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Chapter four Awakening. When sadd Arthur
left the grove where the Buddha, the

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perfected one, stayed behind, where
Govinda stayed behind, then he felt that

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in this grove his past life also
stayed behind and parted from him. He

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pondered about the sensation which filled him
completely. As he was slowly walking along,

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he pondered deeply, like diving into
a deep water, he let himself

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sink down to the ground of the
sensation, down to the place where the

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causes lie, because to identify the
causes, so it seemed to him,

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is the very essence of thinking.
And by this alone, sensations turn into

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realizations and are not lost, but
become entities and start to emit like rays

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of light, what is inside of
them. Slowly walking along, Siddartha pondered.

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He realized that he was no youth
anymore, but had turned into a

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man. He realized that one thing
had left him, as a snake is

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left by its old skin, That
one thing no longer existed in him,

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which had accompanied him throughout his youth
and used to be a part of him,

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the wish to have teachers and to
listen to teachings. He had also

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left the last teacher who had appeared
on his path, even him, the

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highest and wisest teacher, the most
holy one Buddha, he had left him,

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had to part with him, was
not able to accept his teachings slower,

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He walked along in his thoughts and
asked himself, what is all this?

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What you have sought to learn from
teachings and from teachers, and what

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they who have taught you much was
still unable to teach you? And he

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found it was the self, the
purpose and essence of which I sought to

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learn. It was the self I
wanted to free myself from which I sought

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to overcome. But I was not
able to overcome it. Could only deceive

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it, could only flee from it, only hide from it. Truly,

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no thing in this world has kept
my thoughts thus busy as this, my

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very own self, this mystery of
me being alive, of me being one

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and being separated and isolated from all
others, of me being Siddhartha. And

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there is no thing in this world
I know less about than me about Siddhartha.

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Having been pondering while slowly walking along, he now stopped as these thoughts

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caught hold of him, and right
away another thought sprang forth from these,

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A new thought, which was that
I know nothing about myself. That Siddartha

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has remained thus alien and unknown to
me. That I know nothing about myself,

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that Siddhartha has remained thus alien and
unknown to me, stems from one

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cause, a single cause. I
was afraid of myself. I was fleeing

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from myself. I searched Atman,
I searched Brahman. I was willing to

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dissect myself and peel off all its
layers, to find the core of all

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peals, in its unknown interior,
the Atman life, the divine part,

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the ultimate part. But I have
lost myself in the process. Sadatha opened

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his eyes and looked around. A
smile filled his face, and a feeling

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of awakening from long dreams flowed through
him from his head down to his toes.

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And it was not long before he
walked again, walked quickly, like

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a man who knows what he has
got to do. Oh, he thought,

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taking a deep breath. Now,
I would not let Sidhartha escape from

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me again. No longer. I
want to begin my thoughts and my life

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with Atman and with the suffering of
the world. I do not want to

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kill and dissect myself any longer to
find a secret behind the ruins. Neither

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yoga vada shall teach me any more, nor Athara vada, nor the ascetics,

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nor any kind of teachings. I
want to learn from myself, want

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to be my student, to get
to know myself the secret of Saddatha.

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He looked around as if he were
seeing the world for the first time.

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Beautiful was the world. Colorful was
the world. Strange and mysterious was the

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world. Here was blue, here
was yellow, He was green. The

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sky and the river flowed, the
forest and the mountains were rigid. All

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of it was beautiful. All of
it was mysterious and magical. And in

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its midst was he Sadatha, the
awakening one on the path to himself.

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All of this, all this yellow
and blue, river and forest, entered

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Siddartha for the first time through the
eyes. Was no longer a spell of

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Mara, was no longer the veil
of Maya. Was no longer a pointless

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and coincidental diversity of mere appearances,
despicable to the deeply thinking Brahman who scorns

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diversity, who seeks unity. Blue
was blue, river was river, and

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if also in the blue and the
river. In Siddhartha, the singular and

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divine lived hidden. So it was
still that very divinity's way and purpose to

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be here yellow, here blue,
their sky, their forest, and here

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Siddhartha the purpose and essential properties were
not somewhere behind the things. They were

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in them, in everything. How
deaf and stupid have I been, he

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thought, walking swiftly along. When
someone reads a text once to discover its

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meaning, he will not scorn the
symbols and letters and call them deceptions,

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coincidence and worthless hull. But he
will read them, he will study and

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love them, letter by letter.
But I, who wanted to read the

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book of the world and the book
of my own being, I have,

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for the sake of a meaning I
had anticipated before I read, scorned the

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symbols and letters. I called the
visible world a deception, called my eyes

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and my tongue coincidental and worthless forms
without substance. No, this is over.

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I have awakened. I have indeed
awakened, and have not been born

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before this very day. In thinking
these thoughts, said d Arthur, stopped

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once again suddenly, as if there
was a snake lying in front of him

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on the path because suddenly he had
also become aware of this, he who

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was indeed like someone who had just
woken up, or like a newborn baby.

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He had to start his life anew
and start again at the very beginning.

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When he had left in this very
morning from the grove Jetavana, the

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grove of that exalted one, already
awakening, already on the path towards himself,

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he had every intention regarded as natural
and took for granted that he,

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after years as an ascetic, would
return to his home and his father.

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But now only in this moment,
when he stopped, as if a snake

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was lying on his path, he
also awoke to this realization. But I

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am no longer the one I was. I am no ascetic anymore. I

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am not a priest anymore. I
am o brahman any more. What should

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I do at home and of my
father's place? Study, make offerings,

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practice meditation? But all this is
over all, of this is no longer

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alongside my path motionless, Siddhartha remained
standing there, and for the time of

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one moment and breath, his heart
felt cold. He felt a cold in

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his chest as a small animal,
a bird or a rabbit. Wood when

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seeing how alone he was. For
many years he had been without home and

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had felt nothing. Now he felt
it still, even in the deepest meditation.

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He had been his father's son,
had been a Brahman of a high

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caste, a cleric. Now he
was nothing but Siddhartha, the awoken one.

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Nothing else was left. Deeply,
he inhaled, and for a moment

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he felt cold and shivered. Nobody
was thus alone as he was. There

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was no nobleman who did not belong
to the nobleman, no worker that did

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not belong to the workers and found
refuge with them, shared their life,

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spoke their language. No Brahman who
would not be regarded as Brahmans and lived

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with them, no ascetic who would
not find his refuge in the cast of

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the Samanas. And even the most
forlorn hermit in the forest was not just

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one and alone. He was also
surrounded by a place he belonged to.

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He also belonged to a caste in
which he was at home. Govinda had

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become a monk, and a thousand
monks were his brothers. Wore the same

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robe as he believed in his faith, spoke his language, But he said,

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Arthur, where did he belong to, with whom would he share his

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life? Whose language would he speak? Out of this moment when the world

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melted away all around him, when
he stood alone like a star in the

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sky, Out of this moment of
cold and despair, Siddatha emerged more a

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self than before, more firmly concentrated. He felt this had been the last

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tremor of the awakening, the last
struggle of this birth. And it was

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not long until he walked again in
long strides, started to proceed swiftly and

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impatiently, heading no longer for home, no longer to see his father,

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no longer back end of chapter four