Chapter 12 Govinda

Once, Govinda went with other monks to the forest garden given to Gotama's disciples by Kamala, a courtesan.He had heard of an old boatman who lived by the river about a day's journey from there, and who was considered by many to be a saint.So Govinda chose the way to the ferry as he continued on his way, eager to see the boatman.Although he had lived his whole life in accordance with the rules, and he was respected by the young monks because of his seniority, but the uneasiness and search in his heart had not been extinguished. He came to the river and asked the old man for a ferry, and when he got off the boat on the other side, he said to the old man: "You have done a lot of good things for us monks and pilgrims, and you have ferryed many of us. Boatman, you are also an explorer looking for the right path." who?"

Siddhartha said with a smile in his eyes: "You claim to be an explorer, a respectable person, but you are obviously old, why are you still wearing the clothes of Gotama's disciples?" "I am old indeed," said Govinda, "but I have not ceased to search. It seems to be my destiny that I never shall cease to search. I think you have, too. Will you tell me? , respectable person?" Siddhartha said, "My venerable man, what shall I say to you? Perhaps you have searched too much? Or have you searched and gained nothing?" "Why?" asked Govinda. "When a man explores," said Siddhartha, "it is easy for the eyes to see only what one is looking for, and in the end he finds nothing, absorbs nothing, because he always thinks only of what he is looking for, because He has a purpose because he is governed by it. To explore means to have a purpose. To discover means to be free, open and free, without a purpose. You may in fact be a seeker, O venerable man, because You work hard to pursue your goal, but you can't see something that's right in front of you."

"I don't quite understand," Govinda pleaded. "What do you mean?" Siddhartha said: "Oh, venerable man, you went to this river once a few years ago, and you saw a sleeping man by the river, and you sat beside him and watched him sleep. But , Govinda, you did not recognize the sleeping man." The monk was astonished as if possessed, and stared into the eyes of the boatman. "Are you Siddhartha?" he asked in a timid voice. "I didn't recognize you this time either! I greet you from the bottom of my heart, Siddhartha. It's a pleasure to see you again! You look so beautiful." It's changed, my friend.—you're a boatman now?"

Siddhartha smiled cordially. "A boatman, yes. Some people, Govinda, have to change and wear all kinds of clothes, and I'm one of them. You're welcome, Govinda, in my hut. Let's spend the night." Govinda stayed in the hut that night, sleeping in Vasudeva's old bunk.He asked many questions to his friends in his youth, and Siddhartha told him many things about his life. The next morning, when it was time to set off on the road, Govinda said with some hesitation, "Before I go on my way, Siddhartha, allow me to ask one more question. Do you have a doctrine of your own? You Is there a belief or lore that must be followed that will help you live and be a man of integrity?"

Siddhartha said, "You know, dear, when I was a young man and we were living with the ascetics in the forest, I began to doubt the doctrines and teachers and left them. I still do. But I have had many teachers since then. A beautiful courtesan has been my teacher for a long time, a wealthy businessman has also been my teacher, and several gamblers. Once, a wandering monk was also my teacher. my teacher; he found me asleep in the woods on the pilgrimage, and sat by my side to guard me. I learned from him too, and I am grateful to him, very grateful. But here I learned most from the river, There is also my master, the boatman Vasudeva. He is a very ordinary person, this Vasudeva, he is not a thinker, but he knows what he should know, just like Gotama, he is a perfect man. Man, a sage."

Govinda said, "Oh, Siddhartha, I think you are always joking. I believe you and know that you are not following a teacher. But even if there is no doctrine, don't you yourself find some Unique thoughts and realizations that have helped you live? It would make me happy if you could tell me about them." Siddhartha said: "I have had thoughts, yes, and sometimes awareness. Sometimes I have knowledge in my heart, for an hour or a day, just as one feels life in one's heart. Those are certain thoughts, but It is difficult for me to express it to you. Look, Govinda, here is an idea I have discovered: Wisdom cannot be expressed. Wisdom that a wise man tries to express always sounds like stupidity."

"Are you joking?" Govinda asked. "I'm not kidding. I'm saying exactly what I've discovered. Knowledge can be taught, but wisdom cannot. One can discover it, one can experience it, one can enjoy it, one can work miracles with it, but one cannot tell and Teach it. That's why I had a hunch when I was young and I left those teachers. I found an idea, Govinda, again you will think it's a joke or a stupid act, but it's actually my best idea That is: the opposite of every truth is also true! That is to say, if a truth is one-sided, it must be talked about non-stop. Everything that can be thought of or said in words Everything is one-sided. Everything is one-sided, everything is incomplete, everything lacks completeness, completeness and unity. When Gotama talked about this world in his lectures, he had to divide it into samsara and nirvana, and instantly became a Buddha - But you see: this 'someday' is an illusion, a mere metaphor! The sinner is not on the way to becoming a Buddha, he is not developing, although our mind cannot imagine things otherwise .No, in the sinner, here and now there is the future Buddha, his future is all here, you have to worship this future, possible, invisible in him, in you, in everyone Buddha Govinda, the world is not imperfect, or on a slow road to perfection: no, it is perfect every moment, and forgiveness is inherent in every sin, and all children are Already contains old people, all babies contain death, all dying people contain eternal life. No one can see from another how far he has come in his own way. Robbers and gamblers may become Buddha, Brahman may become a robber. In deep meditation it is possible to cancel time and see all past, present and future life as simultaneous, so all is well, all is perfect, all belongs to Brahman. Therefore, I feel that whatever exists is good, I feel that death is as good as life, sin is as holy, wisdom is as foolish, everything is sure, everything needs only my approval, my assent, my readily admits, and is therefore good to me, and does no harm to me. I know from my own body and mind that I have a great need of sin, of carnality, of riches, of vanity, of most ignominious despair, that To learn to give up fighting, to love the world, not to compare it with some imaginary world I wished for, with a perfection I had invented out of thin air, but to let it be, to love it, to be willing to belong to it. Oh Govinda, those are some thoughts that came to my mind."

Siddhartha bent down, picked up a stone from the ground, and weighed it in his hand. "This thing," he said lightly, "is a stone, which after a certain time may turn into clay, which in turn turns into a plant, or into an animal or a man. And I used to say: 'This stone is just a stone. It has no value and belongs to the Mayan world. But, because it might also become a human and a ghost in the cycle of change, I also give it value.' In the past I probably would I think so. But today I think: This stone is a stone, it is also an animal, it is also a god, and it is also a Buddha. I do not respect and love it because it will become this or that in the future, but because it has always been Everything—and it is stone, and it is stone now before my eyes, and it is for this, and for this, that I love it, in its every vein and pit, in its yellow, in its gray, in its Hardness, from the sound I tapped on it, from the dryness or dampness of its surface, to see its value and consciousness. Some stones feel like grease or soap, some like leaves, and some like sand, Each piece has its own characteristics, chanting 'Om' in its own way, each piece is Brahman, but at the same time it is really a stone, slippery or greasy, that's what I like, I think it's amazing, worth it Adoration.—But I will say no more. Words are not good for hidden meanings, and they always come out a little differently, a little out of shape, a little stupid—yes, that’s all right, too, so that I love it, and I totally agree: one man's babes and wits, another's always sounding stupid."

Govinda listened in silence. "Why are you telling me these things about stones?" he asked hesitantly after a pause. "No purpose. Maybe I just want to say that I love stones, rivers, and everything we can look at and learn from. I can love a stone, Govinda, or I can love a tree or the bark of a tree. These are things, and things can be loved. But I cannot love words. Therefore doctrines are nothing to me, they have no hardness, no softness, no color, no sharpness, no smell, no taste, only words. Perhaps It is these that prevent you from attaining peace, perhaps these many words. For salvation and virtue, samsara and nirvana, are only words, Govinda. There is no such thing as nirvana, only the word nirvana."

Govinda said, "My friend, Nirvana is not just a word. It is a thought." Siddhartha went on: "A thought, so to speak. I have to admit to you, my dear, that I don't quite know the difference between thought and words. Frankly, I don't think much of thought either. I'm more Value things. For example, there was a man on this ferry, my senior and teacher, a holy man. For many years he simply believed in the river water and nothing else. He found that the sound of the river water was Talk to him, so he learns from it, let it teach and guide himself, he thinks the river is a god. For many years he didn't know, every wind, every cloud, every bird, every beetle , is equally divine, and can teach him like the venerable river. But after the sage entered the forest, he knew everything, more than you and I, without teachers, without books, only Because he believed in the river."

Govinda said: "But is the 'thing' you speak of a real, substantial thing? Could it be a Maya illusion, a mere phantom and illusion? Your stone, your tree, your river —are they real?" Siddhartha said: "I don't care much about that. Don't care if these things are fake or not, I am a fake myself, they are always like me. That's what I love about them and what I respect about them : They are all like me. Therefore, I am able to love them. And this is also a doctrine that you may laugh at: Govinda, I think love is the most important of all things. See through the world, explain it, despise it , that is probably the business of great thinkers. And all I am concerned with is being able to love the world, not to despise it, not to hate it and myself, to be able to look at it and myself and all living things with love and admiration and awe." "I understand this," Govinda said, "but the Tulku sees it as hypocrisy. He asks for kindness, kindness, sympathy and tolerance, but not love; he does not allow our hearts to be bound by worldly love." "I know," Siddhartha said, his smile glowing gold. "I know, Govinda. You see, we are now divided again, in a war of words. I cannot deny that these words of mine about love are contradicted, clearly contradicted, by Gotama. Just because That's why I doubt words very much, because I know that this contradiction is an illusion. I know that I and Gotama are in agreement. How can he not understand love? He is familiar with the temporality and vanity of all human nature, And still love people so much, and devote a long and difficult life entirely to helping them and teaching them! In him, in your great teacher, too, I feel that things speak louder than words, his actions and life speak louder than his Words are more important, his gestures are more important than his opinions. I think his greatness is not in his words, not in his thoughts, but in his actions, in his life." The two old men were silent for a long time.Afterwards, Govinda bowed his farewell and said, "I thank you, Siddhartha, for telling me your thoughts. Some of them were very strange thoughts, and I didn't understand them all at once. Leave it alone , I thank you and wish you a safe life!" (But he secretly thought: This Siddhartha is a weird person who is offside, he is talking about weird ideas, and his knowledge is really weird when he talks about it. But the incisive teachings of the Living Buddha sound different, clearer, purer, and clearer. Easy to understand, nothing weird, absurd or ridiculous. But I think Siddhartha's hands and feet are different from his mind, and his eyes, his forehead, his calling, his smile, his His greetings and his gait are also different. Since the Nirvana of our living Buddha Gotama, I have never seen a person who can be called a sage! Only he, this Siddhartha, I think so. Although His doctrines were strange, his words sounded absurd, but his eyes and his hands, his skin and his hair, and everything about him shone with a kind of calm, with a kind of cheerfulness and kindness. and holiness, which I have never seen in others since our Living Buddha Nirvana.) Thinking of this, Govinda felt conflicted.Out of admiration, he bowed again to Siddhartha, a deep bow to the man who sat peacefully. "Sitdhartha," he said, "we are both old people, and I am afraid it will be difficult for either of us to see each other like this again. My dear, I find that you have found peace. I confess that I have not found it. Honorable O man, speak to me a little more, send me a few words that I can grasp and understand! Send me a few words to go on my way. My way is often hard and often dark, Siddhartha. " Siddhartha was silent, looking at him with the same calm smile he always had.Govinda stared blankly into his face, filled with fear and longing, and from Govinda's eyes there was pain and eternal search, eternal futility. Siddhartha saw this and smiled slightly. "Bend down!" he whispered to Govinda, "bow down towards me! Come closer, come closer! Kiss my forehead, Govinda!" Govinda was astonished, but he obeyed Siddhartha's order out of admiration, bent down to him, and kissed his forehead with his lips. Suddenly, something incredible happened.While his mind was still thinking about Siddhartha's strange remarks, he was still trying in vain to throw away the concept of time, imagining Nirvana and reincarnation as one, and even harboring a certain contempt for his friend's words in his heart, so he was not the same as a friend. When a deep love and respect collides, here's what happens: He couldn't see the face of his friend Siddhartha, but saw the faces of others, many, many, a long string, like a flowing river, hundreds of thousands of faces, all came Going again, appearing again seemingly at the same time, all constantly changing and renewing, and yet all Siddhartha again.He saw the face of a fish, the face of a carp, grinning in agony, a dying fish, eyes turned white—he saw the face of a newborn baby, red and wrinkled, Weeping out of shape—he saw the face of a murderer, saw him stabbing a knife into a man’s body—at the same moment, he saw the criminal bound and kneeling on the ground, His head was chopped off by the executioner—he saw men and women naked, in mad lovemaking poses—he saw corpses stretched out, soundless, cold, and empty—he saw the heads of animals, Of a pig, of a crocodile, of an elephant, of a bull, of a bird—he saw the gods, he saw Krishna, he saw Agni—he saw all these shapes and faces, thousands of them connected in ways, each helping the other, loving it and hating it, destroying it and bringing it to life, each a dead wish, a passionate and painful confession of transience, yet without One dies, each just transfigured, continually reborn, continually getting a new face, with no time gap between one face and another—all these forms and faces are still, fluid, arising, blurring and merging together, always covered with something thin, insubstantial yet real, as if covered with a thin layer of glass or thin ice, like a transparent skin, a water-formed This mask was smiling, this mask was Siddhartha's smiling face, the very face that Govinda had just kissed with his lips.Govinda saw that this laughter of the mask, beyond this unity of emerging images, beyond this simultaneity of millions of living and dead, Siddhartha's It was Gotama's smile, calm, refined, unpredictable, perhaps benevolent, perhaps sarcastic, intelligent, ever-changing, as he had seen it a thousand times with admiration. like that.Govinda knew that this was the smile of a perfect man. Govinda no longer knows whether there is time, whether this scene lasts for a second or a hundred years, no longer knows whether there is a Siddhartha, whether there is a Gotama, whether there is me and you, inside It seemed to be shot by a magic arrow in the depths, but the wound was sweet, and I felt like possessed by a demon deep in my heart.He stood for a moment longer, looking down at the peaceful face of Siddhartha whom he had just kissed, which had just been the moving stage of all images, all futures, all beings.This face remained unchanged, after the kaleidoscopic deep beneath the surface had been re-sealed, he smiled calmly, softly, perhaps with good intentions, perhaps with sarcasm, exactly the same as the smile of the Living Buddha. Govinda bowed deeply, and tears streamed down his old face involuntarily, but he didn't know it, and it was like a fire kindling in his heart the most intimate love and the most humble reverence.He bowed deeply, bowed to the ground, and saluted Siddhartha who was sitting still. Siddhartha's smile reminded him of everything he had loved in his life, and his life. everything that is considered precious and sacred.