評論
打印
All true Gurus are alike in the fact that they exist in a constant state of self-realization, but external characteristics differ. The apparent differences between my Guru and her master are vast—she's a feminine, multilingual, university-educated and savvy professional woman; he was a sometimes-capricious, sometimes-kingly South Indian old lion. For a nice New England girl like me, it is easy to follow my living teacher, who is so reassuring in her propriety—exactly the kind of Guru you could take home to meet Mom and Dad. But Swamiji . . . he was such a wild card. And from the first time I came to this Yogic path and saw photographs of him, and heard stories about him, I've thought, "I'm just going to stay clear of this character. He's too big. He makes me nervous."
每一位真正的導師都同樣處在某種經久不息的自我實現狀態，但他們的外在性格卻不盡相同。我的導師和她師父之間，有著天壤之別——她是女性，說多種語言，受大學教育，是經驗豐富的職業女性；他則是時而反覆無常、時而具王者風范的南印度老獅子。像我這種來自新英格蘭州的好姑娘，很容易追隨舉止得體、教人放心的這位在世導師——正是那種能帶回家見父母的導師。可是思瓦米吉……他總是不按牌理出牌。打從我走上這條瑜伽道路，看見他的相片，聽見關于他的傳說，我就想：“我得和這人物保持距離。他太龐大。他讓我緊張。”
But now that I am here in India, here in the Ashram that was his home, I'm finding that all I want is Swamiji. All I feel is Swamiji. The only person I talk to in my prayers and meditations is Swamiji. It's the Swamiji channel, round the clock. I am in the furnace of Swamiji here and I can feel him working on me. Even in his death, there's something so earthy and present about him. He's the master I need when I'm really struggling, because I can curse him and show him all my failures and flaws and all he does is laugh. Laugh, and love me. His laughter makes me angrier and the anger motivates me to act. And I never feel him closer to me than when I'm struggling through the Gurugita, with its unfathomable Sanskrit verses. I'm arguing with Swamiji the whole time in my head, making all kinds of blowhard proclamations, like, "You better be doing something for me because I'm doing this for you! I better see some res-ults here! This better be purifying!" Yesterday, I got so incensed when I looked down at my chanting book and realized we were only on Verse Twenty-five and I was already burning in discomfort, already sweating (and not like a person sweats, either, but rather like a cheese sweats), that I actually expelled a loud: "You gotta be kidding me!" and a few women turned and looked at me in alarm, expecting, no doubt, to see my head start spinning demonically on my neck.
然而如今我人在印度，在曾是他家的道場，才發現我只需要思瓦米吉。我只感覺到思瓦米吉。我在禱告和禪坐之際，只對思瓦米吉說話。這是日夜播放的思瓦米吉頻道。我在思瓦米吉的爐子里，感覺到他正在鍛煉我。即使死后，他依然像存在人世。他是我奮力掙扎之時所需要的大師，因為我能詛咒他，向他展露我的失敗、缺陷，而他只是發笑，發笑而愛我。他的笑使我更加憤怒，而憤怒激勵我起身行動。當我艱難地吟唱梵語詩節高深莫測的古魯梵歌時，使我覺得比任何時候更靠近他。我從頭到尾在腦子里和思瓦米吉爭辯，做出各種夸大的宣言，比方：“你最好為我做些事，因為我為你做了這些！最好讓我看見成果！最好起凈化作用！”昨日我非常惱火，因為低頭看吟唱本發現才唱到二十五節，而我已渾身不適而發燙，汗流浹背（不像人出汗，反倒像乳酪冒出水汽），于是我竟大聲吐出一句：“你在開玩笑吧！”幾個女人慌忙轉頭看我，肯定預期看見我的頭像著魔般開始在自己的脖子上旋轉。
Every once in a while I recall that I used to live in Rome and spend my leisurely mornings eating pastries and drinking cappuccino and reading the newspaper.
我偶爾想起住在羅馬的日子，早晨總是從從容容吃糕餅、喝咖啡、看報。
That sure was nice.
那真不錯。
Though it seems very far away now. Eat, Pray, Love
盡管現在似乎離我十分遙遠。
