The Awakening

Then suddenly this also was clear to him, he, who was in fact like one who had awakened or was newly born, must begin his life completely afresh. When he left the Jetavana grove that morning, the grove of the illustious One, already awakened, already on the way to himslef, it was his intention and it seemed the natural course to return to his home and his father. Now, however, in that moment as he stood still, as if a snake lay in his path, this thought also came to him: I am no longer what I was, I am no longer an ascetic, no longer a priest, no longer a Brahmin. What then shall I do at home with my father? Study? Offer sacrifices? Practice meditation? All this is over for me now.

Siddhartha stood still and for a moment an icy chill stole over him. He shivered inwardly like a small animal, like bird or a hare, when he realized how alone he was. He had been homeless for years and not felt like this. Now he did feel it. Previously when in deepest meditation, he was still his father's son, he was a Brahmin of high standing, a religious man. Now he was only Siddhartha, the awakened; otherwise nothing else. He breathed in deeply and for a moment he suddered. Nobody was so alone as he. He was no nobleman, belonging to any aristocracy, no artisan belonging to any guild and finding refuge in it, sharing its life and language. He was no Brahmin, sharing the life of the Brahmins, no ascetic belonging to the Samanans. Even the most secluded hermit in the woods was not one and alone; he belonged to a class of people. Govinda had become a monk, and thousands of monks were his Brothers, wore the same gown, shared his beliefs and spoke his language. But he, Siddhartha, where did he belong? Whose life would he share? Whose language would he speak?

At that moment, when the world found him melted away, when he stood alone like a star in the heavens, he was overwhelmed by a feeling of icy dispair, but was more firmly himself than ever. That was the last shudder of his awakening, the last pains of birth. Immediately he moved on again and begain to walk quickly and impatiently, no longer looking homeward, no longer to his father, no longer looking backwards.

-Herman Hesse, Siddhartha

Posted by Becca