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克里希纳穆提独白---之四

(2007-05-07 12:05:59)
分类: 克氏独白专辑(完)
1983年3月11日(4)克里希纳穆提独白---之四

这是一个清新凉爽的早晨,有着只有加利福尼亚,特别是它的南部才特有的光。这真是相当与众不同的光。

我们或许已经游遍了全世界,至少是世界的大多数地方,看过地球上许多地方各种不同的光和云。荷兰的云是低沉的;而在加利福尼亚这里,云在蓝天的映衬下,仿佛永远承载着光芒——这光为巨大的云所有,并有着非凡的形状和品质。

这是一个凉爽的,非常美好的早晨。当你沿着崎岖的山路爬到极高处,向下望向山谷,看到环绕着山谷的一排排的橘子树,鄂梨树和那些山丘,你便好像出离了这个世界,所有的这些都无法对你产生影响,厌烦,人们丑陋的反应和行动。当你沿着崎岖的山路越爬越高时,你将所有那些抛在身后;你远远地抛下那些虚荣,傲慢,制服的粗俗,遍布胸前的装饰,和牧师虚荣且奇怪的装束。你将所有那些抛在身后。

爬着爬着,你差点踩上一只鹌鹑妈妈,她带着一打或者更多鹌鹑宝宝。他们尖叫着四散跑进灌木丛里。你继续向上爬再回头看,那位母亲已重新将他们聚集在她的周围,他们在母亲的羽翼下是那样的无忧无虑。

为了达到那极高处,你不得不一小时又一小时地攀登。有些天里,你会看到一只熊在你的不远处,而它不会注意到你。溪谷对面的鹿,看起来也悠然自得。最终,你来到一块岩石高地的顶部,视线越过山丘向西南,你会看到远处的海,那样的蓝,那样的宁静,那样的广阔无边。你坐在一块岩石上,它平坦又带着一些裂痕;太阳一定是一个世纪又一个世纪,从未怜惜地晒裂了它。在这细小的裂缝中,你看到一些小小的动物快速地跑来跑去。这里有着绝对的寂静,完全的,无限的寂静。一只很大的鸟——人们叫它秃鹫——正在天空中盘旋。除此以及那些小昆虫之外,一切都是静止的。但却有着那种宁静,它只存在于人类从未到过的地方。

你将所有的东西都留在下方远处的那个小乡村里。确实是所有的东西:你的身份,如果你有的话,你的财产,你所拥有的经验,对你有着某种意义的东西的记忆-你把那一切留在那里,就在下面那闪光的果园和小树林中间。这里有着绝对的寂静而你则完全的独自一人。

这是一个美妙的早晨,凉爽的空气不断的变冷,它包绕着你,而你完全不受任何事情的影响。一无所有却又超越虚无。

你真的应该忘掉冥想(meditation)这个词。这个词已经被用滥了。这个词通常的意义——去沉思,去考虑,去思考——是很平常和微不足道的。如果你要领悟冥想的本质,你真的应该忘掉这个词。因为你不可能用言语去度量那无法度量的,那超越一切度量的。没有言语可以传达它,没有一种体系,思维模式,练习和戒律能够传达它。冥想——或者更准确的说,如果我们可以找到另外一个词,没有被如此的毁伤,被弄得如此的平庸,滥用,被变成捞取大把钱财的手段——如果你能够将这个词放在一边,那么你就会开始安静地,轻柔地感受到一种不属于时间的运动。不过,运动这个词意味着时间——这里指的是一种既无开始亦无终止的运动。一种波浪一样的运动:一浪接一浪,既无处开始,亦无海岸可冲刷。那波浪无止无休。时间,无论过得多慢,都是很令人厌烦的。时间意味着成长,演化,去成为,去成就,去学习,去改变。时间不是那远远超越于冥想一词的那个东西存在的方式。时间与它沾不上边。时间是意志和欲望的行动,而欲望无法以任何方式[此处有一个或数个词听不到]——它远远超越于冥想这个词之上。

此处,坐在那块石头上,与蓝天为伴——它惊人的蓝——空气是如此的纯净,清洁。在离这很远的地方是沙漠。你可以看到它,绵延数公里。这确实是对那真正的存在的超越时间的感知。只有这个感知才能够去说它存在。

你坐在那里守望着,仿佛有许多天,许多年,许多世纪。当太阳向海中落下时,你也走下山谷。你周围的一切都在闪闪发光,草叶,漆树,高耸的桉树和这生机勃勃的大地。下山要花时间,正如上山要花时间一样。但是那没有时间的东西,是无法用言语度量的。“冥想”这个词只是语言。而天堂的根源是在深切而持久的寂静之中。


IT WAS A cool fresh morning and there was the light that California alone has, especially the southern part of it. It is really quite an extraordinary light.
     We have travelled probably all over the world, most of the world at least, have seen various lights and clouds in many parts of the earth. The clouds in Holland are very close; here in California the clouds against the blue sky seem to hold the light everlastingly - the light that great clouds have, with their extraordinary shape and quality.
     It was a cool, very nice morning. And as you climbed the rocky path up to the great height and looked down into the valley and saw the row upon row of orange trees, avocados and the hills that surround the valley, it was as though you were out of this world, so completely lost were you to all things, to the weariness, to man's ugly reactions and actions. You left all that behind as you climbed up and up the very rocky path. You left behind far below you the vanity, the arrogance, the vulgarity of uniforms, decorations spread all over your chest, and the vanity and strange costumes of priests. You left all that behind.
     And as you went up you nearly trod on a mother with her dozen or more little baby quails and they scattered with chirping into the bushes. As you went on up and looked back, the mother had again gathered them round her and they were all quite secure under the wings of their mother.
     You had to climb hour after hour to reach the great height. Some days you saw a bear a little way off and it paid no attention. And the deer across the gully, they too seemed unconcerned. At last you reached the height of a rocky plateau, and across the hills to the south-west you saw the distant sea, so blue, so quiet, so infinitely far away. You sat on a rock, smooth, cracked, where the sun must for century upon century, without any regret, have cracked it. And in the little cracks you saw tiny little living things scurrying about, and there was that utter silence, complete and infinite. A very large bird - they call it a condor - was circling in the sky. Apart from that movement there was nothing astir except these tiny little insects. but there was that silence that exists only where man has not been before; it was so peaceful.
     You left everything behind in that little village so far below you. Literally everything: your identity, if you had any, your belongings, the possession of your experiences, your memories of things that had meant something to you - you left all that behind, down below there amidst the shining groves and orchards. Here there was absolute silence and you were totally alone.
     It was a marvellous morning and the cool air which was becoming colder wrapped round you, and you were completely lost to everything. There was nothing and beyond nothing.
     You should really forget the word meditation. That word has been corrupted. The ordinary meaning of that word - to ponder over, to consider, to think about - is rather trivial and ordinary. If you want to understand the nature of meditation you should really forget the word because you cannot possibly measure with words that which is not measurable, that which is beyond all measure. No words can convey it, nor any systems, modes of thought, practice or discipline. Meditation - or rather if we could find another word which has not been so mutilated, made so ordinary, corrupt, which has become the means of earning a great deal of money - if you can put aside the word, then you begin quietly and gently to feel a movement that is not of time. Again, the word movement implies time - what is meant is a movement that has no beginning or end. A movement in the sense of a wave: wave upon wave, starting from nowhere and with no beach to crash upon. It is an endless wave. Time, however slow it is, is rather tiresome. Time means growth, evolution, to become, to achieve, to learn, to change. And time is not the way of that which lies far beyond the word meditation. Time has nothing to do with it. Time is the action of will, of desire, and desire cannot in any way [word or words inaudible here] - it lies far beyond the word meditation.
     Here, sitting on that rock, with the blue sky - it is astonishingly blue - the air is so pure, unpolluted. Far beyond this range is the desert. You can see it, miles of it. It is really a timeless perception of that which is. It is only that perception which can say it is.
     You sat there watching for what seemed many days, many years, many centuries. As the sun was going down to the sea you made your way down to the valley and everything around you was alight, that blade of grass, that sumac [a wild bush], the towering eucalyptus and the flowering earth. It took time to come down as it had taken time to go up. But that which has no time cannot be measured by words. And meditation is only a word. The roots of heaven are in deep abiding silence.

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