Dedicated to Wilhelm Gu, my cousin in Japan
Siddhartha learned something new on every step of his path, for the world was transformed, and his heart was ented. He saw the sun rising over the mountains with their forests aing over the distant beach with its palm-trees. At night, he saw the stars in the sky in their fixed positions and the crest of the moon floating like a boat in the blue. He saw trees, stars, animals, clouds, rainbows, rocks, herbs, flowers, stream and river, the glistening dew in the bushes in the m, distant hight mountains which were blue and pale, birds sang and bees, wind silverishly blew through the rice-field. All of this, a thousand-fold and colourful, had always been there, always the sun and the moon had shone, always rivers had roared and bees had buzzed, but in former times all of this had been nothing more to Siddhartha than a fleeting, deceptive veil before his eyes, looked upon in distrust, destio be peed aroyed by thought, si was not the essential existence, sihis essence lay beyond, oher side of, the visible. But now, his liberated eyes stayed on this side, he saw and became aware of the visible, sought to be at home in this world, did not search for the true essence, did not aim at a world beyond. Beautiful was this world, looking at it thus, without searg, thus simply, thus childlike. Beautiful were the moon and the stars, beautiful was the stream and the banks, the forest and the rocks, the goat and the gold-beetle, the flower and the butterfly. Beautiful and lovely it was, thus to walk through the world, thus childlike, thus awoken, thus open to what is near, thus without distrust. Differently the sun burnt the head, differently the shade of the forest cooled him down, differently the stream and the cistern, the pumpkin and the banana tasted. Short were the days, short the nights, every hour sped swiftly away like a sail on the sea, and uhe sail was a ship full of treasures, full of joy. Siddhartha saw a group of apes moving through the high opy of the forest, high in the branches, and heard their savage, greedy song. Siddhartha saw a male sheep following a female one and mating with her. In a lake of reeds, he saw the pike hungrily hunting for its dinner; propelling themselves away from it, in fear, wiggling and sparkling, the young fish jumped in droves out of the water; the st of strength and passion came forcefully out of the hasty eddies of the water, which the pike stirred up, impetuously hunting.
All of this had always existed, and he had not seen it; he had not been with it. Now he was with it, he art of it. Light and shadow ran through his eyes, stars and moon ran through his heart.
On the way, Siddhartha also remembered everything he had experienced in the Gardeavana, the teag he had heard there, the divine Buddha, the farewell from Govinda, the versation with the exalted one. Again he remembered his own words, he had spoken to the exalted one, every word, and with astonishment he became aware of the fact that there he had said things which he had not really know this time. What he had said to Gotama: his, the Buddhas, treasure a was not the teags, but the unexpressable and not teachable, which he had experienced in the hour of his enlighte--it was nothing but this very thing which he had now goo experience, what he now began to experienow, he had to experience his self. It is true that he had already known for a long time that his self was Atman, in its essence bearin