The palm at the end of the mind, beyond the last thought, rises in the bronze distance. A gold feathered bird sings in the palm, without human meaning, without human feeling, a foreign song. You know then that it is not the reason that makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine. The palm stands on the edge of space. The wind moves slowly in the branches. The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

from The Dreams of Chang

"For, were all these Buddhas of yours more foolish than
you and I? And yet, just you listen to what they say
about this love of the universe and all things corporeal,
beginning with sunlight, with a wave, with the air, and
winding up with woman, with an infant, with the scent
of white acacia! Or else, -- do you know what sort of a
thing this Tao is, that has been thought up by nobody
else but you Chinamen? I know it but poorly myself,
brother, but then, everybody knows it poorly; but, as
far as it is possible to understand it, just what is it, after
all? The Abyss, our First Mother; She gives birth to all
things that exist in this universe, and She devours them
as well, and, devouring them, gives birth to them anew;
or, to put it in other words, It is the Path of all that ex-
ists, which nothing that exists may resist. But we resist
It every minute; every minute we want to turn to our
desire not only the soul of a beloved woman, let us say,
but even the entire universe as well! It is an eerie thing
to be living in this world, Chang," said the captain; "it's
a most pleasant thing, but still an eerie one, and espe-
cially for such as I! For I am too avid of happiness, and
all too often do I lose the way: dark and evil is this
Path, -- or is it entirely, entirely otherwise?"
And, after a silence, he added further:
"For after all, what is the main thing? When you
love somebody, there is no power on earth that can make
you believe that the one you love can possibly not love
you. And that is just where the devil comes in, Chang.
But how magnificent life is; my God, how magnificent!"

--Ivan Bunin
translated by Bernard Guilbert Guerney

No comments:

Post a Comment