In the autumn two years ago, during a party at a friend’s house, I picked up a book and started reading in a room filled with green plants and yellow light while the party hovered somewhere above me. I was lost in the words only to be brought back occasionally by the unnatural laughter of uneasy people upstairs. I did not finish the story that night as the party eventually tumbled downstairs with all the subtlety of a crashing elephant. Little did I know the effect that the book would have on me – my ongoing search for recreating that moment that I lived in the book and the story flowed in me.

“Om is the bow, the arrow is the soul,
Brahman is the arrow’s goal
At which one aims unflinchingly.”

“Siddhartha” by Hermann Hesse is a wonderful story about the self-discovering journey of a young man. I was mesmerized by the river of words and its currents that swept me from bank to bank – sometimes gently and other times with a ferocity that jarred me. It had everything to do with the moment I was in – the room, the light, the smell, the fragments of music flitting down, the contrast of being alone in a crowded house. I have attempted several times to start the book again and to finish it in a moment where I am lost until the end. Maybe this holiday I will find that time again.

(Audrey) My pilgrimage began this morning with a 7 a.m. bus from Patna. My destination: Bodhgaya, the place where the Gautama Buddha, the founder of Buddhism, was enlightened. The journey began rather inauspiciously. The bus was mosquito ridden and so on a trip to visit one of the holiest spots of a religion that preaches non-violence, I was killing bugs right and left. The bus went at about 20 kilometers an hour on average, and had a horn the likes of which could wake the dead. But no matter, 5-hours later I did reach Bodhgaya, and it was all worth it. After a quick lunch and meeting up with my husband, who had taken an overnight train from Delhi at my suggestion, we headed to the Mahabodhi Temple.

The abbreviated story is that once Siddhartha (i.e. Gautama Buddha) left his family, riches, and kingdom, he wandered India looking for enlightenment, for the Truth. He exhausted every teacher he came across and finally, perhaps in desperation, sat down under a Bodhi tree. He found enlightenment there and went on to share his knowledge with many, resulting in Buddhism. I find Siddhartha’s story compelling. Who amongst us hasn’t sought and been dissatisfied? A lot of people have obviously felt likewise, and taken the extra step to buy into the enlightenment bit, and chose to follow the Buddhist path in the years and centuries since. Buddhism has spread across the world now, and is particularly prevalent in East Asia. Ironically, the religion died out in India some centuries back (there has now been a brief resurgence, but that’s a topic for another day). But Buddhists still come back to India to see the place where Siddhartha himself was enlightened. The complex features a large temple now (see above) along with various shrines and stupas.

Outside of the main temple you do a parikrama, a circumambulation, a mini-pilgrimage that encapsulates your larger trip to get here.

After going around you finally see it, the holy grail of this entire enterprise.

It’s not the same tree under which Siddhartha was enlightened some 2,500 years ago, but people say that it’s a descendent of that tree. To be there was exhilarating for me, not just because of what happened in B.C.E. times but also because of what’s happening there now. We saw so many people from so many different places, and each has there own purpose in coming. Pilgrimage spots matter not just because of the past but because of the present… for this reason as much as any other, I came to Bodhgaya. To be continued…

SIDDHARTHA

HOMEWORK: Be sure to check the previous ELA 12 post of your homework details.

Today we read about the change that has come upon Siddhartha now that he has shed his belief in teachings and teachers.  He suffers through what he describes as “birth” or “growing” pangs, but that they pass.  One of these was a feeling of loneliness and a loss of connection.

He speaks about being born anew, and we discussed the concept of “beginner’s mind.”

SIDDHARTHA

Homework for Thursday:  Please give me two paragraphs that address and answer these two questions:

• Does Gautama adequately answer Siddhartha’s contention that “nobody will obtain salvation by means of teachings” (pg 13)?
• Why doesn’t Siddhartha become one of Gautama’s followers?

Siddhartha left his home to search for enlightenment at age 29.

my current age.

it’s kind of a curious coincidence no?

The following Cliff’s Notes books are on sale at Books From A Rose:

SIDDHARTHA

Yesterday we began our reading of the novel Siddhartha by Herman Hesse.  We will begin by watching the movie Little Buddha, which in part describes the early life of the Buddha.  Your job in watching this movie is to take away the basic Buddha back story in preparation for reading the novel.

“Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind.”~~Ralph Waldo Emerson

How important are your own thoughts to you? When was the last time you retreated to your own thoughts and had an inner jihad/struggle?  I find it sometimes completely necessary to be by myself…understand, that I actually hate to be by myself since my mind runs at a thousand thoughts per second (talk about A.D.D., someone should take my brain scan), but it has become clear to me it is very important to be by myself sometimes.  I find that in those times I am able to evaluate life and society clearly and know that what I am thinking are my own thoughts and ideas.  I am able to more easily identify the things I love and loath, my true opinions regarding those social issues we debate day in and out, my passion, and my aspirations, but more importantly I am able to evaluate what life really means to me…How much stock I really put into this existence.  Those are my moments of GENIUS.

“I shun father and mother and wife and brother when my genius calls me.”~~ Ralph Waldo Emmerson

Kate Langenburg/A&E Groove

Welp, just knocked off another book this morning. Of course, this one is by Hermann Hesse, one of the best writers in literature. The Journey to the East was another one of those books that didn’t leave me disappointed.

It all starts with the main character, H.H., who is a part of the League, a group of known and unknown musicians, writers, artists, and whathaveyous. They are making a journey to the east on foot so that each of them can somehow achieve one life goal. H, while on his quest, decides that he will document the story of their travels without giving away any of the League’s innermost secrets.

During their travels together, they all meet a servant named Leo, who H is taken with right away. He feels there is something more to this character other than just his servant appearance. One day Leo goes missing and H gets so distraught he abandons the journey to the east under the assumption that all others in League have also done so.

The rest of his life is spent trying to write his book about the League and he never gets anywhere with his writing. After some time, he learns of where Leo lives and goes to visit him. It turns out to be a disappointment for him because Leo doesn’t recognize him. However, the next day, Leo visits H at his house and summons him on a trek to the League.

The end of the book is most poignant — Leo turns out to the President of the League, not a servant, and H is brought to trial before them for leaving. H is happy by this news, as it means the League is still in membership and they invite him back in, even though they consider him an abandoner. The rest of the book deals with H’s own self discovery as a person so he can finally be at peace.

This book has a lot of valuable self realization messages in it: Don’t judge a book by its cover. The road to self discovery may not always be the path you expect. Take a minute to open your eyes and be aware of things around you. Your way may not be the only way.

And if you read and enjoy this book, you will love his most famous novel Siddhartha.

Herman Hesse-lezers! Ik zag er net eentje op de trein.

I found an old copy of Siddhartha. The first time I read it was over 40 years ago!

Hesse began writing this novel in 1919 in the nightmarish aftermath of World War 1 and his wife’s overwhelming schizophrenia. This was Hesse’s effort, like Siddhartha’s, to meet the fear of impermanence and find a true path. Thirty years later, Siddhartha, published in English in 1951, resonated with seekers of the Beat and post-Beat generations, who knew in their bones that the time were changing. But what about the book? The story is simple, the language plain as befits a fable, maybe a bit preachy, overladen with teachings. Siddhartha is both spiritual biography and fiction. This simultaneously interests and discomforts.

It seems at first to parallel the life of Buddha, then diverges and becomes, perhaps, the life of a Buddha. It would be a stretch to say there is a plot. Rather, the novel moves through a sequence of relationships –with Siddhartha’s boyhood friend Govinda, who becomes a disciple of the Buddha; Gotama Buddha himself; the courtesan Kamala, who schools Siddhartha in sensuality but sees that he is sadly unable to open his heart; the merchant Kamaswami, who teaches him the ways of commerce, simultaneously leading toward material wealth and spiritual poverty; the saintly old ferryman Vasudeva, his closest companion; Siddhartha’s unnamed and prideful son, child of Kamala, who flees his father’s righteousness; and, at last, the river itself, all-accepting, ever-flowing. Siddhartha’s understanding is tempered and shaped by each encounter. Each is incomplete, each leads to suffering, yet the reader sees that wholeness is always nearby. But it takes all of this book, all his life, for Siddhartha to see this himself and mysteriously transmit it with a kiss to his oldest friend and fellow seeker, Govinda. Is Siddhartha’s message particularly “Buddhist”? Maybe not, but it has surely led many thousands in that direction. Hesse, speaking through Siddhartha, calls his path “yoga-veda,” or the yogi’s way.

Doctrinal purity is impossible, but each of us can choose to live a meaningful life. I would say, to borrow from Sulak Sivaraksa, that this is Buddhism with a small b. From reading about Hesse’s life and his deep involvement with psychoanalysis, it strikes me that this novel is the first meddling of psychology and Dharma, a melding that today is often found in Western Buddhism. One can see the ferryman Vasudeva, with his infinite ability to listen, as a scantily clad proto-analyst. In the middle of the book, Siddhartha is asked several times to explain what he has learned from his years as a mendicant and seeker. He says, “I can think, I can wait, I can fast.” This means, I believe, that Siddhartha can use his mind and senses, he can practice patience, and he can endure hardship — essential capacity for the practice of spiritual life. No one of these qualities is sufficient for awakening, but the ability to wait, to be patient, to accept and release each moment is key.

I find that mindfulness, thoughtfulness and patience are at the root of a compassionate life.

Finally, this is where Siddhartha arrives and embodies his own name, which means “one who has accomplished his aim or purpose.” From ferryman Vasudeva, from the river, from his own trials and reflections, Siddhartha learns to listen — and his innate wisdom flowers: “It was nothing more than a readiness of the soul, a mysterious knack: the ability at every moment in the midst of life to think the thought of unity, to feel and breathe unity.” Hamlet says that “readiness is all.” In the face of impermanence, this is my watchword. Between the writing of Siddhartha’s “Part One” and “Part Two,” two years unfolded as Hermann Hesse worked his way out of depression and became “ready,” receptive, able to find his way to the novel’s end. I admire his intention, dedication and skill.

May we all get ready and wake up.

I keep coming back to the saying of the Guardian’s legendary editor C.P. Scott and his words as I love the simple manner in which it defines the job of a journalist: Comment is free, but facts are sacred. The fact is not a matter of interpretation. It makes no difference to the fact whether you face it or you avoid it; the fact is just the fact. This post is dedicated to a simple man who lives with the fact.

My 88-year-old uncle, K.C. Tewari, has limitless attention, not a single problem and a face that conveys without a word immense love, understanding and concern. He is the husband of my mother’s eldest and only sister. His life has been quite eventful; six children, 3 boys, 3 girls, all of them married and all having growing up children. The eldest son is about 58. My uncle had a pretty senior government job, and all his children were married after he retired. He is not one of those old men who get together in the park and discuss a lot of things, he is quite happy on his own. He neither seeks company nor does he avoid it. Everyone faces the fact, one has to; but to live with it is quite another matter.

I have seen only one in my life. To quote a 20th century philosopher, “Is there a basic duality at the very core or, does duality arise only when the mind moves away from ‘what is’?” You have pain in your stomach, that is the fact, and the process of thought that there was no pain yesterday or will not be tomorrow is duality. My uncle is always with ‘what is’. I admire him, and on very cold and stormy days I just go and sit by his side for a while, his warmth is enough to heal. I don’t have what he has and I don’t even try because any comparison is an even bigger movement away from the fact.

Perhaps that is the reason that he has never carried any problem in his life despite having a multitude of them over the years. When death and tragedy and the inevitable suffering that most people get caught in came to his doorstep and in the lives of his children then that was the fact. When all that passed and the Sun came out on a bright new day then that became the reality. You can’t fight with him because he is beyond conflict and it’s not possible to drag him into one. It is tough to be with the only thing that exists, which is this moment in which you might be rich or poor, happy or miserable, lonely or ‘absolutely whole and alone’ like my uncle.

I am told that he did his work with a lot of care and he was a man of few words. He now speaks a little more than when he was young. Sometimes you can see him looking at the dictionary because he might have seen a new word in the newspaper. He loves to watch football. His handwriting is so beautiful and so clear, that each and every alphabet is worth looking at. And there is a lot of his written work available as after he retired and even before it there was always someone or the other that he was teaching.

He made all the college notes of his youngest daughter and then must be for five or six grandchildren after that. Before he had retired he would teach Hemraj; a servant in the house who was very interested in getting educated. Hemraj cleared his 12th standard, and I don’t know how many man hours my uncle devoted everyday after work for more than six years. Hemraj now runs a successful motor repair shop in my hometown of Mandi; he always comes to meet whenever my uncle is visiting. My uncle must be sitting in his house right now with ‘what is’. You can talk about the past with him; he has a great memory it’s just that he is not stuck there.

He was close to dying twice, but when he survived there was no thinking of that time because he was all attentive to the now. According to him there is no problem with the fact; while there are all sorts of problems in escaping it. He is a man of action and needs no activity. My uncle is very frugal with money but is blessed with the generosity of the heart. And at 88 he takes care of quite a lot.

As such things cannot be inherited the children have the DNA but not even one of the qualities that he has in abundance. He is full of life; and has a dignity that is so easily visible yet difficult to describe as it is not linked to a position, title or any tangible material accumulations. He must have seen me as an infant but my memory of him goes back to when I must have been six or seven years old. The pleasure of his regular company started when I began my first job in Delhi and lived in my uncle’s home initially. It was home not just to me but for many of my journalist friends in the initial years.

The cover of security had to be broken and the temptations of the world at 22 had a gravitational pull that I never thought was worth resisting. So first with friends and then alone slowly I settled in the city and would meet my uncle with irregular regularity. One day and I don’t remember when; just like the last scene of the movie The Sixth Sense my memory of him went all the way back after a thought crossed my mind.

My uncle was never caught in the process of becoming and all the strife that goes with it; he always had the joy of simple being. Some things cannot be planned, they just happen. Becoming can never know being; becoming is psychological effort and being is effortless. A man is either simple or not and there is no way of becoming simple. The only possibility here is to realise one’s complexity and the mind may stumble upon the simplicity that takes all the worries of life away.

He is a wise man and, therefore, many a times just says a word or two to change the course of a life he cares for if it is going sideways. More than that my uncle lets everyone go his or her way and never interferes as he probably understands what the Hermann Hesse novel Siddhartha talks about: Knowledge can be transferred but wisdom is incommunicable. He doesn’t read fiction or non-fiction so the sentence for him is a statement I wrote as it seems to be true in his case.

If anyone has the desire to see a man who is completely unscarred by 88-years of life, I can arrange for that. My only request is just observe simply without making him feel strange, he is rare but otherwise normal; I am pretty sure you will have a good time if you are one of those who love the facts of life.

Most Christians are of course familiar with Jesus’ parable of the Mustard Seed. But there is also a mustard seed parable in the Buddhist tradition. As a spiritualist Christian with a Zen Buddhist background, I find great wisdom in the sayings and stories of the Buddha. Please enjoy, reflect, and meditate on this as you read the Buddhist parable-

Kisa Gotami and the Mustard Seed

There was once a woman from the city of Savatthi by the name of Kisa Gotami, known for her wisdom and kindness. Her many uncountable merits earned her, as a husband, the son of a nobleman. She bore him a single child. In the dark of a storm, in a flash of lightning, with animals baying just outside her window, Kisa Gotami realized that her baby was not crying. Death had claimed the child in his sleep.

Kisa Gotami pleaded with God and the spirits, and with every devil by name, but none of them would answer her prayers. Thus, her dead babe in arm, she went out into the morning marketplace to find a medicine that could cure death.

“Please,” she pled to the merchants. “My son needs medicine. He’s ill.”

“Kisa, your son is dead.”

But she would not hear their words. Thus she wandered the market, asking everyone if they knew of medicine for death. The woman the whole city once looked to for advice was now the center of everyone’s pity.

“Gone mad, she has,” some said. “She’ll come to her wits,” said others. “It may be kinder to kill her,” said others still. Everyone in the city was moved by Kisa Gotami’s sorrow.

She arrived with her dead baby to a certain apothecary and, once again, begged for a medicine with which to cure death. The apothecary, having been given warning of Kisa Gotami’s coming, pretended to consider her question long and hard. Finally, he told her, “No. No, I don’t have anything to cure death. But if anyone does, it would be the ascetic, Siddhartha Gautama Buddha. He was a brilliant doctor before he retired, you know.”

“Where can I find this man?” Gotami screamed, clutching her dead child.

“He is staying in the Jeta Grove, where they’re building the monastery.”

Gotami fled the medicine shop without another word. That same day, she rushed into the Jeta Grove, where the Buddha was lecturing a large assembly, many of whom knew of Kisa Gotami’s plight.

Crying, reeking of death, and stained by the city, Gotami threw herself at the Buddha’s feet, disturbing the lecture and laying her dead son flat on his back.

“Remove her,” someone grumbled.

“Stay your tongue,” came a reply. “That is Kisa Gotami. She can’t be held accountable for what she does.”

“Please,” Kisa Gotami said, ignoring the murmurs about her. “I’ve been told that you once practiced medicine, and that you knew a cure for death. I beg you, sir, bring my son back to life. Please! My husband is amongst the city’s wealthiest – I can pay you any fee.”

A silence of pity spread through the crowd, and the Buddha looked on the distraught mother in silence.

“Please!” She cried.

Still the Buddha was silent.

“Do you know the cure or not? I beg you!”

“Yes,” the Buddha said. “I know the cure for death.”

A collective gasp went through the crowd, and the Buddha’s closest disciples gave him a suspicious look.

“Any price,” Gotami said, weeping. “Anything!”

“Very well,” the Buddha said. “I require but a mustard seed – the other reagents I have. But it cannot be any common mustard seed. It must come from a family that has never known death. If you bring me such a seed, I will be able to prepare your cure.”

“Oh, most generous doctor! Enlightened sage! Thank you! Thank you!”

“Ah – Leave the child,” the Buddha said, as Gotami stood. “I can prepare the rest of the cure while you search.”

For the first time in two days, Kisa Gotami traveled without the presence of her son’s corpse.

When she was finally out of sight, the Buddha cast his gaze at the child’s body … rotted, riddled with maggots and broken.

“Come, Ananda. We must cremate Kisa Gotami’s son.”

Kisa Gotami searched Savatthi with impeccable order, going from home to home, and asking everyone the same question. “Can you spare a mustard seed?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Thank you! But – has your family ever known death?”

“Yes, Gotami. Only four months ago, my father passed. You were there, remember?”

And in response to her queries as she went from family to family she heard-

“Yes, Gotami. My parents and their parents, and the brothers of them all are all dead and gone. I am alone in the world.”

“Yes, Gotami. My son was slain in battle.”

“… killed by wolves.”

“… executed …”

“… drowned herself …”

“… fell from a partition …”

“… died from the plague …”

“I am the only one left of my family, Kisa Gotami.”

Kisa Gotami, battered and coated in filth, knelt in the mud of a long-due rainstorm and said to herself, “My son is dead.”

Pellets of water battered her forehead and streaked the dirt down her face.

“My son is dead.”

Kisa Gotami returned to the Jeta Grove and found the Buddha, sweeping wood-dust from the construction site.

“Kisa Gotami,” the Buddha said in greeting.

“Blessed Sage,” Kisa replied.

She was smeared over with the grime of the road, and old tears had carved paths through the dirt on her cheek. Despite this, the Buddha said, “Your wandering has done you well.”

“Oh, Gautama, how selfish was my grief. I went from family to family, and pretended for two long days that there might exist some clan of immortals. Those wives alive in Savatthi who haven’t already lost a son are bound to lose one someday. And if they never lose a son, then a son is bound to lose a mother. And how many parents lay buried beneath our feet!”

“Your observation is accurate in every way, Kisa Gotami. Neither those wise nor those foolish are immune to death. However great a father roars, he can never waken a dead daughter. However much a mother begs the gods, a dead son will never cry again. One by one, Gotami, we each die. This is but a greater disappointment among a thousand lesser ones, and just as a Sage does not mourn a broken pot, a Sage does not mourn death.

“Your tears painted trails down your face, once, Gotami, but those trails did not lead you to peace of mind. For four days, you suffered the elements as if you wandered a jungle instead of the heart of a great city. But your sorrow accomplished nothing for your son. Be prepared, Gotami, for you will suffer many other deaths in your time, and some day, your own. Destroy the attachment that causes your grief, and you will lead a better life.”

Thus Kisa Gotami took her first step down the path of wisdom. And the Buddha finished sweeping the floor.

~~~~~

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Starring : Siddharth, Sada, Charmi, Saloni
Music : Chakri
Director : Shivkumar
Watch Online : Click Here For Megavideo Link

Starring : Siddharth, Genelia
Music : A.R.Rehman
Director : Shankar
Watch Online : Megavideo Link1 , Megavideo Link2 , Megavideo Link3 , Megavideo Link4

Starring : Siddharth, Trisha, Srihari, Prakash Raj
Music : Devi Sri Prasad
Director : Prabhudeva
Watch Online : Megavideo Link1   ,  Megavideo Link2

Starring : Siddharth, Shamili
Music : Yuvanshankar Raja
Director : Anand Ranga
Watch Online : Click Here For Megavideo Link

Siddhartha- Shruti Hassan’s starrer in the direction of K Prakash, son of K Raghavender Rao has been launched recently. K Raghavendra Rao is producing the movie under ABODE (A Bellyful of Dreams Entertainment) banner. The title “Yodha” is said to be in consideration for the film.

Sidharth and shruti hassan

Siddhartha is said to play the role of a lover and warrior in the film, which is said to be a social fantasy one. Shruthi Hassan, who is making her debut in Telugu with the film, will be paring opposite Siddharth in the lead female role. One more well-known actress is said to play another key role in the flick. Mickey J Mayer is composing music. The shooting of the movie is currently progressing in Ramoji Film City.

Segun nuestros grandes amigos los occidentales (sé lambizcon con quien tiene mas poder que tú), las claves para alcanzar la perfección son: Esperar, meditar, ayunar. Contras, Pros y Emasiones.

Esperar (-) Muchos esperan a que venga San Judas Tadeo y les salve la vida, o ganarse la loteria, o simplemente a ser viejos y que sus hijos tengan una casa bonita. o aplican la de “Todo lo que pueda hacer hoy lo dejare para mañana”.

Esperar (+) hay gente tonta, sobre todo en el amor siempre se quieren conseguir lo primero que encuentran en el trabajo o lo primero que en internet te dice: “eres el amor de mi vida”. Así como en las reuniones formales debes de rechazar las botanitas y esperar al plato fuerte, igual en las relaciones amorosas debes esperar a que encuentres algo que valga la pena. Una vez identificado el objetivo…. actuar.

Esperar (e) Cambiaria el termino esperar por asechar… asecha y ataca.

Meditar (-) Baah, poner tu cabeza en blanco… hoy en día lo hacemos viendo tele y escuchando música pegajosa con letras y música  fáciles de digerir, también hay novias o amigos antreros con quien se puede “meditar”(poner la cabeza en blanco).

Meditar (+)  Cuanta basura no tienes en la cabeza, cuantos traumas y tonterías pasan por ahí… deja de pensar tanto todo lo que vives, no te dijeron que fueras feo porque lo fueras, solo es un juego… ni te corrieron del trabajo porque fueras un fracasado, hay una crisis económica, y reducir el personal es la moda, hasta hay libros especializados en eso… “como saber correr personal” editorial selector… medita, apaga tu cerebro de tanta porquería que te metes, no puedes cambiar todo en el mundo.

Meditar (e) cambiaria el termino meditar y diría… no sobreanalices, pero piensa las consecuencias de tus actos, trata de que te sean aunque sea un poco productivos. Mínimo que en verdad te la pases bien cuando apagues tu cerebro.

Ayunar (-) Este es el más chafa de todooos, como se les ocurría pasar dos días sin comer, sé que no se refieren tanto a la comida, sino a no tener gulas y excesos. Pero privarte de tus libertades es lo peor que te puedes hacer a ti mismo.

Ayunar(+) Es bueno saber medir tus excesos, si un día vas a atascarte de tacos, hazlo, pero en la semana come decentemente, tampoco te atasques todos los días de tacos porque aparte de que darás asquito, te quedaras sin dinero (los tacos son de la comida más cara del mundo)… además, lo peor de todo, y te lo digo con voz de experiencia, si los comes seguido… pierden magia, llega un momento en el que deseas un rico caldito de pollo con verduras. Igual con todos los excesos… no es que te hagan daño, si no que van perdiendo magia (coca, sexo, tabaco, tele, tacos el paisa, etc.). Hazle caso al comercial “Todo con medida, nada con exceso”

Ayunar (e) Yo cambiaria el termino ayunar, por la frase “NO SEAS MONOTONO”, si no eres monótono, no caes en vicios, puesto que un día quieres un cigarro y al siguiente una inyección de heroína, y al siguiente una mujer, y al siguiente jugar XBOX. Claro, no te salgas de lo que estas “asechando” como ya vimos en Esperar (/).

Conclusión (o como te parto la cola filosofía occidental):

Si tienes algo en mente, sin prejuicios ni sobreanalisis, piensa en las ventajas que habrá en efectuar eso, ya sea divertirte, o pudrirte en dinero, o conseguir a la persona que quieres… o lo que sea, pero que a tu parecer tenga algún beneficio para ti… luego se constante en conseguirlo, traza planes y crea algoritmos adecuados, pero no caigas en la monotones, porque significa que estás dando vueltas en círculos y no estás llegando a ningún lado, además de que significa que tu objetivo es muy aburrido… pásatela chévere.

In der HTL mussten wir für den Deutschunterricht dieses Werk von Herman Hesse lesen. Durch dieses Buch wurde ich zum ersten Mal in meinem Leben wirklich dazu angeregt den Sinn des Lebens für mich persönlich zu hinterfragen.

“Siddhartha  bent down, lifted a stone from the ground and held it in his hand. ‘This,’ he said, handling it, ‘is a stone, and within a certain length of time it will perhaps be soil and from the soil it will become plant, animal or man. Previously I would have said: This stone is just a stone; it has no value, it belongs to the world of Maya, but perhaps because within the cycle of change it can also become man and spirit, it is also of importance. This is what I would have thought.”

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Squash Blossom with Sunlight

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“But now I think: This stone is a stone; it is also animal, God and Buddha. I do not respect and love it because it was one thing and will become something else, but because it has already long been everything and always is everything. I love it just because it is a stone, because today and now it appears to me as a stone.”
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Herman Hesse
in Siddhartha
First publication 1922
Copyright 1951 New Directions Publishing

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This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.