Sleep Story: Siddhartha Chapter 2

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28:37

Sleep Story: Siddhartha Chapter 2

by Hilary Lafone

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Enjoy this sleep story to help you drift off into a peaceful slumber. Tonight we read the second chapter of the timeless classic, Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse. Fall asleep while listening to a young man live out his heart's true calling. Let this reading inspire you to live your most authentic life. Please note: this chapter describes Siddhartha's suffering as he learns the lessons of The Samanas. It may not be suitable for all ages.

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Broomfield, CO, USA

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Broomfield, CO, USA

Transcript

Siddhartha by Herman Hess Chapter 2 With the Samanas In the evening of this day they caught up with the aesthetics, The skinny Samanas, And offered them their companionship and obedience. They were accepted. Siddhartha gave his garments to a poor Brahmin in the street. He wore nothing more than the loincloth and the earth-colored, Unsewn cloak. He ate only once a day and never cooked anything. He fasted for fifteen days. He fasted for twenty-eight days. The flesh wane from his thighs and cheeks. Feverous dreams flickered from his enlarged eyes. Long nails grew slowly on his parched fingers, And a dry, Shaggy beard grew on his chin. His glance turned to ice when he encountered women. His mouth twitched with contempt when he walked through a city of nicely dressed people. He saw merchants trading, Princes hunting, Mourners wailing for their dead, Whores offering themselves, Physicians trying to help the sick, Priests determining the most suitable day for seating, Lovers loving, Mothers nursing their children. And all of this was not worthy of one look from his eye. It all lied. It all stank. It all stank of lies. It all pretended to be meaningful and joyful and beautiful. And it all was just concealed putrefaction. The world tasted bitter. Life was torture. A goal stood before Siddhartha. A single goal to become empty. Empty of thirst. Empty of wishing. Empty of dreams. Empty of joy and sorrow. Dead to himself. Not to be his self anymore. To find tranquility with an emptied herd. To be open to miracles and unselfish thoughts. That was his goal. Once all of myself was overcome and had died, Once every desire and every urge was silent in the heart, Then the ultimate part of me had to awake. The innermost of my being, Which is no longer myself, The great secret. Silently Siddhartha exposed himself to burning rays of the sun directly above, Glowing with pain, Glowing with thirst, And stood there until he neither felt any pain nor thirst anymore. Silently he stood there in the rainy season. From his hair the water was dripping over freezing shoulders, Over freezing hips and legs, And the penitent stood there until he could not feel the cold in his shoulders and legs anymore. Until they were silent. Until they were quiet. Silently he cowered in the thorny bushes. Blood dripped from the burning skin. From festering wounds dripped pus. And Siddhartha stayed rigidly, Stayed motionless. Until no blood flowed anymore. Until nothing stung anymore. Until nothing burned anymore. Siddhartha sat upright and learned to breathe sparingly. Learned to get along with only a few breaths. Learned to stop breathing. He learned, Beginning with the breath, To calm the beat of his heart. Learned to reduce the beats of his heart. Until they were only a few and almost none. Instructed by the oldest of the Samanas, Siddhartha practiced self-denial. Practice meditation according to new Samana rules. A heron flew over the bamboo forest and Siddhartha accepted the heron into his soul. Flew over forest and mountains. Was a heron. Ate fish. Felt the pangs of a heron's hunger. Spoke the heron's croak. Died a heron's death. A dead jackal was lying on the sandy bank. And Siddhartha's soul slipped inside the body. Was the dead jackal. Lay on the banks. Got bloated. Stank. Decayed. Was dismembered by hyenas. Skinned by vultures. And turned into a skeleton. Turned to dust. Was blown across the fields. And Siddhartha's soul returned. Had died. Had decayed. Had scattered as dust. Had tasted the gloomy intoxication of the cycle. Awaited a new thirst like a hunter in the gap. Where he could escape from the cycle. Where the end of the causes. Where an eternity without suffering began. He killed his senses. He killed his memory. He slipped out of his self into a thousand of other forms. Was an animal. Was carrion. Was stone. Was wood. Was water. And awoke every time to find his old self again. Sun shone or moon. Was his self again. Turned round in the cycle. Felt thirst. Overcame the thirst. Felt new thirst. Siddhartha learned a lot when he was with the Samanas. Many ways leading away from the self he learned to go. He went the way of self denial by means of pain. Through voluntarily suffering and overcoming pain. Hunger. Thirst. Tiredness. He went the way of self denial by means of meditation. Through imagining the mind to be void of all conceptions. These and other ways he learned to go. A thousand times he left his self for hours and days he remained in the non-self. But though the ways led away from the self, Their end nevertheless always led back to the self. Though Siddhartha fled from the self a thousand times, Stayed in nothingness, Stayed in the animal, In the stone. In return was inevitable, Inescapable was the hour. When he found himself back in the sunshine or in the moonlight, In the shade or in the rain and was once again his self and Siddhartha. And again felt the agony of the cycle which had been forced upon him. By his side lived Govinda. His shadow walked the same paths, Undertook the same efforts. They rarely spoke to one another. Then the service and the exercises required. Only the two of them went through the villages to beg for food for themselves and their teachers. How do you think Govinda? Siddhartha spoke one day while begging this way. How do you think did we progress? Did we reach any goals? Govinda answered. We have learned and will continue learning. You'll be a great Samana Siddhartha. Only you've learned every exercise. Often the old Samanas have admired you. One day you'll be a holy man. Oh Siddhartha. Siddhartha said, I can't help but feel it is not like this my friend. What I've learned being among the Samanas up to this day. This oh Govinda, I could have learned more quickly and by simpler means. In every tavern of that part of town where the whorehouses are my friend. Among carters and gamblers I could have learned it. Govinda said, Siddhartha is putting me on. How could you have learned meditation, Holding your breath and sensitivity against hunger and pain there among those wretched people? And Siddhartha said quietly as if talking to himself. What is meditation? What is leaving one's body? What is fasting? What is holding one's breath? It is fleeing from the self. It is a short escape of the agony of being a self. It is a short numbing of the senses against the pain and the pointlessness of life. The same escape, The same short numbing is what the driver of an ox cart finds in the inn. Drinking a few bowls of rice wine or fermented coconut milk. Then he won't feel his self anymore. Then he won't feel the pains of life anymore when he finds a short numbing of the senses. When he falls asleep over his bowl of rice wine he'll find the same what Govinda and Siddhartha find when they escape their bodies through long exercises staying in the non-self. This is how it is, Oh Govinda. Then Govinda replied, You say so oh friend and yet you know that Siddhartha is no driver of an ox cart and a Samana is no drunkard. It's true that a drinker numbs his senses. It's true he briefly escapes and rests but he'll return from the delusion, Finds everything to be unchanged, Has not become wiser, Has gathered no enlightenment, Has not risen several steps. And Siddhartha spoke with a smile, I do not know, I've never been a drunkard but that I Siddhartha find only a short numbing of the senses in my exercises and meditations and that I am just as far removed from wisdom from salvation as a child in the mother's womb. This I know oh Govinda, This I know. And once again another time when Siddhartha left the forest together with Govinda to beg for some food in the village for their brothers and teachers, Siddhartha began to speak. What now oh Govinda, Might we be on the right path? Might we get closer to enlightenment? Might we get closer to salvation or do we perhaps live in a circle? We who have thought we were escaping the cycle. Govinda said we have learned a lot Siddhartha, There is still much to learn. We're not going around in circles, We are moving up. The circle is a spiral. We have already ascended many a level. Siddhartha answered, How old would you think is our oldest Samana, Our venerable teacher? Govinda replied, Our oldest one might be about sixty years of age and Siddhartha, He has lived for sixty years and has not reached the nirvana. He'll turn seventy and eighty and you and me we will grow just as old and we'll do our exercises and we'll fast and we'll meditate but we will not reach the nirvana. He won't and we won't. Oh Govinda, I believe out of all the Samanas out there, Perhaps not a single one, Not a single one will reach the nirvana. We find comfort, We find numbness, We learn feats to deceive others but the most important thing, The path of paths we will not find. If you only spoke Govinda, Wouldn't it speak such terrible words Siddhartha? How could it be that among so many learned men, Among so many Brahmins, Among so many austere and venerable Samanas, Among so many who are searching, So many who are eagerly learning, Trying, So many holy men, No one will find the path of paths? But Siddhartha said in a voice which contained just as much sadness as mockery, With a quiet, A sadly, Slightly mocking voice. Soon Govinda, Your friend will leave the path of the Samanas. He has walked along your side for so long. I'm suffering of thirst, Oh Govinda, And on this long path of a Samana, My thirst has remained as strong as ever. I always thirsted for knowledge. I have always been full of questions. I have asked the Brahmins year after year and I have asked the holy Vedas year after year and I have asked the devout Samanas year after year. Perhaps Oh Govinda, It had been just as well, Had been just as smart and just as profitable if I had asked the hornbill bird or the chimpanzee. It took me a long time and I am finished learning this yet, Oh Govinda. There is nothing to be learned. There is indeed no such thing. So I believe as what we refer to as learning. There is, Oh my friend, Just one knowledge. This is everywhere. This is Atman. This is within me and within you and within every creature. And so I'm starting to believe that this knowledge has no worser enemy than the desire to know it, Than learning. That this Govinda stopped on the path, Rose his hands and spoke, If you Siddhartha only would not bother your friend with this kind of talk. Truly your words stir up fear in my heart. And just consider what would become of the sanctity of prayer. What of the venerability of the Brahman's caste? What of the holiness of the Samanas? If it was as you say, If there was no learning. What Oh Siddhartha, What would then become of all of this? What is holy? What is precious? What is venerable on earth? And Govinda mumbled a verse to himself, A verse from the Upanishad. He who ponderingly of a purified spirit loses himself in the meditation of Atman, Unexpressible by words is his blissfulness of the heart. But Siddhartha remained silent. He thought about the words which Govinda had said to him and thought the words through to their end. Yes he thought standing there with his head low, What would remain of all that which seemed to us to be holy? What remains? What can stand the test? And he shook his head. At one time when the two young men had lived among the Samanas for about three years and had shared their exercises, Some knew the rumor, A myth reached them after being retold many times. A man had appeared, Gotama by name, The exalted one, The Buddha. He had overcome the suffering of the world and himself and had halted the cycle of rebirths. He had said to wander through the land teaching, Surrounded by disciples, Without possession, Without home, Without a wife, In the yellow cloak of an aesthetic, But with a cheerful brow, A man of bliss, The Brahmins and princes would bow down before him and would become his students. This myth, This rumor, This legend resounded, Its fragments rose up here and there in the towns, The Brahmins spoke of it and in the forest, The Samanas again and again, The name of Gotama. The Buddha reached the ears of the young men with good and with bad talk, With praise and with defamation. It was as if the plague had broken out in a country and news had been spreading around that in one way or another place there was a man, A wise man, A knowledgeable one, Whose word and breath was enough to heal everyone who had been infected with the pestilence. And as such news would go through the land and everyone would talk about it, Many would believe, Many would doubt, But many would get on their way as soon as possible to seek the wise man, The helper. Just like this, This myth ran through the land, The fragrant myth of Gotama, The Buddha, The wise man of the family of Sakyas. He possessed, So the believers said, The highest enlightenment. He remembered his previous lives, He had reached the Nirvana and had never returned into the cycle, Was never again submerged in the murky river of physical forms, Had wonderful and unbelievable things reported of him. He had performed miracles, Had overcome the devil, Had spoken to the gods, But as enemies and disbelievers said, This Gotama was a vain seducer. He would spend his days in luxury, Scorn the offerings, Was without learning, And knew neither exercises nor self-castigation. The myth of Buddha sounded sweet. The scent of magic flowed from these reports. After all, The world was sick, Life was hard to bear, And behold, Here a source seemed to spring forth, Here a messenger seemed to call out, Comforting, Mild, Full of noble promises. Everywhere where the rumor of Buddha was heard, Everywhere in the lands of India, The young men listened up, Felt a longing, Felt hope, And among the Brahmin sons of the towns and villages, Every pilgrim and stranger was welcome when he brought news of him, The exalted one, The Sakya Muni. The myth had also reached the Samanists in the forest, And also Siddhartha, And also Covinda, Slowly, Drop by drop, Every drop laden with hope, Every drop laden with doubt. They rarely talked about it because the oldest one of the Samanists did not like this myth. He had heard that this alleged Buddha used to be an estic before, And had lived in the forest, But had then turned back to the luxury and worldly pleasures, And he had no high opinion of this Gautama. Oh, Siddhartha, Covinda spoke one day to his friend. Today I was in the village, And a Brahmin invited me to his house, And in his house there was the son of a Brahmin from Magadha, Who had seen the Buddha with his own eyes and heard him teach. Suddenly this made my chest ache when I breathed and thought to myself, If only I would too, If only we both would too, Siddhartha and me live to see the hour when we will hear the teachings from the mouth of this perfected man. Speak friend, Wouldn't we want to go there too and listen to the teachers and the teachings of the Buddha's mouth? Siddhartha said, Always, Oh Covinda, I had thought Covinda would stay with the Samanas. Always I had believed his goal was to live to be sixty and seventy years of age, And to keep on practicing those feats and exercises which are becoming a Samana. But behold, I had not known Covinda well enough. I knew little of his heart. So now you, My faithful friend, Want to take a new path and go there where the Buddha sprints his teachings. Covinda replied, You're mocking me. Mock me if you like, Siddhartha. But have you not also developed a desire and eagerness to hear these teachings? And have you not at one time said to me, You would not walk the path of the Samanas for much longer? At this, Siddhartha laughed in his very own manner, In which his voice assumed a touch of sadness and a touch of mockery and said, Well, Covinda, You've spoken well. You've remembered correctly. If you only remembered the others' teachings as well, Other things that you've heard from me, Which is that I have grown distressful and tired against teachings and learning, And that my faith in words, Which are brought to us by teachers, Is small. But let's do it, My dear. I am willing to listen to these teachings, Though in my heart I believe that we've already tasted the best fruit of these teachings. Covinda said, Your willingness delights my heart, But tell me, How should this be possible? How should the Gautama's teachings, Even before we've heard them, Have already revealed their best fruit to us? And Siddhartha replied, Let us eat this fruit and wait for the rest, O Covinda. But this fruit, Which we've already now received thanks to the Gautama, Consisted in him calling us away from the Samanas. Whether he has also other and better things to give us, O friend, Let us wait with calm hearts. On this very same day, Siddhartha informed the oldest one of the Samanas of his decision, That he wanted to leave him. He informed the oldest one, With all the courtesy and modesty, Becoming to a younger one and a student. But the Samana became angry, Because the two young men wanted to leave him, And talked loudly and used crude swear words. Covinda was startled and became embarrassed, But Siddhartha put his mouth close to Covinda's ear and whispered to him, Now I want to show you the old man, That I've learned something from him. Standing himself closely in front of the Samana, With a concentrated soul, He captured the old man's glance with his glances, Deprived him of his power, Made him mute, Took away his free will, Subdued him under his own will, Commanded him to do silently whatever he demanded him to do. The old man became mute. His eyes became motionless. His will was paralyzed. His arms were hanging down without power. He had fallen victim to Siddhartha's spell. But Siddhartha's thoughts brought the Samana under their control. He had to carry out what they commanded. And thus the old man made several bows, Performed gestures of blessing, Spoke stammeringly a godly wish for a good journey. And the young man returned their bows with thanks, Returned the wish, And they both went on their way with salutations. On the way, Covinda said, Oh, Siddhartha, You have learned more from the Samanas than I knew. It is hard. It is very hard to cast a spell on an old Samana. Truly, If you had stayed there, You would soon have learned to walk on water. I do not seek to walk on water, Said Siddhartha. Let old Samanas be content with such feats. And that is the end of our sleep story tonight. Thank you so much for allowing me the precious gift of your time. Until next time, Sweet dreams.