Awakening

by Hermann Hesse

　　When Siddhartha left the grove, where the Buddha, the perfected one,stayed behind, where Govinda stayed behind, then he felt that in thisgrove his past life also stayed behind and parted from him. He ponderedabout this sensation, which filled him completely, as he was slowlywalking along. He pondered deeply, like diving into a deep water helet himself sink down to the ground of the sensation, down to the placewhere the causes lie, because to identify the causes, so it seemed tohim, is the very essence of thinking, and by this alone sensations turninto realizations and are not lost, but become entities and start toemit like rays of light what is inside of them.Slowly walking along, Siddhartha pondered. He realized that he was noyouth any more, but had turned into a man. He realized that one thinghad left him, as a snake is left by its old skin, that one thing nolonger existed in him, which had accompanied him throughout his youthand used to be a part of him: the wish to have teachers and to listen toteachings. He had also left the last teacher who had appeared on hispath, even him, the highest and wisest teacher, the most holy one,Buddha, he had left him, had to part with him, was not able to accepthis teachings.Slower, he walked along in his thoughts and asked himself: "But whatis this, what you have sought to learn from teachings and from teachers,and what they, who have taught you much, were still unable to teachyou?" And he found: "It was the self, the purpose and essence of whichI sought to learn. It was the self, I wanted to free myself from, whichI sought to overcome. But I was not able to overcome it, could onlydeceive it, could only flee from it, only hide from it. Truly, nothing in this world has kept my thoughts thus busy, as this my very ownself, this mystery of me being alive, of me being one and beingseparated and isolated from all others, of me being Siddhartha! Andthere is no thing in this world I know less about than about me, aboutSiddhartha!"Having been pondering while slowly walking along, he now stopped asthese thoughts caught hold of him, and right away another thought sprangforth from these, a new thought, which was: "That I know nothing aboutmyself, that Siddhartha has remained thus alien and unknown to me, stemsfrom one cause, a single cause: I was afraid of myself, I was fleeingfrom myself! I searched Atman, I searched Brahman, I was willing toto dissect my self and peel off all of its layers, to find the core ofall peels in its unknown interior, the Atman, life, the divine part, theultimate part. But I have lost myself in the process."Siddhartha opened his eyes and looked around, a smile filled his faceand a feeling of awakening from long dreams flowed through him from hishead down to his toes. And it was not long before he walked again,walked quickly like a man who knows what he has got to do."Oh," he thought, taking a deep breath, "now I would not let Siddharthaescape from me again! No longer, I want to begin my thoughts and mylife with Atman and with the suffering of the world. I do not want tokill and dissect myself any longer, to find a secret behind the ruins.Neither Yoga-Veda shall teach me any more, nor Atharva-Veda, nor theascetics, nor any kind of teachings. I want to learn from myself, wantto be my student, want to get to know myself, the secret of Siddhartha."He looked around, as if he was seeing the world for the first time.Beautiful was the world, colourful was the world, strange and mysteriouswas the world! Here was blue, here was yellow, here was green, the skyand the river flowed, the forest and the mountains were rigid, all of itwas beautiful, all of it was mysterious and magical, and in its midst washe, Siddhartha, the awakening one, on the path to himself. All of this,all this yellow and blue, river and forest, entered Siddhartha for thefirst time through the eyes, was no longer a spell of Mara, was nolonger the veil of Maya, was no longer a pointless and coincidentaldiversity of mere appearances, despicable to the deeply thinking Brahman,who scorns diversity, who seeks unity. Blue was blue, river was river,and if also in the blue and the river, in Siddhartha, the singular anddivine lived hidden, so it was still that very divinity's way andpurpose, to be here yellow, here blue, there sky, there forest, and hereSiddhartha. The purpose and the essential properties were not somewherebehind the things, they were in them, in everything."How deaf and stupid have I been!" he thought, walking swiftly along."When someone reads a text, wants to discover its meaning, he will notscorn the symbols and letters and call them deceptions, coincidence,and worthless hull, but he will read them, he will study and love them,letter by letter. But I, who wanted to read the book of the world andthe book of my own being, I have, for the sake of a meaning I hadanticipated before I read, scorned the symbols and letters, I called thevisible world a deception, called my eyes and my tongue coincidentaland worthless forms without substance. No, this is over, I haveawakened, I have indeed awakened and have not been born before thisvery day."In thinking this thoughts, Siddhartha stopped once again, suddenly, asif there was a snake lying in front of him on the path.Because suddenly, he had also become aware of this: He, who was indeedlike someone who had just woken up or like a new-born baby, he had tostart his life anew and start again at the very beginning. When he hadleft in this very morning from the grove Jetavana, the grove of thatexalted one, already awakening, already on the path towards himself, hehe had every intention, regarded as natural and took for granted, thathe, after years as an ascetic, would return to his home and his father.But now, only in this moment, when he stopped as if a snake was lying onhis path, he also awoke to this realization: "But I am no longer theone I was, I am no ascetic any more, I am not a priest any more, I am noBrahman any more. Whatever should I do at home and at my father'splace? Study? Make offerings? Practise meditation? But all this isover, all of this is no longer alongside my path."Motionless, Siddhartha remained standing there, and for the time ofone moment and breath, his heart felt cold, he felt a cold in his chest,as a small animal, a bird or a rabbit, would when seeing how alone hewas. For many years, he had been without home and had felt nothing.Now, he felt it. Still, even in the deepest meditation, he had beenhis father's son, had been a Brahman, of a high caste, a cleric. Now,he was nothing but Siddhartha, the awoken one, nothing else was left.Deeply, he inhaled, and for a moment, he felt cold and shivered.Nobody was thus alone as he was. There was no nobleman who did notbelong to the noblemen, no worker that did not belong to the workers,and found refuge with them, shared their life, spoke their language.No Brahman, who would not be regarded as Brahmans and lived with them,no ascetic who would not find his refuge in the caste of the Samanas,and even the most forlorn hermit in the forest was not just one andalone, he was also surrounded by a place he belonged to, he alsobelonged to a caste, in which he was at home. Govinda had become amonk, and a thousand monks were his brothers, wore the same robe as he,believed in his faith, spoke his language. But he, Siddhartha, wheredid he belong to? With whom would he share his life? Whose languagewould he speak?Out of this moment, when the world melted away all around him, when hestood alone like a star in the sky, out of this moment of a cold anddespair, Siddhartha emerged, more a self than before, more firmlyconcentrated. He felt: This had been the last tremor of the awakening,the last struggle of this birth. And it was not long until he walkedagain in long strides, started to proceed swiftly and impatiently,heading no longer for home, no longer to his father, no longer back.