| He was full of ennui, full of misery, full of death; there was nothing left in the world
that could attract him, that could give him pleasure and solace.
Was it possible to take in breath again and again, to breathe out, to feel hunger, to
eat again, to sleep again, to lie with women again?
Why should he go any further, where, and for what purpose?
He bent with closed eyes – towards death.
Then from a remote part of his soul, from the past of his tired life, he heard a sound.
It was one word, one syllable, which without thinking he spoke instinctively… the holy
Om, “the Perfect one” or “perfection.”
All the torment of these recent times, all the disillusionment, all the despair, had not
affected him so much as it did the moment Om reached his consciousness…
<u>Siddhartha</u>; By The River
(Message edited by taoistshredder on November 11, 2004) |