Vielleicht haben wir nur verlernt den Stern zu sehen (German Edition)
Dieser, diese, dieses, this ; jener, jene, jenes, that, yon ; solcher, solche, solches, such ; derjenige, diejenige, dasjenige, that emphatic ; derselbe, dieselbe, dasselbe, the same, are used as Adjectives and Pronouns. Derjenige and derselbe are declined as if they were separated into the Def. Derjenige is used in solemn style : Ich sehe denjenigen Mann, den ich so lange gesucht habe, I see that man whom I have so long sought for. Derselbe presents no difficulties : Wir haben denselben Namen, we have the same name.
Is that the Emperor? Ist DIE deine Tante? Is she your aunt? Derjenige, der das sagt, liigt, he who says that, lies. Er ist derselbe, den ich gestern traf, he is the same man I met yesterday. All the preceding are declined like dieser, diese, dieses except der, die, das which, instead of the Genitive Masc.
This is also true of der, die, das used as a Relative Pronoun see next chapter. Das referring to a noun which is part of the predicate, e. That this is my father ; that is my mother ; that is my child ; these are my books, is uninflected : Das ist mein Vater ; das ist meine Mutter ; das ist mein Kind ; das sind meine Bilcher.
The man, who was old, stepped forward. The man that was old stepped forward. The book, which was lying on the table, was open. The book that was lying on the table was open. In very correct English, " who " and " which " merely add some information about the Antecedent i. German has no such distinctions, nor has it special forms for persons and things like our " who " and " which.
They are always preceded by a comma and always throw the verb to the end of the Relative clause. Der, die, das are ousting welcher, welche, welches in modern German, especially in the spoken language. The four examples in the first paragraph above are, in German : 1 and 2. Der Mann, der welcher alt war, trat vor. Das Buch, das welches auf dem Tisch lag, war offen. The Relatives are declined as follows : Singular N. It cannot be omitted in German : der Mann, den ich traf ; die Frau, die ich kenne ; das Bier, das ich trinke.
The case of the Relative depends on the part it plays in the Rela- tive clause, but its number and gender depend on those of the ante- cedent, as shown in the following examples : Wo ist das Kind, mit dem welchem ich spielte? Where is the child with whom I used to play? Kennen Sie die Dame, der welcher ich die Blumen gab? Do you know the lady to whom I gave the flowers?
Das sind die Leute, von denen welchen ich sprach, those are the people of whom I was speaking. Das ist der Herr, dessen Sohn hrank ist, that is the gentleman whose son is ill. If the Relative refers to an inanimate object and is governed by a preposition, it may be replaced by wo or wor, like da and dar fused with the preposition : Das Buch, in dem welchem ich Use or Das Buch, worin ich lese, the book in which I am reading. Der Baum, von dem welchem ich spreche or Der Baum, wovon ich spreche, the tree of which I am speaking.
Here is a trick sentence to show the uses of der, die, das as a Demonstrative and Relative Pronoun : Ich war mit der, die das sagte, I was with her the woman who said that. Der is the Dat. Fern, of the Demonstrative, die is the Nom. Neuter of the Demonstrative. Welches Buck lesen Sie p ; and was fur ein? What sort of a hat is that? What sort of a hat have you? Welcher, welche, welches is declined like dieser, and was fur ein like ein, eine, ein, the fur having no influence wmatever on the case although normally fur takes the Accusative. In the Plural the ein is dropped : W as fur Hiite sind das?
What sort of hats are those? The Pronouns are wer P, who? Who is singing so beautifully? They are declined as follows : N. What has fallen on the table? When referring to inanimate objects and governed by a preposition, wo or wor fused with the preposition is used : Womit schreiben Sie P With what are you writing? Woraus macht man Xigaretten? What do you make cigarettes of? Wer can be used as a " condensed " Relative : Wer das tut, ist ein Narr, he who does that is a fool. They are declined as follows : Nom.
Niemand is declined like jemand, the en and em in the Acc. Examples : Man sagt, dass. Why can't he write to one? Etwas, something, frequently was in spoken German, is useful : Ich habe etwas fur Sie, I've got something for you ; Geben Sie mir etwas zu essen, etwas Fleisch, give me something to eat, some meat.
The negative is nichts : Ich habe nichts zu essen, I have nothing to eat. Those governing the Accusative only are : bis, up to, till ohne, without durch, through, by um, around, at fur, for wider, against, in opposition to gegen, against, towards, about Examples : 1. Er bleibt bis ndchsten Donnerstag, he remains till next Thursday.
Er ging durch den Garten, he went through the garden. Er wurde durch eine Kugel getotet, he was killed by a bullet. Dieser Brief is fur mich, this letter is for me. Gegen Ende Juli, about the end of July. Sie hat etwas gegen mich, she has something against me. Ohne meinen Bleistift kann ich nicht schreiben, I can't write without my pencil. Wir sassen um den Tisch, we sat round the table. Um jeden Preis, at any price. Er arbeitet wider meinen Willen, he works contrary to my desire. Those governing the Dative only are : aus, out of, from seit, since bei, at, near von, of, from, by mit, with zu, to, at nach, after, according to Examples : 1.
Aus dem Hause ham ein Kind, a child came out of the house. Er wohnt bei seinem Onkel, he lives with his uncle. Bei dieser Gelegenheit, on this occasion. Ich schreibe mit einer Fullfeder, I write with a fountain-pen. Wir gehen nach Hause, nach Berlin, we are going home, to Berlin. Zehn Minuten nach seiner Abreise, ten minutes after his departure.
Babel Web Anthology :: Hesse, Hermann: Siddhartha (Siddhartha in English)
Nach meiner M einung or meiner Meinung nach, in my opinion. Ich bin seit einer Stunde hier, I have been here an hour literally, since an hour. Er wurde von seinen Feinden getotet, he was killed by his enemies. Er ist ein Freund von mir, he is a friend of mine. Sie ist nicht zu Hause, she is not at home. Ich gehe zu Bett ; zu meinem Vater, I am going to bed ; to my father. The prepositions shown below govern both the Accusative and Dative : the Accusative when " motion towards " is expressed, and the Dative when ' ' rest at " is meant.
Thus er gehtin den Garten means "He goes into the garden from somewhere else , ' ' but er geht in dem Garten means " He walks about in the garden. Wo schwimmt er P Unter der Briicke. If it answers the question wohinP, whither? In den Garten. Wohin schwimmt er P Unter die Briicke. Er ging an den Flusz, he went to the river ; Er stand an der Tilr, he stood at the door. Er legte das Buck auf den Tisch, he put the book on the table. Das Buck lag auf dem Tisch, the book lay was on the table. Die Katze kroch hinter den Ofen, the cat crept behind the stove ; Die Katze schlief hinter dem Ofen, the cat slept behind the stove.
Ick stecke meine Feder in die Tascke, I put stick my pen in my pocket. Meine Feder steckt in der Tascke, my pen is sticking in my pocket. Er setzte sick neben mick, he seated himself sat down next to me. Er sass neben mir, he was sitting next to me. Der Vogel flog iiber das Haus, the bird flew over the house. Der Vogel schwebte iiber dem Hause, the bird hovered over the house.
Der Dieb sckliipfte unter das Beit, the thief slipped under the bed. Der Dieb blieb die ganze Nackt unter dem Bette, the thief remained the whole night under the bed. Mein Putt steht vor dem Fenster, my desk stands in front of the window. Ick stellte mein Pult vor das Fenster. I put my desk in front of the window. Das Luftzeug flog zwischen die hoken Berge, the aeroplane flew between the high mountains. Das Dorf Kegt zwischen hohen Bergen, the village lies between high mountains.
Prepositions taking the Genitive are : anstatt or statt, instead of wahrend, during trotz, in spite of wegen, on account of um Trotz, wahrend and wegen are also occasionally found with the Dative. Examples : 1. Die Schwester sprach anstatt des Bruders, the sister spoke instead of her brother. Ick ham wegen des sckleckten Waters spat an, I arrived late on account of the bad weather.
Trotz des Sturmes fuhr er nack dem Baknkof, in spite of the storm he drove to the station. Um Gottes willen keif en Sie mir! For God's sake help me! Co-ordinating, which join sentences or words of equal rank. They do not affect the word order, the verb remaining in its normal position.
They are : und, and oder, or aber, but entweder Ick lese die Zeitung, und mein Voter mackt einen Spaziergang, 1 read the paper and my father takes a walk. Hans will nack Hause, aber ick mochte gem kier bleiben, Jack wants to go home, but 1 should like to remain here. Er ist nickt alt, sondern jung, he is not old, but young. Er war mein Freund, allein jedoch ich konnte auf ikn nickt vertrauen, he was my friend, but yet 1 could not trust him.
Sie mussen nack Hause eilen, denn es ist sekr spat, you must hurry home for it is very late. Er muss arbeiten, oder sein Gesckdft wird zugrunde geken, he must work or his business will be ruined. Das Buck ist entweder griXn oder blau, the book is either green or blue. Das Buck ist weder grim nock blau, sondern rot, the book is neither green nor blue, but red. Subordinating conjunctions which link a subordinate clause to a main sentence. These always throw the verb — i. Er sprang auf, als ick in das Zimmer trat, he jumped up when I entered the room.
A Is refers to an event at a past point of time only. Er sprang immer auf, wenn ick in das Zimmer trat, he always used to jump up when ever I entered the room. Wenn is used for a repeated action. Er wilrde aufspringen, wenn ich in das Zimmer trdte or treten wiirde , he would jump up if I entered were to enter the room. Wenn is also used when a condition is implied. Wissen Sie, wann er ankommen wird?
Do you know when he will arrive? Wann is interrogative only. Ich werde warten, bis der Brieftrager den Briefhasten geleert kat, I shall wait until the postman has cleared the letter-box. Da das Dienstmddcken krank ist, hann ick das Haus nickt verlassen, as since the maid is ill I cannot leave the house.
Wir schreiben ihr, damit sie die Nachricht sofort bekommt or bekomme, the Subjunctive , we are writing to her in order that she gets shall get the news at once. Obgleich das Wetter heiss ist, trdgt sie einen Mantel, although the weather is hot, she wears a coat. Ich weiss nicht, ob er Tee oder Kaffee trinkt, I don't know whether he takes tea or coffee. Bitte, marten Sie, bis ich meine Schuhe putzen lasse, please wait until I get my boots polished. Mutter konnte keine Butter kaufen, weil der Laden leer war, mother couldn't buy any butter because the shop was empty. The Infinitive ends in -en : lieben, to love ; machen, to make ; sprechen, to speak ; but sein, to be.
The Infin. The use of the Infin. In a subordinate sentence it falls next to the inflected verb : weil ich morgen um 7 Uhr aufstehen muss, because I must get up at 7 tomorrow. The Present Participle is both adjectival and verbal : iiber- raschende Nachrichten, surprising news ; den Feind iiberraschend.
It is formed by adding -d to the Infin. Am with the Infin. English has a verbal noun in -ing, the Gerund, which is lacking in German and must be turned in various ways : Learning is difficult, das Lernen ist schwer ; By reading too much you will harm your eyes, indem Sie zu viel lesen, werden Sie sich den A ugen schaden ; After saying this he stopped speaking, nachdem er dies gesagt hatte, hbrte er auf zu sprechen. The Past Participle is also both adjectival and verbal : ein ge- brochener Stuhl ; Er hat den Stuhl gebrochen.
It is formed by pre- fixing ge- to the stem and adding -t in the case of Weak Verbs or -en with vowel change for Strong Verbs : lieben, geliebt, loved ; sprechen, gesprochen, spoken ; but sein, gewesen, been. If the verb ends in -ieren, as do those taken from a foreign language, no ge- is prefixed : telephonieren, telephoniert , telephoned. See also Inseparable Verbs, p. The Past Part, can be used to give a sharp order : Auf- gestanden.
German has only two Simple Tenses, the Present and the Imperfect, all the others being Compound and formed by means of the Auxiliary Verbs haben, sein, and werden. See par. The Present Indicative is formed by adding -e, - e st, - e t, -en, - e t, -en to the stem : lieb-en, ich liebe, du liebst, er liebt, wir lieben, ihr liebt, sie lieben, I you, etc. If the stem ends in -d or -i the e in brackets must be used : du redest, g. If the stem ends in a sibilant the -est contracts to -t : du reist, not du reisest ; du schiesst, not du schiessest.
Strong Verbs with stem-vowel a modify it to d in the 2nd and 3rd persons sing. If the stem-vowel is a short e it modifies to i : sprechen, du sprichst, er spricht ; long e — eh modifies to ie : stehlen, du stiehlst, er stiehlt, but there are exceptions, e. The Imperfect, or Past Indicative, is formed by adding -te, -test, -te, -ten, -let, -ten to the stem of Weak Verbs ; if the stem ends in -d or -t an e must be inserted before the t : ich liebte, ich redete ; du liebtest, du reddest, etc.
Strong Verbs show the past by vowel change in the stem and by adding -st in the 2nd pers. In the case of Transitive and Reflexive Verbs the auxiliary haben is used to form the compound past tenses : Ich habe hatte geliebt, I have had loved. With Intransitive Verbs indicating a change of position or state, and a few others, sein is the auxiliary. You will find these verbs in the list of Strong Verbs on p. Ex- amples are : sein, ich bin war gewesen ; werden, er ist war geworden ; kommen, wir sind waren gekommen ; bleiben, Sie sind waren ge- blieben.
If only the manner of movement is referred to, haben is used : Ich habe den ganzenTag geritten ; Wir haben heute viel geschwommen. I rode the whole day ; we have swum a lot today. Usage, however, varies with many verbs, the North preferring haben and the South sein : ich habe or bin gestanden ; wir sind or haben gesessen. The North would also use haben in : Wir haben nach dem Boote geschwommen. We swam to the boat. The Future is formed by the Present of werden plus the Infin. In spoken German it is frequently replaced by the Present : Ich bringe es sogleich, I'll bring it at once.
The Conditional is formed by the Past Subjunctive of werden plus the Infin. The Subjunctive Mood, which reports non-facts, wishes, desires, demands, conditions, probabilities, and is used to report state- ments not made by the speaker Reported Speech , has two Simple Tenses, though they are not really tenses in the same way as the Indicative Mood deals with time. In the Indicative, the Past indicates remoteness in time ; in the Subjunctive, the Past indicates remoteness of probability: Indie: The book was green; Subj.
The Present Subj. The Imperfect Subj. In Strong Verbs it is formed by modi- fying the vowel of the Imperfect Indicative and adding -e, - e st, -e, -en, - e t, -en. Singen, ich sdnge, du sdng e st, er sdnge, wir sangen, ihr sdng e t, sie sangen, if I were to sing, etc. The 2nd pers.
In Strong Verbs which modify e to i or ie, the modified form is used and there is no -e in the 2nd pers. Part, habend, seiend, werdend. Past Part, gehabt, gewesen, geworden. Present Indie. Perfect Indic. Pluperfect Indic. Future Indic. Conditional ich wiirde sein etc. Future Perfect ich werde gewesen sein, etc. Past Conditional ich wiirde gewesen sein, etc. Imperative sei! Past Part, geliebt, gesungen, gesprochen. Present Indic. Future ich werde singen etc. Conditional ich wiirde singen etc. Future Perfect ich werde gesungen ich werde gesproch- haben, etc.
Past Conditional ich wiirde gesungen ich wurde gesproch- haben, etc. Imperative sing e! In order to save space we have given a list of the more common Strong Verbs with their parts on p. This list includes the so-called Irregular Weak Verbs : bringen, brachte, gebracht, to bring ; nennen, nannte, genannt, to name ; rennen, rannte, gerannt, to run ; senden, sandte sendete , gesandt gesendet , to send ; wenden, wandte wendete , gemandt gewendet , to turn. You will be well advised to consult this list frequently and to learn the verbs by heart, ten at a time.
We use a the Imperfect when the action is cut off from the present, and 6 the Perfect when the action is linked up with the present. In both cases we have time in our mind. German uses the Perfect when the present result of a past action is uppermost in the mind, or when the past action is an isolated one, not one of a connected series. Thus both a and b above — which are isolated actions — will be in the Perfect: Ich habe ihn gestern, heute gesehen.
German will say Kolumbus hat Amerika entdeckt, Columbus discovered America, because the result of his discovery still exists and it is an isolated action. If we put it in a series of connected actions we use the Imperfect : Kolumbus entdeckte im Jahre die Antilleninseln und Melt dieselben fur Ostindien, Colum- bus discovered the Antilles in and took them to be the East Indies. Hence the Imperfect is the tense used in narration and is the most commonly met with in books. It is also used for actions related to each other : Er schrieb, als ich eintrat, he was writing when I entered ; Er blickte sofort auf, als er die Nachricht vernahm, he at once looked up when he heard the news.
The situation is complicated by the fact that the Perfect is becoming more and more used in spoken German, especially in the South, so that it tends to oust out the Imperfect, so much so that one almost forgets that such a form as schrieb exists, as in daily life one hears and uses hat geschrieben! Long live the King! The Past Tense is : Wenn er das getan hdtte, so ware ich nicht geblieben, if he had done that I should not have stayed.
In Indirect or Reported Speech the Subjunctive is used in order to indicate that the reporter does not guarantee the factual truth of what another says! In English, if I say " I am ill," you report my statement as : " He said he was ill. Either the Present or Past Subjunctive may be used and dass may introduce the subor- dinate clause : Er sagte, dass er krank sei ware , but the omission of dass is more usual.
If the Subjunctive has the same form as the Indicative then another form must be chosen which shows it to be Subjunctive : ' ' Ich liebe sie," " I love her ' ' becomes in Reported Speech : Er sagte, er liebe sie, and not Er sagte, er liebte sie, because liebte is both Indicative and Subjunctive.
If the Direct Speech is in a Past Tense, the Indirect uses the Perfect or Pluperfect Subjunctive : " Ich war krank " or " Ich bin krank gewesen " or " Ich war krank gewesen ' ' all become when re- ported : Er sagte, er sei ware krank gewesen. If the Direct Speech contains an Imperative, this must be para- phrased with sollen or mbgen : ' ' Bleib hier, mein Kind! In English we use the verb " to be " both for the Passive Auxiliary and for the Copulative verb, as in " The key which was lost is now found.
I go to a friend's house and see that his windows are shattered. He says: "My windows are shattered. I call on another friend whose windows are whole. He says, looking at the whole windows : ' ' My windows are shattered in every air-raid. In English we use " to be " in describing the actual state of the windows and in referring to the action they suffered ; German uses sein for the former, werden for the latter : State A ction suffered — Passive sein werden My windows are smashed.
My windows are smashed in every air- raid. Meine Fenster sind zer- Meine Fenster werden in jedem Luft- schmettert. His windows were smashed. His windows were smashed in every air-raid. Seine Fenster waren zer- Seine Fenster wurden in jedem Luft- schmettert. We could replace the " are " and " were " in the Passive column by " get " and " got " : His windows get smashed in every air-raid.
Which is Passive in : These goods are sold, you cannot buy them, and : These goods are sold at high prices? If the agent is a person the preposition used is von : Er wurde von seinem Feinde getdtet, he was killed by his enemy ; if a thing, durch is used : Er wurde durch eine Kugel getdtet, he was killed by a bullet. In English we can make either the Direct Object the Accusative or the Indirect Object the Dative the subject of the Passive sentence : " The book was given to the boy" and " The boy was given the book.
The Active form is often met with : Man gab ihm ein Buch, one gave him a book ; Man spricht Deutsch, German is spoken ; man sagt, it is said. See also under " Impersonal Verbs," on p. Here is a skeleton of the Passive of lieben. Erkannt aber, o Govinda, hast du den Schlafenden nicht. Freundlich lachte Siddhartha. Hast du eine Lehre? Hast du einen Glauben, oder ein Wissen, dem du folgst, das dir leben und rechttun hilft? Ich bin dabei geblieben.
Dennoch habe ich seither viele Lehrer gehabt. Auch von ihm habe ich gelernt, auch ihm bin ich dankbar, sehr dankbar. Govinda sagte: "Noch immer, o Siddhartha, liebst du ein wenig den Spott, wie mir scheint. Aber hast nicht du selbst, wenn auch nicht eine Lehre, so doch gewisse Gedanken, gewisse Erkenntnisse gefunden, welche dein eigen sind und die dir leben helfen? Sprach Siddhartha: "Ich habe Gedanken gehabt, ja, und Erkenntnisse, je und je. Sieh, mein Govinda, dies ist einer meiner Gedanken, die ich gefunden habe: Weisheit ist nicht mitteilbar. Weisheit, welche ein Weiser mitzuteilen versucht, klingt immer wie Narrheit.
Ich sage, was ich gefunden habe. Wissen kann man mitteilen, Weisheit aber nicht. Man kann sie finden, man kann sie leben, man kann von ihr getragen werden, man kann mit ihr Wunder tun, aber sagen und lehren kann man sie nicht. Einseitig ist alles, was mit Gedanken gedacht und mit Worten gesagt werden kann, alles einseitig, alles halb, alles entbehrt der Ganzheit, des Runden, der Einheit.
Die Welt selbst aber, das Seiende um uns her und in uns innen, ist nie einseitig. Zeit ist nicht wirklich, Govinda, ich habe dies oft und oft erfahren. Das sind Dinge, und Dinge kann man lieben. Worte aber kann ich nicht lieben. Vielleicht ist es dies, was dich hindert, den Frieden zu finden, vielleicht sind es die vielen Worte.
Es ist ein Gedanke. Offen gesagt, halte ich auch von Gedanken nicht viel. Ich halte von Dingen mehr. Govinda sagte: "Aber ist das, was du 'Dinge' nennst, denn etwas Wirkliches, etwas Wesenhaftes? Ist das nicht nur Trug der Maja, nur Bild und Schein?
Das ist es, was sie mir so lieb und verehrenswert macht: sie sind meinesgleichen. Darum kann ich sie lieben. Und siehe, da sind wir mitten im Dickicht der Meinungen drin, im Streit um Worte. Denn ich kann nicht leugnen, meine Worte von der Liebe stehen im Widerspruch, im scheinbaren Widerspruch zu Gotamas Worten. Einzig ihn, diesen Siddhartha, habe ich so gefunden.
Indem Govinda also dachte, und ein Widerstreit in seinem Herzen war, neigte er sich nochmals zu Siddhartha, von Liebe gezogen. Tief verneigte er sich vor dem ruhig Sitzenden. Schwerlich wird einer von uns den andern in dieser Gestalt wiedersehen. Ich bekenne, ihn nicht gefunden zu haben. Sage mir, Verehrter, noch ein Wort, gib mir etwas mit, das ich fassen, das ich verstehen kann! Gib mir etwas mit auf meinen Weg. Er ist oft beschwerlich, mein Weg, oft finster, Siddhartha. Ganz nahe! In the shade of the house, in the sunshine of the riverbank near the boats, in the shade of the Sal-wood forest, in the shade of the fig tree is where Siddhartha grew up, the handsome son of the Brahman, the young falcon, together with his friend Govinda, son of a Brahman.
The sun tanned his light shoulders by the banks of the river when bathing, performing the sacred ablutions, the sacred offerings. In the mango grove, shade poured into his black eyes, when playing as a boy, when his mother sang, when the sacred offerings were made, when his father, the scholar, taught him, when the wise men talked. For a long time, Siddhartha had been partaking in the discussions of the wise men, practising debate with Govinda, practising with Govinda the art of reflection, the service of meditation.
He already knew how to speak the Om silently, the word of words, to speak it silently into himself while inhaling, to speak it silently out of himself while exhaling, with all the concentration of his soul, the forehead surrounded by the glow of the clear-thinking spirit. He already knew to feel Atman in the depths of his being, indestructible, one with the universe.
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Joy leapt in his father's heart for his son who was quick to learn, thirsty for knowledge; he saw him growing up to become great wise man and priest, a prince among the Brahmans. Bliss leapt in his mother's breast when she saw him, when she saw him walking, when she saw him sit down and get up, Siddhartha, strong, handsome, he who was walking on slender legs, greeting her with perfect respect. Love touched the hearts of the Brahmans' young daughters when Siddhartha walked through the lanes of the town with the luminous forehead, with the eye of a king, with his slim hips.
But more than all the others he was loved by Govinda, his friend, the son of a Brahman. He loved Siddhartha's eye and sweet voice, he loved his walk and the perfect decency of his movements, he loved everything Siddhartha did and said and what he loved most was his spirit, his transcendent, fiery thoughts, his ardent will, his high calling. Govinda knew: he would not become a common Brahman, not a lazy official in charge of offerings; not a greedy merchant with magic spells; not a vain, vacuous speaker; not a mean, deceitful priest; and also not a decent, stupid sheep in the herd of the many.
No, and he, Govinda, as well did not want to become one of those, not one of those tens of thousands of Brahmans. He wanted to follow Siddhartha, the beloved, the splendid. And in days to come, when Siddhartha would become a god, when he would join the glorious, then Govinda wanted to follow him as his friend, his companion, his servant, his spear-carrier, his shadow.
Siddhartha was thus loved by everyone. He was a source of joy for everybody, he was a delight for them all. But he, Siddhartha, was not a source of joy for himself, he found no delight in himself. Walking the rosy paths of the fig tree garden, sitting in the bluish shade of the grove of contemplation, washing his limbs daily in the bath of repentance, sacrificing in the dim shade of the mango forest, his gestures of perfect decency, everyone's love and joy, he still lacked all joy in his heart.
Dreams and restless thoughts came into his mind, flowing from the water of the river, sparkling from the stars of the night, melting from the beams of the sun, dreams came to him and a restlessness of the soul, fuming from the sacrifices, breathing forth from the verses of the Rig-Veda, being infused into him, drop by drop, from the teachings of the old Brahmans.
Siddhartha had started to nurse discontent in himself, he had started to feel that the love of his father and the love of his mother, and also the love of his friend, Govinda, would not bring him joy for ever and ever, would not nurse him, feed him, satisfy him. He had started to suspect that his venerable father and his other teachers, that the wise Brahmans had already revealed to him the most and best of their wisdom, that they had already filled his expecting vessel with their richness, and the vessel was not full, the spirit was not content, the soul was not calm, the heart was not satisfied.
The ablutions were good, but they were water, they did not wash off the sin, they did not heal the spirit's thirst, they did not relieve the fear in his heart. The sacrifices and the invocation of the gods were excellent—but was that all? Did the sacrifices give a happy fortune? And what about the gods? Was it really Prajapati who had created the world? Was it not the Atman, He, the only one, the singular one? Were the gods not creations, created like me and you, subject to time, mortal? Was it therefore good, was it right, was it meaningful and the highest occupation to make offerings to the gods?
For whom else were offerings to be made, who else was to be worshipped but Him, the only one, the Atman? And where was Atman to be found, where did He reside, where did his eternal heart beat, where else but in one's own self, in its innermost part, in its indestructible part, which everyone had in himself? But where, where was this self, this innermost part, this ultimate part? It was not flesh and bone, it was neither thought nor consciousness, thus the wisest ones taught. So, where, where was it? To reach this place, the self, myself, the Atman, there was another way, which was worthwhile looking for?
Alas, and nobody showed this way, nobody knew it, not the father, and not the teachers and wise men, not the holy sacrificial songs! They knew everything, the Brahmans and their holy books, they knew everything, they had taken care of everything and of more than everything, the creation of the world, the origin of speech, of food, of inhaling, of exhaling, the arrangement of the senses, the acts of the gods, they knew infinitely much—but was it valuable to know all of this, not knowing that one and only thing, the most important thing, the solely important thing?
Surely, many verses of the holy books, particularly in the Upanishades of Samaveda, spoke of this innermost and ultimate thing, wonderful verses. Marvellous wisdom was in these verses, all knowledge of the wisest ones had been collected here in magic words, pure as honey collected by bees. No, not to be looked down upon was the tremendous amount of enlightenment which lay here collected and preserved by innumerable generations of wise Brahmans.
Where was the knowledgeable one who wove his spell to bring his familiarity with the Atman out of the sleep into the state of being awake, into the life, into every step of the way, into word and deed? Siddhartha knew many venerable Brahmans, chiefly his father, the pure one, the scholar, the most venerable one. His father was to be admired, quiet and noble were his manners, pure his life, wise his words, delicate and noble thoughts lived behind its brow —but even he, who knew so much, did he live in blissfulness, did he have peace, was he not also just a searching man, a thirsty man?
Did he not, again and again, have to drink from holy sources, as a thirsty man, from the offerings, from the books, from the disputes of the Brahmans? Why did he, the irreproachable one, have to wash off sins every day, strive for a cleansing every day, over and over every day? Was not Atman in him, did not the pristine source spring from his heart?
It had to be found, the pristine source in one's own self, it had to be possessed! Everything else was searching, was a detour, was getting lost. Often he spoke to himself from a Chandogya-Upanishad the words: "Truly, the name of the Brahman is satyam—verily, he who knows such a thing, will enter the heavenly world every day. And among all the wise and wisest men, he knew and whose instructions he had received, among all of them there was no one, who had reached it completely, the heavenly world, who had quenched it completely, the eternal thirst.
They went to the Banyan tree, they sat down, Siddhartha right here, Govinda twenty paces away. While putting himself down, ready to speak the Om, Siddhartha repeated murmuring the verse:. Om is the bow, the arrow is soul, The Brahman is the arrow's target, That one should incessantly hit. After the usual time of the exercise in meditation had passed, Govinda rose. The evening had come, it was time to perform the evening's ablution. He called Siddhartha's name. Siddhartha did not answer. Siddhartha sat there lost in thought, his eyes were rigidly focused towards a very distant target, the tip of his tongue was protruding a little between the teeth, he seemed not to breathe.
Thus sat he, wrapped up in contemplation, thinking Om, his soul sent after the Brahman as an arrow. Once, Samanas had travelled through Siddhartha's town, ascetics on a pilgrimage, three skinny, withered men, neither old nor young, with dusty and bloody shoulders, almost naked, scorched by the sun, surrounded by loneliness, strangers and enemies to the world, strangers and lank jackals in the realm of humans.
Behind them blew a hot scent of quiet passion, of destructive service, of merciless self-denial. In the evening, after the hour of contemplation, Siddhartha spoke to Govinda: "Early tomorrow morning, my friend, Siddhartha will go to the Samanas. He will become a Samana.
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Govinda turned pale, when he heard these words and read the decision in the motionless face of his friend, unstoppable like the arrow shot from the bow. Soon and with the first glance, Govinda realized: Now it is beginning, now Siddhartha is taking his own way, now his fate is beginning to sprout, and with his, my own. And he turned pale like a dry banana-skin. Siddhartha looked over as if he was just waking up.
Arrow-fast he read in Govinda's soul, read the fear, read the submission. Tomorrow, at daybreak I will begin the life of the Samanas. Speak no more of it. Siddhartha entered the chamber, where his father was sitting on a mat of bast, and stepped behind his father and remained standing there, until his father felt that someone was standing behind him. Quoth the Brahman: "Is that you, Siddhartha?
Then say what you came to say. Quoth Siddhartha: "With your permission, my father. I came to tell you that it is my longing to leave your house tomorrow and go to the ascetics. My desire is to become a Samana. May my father not oppose this. The Brahman fell silent, and remained silent for so long that the stars in the small window wandered and changed their relative positions, 'ere the silence was broken.
Silent and motionless stood the son with his arms folded, silent and motionless sat the father on the mat, and the stars traced their paths in the sky. Then spoke the father: "Not proper it is for a Brahman to speak harsh and angry words. But indignation is in my heart.
I wish not to hear this request for a second time from your mouth.
After an hour, since no sleep had come over his eyes, the Brahman stood up, paced to and fro, and left the house. Through the small window of the chamber he looked back inside, and there he saw Siddhartha standing, his arms folded, not moving from his spot. Pale shimmered his bright robe. With anxiety in his heart, the father returned to his bed. After another hour, since no sleep had come over his eyes, the Brahman stood up again, paced to and fro, walked out of the house and saw that the moon had risen. Through the window of the chamber he looked back inside; there stood Siddhartha, not moving from his spot, his arms folded, moonlight reflecting from his bare shins.
With worry in his heart, the father went back to bed. And he came back after an hour, he came back after two hours, looked through the small window, saw Siddhartha standing, in the moon light, by the light of the stars, in the darkness. And he came back hour after hour, silently, he looked into the chamber, saw him standing in the same place, filled his heart with anger, filled his heart with unrest, filled his heart with anguish, filled it with sadness.
And in the night's last hour, before the day began, he returned, stepped into the room, saw the young man standing there, who seemed tall and like a stranger to him. The first light of day shone into the room. The Brahman saw that Siddhartha was trembling softly in his knees. In Siddhartha's face he saw no trembling, his eyes were fixed on a distant spot.
Then his father realized that even now Siddhartha no longer dwelt with him in his home, that he had already left him. When you'll have found blissfulness in the forest, then come back and teach me to be blissful. If you'll find disappointment, then return and let us once again make offerings to the gods together. Go now and kiss your mother, tell her where you are going to. But for me it is time to go to the river and to perform the first ablution. He took his hand from the shoulder of his son and went outside.
Siddhartha wavered to the side, as he tried to walk. He put his limbs back under control, bowed to his father, and went to his mother to do as his father had said. As he slowly left on stiff legs in the first light of day the still quiet town, a shadow rose near the last hut, who had crouched there, and joined the pilgrim—Govinda. In the evening of this day they caught up with the ascetics, the skinny Samanas, and offered them their companionship and—obedience.
They were accepted. Siddhartha gave his garments to a poor Brahman in the street. He wore nothing more than the loincloth and the earth-coloured, unsown cloak. He ate only once a day, and never something cooked. He fasted for fifteen days. He fasted for twenty-eight days.
The flesh waned from his thighs and cheeks. Feverish dreams flickered from his enlarged eyes, long nails grew slowly on his parched fingers and a dry, shaggy beard grew on his chin. His glance turned to ice when he encountered women; his mouth twitched with contempt, when he walked through a city of nicely dressed people. He saw merchants trading, princes hunting, mourners wailing for their dead, whores offering themselves, physicians trying to help the sick, priests determining the most suitable day for seeding, lovers loving, mothers nursing their children—and all of this was not worthy of one look from his eye, it all lied, it all stank, it all stank of lies, it all pretended to be meaningful and joyful and beautiful, and it all was just concealed putrefaction.
The world tasted bitter. Life was torture. A goal stood before Siddhartha, a single goal: to become empty, empty of thirst, empty of wishing, empty of dreams, empty of joy and sorrow. Dead to himself, not to be a self any more, to find tranquility with an emptied heard, to be open to miracles in unselfish thoughts, that was his goal. Once all of my self was overcome and had died, once every desire and every urge was silent in the heart, then the ultimate part of me had to awake, the innermost of my being, which is no longer my self, the great secret.
Silently, Siddhartha exposed himself to burning rays of the sun directly above, glowing with pain, glowing with thirst, and stood there, until he neither felt any pain nor thirst any more. Silently, he stood there in the rainy season, from his hair the water was dripping over freezing shoulders, over freezing hips and legs, and the penitent stood there, until he could not feel the cold in his shoulders and legs any more, until they were silent, until they were quiet.
Silently, he cowered in the thorny bushes, blood dripped from the burning skin, from festering wounds dripped pus, and Siddhartha stayed rigidly, stayed motionless, until no blood flowed any more, until nothing stung any more, until nothing burned any more. Siddhartha sat upright and learned to breathe sparingly, learned to get along with only few breathes, learned to stop breathing. He learned, beginning with the breath, to calm the beat of his heart, leaned to reduce the beats of his heart, until they were only a few and almost none.
Instructed by the oldest if the Samanas, Siddhartha practised self-denial, practised meditation, according to a new Samana rules. A heron flew over the bamboo forest—and Siddhartha accepted the heron into his soul, flew over forest and mountains, was a heron, ate fish, felt the pangs of a heron's hunger, spoke the heron's croak, died a heron's death. A dead jackal was lying on the sandy bank, and Siddhartha's soul slipped inside the body, was the dead jackal, lay on the banks, got bloated, stank, decayed, was dismembered by hyaenas, was skinned by vultures, turned into a skeleton, turned to dust, was blown across the fields.
And Siddhartha's soul returned, had died, had decayed, was scattered as dust, had tasted the gloomy intoxication of the cycle, awaited in new thirst like a hunter in the gap, where he could escape from the cycle, where the end of the causes, where an eternity without suffering began.
He killed his senses, he killed his memory, he slipped out of his self into thousands of other forms, was an animal, was carrion, was stone, was wood, was water, and awoke every time to find his old self again, sun shone or moon, was his self again, turned round in the cycle, felt thirst, overcame the thirst, felt new thirst. Siddhartha learned a lot when he was with the Samanas, many ways leading away from the self he learned to go. He went the way of self-denial by means of pain, through voluntarily suffering and overcoming pain, hunger, thirst, tiredness.
He went the way of self-denial by means of meditation, through imagining the mind to be void of all conceptions. These and other ways he learned to go, a thousand times he left his self, for hours and days he remained in the non-self. But though the ways led away from the self, their end nevertheless always led back to the self. Though Siddhartha fled from the self a thousand times, stayed in nothingness, stayed in the animal, in the stone, the return was inevitable, inescapable was the hour, when he found himself back in the sunshine or in the moonlight, in the shade or in the rain, and was once again his self and Siddhartha, and again felt the agony of the cycle which had been forced upon him.
By his side lived Govinda, his shadow, walked the same paths, undertook the same efforts. They rarely spoke to one another, than the service and the exercises required. Occasionally the two of them went through the villages, to beg for food for themselves and their teachers. Did we reach any goals? Govinda answered: "We have learned, and we'll continue learning. You'll be a great Samana, Siddhartha. Quickly, you've learned every exercise, often the old Samanas have admired you. One day, you'll be a holy man, oh Siddhartha. Quoth Siddhartha: "I can't help but feel that it is not like this, my friend.
What I've learned, being among the Samanas, up to this day, this, oh Govinda, I could have learned more quickly and by simpler means. In every tavern of that part of a town where the whorehouses are, my friend, among carters and gamblers I could have learned it. Quoth Govinda: "Siddhartha is putting me on. How could you have learned meditation, holding your breath, insensitivity against hunger and pain there among these wretched people?
And Siddhartha said quietly, as if he was talking to himself: "What is meditation? What is leaving one's body?
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What is fasting? What is holding one's breath? It is fleeing from the self, it is a short escape of the agony of being a self, it is a short numbing of the senses against the pain and the pointlessness of life. The same escape, the same short numbing is what the driver of an ox-cart finds in the inn, drinking a few bowls of rice-wine or fermented coconut-milk. Then he won't feel his self any more, then he won't feel the pains of life any more, then he finds a short numbing of the senses. When he falls asleep over his bowl of rice-wine, he'll find the same what Siddhartha and Govinda find when they escape their bodies through long exercises, staying in the non-self.
This is how it is, oh Govinda. Quoth Govinda: "You say so, oh friend, and yet you know that Siddhartha is no driver of an ox-cart and a Samana is no drunkard. It's true that a drinker numbs his senses, it's true that he briefly escapes and rests, but he'll return from the delusion, finds everything to be unchanged, has not become wiser, has gathered no enlightenment,—has not risen several steps.
And Siddhartha spoke with a smile: "I do not know, I've never been a drunkard. But that I, Siddhartha, find only a short numbing of the senses in my exercises and meditations and that I am just as far removed from wisdom, from salvation, as a child in the mother's womb, this I know, oh Govinda, this I know. And once again, another time, when Siddhartha left the forest together with Govinda, to beg for some food in the village for their brothers and teachers, Siddhartha began to speak and said: "What now, oh Govinda, might we be on the right path?
Might we get closer to enlightenment? Might we get closer to salvation? Or do we perhaps live in a circle— we, who have thought we were escaping the cycle? Quoth Govinda: "We have learned a lot, Siddhartha, there is still much to learn. We are not going around in circles, we are moving up, the circle is a spiral, we have already ascended many a level.
And Siddhartha: "He has lived for sixty years and has not reached the nirvana. He'll turn seventy and eighty, and you and me, we will grow just as old and will do our exercises, and will fast, and will meditate. But we will not reach the nirvana, he won't and we won't. Oh Govinda, I believe out of all the Samanas out there, perhaps not a single one, not a single one, will reach the nirvana.
We find comfort, we find numbness, we learn feats, to deceive others. But the most important thing, the path of paths, we will not find. How could it be that among so many learned men, among so many Brahmans, among so many austere and venerable Samanas, among so many who are searching, so many who are eagerly trying, so many holy men, no one will find the path of paths? But Siddhartha said in a voice which contained just as much sadness as mockery, with a quiet, a slightly sad, a slightly mocking voice: "Soon, Govinda, your friend will leave the path of the Samanas, he has walked along your side for so long.
I'm suffering of thirst, oh Govinda, and on this long path of a Samana, my thirst has remained as strong as ever. I always thirsted for knowledge, I have always been full of questions. I have asked the Brahmans, year after year, and I have asked the holy Vedas, year after year, and I have asked the devote Samanas, year after year. Perhaps, oh Govinda, it had been just as well, had been just as smart and just as profitable, if I had asked the hornbill-bird or the chimpanzee.
It took me a long time and am not finished learning this yet, oh Govinda: that there is nothing to be learned! There is, oh my friend, just one knowledge, this is everywhere, this is Atman, this is within me and within you and within every creature. And so I'm starting to believe that this knowledge has no worser enemy than the desire to know it, than learning.
At this, Govinda stopped on the path, rose his hands, and spoke: "If you, Siddhartha, only would not bother your friend with this kind of talk! Truly, you words stir up fear in my heart. And just consider: what would become of the sanctity of prayer, what of the venerability of the Brahmans' caste, what of the holiness of the Samanas, if it was as you say, if there was no learning?! What, oh Siddhartha, what would then become of all of this what is holy, what is precious, what is venerable on earth?!
He who ponderingly, of a purified spirit, loses himself in the meditation of Atman, unexpressable by words is his blissfulness of his heart. But Siddhartha remained silent. He thought about the words which Govinda had said to him and thought the words through to their end. Yes, he thought, standing there with his head low, what would remain of all that which seemed to us to be holy?
What remains? What can stand the test? And he shook his head. At one time, when the two young men had lived among the Samanas for about three years and had shared their exercises, some news, a rumour, a myth reached them after being retold many times: A man had appeared, Gotama by name, the exalted one, the Buddha, he had overcome the suffering of the world in himself and had halted the cycle of rebirths. He was said to wander through the land, teaching, surrounded by disciples, without possession, without home, without a wife, in the yellow cloak of an ascetic, but with a cheerful brow, a man of bliss, and Brahmans and princes would bow down before him and would become his students.
This myth, this rumour, this legend resounded, its fragrants rose up, here and there; in the towns, the Brahmans spoke of it and in the forest, the Samanas; again and again, the name of Gotama, the Buddha reached the ears of the young men, with good and with bad talk, with praise and with defamation.
It was as if the plague had broken out in a country and news had been spreading around that in one or another place there was a man, a wise man, a knowledgeable one, whose word and breath was enough to heal everyone who had been infected with the pestilence, and as such news would go through the land and everyone would talk about it, many would believe, many would doubt, but many would get on their way as soon as possible, to seek the wise man, the helper, just like this this myth ran through the land, that fragrant myth of Gotama, the Buddha, the wise man of the family of Sakya.
He possessed, so the believers said, the highest enlightenment, he remembered his previous lives, he had reached the nirvana and never returned into the cycle, was never again submerged in the murky river of physical forms. Many wonderful and unbelievable things were reported of him, he had performed miracles, had overcome the devil, had spoken to the gods. But his enemies and disbelievers said, this Gotama was a vain seducer, he would spent his days in luxury, scorned the offerings, was without learning, and knew neither exercises nor self-castigation.
The myth of Buddha sounded sweet. The scent of magic flowed from these reports. After all, the world was sick, life was hard to bear—and behold, here a source seemed to spring forth, here a messenger seemed to call out, comforting, mild, full of noble promises. Everywhere where the rumour of Buddha was heard, everywhere in the lands of India, the young men listened up, felt a longing, felt hope, and among the Brahmans' sons of the towns and villages every pilgrim and stranger was welcome, when he brought news of him, the exalted one, the Sakyamuni.
The myth had also reached the Samanas in the forest, and also Siddhartha, and also Govinda, slowly, drop by drop, every drop laden with hope, every drop laden with doubt. They rarely talked about it, because the oldest one of the Samanas did not like this myth. He had heard that this alleged Buddha used to be an ascetic before and had lived in the forest, but had then turned back to luxury and worldly pleasures, and he had no high opinion of this Gotama. Verily, this made my chest ache when I breathed, and thought to myself: If only I would too, if only we both would too, Siddhartha and me, live to see the hour when we will hear the teachings from the mouth of this perfected man!
Speak, friend, wouldn't we want to go there too and listen to the teachings from the Buddha's mouth? Quoth Siddhartha: "Always, oh Govinda, I had thought, Govinda would stay with the Samanas, always I had believed his goal was to live to be sixty and seventy years of age and to keep on practising those feats and exercises, which are becoming a Samana. But behold, I had not known Govinda well enough, I knew little of his heart. So now you, my faithful friend, want to take a new path and go there, where the Buddha spreads his teachings.
Quoth Govinda: "You're mocking me. Mock me if you like, Siddhartha! But have you not also developed a desire, an eagerness, to hear these teachings? And have you not at one time said to me, you would not walk the path of the Samanas for much longer? At this, Siddhartha laughed in his very own manner, in which his voice assumed a touch of sadness and a touch of mockery, and said: "Well, Govinda, you've spoken well, you've remembered correctly. If you only remembered the other thing as well, you've heard from me, which is that I have grown distrustful and tired against teachings and learning, and that my faith in words, which are brought to us by teachers, is small.
But let's do it, my dear, I am willing to listen to these teachings—though in my heart I believe that we've already tasted the best fruit of these teachings. Quoth Govinda: "Your willingness delights my heart. But tell me, how should this be possible? How should the Gotama's teachings, even before we have heard them, have already revealed their best fruit to us? Quoth Siddhartha: "Let us eat this fruit and wait for the rest, oh Govinda! But this fruit, which we already now received thanks to the Gotama, consisted in him calling us away from the Samanas!
Whether he has also other and better things to give us, oh friend, let us await with calm hearts. On this very same day, Siddhartha informed the oldest one of the Samanas of his decision, that he wanted to leave him. He informed the oldest one with all the courtesy and modesty becoming to a younger one and a student.
But the Samana became angry, because the two young men wanted to leave him, and talked loudly and used crude swearwords. Govinda was startled and became embarrassed. But Siddhartha put his mouth close to Govinda's ear and whispered to him: "Now, I want to show the old man that I've learned something from him. Positioning himself closely in front of the Samana, with a concentrated soul, he captured the old man's glance with his glances, deprived him of his power, made him mute, took away his free will, subdued him under his own will, commanded him, to do silently, whatever he demanded him to do.
The old man became mute, his eyes became motionless, his will was paralysed, his arms were hanging down; without power, he had fallen victim to Siddhartha's spell. But Siddhartha's thoughts brought the Samana under their control, he had to carry out, what they commanded. And thus, the old man made several bows, performed gestures of blessing, spoke stammeringly a godly wish for a good journey. And the young men returned the bows with thanks, returned the wish, went on their way with salutations. It is hard, it is very hard to cast a spell on an old Samana.
Truly, if you had stayed there, you would soon have learned to walk on water. In the town of Savathi, every child knew the name of the exalted Buddha, and every house was prepared to fill the alms-dish of Gotama's disciples, the silently begging ones. Near the town was Gotama's favourite place to stay, the grove of Jetavana, which the rich merchant Anathapindika, an obedient worshipper of the exalted one, had given him and his people for a gift.
All tales and answers, which the two young ascetics had received in their search for Gotama's abode, had pointed them towards this area. And arriving at Savathi, in the very first house, before the door of which they stopped to beg, food has been offered to them, and they accepted the food, and Siddhartha asked the woman, who handed them the food:. Quoth the woman: "Here, you have truly come to the right place, you Samanas from the forest.
You should know, in Jetavana, in the garden of Anathapindika is where the exalted one dwells. There you pilgrims shall spent the night, for there is enough space for the innumerable, who flock here, to hear the teachings from his mouth. This made Govinda happy, and full of joy he exclaimed: "Well so, thus we have reached our destination, and our path has come to an end! But tell us, oh mother of the pilgrims, do you know him, the Buddha, have you seen him with your own eyes?
Quoth the woman: "Many times I have seen him, the exalted one. On many days, I have seen him, walking through the alleys in silence, wearing his yellow cloak, presenting his alms-dish in silence at the doors of the houses, leaving with a filled dish. Delightedly, Govinda listened and wanted to ask and hear much more. But Siddhartha urged him to walk on. They thanked and left and hardly had to ask for directions, for rather many pilgrims and monks as well from Gotama's community were on their way to the Jetavana.
And since they reached it at night, there were constant arrivals, shouts, and talk of those who sought shelter and got it. The two Samanas, accustomed to life in the forest, found quickly and without making any noise a place to stay and rested there until the morning. At sunrise, they saw with astonishment what a large crowd of believers and curious people had spent the night here. On all paths of the marvellous grove, monks walked in yellow robes, under the trees they sat here and there, in deep contemplation—or in a conversation about spiritual matters, the shady gardens looked like a city, full of people, bustling like bees.
The majority of the monks went out with their alms-dish, to collect food in town for their lunch, the only meal of the day. The Buddha himself, the enlightened one, was also in the habit of taking this walk to beg in the morning. Siddhartha saw him, and he instantly recognised him, as if a god had pointed him out to him.
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He saw him, a simple man in a yellow robe, bearing the alms-dish in his hand, walking silently. Attentively, Govinda looked at the monk in the yellow robe, who seemed to be in no way different from the hundreds of other monks. And soon, Govinda also realized: This is the one. And they followed him and observed him. The Buddha went on his way, modestly and deep in his thoughts, his calm face was neither happy nor sad, it seemed to smile quietly and inwardly.
With a hidden smile, quiet, calm, somewhat resembling a healthy child, the Buddha walked, wore the robe and placed his feet just as all of his monks did, according to a precise rule. But his face and his walk, his quietly lowered glance, his quietly dangling hand and even every finger of his quietly dangling hand expressed peace, expressed perfection, did not search, did not imitate, breathed softly in an unwhithering calm, in an unwhithering light, an untouchable peace.
Thus Gotama walked towards the town, to collect alms, and the two Samanas recognised him solely by the perfection of his calm, by the quietness of his appearance, in which there was no searching, no desire, no imitation, no effort to be seen, only light and peace. He felt little curiosity for the teachings, he did not believe that they would teach him anything new, but he had, just as Govinda had, heard the contents of this Buddha's teachings again and again, though these reports only represented second- or third-hand information.
But attentively he looked at Gotama's head, his shoulders, his feet, his quietly dangling hand, and it seemed to him as if every joint of every finger of this hand was of these teachings, spoke of, breathed of, exhaled the fragrant of, glistened of truth. This man, this Buddha was truthful down to the gesture of his last finger.
This man was holy. Never before, Siddhartha had venerated a person so much, never before he had loved a person as much as this one. They both followed the Buddha until they reached the town and then returned in silence, for they themselves intended to abstain from on this day. They saw Gotama returning—what he ate could not even have satisfied a bird's appetite, and they saw him retiring into the shade of the mango-trees. But in the evening, when the heat cooled down and everyone in the camp started to bustle about and gathered around, they heard the Buddha teaching.
They heard his voice, and it was also perfected, was of perfect calmness, was full of peace. Gotama taught the teachings of suffering, of the origin of suffering, of the way to relieve suffering. Calmly and clearly his quiet speech flowed on. Suffering was life, full of suffering was the world, but salvation from suffering had been found: salvation was obtained by him who would walk the path of the Buddha. With a soft, yet firm voice the exalted one spoke, taught the four main doctrines, taught the eightfold path, patiently he went the usual path of the teachings, of the examples, of the repetitions, brightly and quietly his voice hovered over the listeners, like a light, like a starry sky.
When the Buddha—night had already fallen—ended his speech, many a pilgrim stepped forward and asked to accepted into the community, sought refuge in the teachings. And Gotama accepted them by speaking: "You have heard the teachings well, it has come to you well. Thus join us and walk in holiness, to put an end to all suffering. Behold, then Govinda, the shy one, also stepped forward and spoke: "I also take my refuge in the exalted one and his teachings," and he asked to accepted into the community of his disciples and was accepted.
Right afterwards, when the Buddha had retired for the night, Govinda turned to Siddhartha and spoke eagerly: "Siddhartha, it is not my place to scold you. We have both heard the exalted one, we have both perceived the teachings. Sara' la nostalgia. Ich sterbe nicht nochmal. Engel und Teufel, Luisa. Jenseits von Eden. Unchained Love. Guardian Angel. Wir sind Giganten. La valle dell'Eden. Ich habe mich an dich verloren. Ich suche nach Liebe. Du bist ein Teil von mir. Engel der Nacht. Who's Gonna Love You Tonight.
Du bist das Feuer. Ich fahr die Nacht. Das siebente Wunder. I Can See The Light. Zeig' mir bitte nicht Immer wenn Du fortgehst. Wenn du lachst.