Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Old memories & a Song [#3 Khaḍgaviṣāṇa Gāthā]

The caravan of artists had settled on the creek. They came from the west valley and no one before this day did the same. Stopped here, between the hills and the tiny village where is a vulgar river that is just that, running water without mystery or secret. Liquid strings flowing with painful setbacks.
The caravan consisted of four ragged cars, but solid in its consistency. So they were seemed at first view.

At the beginning of the night a dozens of peasants ran downhill and sat around the rustic scenery. Some were sleeping even before any action had begun. The fatigue. This is really a peasantry's life.

We won in that night more than one tasty gift. Laughters and some excited tears, naive enchantments. The night breeze and the beauty of unique circumstances as well as a particular atmospheric feeling made all around full of simple beauty.

Just before leaving, a minstrel begun to sing:

"You must know the nature of things around [you]
Oh! my dear, my very dear lonely man, it is here:
Coldness, hunger and thirst, wind and the heat, [the Sun]
Then, you're you, in this landscape of solitude."

"Snowy whiteness of this bones like unfriendly love.
Gadflies and snakes, having endured all these
One should wander solitary as a rhinoceros horn."

Turning slightly on his way he came back a few steps and in his mind slowly began to sprout letters, single words and then the whole verse. He was suddenly isolated with a kept secret. Also He felt as if he was a responsible man, prematurely old and not exactly a wise one.

And there in the village was a sound dancing on the air; it was a song but a very wise one:

"Having torn one's fetters asunder, in this timeless morning
Like a fish breaking a net in the water, not returning,
Like a fire (not going back) to what is (already) burned,
Then you're you, in this landscape of solitude."

"This is an attachment in the long way, is a world.
Here is a little happiness for you and me, all of us
We should wander solitaries as a rhinoceros horn."

Early in the morning no car was there in the creek. Only water moving in setback steps.

A Golden Bough