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  This morning, I overslept. Which is to say—sloth that I am, I dozed until the ungodly hour of 4:15 AM. I woke up only minutes before the Gurugita was to begin, motivated myself reluctantly to get out of bed, splashed some water on my face, dressed and—feeling so crusty and cranky and resentful—went to leave my room in the predawn pitch-black . . . only to find that my roommate had left the room before me and had locked me in.
  今早,我睡过头。也就是说——懒惰如我,打盹打到清晨四点十五分。我在古鲁梵歌即将开始前几分钟才醒来,勉强激励自己起床,往脸上泼水,更衣,然后——觉得生气、古怪、懊丧——在黑沉沉的黎明前离开房间……却发现我的室友已先我一步离开房间,把我锁在里面。
  This was a really difficult thing for her to have done. It's not that big a room and it's hard not to notice that your roommate is still sleeping in the next bed. And she's a really responsible, practical woman—a mother of five from Australia. This is not her style. But she did it. She literally padlocked me in the room.
  对她而言,这可不是一件容易会做出来的事。房间并不大,不难留意到室友仍睡在隔壁床上。她是个相当负责、脚踏实地的女人——五个孩子的母亲,来自澳洲。这不是她的作风,但她竟做了出来。她真的是用挂锁把我锁在房间里了。
  My first thought, was: If there were ever a good excuse not to go to the Gurugita, this would be it. My second thought, though? Well—it wasn't even a thought. It was an action.
  我的第一个想法是:“假如能找到一个好借口,不去唱古鲁梵歌,这就是了。”第二个想法呢?这个嘛——根本没有想法,而是行动。
  I jumped out the window.
  我从窗户跳出去。
  To be specific, I crawled outside over the railing, gripping it with my sweaty palms and dangling there from two stories up over the darkness for a moment, only then asking myself the reasonable question, "Why are you jumping out of this building?" My reply came with a fierce, impersonal determination: I have to get to the Gurugita. Then I let go and dropped backward maybe twelve or fifteen feet through the dark air to the concrete sidewalk below, hitting something on the way down that peeled a long strip of skin off my right shin, but I didn't care. I picked myself up and ran barefoot, my pulse slamming in my ears, all the way to the temple, found a seat, opened up my prayer book just as the chant was beginning and—bleeding down my leg the whole while—I started to sing the Gurugita.
  具体来说,我爬出栏杆外,发汗的手抓住栏杆,悬吊在两层楼高的黑暗中,然后问了自己一个合理的问题:“你何必从这栋楼跳下去?”我的回答带着某种猛烈、客观的决心:“我得去唱古鲁梵歌。”而后我放开手,往后倒,四米或五米,穿越阴暗的空气,跌在底下的水泥人行道上,途中还撞上东西,剥去我右小腿一条细长的皮,可是我不在乎。我站起身,赤足奔跑,脉搏在我耳际鸣响,一路跑去寺院,找到一个座位,打开祈祷书,咏唱开始——我的腿从头到尾流着血——我开始唱古鲁梵歌。
  It was only after a few verses that I caught my breath and was able to think my normal, instinctive morning thought: I don't want to be here. After which I heard Swamiji burst out laughing in my head, saying: That's funny—you sure act like somebody who wants to be here.
  唱了几节后,我屏住呼吸,陷入正常本能的清晨思维:“我不想来这里。”之后我听见思瓦米吉在我脑子里大笑,说:“太有趣了——你做得就好像真想来这里呀。”
  And I replied to him, OK, then. You win.
  我回答他:“好吧,你赢了。”
  I sat there, singing and bleeding and thinking that it was maybe time for me to change my relationship with this particular spiritual practice. The Gurugita is meant to be a hymn of pure love, but something had been stopping me short from offering up that love in sincerity. So as I chanted each verse I realized that I needed to find something—or somebody—to whom I could devote this hymn, in order to find a place of pure love within me. By Verse Twenty, I had it: Nick.
  我坐在那儿唱着歌、流着血,心想或许我该去改变和这种灵修之间的关系。古鲁梵歌本为歌颂纯粹之爱,但不知什么东西阻止我献上真诚的爱。因此在我吟唱每一节的同时,我意识到自己得找个什么东西——或什么人——让我献上这首颂歌,以便找到盘踞我心的纯粹之爱。来到二十节的时候,我找到了——尼克。
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