La voce profonda dell'Io
At each step of the way Siddhartha learned something new, because the world had changed and his heart sick. He saw the sun rise over the mountains and wooded setting beyond the distant beaches populated with palm trees. At night he saw the sky in ordered star and the crescent moon floating like a ship in the blue. He saw trees, stars, animals, clouds, rainbows, rocks, herbs, flowers, streams and rivers could see the gleam in the bushes in the morning dew, tall blue mountains and diaphanous in the distance, birds singing and bees humming, the wind vibrated Argentina in the rice fields. All this had always existed in its many colorful aspects, also arose the sun and the moon, always had the torrents roar and hum of bees, but in the past this was not to Siddhartha than a fleeting and deceptive veil fell before his eyes, regarded with suspicion and to be pierced and dissolved by the thought, because it was not true: the reality was beyond the visible things. But now his eye lingered released on this side, saw and recognized the visible, sought his home in this world, did not seek the "reality", nor aspired to any beyond. The world was fair to consider this: without investigation, so simply, in a childlike state of mind. Beautiful moon and the stars, the beautiful river and its banks, the woods and rocks, the goat and the beetle, flowers and butterflies. Beautiful and so nice to go for the world and feel so baby that woke up, so open to the immediacy of things, so confident. Unlike the heat of the sun was now on the skin, unlike the Cold water from streams and wells, other pumpkins and bananas. Short were the days, short nights, every hour flew by as fast sailing on the sea and under sail a boat full of treasures, full of joy. Siddhartha saw a nation of monkeys get excited about during the time between the branches of the forest and heard the noise and wild hog. Siddhartha saw a ram chasing a sheep and join with her. Among the reeds of a swamp saw the pike breathless hunt in the evening: in front of him all the little fish swarming in droves rapidly, darting and flashing scared out of water; un'incalzante and passionate energy emanated from the circles that the impetuous rush hunter drew water. All
This had always been, and he had never seen: did not participate. But now, yes, participation, and I belonged there. Light and shadow crossed her vision, the stars and the moon through the heart.
Along the way Siddhartha also remembered everything that had happened in the garden Jetavana, who had heard of the doctrine of the divine Buddha, the separation from Govinda, the conversation with the Lord. The mind went back to his own words, what he said to the Lord, every word, and with astonishment he saw that on that occasion had said things, then, had not yet exact consciousness. What he had said to Gotama: the secret and the treasure of him, the Buddha was not the doctrine, but the unspeakable and ininsegnabile he had once lived in the hour of his enlightenment, this was precisely what he is now starting to experiment. Of itself had to experience hours. Long ago had convinced himself that his ego was the Atman, the eternal nature equally to Brahma. But this had never really found his ego, because he wanted to take him with the network of thought. Although the body was certainly not this car, and it was not the game of the senses, but I was not even thinking, not the intellect, not the wisdom gained, not learned the art of drawing conclusions and already thought to deduce new thoughts. No, this world of thought was still here, and did not lead to any goal I accidentally kill the senses to fatten the accident I thought no less. One and the other beautiful things, the meaning and thoughts, behind which lurked the ultimate meaning, it was necessary to give play to both, both should be exercised, both had to be careful not to despise or overestimate, it was necessary to use both to listen to the voices deeper ego. He wanted nothing to suck from now on, if not this where the voice commanded him to aspire, in no place to linger, if not where the voice tells you. Because one day Gotama, the hour fateful, was sitting under the bo tree, where the light fell on him? He heard a voice, a voice in his heart, which ordered him to seek rest under the tree, and he had put before penances, sacrifices, ablutions and prayer, no food or drink, not sleep or dreams, and he had obeyed the voice . Obey it, not an external command, but only the voice, so be ready, that was good, this was necessary, nothing more was needed.
- from "Siddhartha" Hermann Hesse of -