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For six years he led the life of a hermit and penitent.
他過了六年修道和懺悔的生活。
But his meditations were deeper and his sufferings greater than those of any other hermit.
但他比所有的其他人都想得深遠，他比先前的任何人更嚴酷地折磨自己。
As he sat, he almost stopped breathing altogether, and endured the most terrible pains.
他坐著時幾乎根本不呼吸，他忍受著最可怕的疼痛。
He ate so little that he would often faint with weakness.
他吃得如此之少，以致他竟虛弱得倒下。
And yet, in all those years, he found no inner peace.
但是在所有的這些年月里，他的內心得不到安寧。
For he didn't only reflect on the nature of the world, and whether all things were really one.
因為他不僅在思索世界是什么，是否萬物在根本上全都是一回事。
He thought about its sadness, of all the pain and suffering of mankind – of old age, sickness and death.
他思索世間的悲哀，思索人類的全部痛苦和災難——老年、疾病和死亡。
And no amount of penitence could help him there.
在這方面的懺悔還是幫不了他什么忙。
And so, gradually, he began to eat again.
于是，漸漸地他又開始進食。
His strength returned, and he breathed like other people.
他又恢復了力氣，和其他人一樣呼吸。
Other hermits who had formerly admired him now despised him, but he took no notice of them.
先前一直頌揚他的其他修道者現在很鄙視他，但是他毫不動搖。
Then, one night, as he sat beneath a fig tree in a beautiful clearing in a wood, understanding came.
然后，有一天夜晚，他在一棵無花果樹下那景色宜人的林中空地上打坐，他來了靈感。
