赫塞（Hermann Hesse,1877—1962）
悉達多 Siddhartha
船夫
【一位虛構的年輕婆羅門，離家踏上一段充滿個人體驗的旅程，其中穿插著苦行僧、財富、愛情以及擺渡人的生活，最終獲得覺悟。虛構的悉達多Siddhartha曾與歷史上的悉達多·喬達摩(釋迦牟尼Siddhartha Gautama)相遇，聆聽他的教誨，但最終因他認為智慧無法透過教義傳承而分道揚鑣。】
他(悉達多Siddhartha)愉快地生活在瓦蘇代瓦(Vasudeva)身邊，兩人偶爾交談幾句，話不多卻都經過深思 熟慮。瓦蘇代瓦不喜歡講話，悉達多很少能激起他談話的興致。
有一次悉達多問他：「你是否也向河水學到了那個秘密，就是時間並不存在？」 瓦蘇代瓦滿臉爽朗的笑容。
「是的，悉達多，」他說，「你想講的是不是：河水到處都同時存在，在源頭，在河口，在瀑布，在渡口，在急流，在大海，在山潤，到處都同時存在，因此對於它只有現在，而不存在未來的陰影？」
「是這樣，」悉達多回答，「我弄明白這點後再看自己的生活，就發現它也是一條河，少年悉達多跟成年悉達多以及老年悉達多，只是被影子隔開罷了，而不存在現實的間隔。悉達多先前的出生並非過去，他的死亡與回歸梵天也並非將來。沒有什麼過去，沒有什麼將來；一切都是現實，一切都有本質和當下存在。」
悉達多侃侃而談，這大徹大悟使他異常興奮。噢，一切的煩惱不就是時間嗎？一旦克服了時間，一旦從思想擯除了時間，世間的一切艱難困苦，敵對仇視，不也一掃而光了嗎？他說得興高采烈，瓦蘇代瓦只是容光煥發地望著他微笑，點點頭表示讚許；他默不作聲地點了點頭，用手摸了摸悉達多的肩膀，然後便轉身又做自己的事去了。
又有一次，當雨季河水猛漲，水流湍急，悉達多說：「哦，朋友，河水有許多聲音，非常多聲音，不是嗎？它是不是有國王的聲音，有戰士的聲音，有公牛的聲音，有夜鳥的聲音，有產婦的聲音，有歎氣者的聲音，以及千千萬萬種別的聲音？」
「是這樣，」瓦蘇代瓦點點頭，「河水的聲音裡包含世間萬物的聲音。」
「當你同時聽到它全部的上萬種聲音時，」悉達多接著講，「你知道它說 的是哪個字嗎？」
瓦蘇代瓦臉上綻出了幸福的笑容，他俯身湊近悉達多，在他耳邊低聲說出 了神聖的「唵」(Om)字。這也正是悉達多從流水中聽到的那個字。
「Om」(唵)
悉達多講完了，瓦蘇代瓦便用他親切的昏花老眼望著他，沒有說話，只是默默地向他傳送來愛與快樂的光輝，表達出他對他的理解與體諒。他攜起悉達多的手，牽著他來到河邊那個老地方，和他一起坐下來，笑吟吟地面向著河水。
「你聽見河水在笑，」老船夫說，「可是你並沒有聽見一切。我們再聽聽， 你會聽到更多。」
兩人凝神細聽。河水歌聲悠揚，宛如多聲部的合唱。悉達多望著河水，流水映出一幅幅畫面：出現了他父親，他形單影隻，因思念兒子而悲傷；出現了他自己，也孤孤單單，也為思念遠方的兒子苦惱；出現了他兒子，同樣孤獨無依，小小年紀就一個人在青春欲望的驅使下闖蕩，各人有各人的目標，各人為各人的目標痴迷，各人有各人的困惱。河水憂傷而痛苦地吟唱著，滿懷著渴望地流向自己的目的地。
「你聽見了嗎？」瓦蘇代瓦默默地望著他，似乎在問。悉達多點點頭。「再仔細聽聽！」瓦蘇代瓦低聲說。
悉達多更努力傾聽。父親的形象，他自己的形象，兒子的形象，都交融在了一起，還有珈瑪拉(Kamala)的形象也出現了，隨後又變得模糊起來，還有果文達(Govinda)的形象，還有其他人的形象，全都混雜交融在一起，全都匯入了河水，隨著河流一起奔向目標，熱切地、焦急地、痛苦地奔向目標。於是河水的歌聲充滿了渴慕，充滿了熾烈的痛楚，充滿了無法滿足的欲望。河水向著自己的目標奔去，悉達多眼睜睜看著它匆匆流走。看著這由他、他的親人以及他見過的所有人組成的河水，看著河水掀起的浪花，匆匆地奔向目標，奔向許多的目標，奔向瀑布，奔向湖泊，奔向急流，奔向大海，到達了所有的目標，在每一個目標之後又跟著另一個新的目標，於是水變成蒸汽，升騰到空中，在空中變成雨再落下來，成為泉水，成為小溪，成為河流，再重新流淌，重新奔騰。但是那渴望的聲音起了變化。它依然充滿痛苦和渴慕，可是已摻和進別的聲音，快樂的和痛苦的聲音，美好的和邪惡的聲音，歡笑的和哀傷的聲音，成百種聲音，上千種各色各樣的聲音。
悉達多凝神聽著。眼下他已完全是個傾聽者，已完全沉潛到了傾聽中，身心一片虛空，全力吸收著聲響，他感到這時已經把傾聽學到了家。當初他也時常聽到這所有一切，聽到河裡這許許多多的聲音，但今天聽起來卻別有新意。
他已經不再能區分這許多聲音，不再能聽見歡笑聲與哭泣聲，小孩的聲音與男人的聲音，它們全都混雜在了一起，渴望的怨訴和醒悟的歡笑，債怒的叫喊和垂死的呻吟，全都混合為一體，相互滲透，相互交織，沒完沒了地經繞、糾結在一起。一切一切全結合了起來，一切聲音、一切目標、一切欲念、一切痛苦、一切喜悅、一切的善與一切的惡，全結合到了一起，就是這個塵世。一切結合在一起就成了這事件之河，就成了生命的交響樂。
當悉達多全神貫注地傾聽著這河流之聲，傾聽著這首包含千百種聲音的交響詩，不管是煩惱也罷或是歡笑也罷，這時他的心便不會束縛於某一種聲音，而是將他的自我融入進了傾聽之中，於是便聽見了一切，聽見了整體，聽見了統一，於是這由萬千音響組成的偉大交響共鳴便凝結成了一個字，這就是「唵」(Om)，意即為：圓滿完美。
Hermann Hesse,1877—1962）
悉達多 Siddhartha
The Ferryman
[A fictional young Brahmin who leaves his home to undergo a personal, experiential journey involving ascetics, wealth, love, and life as a ferryman before finding his own enlightenment. The historical Siddhartha Gautama, whom the fictional Siddhartha actually meets, listens to, and ultimately parts ways with because he believes wisdom cannot be passed down through teachings. ]
......
He lived happily with Vasudeva and occasionally they exchanged words, few and long-considered words. Vasudeva was no friend of words. Siddhartha was rarely successful in moving him to speak.
He once asked him, 'Have you also learned that secret from the river; that there is no such thing as time?'
A bright smile spread over Vasudeva's face. 'Yes, Siddhartha,' he said. 'Is this what you mean? That the river is everywhere at the same time, at the source and at the mouth, at the waterfall, at the ferry, at the current, in the ocean and in the mountains, everywhere, and that the present only exists for it, not the shadow of the past, nor the shadow of the future?'
"That is it,' said Siddhartha, 'and when I learned that, I reviewed my life and it was also a river, and Siddhartha the boy, Siddhartha the mature man and Siddhartha the old man were only separated by shadows, not through reality. Siddhartha's previous lives were also not in the past, and his death and his return to Brahma are not in the future. Nothing was, nothing will be, everything has reality and presence.'
Siddhartha spoke with delight. This discovery had made him very happy. Was then not all sorrow in time, all self-torment and fear in time? Were not all difficulties and evil in the world conquered as soon as one conquered time, as soon as one dispelled time? He had spoken with delight, but Vasudeva just smiled radiantly at him and nodded his agreement. He stroked Siddhartha's shoulder and returned to his work.
And once again when the river swelled during the rainy season and roared loudly, Siddhartha said: 'Is it not true, my friend, that the river has very many voices? Has it not the voice of a king, of a warrior, of a bull, of a nightbird, of a pregnant woman and a sighing man, and a thousand other voices?'
'It is so,' nodded Vasudeva, 'the voices of all living creatures are in its voice'
'And do you know, continued Siddhartha, 'what word it pronounces when one is successful in hearing all its ten thousand voices at the same time?'
Vasudeva laughed joyously; he bent towards Siddhartha and whispered the holy Om in his ear. And this was just what Siddhartha had heard.
Om
......
When he had finished talking, Vasudeva directed his somewhat weakened glance at him. He did not speak, but his face silently radiated love and serenity, understanding and knowledge. He took Siddhartha's hand, led him to the seat on the river bank, sat down beside him and smiled at the river.
'You have heard it laugh,' he said, 'but you have not heard everything. Let us listen; you will hear more.'
They listened. The many-voiced song of the river echoed softly. Siddhartha looked into the river and saw many pictures in the flowing water. He saw his father, lonely, mourning for his son; he saw himself, lonely, also with the bonds of longing for his faraway son; he saw his son, also lonely, the boy eagerly advancing along the burning path of life's desires, each one concentrating on his goal, each one obsessed by his goal, each one suffering. The river's voice was sorrowful. It sang with yearning and sadness, flowing towards its goal.
'Do you hear?' asked Vasudeva's mute glance. Siddhartha nodded. 'Listen better!' whispered Vasudeva.
Siddhartha tried to listen better. The picture of his father, his own picture, and the picture of his son all flowed into each other. Kamala's picture also appeared and flowed on, and the picture of Govinda and others emerged and passed on. They all became part of the river. It was the goal of all of them, yearning, desiring, suffering; and the river's voice was full of longing, full of smarting woe, full of insatiable desire. The river flowed on towards its goal. Siddhartha saw the river hasten, made up of himself and his relatives and all the people he had ever seen. All the waves and water hastened, suffering, towards goals, many goals, to the waterfall, to the sea, to the current, to the ocean and all goals were reached and each one was succeeded by another. The water changed to vapour and rose, became rain and came down again, became spring, brook and river, changed a new, flowed anew. But the yearning voice had altered. It still echoed sorrowfully, searchingly but other voices accompanied it, voices of pleasure and sorrow, good and evil voices, laughing and lamenting voices, hundreds of voices, thousands of voices.
Siddhartha listened. He was now listening intently, completely absorbed, quite empty, taking in everything. He felt that he had now completely learned the art of listening. He had often heard all this before, all these numerous voices in the river, but today they sounded different. He could no longer distinguish the different voices — the merry voice from the weeping voice, the childish voice from the manly voice. They all belonged to each other: the lament of those who yearn, the laughter of the wise, the cry of indignation and groan of the dying. They were all interwoven and interlocked, entwined in a thousand ways. And all the voices, all the goals, all the yearnings, all the sorrows, all the pleasures, all the good and evil, all of them together was the world. All of them together was the stream of events, the music of life.
When Siddhartha listened attentively to this river, to this song of a thousand voices; when he did not listen to the sorrow or laughter, when he did not bind his soul to any one particular voice and absorb it in his Self, but heard them all, the whole, the unity; then the great song of a thousand voices consisted of one word: Om - perfection.