《美食祈祷和恋爱》Chapter 39 (84):住在道场
One of my first roommates at the Ashram was a middle-aged African-American devout Baptist and meditation instructor from South Carolina. My other roommates, over time, would include an Argentinean dancer, a Swiss homeopath, a Mexican secretary, an Australian mother of five, a young Bangladeshi computer programmer, a pediatrician from Maine and a Filipino accountant. Others would come and go, too, as devotees cycled in and out of their residencies.
一开始，我在道场的室友是一位中年、美籍非裔的浸礼会教徒和禅修指导老师，来自南卡罗莱纳州。不久，我的其他室友包括阿根廷舞者、瑞士顺势疗法师、墨西哥秘书、五个孩子的澳洲母亲、年轻的孟加拉程序设计师、缅因州来的小儿科医师和菲律宾会计师。还有其他信徒来来去去，做周期性的居留。
This Ashram is not a place you can casually drop by and visit. First of all, it's not wildly accessible. It's located far away from Mumbai, on a dirt road in a rural river valley near a pretty and scrappy little village (composed of one street, one temple, a handful of shops and a population of cows who wander about freely, sometimes walking into the tailor's shop and lying down there). One evening I noticed a naked sixty-watt lightbulb hanging from a wire on a tree in the middle of town; this is the town's one street-lamp. The Ashram essentially creates the local economy, such as it is, and also stands as the town's pride. Outside the walls of the Ashram, it is all dust and poverty. Inside, it's all irrigated gardens, beds of flowers, hidden orchids, birdsong, mango trees, jackfruit trees, cashew trees, palm trees, magnolias, banyans. The buildings are nice, though not extravagant. There's a simple dining hall, cafeteria-style. There's a comprehensive library of spiritual writings from the world's religious traditions. There are a few temples for different types of gatherings. There are two meditation "caves"—dark and silent basements with comfortable cushions, open all day and night, to be used only for meditation practice. There's a covered outdoor pavilion, where Yoga classes are held in the morning, and there's a kind of a park with an oval walking path around it, where students can jog for exercise. I'm sleeping in a concrete dormitory.
这座道场不是让你顺道造访的地方。首先，它位于不易通达的郊外。它的地点远离孟买，在乡间河谷的一条尘土路上，接近一个散乱的美丽小村庄（由一条街、一座寺院、几个店家组成，还住了在街上随意漫游的牛，时而走入裁缝店里躺下来）。一天傍晚，我留意到一盏光秃秃的六十瓦灯泡挂在镇中央一棵树的电线上；这是镇上的街灯。道场基本上开拓了当地经济，也是镇上的骄傲。道场墙外的世界，是尘土与贫困。墙内则是灌溉的庭园，花坛，隐蔽的兰花，鸟啭，芒果树，波罗蜜树，腰果树，棕榈树，木兰，榕树。虽是不错的建筑物，却不奢华。有一间自助餐厅式的简单食堂。还有一间无所不包的图书室，汇集世界各地的宗教作品。有几间供各种聚会使用的寺院。有两间禅修洞 ——黑暗寂静的地下室，内有舒适的椅垫，日夜开放，仅供禅坐之用。有一座户外凉亭，清晨的瑜伽课在此举行。还有一座小公园，椭圆形步道环绕四周，供学员们慢跑。我睡在水泥建造的宿舍里。
During my stay at the Ashram, there were never more than a few hundred residents at any time. If the Guru herself had been in residence, those numbers would have swollen considerably, but she was never in India when I was there. I'd sort of expected that; she'd been spending a fair bit of time lately in America, but you never knew when she might show up anywhere by surprise. It's not considered essential to be in her literal presence in order to keep up your living Yogic master, and I've experienced that before. But many longtime devotees agree that it can also sometimes be a distraction—if you're not careful, you can get all caught up in the celebrity buzz of excitement that surrounds the Guru and lose the focus of your true intention. Whereas, if you just go to one of her Ashrams and discipline yourself to keep to the austere schedule of practices, you will sometimes find that it is easier to communicate with your teacher from within these private meditations than to push your way through crowds of eager students and get a word in edgewise in person.
我待在道场期间，未曾有过居住人数超过百名的时候。导师本人若下榻此地，人数随即暴增，但我在印度时，她不曾返回此地。这早在我的预料内；近来她在美国待不少时间，可是你永远不清楚她在何时会冷不防地出现。有她在不在身边让你持续学习，这并不重要。当然，能跟一位活生生的瑜伽大师在一起，有一种无可替代的快感，我从前经历过。许多长期的虔诚信徒都同意，有时这可能分散你的注意力——你得当心点，才不至于陷入环绕导师身边的名人热潮，让你的真实意图失去焦点。反之，你若是去她的道场静修，训练自己严守禅修时刻表，有时你会发现，从这些个人禅修当中，更容易和你的老师沟通，而不是从一群狂热的学员当中跻身而过，亲自听她说一句话。
There are some long-term paid staffers at the Ashram, but most of the work here is done by the students themselves. Some of the local villagers also work here on salary. Other locals are devotees of the Guru and live here as students. One teenage Indian boy around the Ashram somehow really provoked my fascination. There was something about his (pardon the word, but . . .) aura that was so compelling to me. For one thing, he was incredibly skinny (though this is a fairly typical sight around here; if there's anything in this world skinnier than an Indian teenage boy, I'd be afraid to see it). He dressed the way the computer-interested boys in my junior high school used to dress for band concerts—dark trousers and an ironed white button-down shirt that was far too big for him, his thin, stemlike neck sticking out of the opening like a single daisy popping out of a giant flowerpot. His hair was always combed neatly with water. He wore an older man's belt wrapped almost twice around what had to be a sixteen-inch waist. He wore the same clothes every day. This was his only outfit, I realized. He must have been washing his shirt by hand every night and ironing it in the mornings.(Though this attention to polite dress is also typical around here; the Indian teenagers with their starched outfits quickly shamed me out of my wrinkled peasant dresses and put me into tidier, more modest clothes.) So what was it about this kid? Why was I so moved every time I saw his face—a face so drenched with luminescence it looked like he'd just come back from a long vacation in the Milky Way? I finally asked another Indian teenager who he was. She replied matter-of-factly: "This is the son of one of the local shopkeepers. His family is very poor. The Guru invited him to stay here. When he plays the drums, you can hear God's voice."
道场有一些领薪的长期雇员，但这里的活儿大半由学员自己来做。有些当地村民受雇于此；而也有些当地人是导师的追随者，以学员身份住在此地。道场有个印度少年引发了我浓厚的兴趣。他具有某种令我赞赏的气质。首先，他骨瘦如柴（尽管在当地这是很典型的形象，但如果世界上有任何东西比印度少年更瘦，我会很害怕看见）。他的穿着就像我初中时那些喜欢玩电脑的男生去听乐团演奏的装束——黑长裤，熨烫过的白衬衫；衬衫穿在他身上显得太大，茎状的瘦脖子从领口伸出来，有如一朵雏菊从庞大的花盆冒出来。他的头发总是用水梳得整整齐齐的。他戴着一条成年人的皮带，几乎绕了两圈，束在他一尺六的腰上。他天天穿同一套衣服。我意识到，这是他仅有的一套装束。他肯定每晚手洗他的衬衫，清晨时分熨烫。（尽管对衣着礼貌的注重，在当地亦很常见；印度少年们浆挺的衣着过不久使我皱巴巴的农家服饰相形见绌，促使我穿上更整洁、更端庄的衣裳。）这孩子有啥特别？为什么每次看见他的脸都让我深受感动——如此容光焕发的面容，看起来仿佛刚从银河度了长假归来？最后我跟一位印度少女探问他的身份。她语气平淡地说：“他是当地某商家的儿子。他家很穷。导师邀他住在这里。他打鼓的时候，你听得见神的声音。”
《美食祈祷和恋爱》Chapter 39 (85):敬拜"完善大师"
There is one temple in the Ashram that is open to the general public, where many Indians come throughout the day to pay tribute to a statue of the Siddha Yogi (or "perfected master") who established this lineage of teaching back in the 1920s and who is still revered across India as a great saint. But the rest of the Ashram is for students only. It's not a hotel or a tourist location. It's more like a university. You must apply to come here, and in order to be accepted for a residency, you must show that you've been studying this Yoga seriously for a good long while. A minimum stay of one month is required. (I've decided to stay here for six weeks, and then to travel sites.)
道场有个寺院对大众开放，一整天有许多印度人前来敬拜瑜伽士悉达（Siddha Yogi“完善大师”），他在20世纪20年代创立了此学派，在印度各地被尊为大圣人。但道场的其余部分仅供学员使用。这儿不是旅馆或观光地，比较像是一所大学。你得经过申请才进得来，为了被收作常驻学员，你得证明你对此种瑜伽学派已认真研究好一阵子。你至少必须在此地连续待上一个月。（我决定待六个星期，而后独自周游印度，探索别的寺院、道场与朝拜地点。）
The students here are about equally divided between Indians and Westerners (and the Westerners are about evenly divided between Americans and Europeans). Courses are taught in both Hindi and English. On your application, you must write an essay, gather references, and answer questions about your mental and physical health, about any possible history of drug or alcohol abuse and also about your financial stability. The Guru doesn't want people to use her Ashram as an escape from whatever bedlam they may have created in their real lives; this will not benefit anyone. She also has a general policy that if your family and loved ones for some reason deeply object to the idea of your following a Guru and living in an Ashram, then you shouldn't do it, it's not worth it. Just stay home in your normal life and be a good person. There's no reason to make a big dramatic production over this.
这里的学生大致均分为印度人与西方人（西方人则大约一半美国人，一半欧洲人）。课程以印度语和英语教授。申请时，你必须写篇论文，收集推荐信，并详加说明自己的精神与身体健康状况，以及任何服药或酗酒的历史，并说明财务稳定状况。导师不希望有人利用她的道场当做某种逃避真实生活的手段；这对任何人皆无益处。她还有个政策：倘若任何亲戚朋友因某种原因，而强烈反对你追随导师住在道场的主意，那么你不该这么做，因为不值得。你只该待在家中过正常生活，做个好人，没必要搞得满城风雨。
The level of this woman's practical sensibilities are always comforting to me.
这位女子高尚的务实情操，对我始终是极大的安慰。
To come here, then, you must demonstrate that you are also a sensible and practical human being. You must show that you can work because you'll be expected to contribute to the overall operation of the place with about five hours a day of seva, or "selfless service." The Ashram management also asks, if you have gone through a major emotional trauma in the last six months (divorce; death in the family) that you please postpone your visit to another time because chances are you won't be able to concentrate on your studies, and, if you have a meltdown of some sort, you'll only bring distraction to your fellow students. I just made the post-divorce cutoff myself. And when I think of the mental anguish I was going through right after I left my marriage, I have no doubt that I would have been a great drain on everyone at this Ashram had I come here at that moment. Far better to have rested first in Italy, gotten my strength and health back, and then showed up. Because I will need that strength now.
来到这里之后，你得展现自己也是一个通情达理、脚踏实地的人类。你得让大家知道你能干活儿，因为你应当对道场的整体运作做出贡献，一天有五小时的“歇瓦”（seva），或称“无私的服务”。道场的经营还要求你，假使过去六个月内经历过重大的感情创伤（离婚、亲人过世等），请延后你的造访，因为你十之八九无法专心学习；若有情绪变动的情况发生，只会让其他学员分心。我自己才刚结束后离婚时期。当我想起自己刚从婚姻出走时所经历的痛苦，更确信我若在当时前来道场，肯定会成为学员的一大负担。最好让自己先在意大利休息，恢复体力和健康，再到此地。因为我现在需要这种体力。
They want you to come here strong because Ashram life is rigorous. Not just physically, with days that begin at 3:00 AM and end at 9:00 PM, but also psychologically. You're going to be spending hours and hours a day in silent meditation and contemplation, with little distraction or relief from the apparatus of your own mind. You will be living in close quarters with strangers, in rural India. There are bugs and snakes and rodents. The weather can be extreme—sometimes torrents of rain for weeks on end, sometimes 100 degrees in the shade before breakfast. Things can get deeply real around here, very fast.
他们要你体力充沛地来到道场，因为道场生活十分严酷。不仅对身体而言，每天从凌晨三点开始、晚间九点结束，就心理而言亦然。每天连续几个小时静坐禅修，几乎无法让自己的思考分心或解脱。 你在印度乡间和陌生人住在一起，各种臭虫、蛇、老鼠。天候恶劣——有时一连下数星期的倾盆大雨，有时早餐前的阴影处气温高达 38℃。这儿的一切可能在短短时间内变得非常真实。
My Guru always says that only one thing will happen when you come to the Ashram—that you will discover who you really are. So if you're hovering on the brink of madness already, she'd really rather you didn't come at all. Because, frankly, nobody wants to have to carry you out of this place with a wooden spoon clenched between your teeth.Eat, Pray, Love
我的导师总说，到道场来，只会发生一件事——你将发现自己的真相。因此假若你已在疯狂边缘徘徊，她情愿你不要来。因为，坦白地说，没有人想扛着紧咬木杓的你离开这地方。
《美食祈祷和恋爱》Chapter 40 (86):印度除夕夜
My arrival coincides nicely with the arrival of a new year. I have barely one day to get myself oriented to the Ashram, and then it is already New Year's Eve. After dinner, the small courtyard starts to fill with people. We all sit on the ground—some of us on the cool marble floor and some on grass mats. The Indian women have all dressed as though for a wedding. Their hair is oiled and dark and braided down their backs. They are wearing their finest silk saris and gold bracelets, and each woman has a brightly jeweled bindi in the center of her forehead, like a dim echo of the starlight above us. The plan is to chant outside in this courtyard until midnight, until the year changes over.
我来的时候正好碰上新年到来。我还没搞清楚道场的东南西北，就已是除夕夜。晚餐后，中庭已开始挤满人潮。我们大家坐在地上——有些人坐在凉爽的大理石地板上，有些则坐在草席上。印度妇女身穿仿佛参加婚礼的装束。她们的头发上油，乌黑，绑成一条辫子垂在身后。她们穿上最好的丝质莎丽，戴上金手链，每位妇女的额头中央都有个珠光闪耀的“bindi”，有如星辰的暗影。大家打算在中庭内吟诵，直到午夜，年度交替之际。
Chanting is a word I do not love for a practice that I love dearly. To me, the word chant connotes a kind of dronelike and scary monotony, like something male druids would do around a sacrificial fire. But when we chant here at the Ashram, it's a kind of angelic singing. Generally, it's done in a call-and-response manner. A handful of young men and women with the loveliest voices begin by singing one harmonious phrase, and the rest of us repeat it. It's a meditative practice—the effort is to hold your attention on the music's progression and blend your voice together with your neighbor's voice so that eventually all are singing as one. I'm jetlagged and afraid it will be impossible for me to stay awake until midnight, much less to find the energy to sing for so long. But then this evening of music begins, with a single violin in the shadows playing one long note of longing. Then comes the harmonium, then the slow drums, then the voices . . .
我不喜欢用“吟诵”一词来称呼我深爱的活动。对我而言，“吟诵”含有某种单调诵念的可怕含义，仿佛一群僧侣绕着牺牲仪式的火堆做的事情。然而我们在道场的吟诵，是一种天使般的歌唱。一般说来，是以一呼一应的方式诵唱。一群嗓子优美的年轻男女开始唱出一段和谐的句子，然后我们其他人重复一次。这是一种禅修——把注意力集中在乐曲的进行，让你的歌声跟邻座的歌声交织在一起，最后大家像一个声音一样齐声而唱。我有时差，担心自己昏昏欲睡，撑不到午夜，更甭说有力气唱得久。然而这一夜的音乐响起，一把小提琴在黑暗中奏出 一长声的渴望。接着是小风琴，而后是慢鼓，而后是歌声……
I'm sitting in the back of the courtyard with all the mothers, the Indian women who are so comfortably cross-legged, their children sleeping across them like little human lap rugs. The chant tonight is a lullaby, a lament, an attempt at gratitude, written in a raga (a tune) that is meant to suggest compassion and devotion. We are singing in Sanskrit, as always (an ancient language that is extinct in India, except for prayer and religious study), and I'm trying to become a vocal mirror for the voices of the lead singers, picking up their inflections like little strings of blue light. They pass the sacred words to me, I carry the words for a while, then pass the words back, and this is how we are able to sing for miles and miles of time without tiring. All of us are swaying like kelp in the dark sea current of night. The children around me are wrapped in silks, like gifts.
我坐在中庭后方，和所有的母亲坐在一起；这些印度妇女自在地盘腿而坐，她们的孩子像膝盖毯似的跨在她们身上睡觉。今晚的吟诵是一首催眠曲，一首哀歌，意在感激，“拉格”（raga）曲式，表达悲悯与虔敬。我们以梵语诵唱（在印度已然绝迹的语言，除了用作祷告和宗教学术研究之用），一如既往，我尝试做领唱者的声音镜子，接收有如一道道蓝光的音调。他们将神圣的歌词传递给我，我接过歌词，过一会儿再把歌词传回去，使我们得以源源不断地吟唱，却不觉疲倦。我们大家好似夜晚在黑色海潮中荡漾的海藻般摇来晃去。我周围的孩子们裹在丝绸里，犹如礼物。
I'm so tired, but I don't drop my little blue string of song, and I drift into such a state that I think I might be calling God's name in my sleep, or maybe I am only falling down the well shaft of this universe. By 11:30, though, the orchestra has picked up the tempo of the chant and kicked it up into sheer joy. Beautifully dressed women in jingly bracelets are clapping and dancing and attempting to tambourine with their whole bodies. The drums are slamming, rhythmic, exciting. As the minutes pass, it feels to me like we are collectively pulling the year 2004 toward us. Like we have roped it with our music, and now we are hauling it across the night sky like it's a massive fishing net, brimming with all our unknown destinies. And what a heavy net it is, indeed, carrying as it does all the births, deaths, tragedies, wars, love stories, inventions, transformations and calamities that are destined for all of us this coming year. We keep singing and we keep hauling, hand-over-hand, minute-by-minute, voice after voice, closer and closer. The seconds drop down to midnight and we sing with our biggest effort yet and in this last brave exertion we finally pull the net of the New Year over us, covering both the sky and ourselves with it. God only knows what the year might contain, but now it is here, and we are all beneath it.
我很疲倦，却未丢下小小的蓝色歌曲，我不知不觉地进入某种状态，我想我或许在沉睡中呼唤神的名字，或者只是跌入宇宙的深渊。不过，十一点半的时候，管弦乐奏出吟诵曲调的拍子，激发成纯粹的喜悦。衣着华美、手环叮当响的女子拍着手，整个身子随鼓声起舞。鼓声猛烈、优美、激动。随着一分一秒过去，感觉就像我们同心协力把2004年拉向我们。就好似我们用音乐系住它，拖过夜空，犹如一张巨大的渔网，网中装满我们未知的命运。确实是一张沉重的大网，载着一切生、死、悲剧、战争、爱情故事、发明、变动、苦难，专为每个人未来的一年而准备。我们持续诵唱、拖网，手拉手，一分又一秒，歌声不断，愈来愈近。分秒在午夜落下，我们尽己所能地吟唱，这最终的努力使我们终于将新年的网盖在自己身上，覆盖天空和我们自己。唯有神明知道这一年将由什么组成，然而此时此刻，我们每个人都在此地。
This is the first New Year's Eve I can ever remember in my life where I haven't known any of the people I was celebrating with. In all this dancing and singing, there is nobody for me to embrace at midnight. But I wouldn't say that anything about this night has been lonely.
这是我这辈子头一次和陌生人一同庆祝除夕。在舞蹈歌唱当中，没有人让我在午夜时分拥抱。但我要说，这不是寂寞的夜晚。
No, I would definitely not say that.Eat, Pray, Love
肯定不是。
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