, though dreamy, are food and clothing for your souls. Before you leave the market, see that no one goes home empty-handed. For the Lord God of the earth cannot sleep peacefully in the wind until the needs of each of you are all met. Then one of the judges in this city came forward and said, Please tell us about crime and punishment. He replied: When your spirit is blown with the wind, you are alone and inadvertently wronging others as well as yourself. For the fault committed, you must knock at the door of the Blessed One, and be waited a moment with indifference.Your divinity is like the ocean; he is ever pure and untainted, and like the ether, he only helps the winged to ascend.Their divinity is like the sun; he does not know the path of the field-mouse, nor seeks the den of the snake. But your divinity does not dwell in you alone. Within you, some are still human, and some are not. Just an unformed dwarf who staggers in smoke in his sleep, begging for awakening. What I'm talking about now is your humanity. For it is he who knows sin and its penalty, and not your divinity, nor a dwarf in the smoke. I have often heard you speak of a man who has committed a transgression, as if he were not your fellow man, but a stranger, an intruder in your world. But I say that not even that which is holy and upright is higher than the best that is in each of you. Therefore, the treacherous and cowardly cannot be lower than the extreme evil in your hearts. Like a leaf, it cannot turn yellow by itself unless it has the tacit consent of the whole tree. Therefore, the evildoer would not do evil without the invisible instigation of all of you. As one procession, you march together toward your divinity. You are the Way, and you are the doers of the Way. When one of you stumbles, he stumbles for those behind him, a warning of a stumbling block. Yea, he also stumbled for those before him, for their step, though swift and steady, did not remove the stumbling-block. And this, though the words weigh on your heart: The slain cannot but be responsible for his own murder, and the robbed cannot but be free from responsibility for his being robbed. An upright person is not innocent of the actions of a wicked person. Even the innocent are not immune to the transgressions of sinners. Yes, the criminal is often the victim of the victim, and the prisoner is more often than not the burden of guilt for those who are innocent. You cannot separate the righteous from the unjust, the good from the bad; for they stand together before the sun, like black and white threads woven together, and when the black thread breaks, the weaver examines the whole piece of cloth, Also look at the loom. And if any of you judges an unfaithful wife, let him also have a scale to weigh her husband's heart, and a ruler to measure his soul. Let those who flog the harasser first examine the spirituality of the harassed. If any of you would, in the name of justice, cut down a wicked tree, let him first look at the roots; he would surely see that the roots, good and bad, fruitful and unfruitful, were in the silent heart of the earth. , tangled in one place. You judges who wish to be just, how will you judge those who are loyal and steal from it? How will you punish a man whose body is slain, but his soul is destroyed? How will you accuse the man who acts cunningly and violently, but is in fact bullied and abused? How will you punish those whose regrets outweigh their faults? Isn’t repentance the legal justice that you like to pursue? Yet you cannot place repentance on the innocent, nor take it out of the heart of the sinner. Unexpectedly, it will call in the night to make people wake up and reflect on themselves. You who would understand justice, how will you understand it, unless you observe all deeds in the great light? Only then will you know that who stands and falls is but a man who stands in the evening of dwarf night and divine day, and that the cornerstone of the temple is not higher than the lowest cornerstone . Then a lawyer said, But what about our laws, Master? He replied: You like to legislate, but you also like to break the law. Like the child playing on the seashore, he diligently built the sand tower, and then destroyed it with a smile. But when you build the sand tower, the ocean sends up a lot of sand, and when you destroy the sand tower, the ocean laughs with you again. Verily, the ocean often laughs with the innocent. But what about those people who do not regard life as an ocean and man-made laws as a sand tower? What about him whose life is a rock, and law a chisel which he can carve at will? What about the lame man who hates dancers? What about the man who loves a yoke, and makes the elk of the forest a wandering calf? What about the man who cannot shed himself, but calls all snakes old naked and shameless snakes? What about the man who goes to the wedding feast early, and returns weary, saying, "All feasts are lawless, and those who give them are lawbreakers"? What can I say about these people, except that they stand in the middle of the sun with their backs to the sun? They only see their own shadow.Their shadow is their law. Is the sun not just a projector to them? Acknowledging the law, isn't it just hunched over and looking for shadows on the ground? You who walk only toward the sun, what kind of shadow on earth can catch you? You who sail on the wind, what weathervane shall show your course? Can that man-made law bind you, if you break your shackles at no one's cell door? If you dance without breaking anyone's chains, what law have you to fear? Who will bring you to trial if you tear off your garments and cast them not in anyone's way? People of Orphales, you may muffle the drums and loosen the strings, but who can keep the lark from singing? Then one of the debaters said, Please tell us about liberty. He replied: At the city gates, before the firelight, I have seen you prostrate yourself and worship your Liberty, Even like those captive slaves who bow and praise before slaying their tyrants. Ay, in the grove of the temple, in the shadow of the castle, I have seen the freest of you put on freedom like a chain. My heart is sad, because only the desire for freedom has become a restraint, and when you no longer take freedom as your goal and achievement, you will be free. You are free when your days are not without cares, and your nights are not without wishes and sorrows. Rather, when those things surround your life, and you can transcend naked and unattached, then you are free. But how would you be free from your day and your night, if not in the light of dawn that you know breaks the chains that bind your day air? Truth be told, what you call liberty is the strongest chain, though the links dazzle your eyes in the daylight. Is freedom not a fragment of yourselves?Will you throw it away in exchange for freedom? If that is an unjust law that you would repeal, it was you who wrote it with your own hands on your own brows. Even if you burn your books of the law and pour the whole sea over the foreheads of your judges, you will not be able to wipe them out. If it is a tyrant you wish to dethrone, first see if his throne in your heart is destroyed. For how can a tyrant rule over a free and self-respecting man?Unless their own liberty is despotic, their self-respect is to be ashamed. If it is a concern that you want to throw away, it is your own concern, not something forced on you by others. If it is a terror you wish to destroy, the seat of terror is in your heart, not in the hand of the one you fear. Verily, all things that work in you, desire and terror, hatred and love, pursuit and flight, are eternally embracing each other. These things work in you as light and shadow glued together in pairs. When the shadow disappears, the remaining light turns into a shadow of another light. Thus, when your freedom throws off its shackles, he itself becomes the shackles of a greater freedom. So the female crown said again: Please tell us reason and enthusiasm. He replied: Their hearts are often the battlefield.On the battlefield, your reason and judgment battle your passions and appetites. I wish I could be a mediator in your hearts, so that I can change the elements in your hearts from competition and conflict to unity and harmony. But what can I do but be a mediator yourselves, a lover of the elements within you? Your reason and passion are the rudder and sail of your sailing soul. If your sail or rudder breaks, you can only float, drift, or stay at sea. For reason alone governs, and is a power to imprison; passion, when careless, is a self-immolating flame. Let your mind, therefore, raise your reason to the height of your passion, and let it sing; and let your mind guide your passion with reason, and let it live in the daily resurrection, as the luan soars above its own ashes. I would have you consider judgment and appetite to be the two best guests in your house. Naturally, you cannot salute one guest more than the other; because if you care too much about any one guest, you will lose the friendship and loyalty of both guests. In the mountains, when you sit under the shade of poplars and enjoy the tranquility and peace of the distant fields and fields—you should let your heart say in silence: "God rests in reason." When the hurricane rolls in, and the wind shakes the trees, and the thunder and lightning proclaim the majesty of the firmament—you should let your heart say in awe, "God moves in passion." Just because you are a breath of God's breath, a leaf of God's forest, you also rest with him in reason and in passion. Then a woman said, Please tell us about pain. He said: Your pain is the breaking of your shell of knowledge. Even the core must be broken so that the kernel may be exposed to the sun, so you too must know pain. If you can make your heart often marvel at the wonders of everyday life, your sorrows will be as wonderful as your joys; and you will bear the seasons of your heart's sky, as often as you bear the seasons from the fields. You have to stay still and spend the desolate winter day in your heart. Much pain is of your choice. That is the physician within you, the bitter medicine that heals your sick body. So trust the doctor and take his medicine in silence and peace: Because although his wrist is heavy and hot, it is guided by Mingming's gentle hand. The medicine cup he brings burns your lips, but the clay the potter moistens with his own holy tears. So a man said, please tell us about self-knowledge. He replied: In stillness your heart knows the mysteries of day and night but your ears thirst for the voice of your heart's knowledge. 你愿在意念中所了解的，能从语言中知道。 你愿能用手指去抚触你的赤裸的梦魂。 你要这样做是好的。 你的心灵隐秘的涌泉，必须升溢，吟唱着奔向大海；你的无穷深处的宝藏，必须在你目前呈现。 但不要用秤来衡量你的未知的珍宝，也不要用杖竿和响带去探测你的知识的浅深。 因为自我乃是一片无边无际的海。 不要说“我找到了真理”，只要说“我找到了一条真理”。 不要说“我找到了灵魂的道路”，只要说“我遇见了灵魂在我的道路上行走。” 因为灵魂在一切的道路上行走。 灵魂不只在一条道路上行走，也不是芦草似地生长。 灵魂如同一朵千瓣的莲花，自己开放着。 于是一位教师说，请给我们讲教授。 He said: 除了那已经半睡着，躺卧在你知识的晓光里的东西之外，没有人能向你启示什么。 那在殿宇的荫影里，在弟子群中散步的教师，他不是在传授他的智慧，而是在传授他的忠信与仁慈。 假如他真是大智，他就不命令你进入他的智慧之堂，却要引导你到你自己心灵的门口。 天文家能给你讲述他对于太空的了解，他却不能把他的了解给你。 音乐家能给你唱出那充满太空的韵调，他却不能给你那聆受韵调的耳朵和应和韵调的声音。 精通数学的人能说出度量衡的方位，他却不能引导你到那方位上去。 因为一个人不能把他理想的翅翼借给别人。 Just as God understands each of you differently, so your understanding of God and the earth should also be different. 于是一个青年说，请给我们谈友谊。 He replied: 你的朋友是你的有回答的需求。 他是你用爱播种，用感谢收获的田地。 他是你的饮食，也是你的火炉。 因为你饥渴地奔向他，你向他寻求平安。 当你的朋友向你倾吐胸臆的时候，你不要怕说出心中的“否”，也不要瞒住你心中的“可”。 当他静默的时候，你的心仍要倾听他的心；因为在友谊里，不用言语，一切的思想，一切的愿望，一切的希冀，都在无声的欢乐中发生而共享了。 当你与朋友别离的时候，不要忧伤；因为你感到他的最可爱之点，当他不在时愈见清晰，正如登山者从平原上望山峰，也加倍地分明。 愿除了寻求心灵的加深之外，友谊没有别的目的。 因为那只寻求着要泄露自身的神秘的爱，不算是爱，只算是一个撒下的网，只网住一些无益的东西。 让你的最美好的事物，都给你的朋友。 假如他必须知道你潮水的退落，也让他知道你潮水的高涨。 你找他只为消磨光阴的人，还能算是你的朋友么？ 你要在生长的时间中去找他。 因为他的时间是满足你的需要，不是填满你的空腹。 在友谊的温柔中，要有欢笑和共同的欢乐。 因为在那微末事物的甘露中，你的心能找到他的清晓而焕发精神。 于是一个学者说，请你讲讲谈话。 He replied: 在你不安于你的思想的时候，你就说话。 在你不能再在你心的孤寂中生活的时候，你就要在你的唇上生活，而声音是一种消遣，一种娱乐。 在你许多的谈话里，思想半受残害。 思想是天空中的鸟，在语言的笼里，也许会展翅，却不会飞翔。 你们中间有许多人，因为怕静，就去找多话的人。 在独居的寂静里，会在他们眼中呈现出他们赤裸的自己，他们就想逃避。 也有些说话的人，并没有知识和考虑，却要启示一种他们自己所不明白的真理。 也有些人的心里隐存着真理，他们却不用言语来诉说。 在这些人的胸怀中，心灵居住在有韵调的寂静里。 当你在道旁或市场遇见你朋友的时候，让你的心灵，运用你的嘴唇，指引你的舌头。 让你声音里的声音，对他耳朵的耳朵说话： 因为他的灵魂要噙住你心中的真理。 如同酒光被忘却，酒杯也不存留，而酒味却永远被记念。 于是一个天文家说，夫子，时光怎样讲呢？ He replied: 你要测量那不可量、不能量的时间。 你要按照时辰与季候来调节你的举止，引导你的精神。 你要把时光当做一条溪水，您要坐在岸旁，看它流逝。 但那在你里面无时间性的我，却觉悟到生命的无穷。 也知道昨日只是今日的回忆，而明日只是今日的梦想。 那在你里面歌唱着、默想着的，仍住在那第一刻在太空散布群星的圈子里。 你们中间谁不感到他的爱的能力是无穷的呢？ 又有谁不感到那爱虽是无穷，却是在他本身的中心绕行，不是从这爱的思念移到那爱的思念，也不是从这爱的行为移到那爱的行为么？ 而且时光岂不是也象爱，是不可分析，没有罅隙的么？ 但若是在你的意想里，你定要把时光分成季候，那就让每一季候围绕住其他的季候。 也让今日用回忆拥抱着过去，用希望拥抱着将来。 于是一位城中的长老说，请给我们谈善恶。 He replied: 我能谈你们的善性，却不能谈你们的恶性。 因为，什么是“恶”，不只是“善”被他自身的饥渴所困苦么？ 的确，在“善”饥饿的时候，他肯向黑洞中览食，渴的时候，他也肯喝死水。 当你与自己合一的时候便是“善”。 当你不与自己合一的时候，却也不是“恶”。 因为一个隔断的院宇，不是贼窝，只不过是个隔断的院宇。 一只船失了舵，许会在礁岛间无目的地飘荡而却不至于沉到海底。 当你努力要牺牲自己的时候便是“善”。 当你想法自利的时候，却也不是“恶”。 因为当你设法自利的时候，你不过是土里的树根，在大地的胸怀中啜吸。 果实自然不能对树根说：“你要像我，丰满成熟，永远贡献出你最丰满的一部分。” 因为，在果实，贡献是必需的，正如吸收是树根所必需的一样。 当你在言谈中完全清醒的时候，你是“善”的。 当你在睡梦中，舌头无意识地摆动的时候，却也不是“恶”。 连那失错的言语，有时也能激动柔弱的舌头。 当你勇敢地走向目标的时候，你是“善”的。 你颠顿而行，却也不是“恶”。 连那些跛者，也不倒行。 但你们这些勇健而迅速的人，要警醒，不要在跛者面前颠顿，还自以为仁慈。 在无数的事上，你是“善”的；在你不善的时候，你也不是“恶”的。 你只是流连，荒亡。 可怜那糜鹿不能教给龟鳖快跑。 在你冀求你的“大我”的时候，便隐存着你的善性： 这种冀求是你们每人心中都有的。 但是对于有的人，这种冀求是奔越归海的急湍，挟带着山野的神秘与林木的讴歌。 在其他的人，是在转弯曲折中迷途的缓流的溪水，在归海的路上滞留。 但是不要让那些冀求深的人，对冀求浅的人说：“你为什么这般迟钝？” 因为那真善的人，不问赤裸的人：“你的衣服在那里？”也不问那无家的人：“你的房子怎样了？” 于是一个女冠说，请给我们谈祈祷。 He replied: 你们总在悲痛或需要的时候祈祷，我愿你们也在完满的欢乐中和丰富的日子里祈祷。 因为祈祷不就是你们的自我在活的以太中的开展么？ 假若向太空倾吐出你们心中的黑夜是个安慰，那么倾吐出你们心中的晓光也是个欢乐。 假若在你的灵魂命令你祈祷的时候，你只会哭泣，她也要从你的哭泣中反复地鼓励你，直到你笑悦为止。 在你祈祷的时候，你超凡高举，在空中你遇到了那些和你在同一时辰祈祷的人，那些除了祈祷时辰之外你不会遇到的人。 那么，让你那冥冥的殿宇的朝拜，只算个欢乐和甜柔的聚会罢。 因为假如你进入殿宇，除了请求之外，没有别的目的，你将不能接受。 假如你进入殿宇，只为要卑屈自己，你也并不被提高。 甚至于你进入殿宇，只为他人求福，你也不被嘉纳。 只要你进到了那冥冥的殿宇，这就够了。 我不能教给你们怎样用言语祈祷。 除了它通过你的嘴唇所说的它自己的言语之外，上帝不会垂听你的言语。 而且我也不能传授给你那大海、丛林和群山的祈祷。 但是你们生长在群山、丛林和大海之中的人，能在你们心中默会它们的祈祷。 假如你在夜的肃默中倾听，你会听见它们在严静中说： “我们自己的'高我'的上帝，您的意志就是我们的意志。 您的愿望就是我们的愿望。 您的神力将您赐给我们的黑夜转为白日。 我们不能向您祈求什么，因为在我们动念之前，您已知道了我们的需要。 我给您的是我们的需要。在您把自己多赐予我们的时候，您把一切都赐予我们了。 " So a hermit who came to the city once a year came forward and said, "Tell us about pleasures and pleasures." 他回答说：逸乐是一阕自由的歌，却不是自由。是你的愿望开出的花朵，却不是结下的果实。是从深处到高处的招呼，却不是深，也不是高。是关闭在笼中的翅翼，却不是被围绕住的太空。 Hey, to be honest, pleasure is just a song of freedom. I want you to sing with all your heart, but I don't want you to be obsessed in singing. There are some of you who are young who seek pleasure, as if that were all the world has to offer.They have been judged, condemned. I don't want to judge and condemn them, I want them to seek. 因为他们必会找到逸乐，但不止找到她一个人；她有七个姊妹，最小的比逸乐还娇媚。 Have you never heard of a man who found treasure by digging for roots? There are old men among you who think of pleasures and pleasures with regret, as of sins committed while intoxicated. However, remorse is only the blinding of the mind, not the punishment of the mind. You should think of your pleasures with thanksgiving, as the autumn harvest gives thanks for the summer.但是假如懊悔能予他们以安慰，就让他们得到安慰罢。 你们中间有的不是寻求的青年人，也不是追忆的老年人；在他们的畏惧寻求与追忆之中，他们远离一切的逸乐，他们深恐疏远了或触犯了心灵。 However, their renunciation is a pleasure. Thus, though they dug for the roots with trembling hands, they also found the treasure. Tell me, who can offend the heart? Can the nightingale offend the silence, can the firefly offend the stars? Can your fire and smoke burden the wind? You think the mind is a pool of still water, can you stir it up with a pole? Often when you deny pleasure, you simply hide your desires in the recesses of your mind and body. Who knows that what seems to be avoided today will not resurface tomorrow? Even your body knows its genetics and legitimate needs and won't be deceived.你的身体是你灵魂的琴，无论他发出甜柔的音乐或嘈杂的声响，那都是你的。 现在你们在心中自问：“我们如何辨别逸乐中的善与不善呢？” Go into your fields and gardens, and you will know that to gather honey from flowers is the bee's amusement; but to give honey to the bees is also the flower's amusement. Because for the bee, the flower is the source of its life, and for the flower, the bee is the messenger of its love. For both the bee and the flower, the giving and receiving of entertainment is a kind of need and joy. People of Orphales, be like flowers and bees in entertainment. 于是一个诗人说，请给我们谈美。 He replied: 你们到处追求美，除了她自己做了你的道路，引导着你之外，你如何能找到她呢？ 除了她做了你的言语的编造者之外，你如何能谈论她呢？ 冤抑的、受伤的人说：“美是仁爱的，和柔的，如同一位年轻的母亲，在她自己的光荣中半含着羞涩，在我们中间行走。” 热情的人说：“不，美是一种全能的可畏的东西。 暴风似地，撼摇了上天下地。 " 疲乏的，忧苦的人说：“美是温柔的微语，在我们心灵中说话。 她的声音传达到我们的寂静中，如同微晕的光，在阴影的恐惧中颤动。 " 烦躁的人却说：“我们听见她在万山中叫号，与她的呼声俱来的，有兽蹄之声，振翼之音，与狮子之吼。” 在夜里守城的人说：“美要与晓暾从东方一同升起。” 在日中的时候，工人和旅客说：“我们曾看见她凭倚在落日的窗户上俯视大地。” 在冬日，阻雪的人说：“她要和春天一同来临，跳跃于山峰之上。” 在夏日的炎热里，刈者说：“我们曾看见她和秋叶一同跳舞，我们也看见她的发中有一堆白雪。” 这些都是他们关于美的谈说。 实际上，你却不是谈她，只是谈着你那未曾满足的需要。 美不是一种需要，只是一种欢乐。 她不是干渴的口，也不是伸出的空虚的手，却是发焰的心，陶醉的灵魂。 她不是那你能看到的形象，能听到的歌声，却是你虽闭目时也能看见的形象，虽掩耳时也能听见的歌声。 她不是犁痕下树皮中的液汁，也不是在兽爪间垂死的禽鸟。 却是一座永远开花的花园，一群永远飞翔的天使。 阿法利斯的民众呵，在生命揭露圣洁的面容的时候的美，就是生命。但你就是生命，你也是面纱。 美是永生揽镜自照。 但你就是永生，你也是镜子。 于是一个老道人说，请给我们谈宗教。 He said: 这一天中我曾谈过别的么？ 宗教岂不是一切的功德，一切的反省。 以及那不是功德，也不是反省，只是在凿石或织布时灵魂中永远涌溢的一种叹异，一阵惊讶么？ 谁能把他的信心和行为分开，把他的信仰和事业分开呢？ 谁能把时间展现在面前，说“这时间是为上帝的，那时间是为我自己的；这时间是为我灵魂的，那时间是为我肉体的”呢？ 你的一切光阴都是那在太空中鼓动的翅翼，从自我飞到自我。 那穿上道德只如同穿上他的最美的衣服的人，还不如赤裸着，太阳和风不会把他的皮肤裂成洞孔。 把他的举止范定在伦理之内，是把善鸣之鸟囚在笼里。 最自由的歌声，不是从竹木弦线上发出的。 那以礼拜为窗户的人，开启而又关上，他还没有探访到他心灵之宫，那里的窗户是天天开启的。 你的日常生活，就是你的殿宇，你的宗教。 何时你进去，把你的一切都带了去。 带着犁耙和铁炉，木槌和琵琶，这些你为着需要或怡情而制造的物件。 因为在梦幻中，你不能超升到比你的成就还高，也不至于坠落到比你的失败还低。 你也要把一切的人都带着： 因为在钦慕上，你不能飞跃得比他们的希望还高，也不能卑屈得比他们的失望还低。 假如你要认识上帝，就不要做一个解谜的人。 不如举目四望，你将看见他同你的孩子们游戏。 也观望太空；你将看见他在云中行走，在电中伸臂，在雨中降临。 你将看见他在花中微笑，在树中举手挥动着。 于是爱尔美差开口了，说，现在我们愿意问“死”。 He said: 你愿知道死的奥秘。 但是除了在生命的心中寻求以外，你们怎能寻见呢？ 那夜中张目的枭鸟，他的眼睛在白昼是盲瞎的，不能揭露光明的神秘。 假如你真要瞻望死的灵魂，你应当对生的肉体大大地开展你的心。 因为生和死是同一的，如同江河与海洋也是同一的。 在你的希望和愿欲的深处，隐藏着你对于来生的默识；如同种子在雪下梦想，你们的心也在梦想着春天。信赖一切的梦境吧，因为在那里面隐藏着永生之门。 你们的怕死，只是像一个牧人，当他站在国王的座前，被御手恩抚时的战栗。 在战栗之下，牧人岂不因为他身上已有了国王的手迹而喜悦么？ 可是，他岂不更注意到他自己的战栗么？ 除了在风中裸立，在日下消融之外，死还是什么呢？ 除了把呼吸从不停的潮汐中解放，使他上升，扩大，无碍地寻求上帝之外，“气绝”又是什么呢？ 只在你们从沉默的河中啜饮时，才真能歌唱。 只在你们达到山巅时，你们才开始攀援。 只在大地索取你们的四肢时，你们才真正地跳舞。拔锚启航 现在已是黄昏了。 于是那女预言者爱尔美差说：愿这一日，这地方，和你讲说的心灵都蒙福佑。 他回答说，说那话的是我么？我不也是一个听者么？ 他走下殿阶，一切的人都跟着他，他上了船，站在舱面。 转面向着大众，他提高了声音说： 阿法利斯的民众呵，风命令我离开你们了。 我虽不像风那样地迅急，我也必须去了。 我们这些飘泊者，永远地寻求更寂寞的道路，我们不在安歇的时地起程，朝阳与落日也不在同一地方看见我们。 大地在睡眠中时，我们仍在行路。 我们是那坚牢植物的种子，在我们的心成熟丰满的时候，就交给大风纷纷吹散。 我在你们中间的日子是非常短促的，而我所说的话是更短了。 但等到我的声音在你们的耳中模糊，我的爱在你们的记忆中消灭的时候，我要重来。 我要以更丰满的心，更受灵感的嘴唇说话。 是的，我要随着潮水归来，虽然死要遮蔽我，更大的沉默要包围我，我却仍要寻求你们的了解。 而且我这寻求不是徒然的。 假如我所说的都是真理，这真理要在更清