I recently read "Siddhartha" on a plane. "Siddhartha" was written by German author Hermann Hesse, who won the Nobel Prize in Literature. It tells the spiritual journey of a young Indian Brahmin named Siddhartha.
The split. Siddhartha and Gautama symbolize the exploration of the inner self and the perfection of religious spirit.
an important turning point in exploring the truth.
must be formed within the company, including how to screen, cultivate, and retain talent, develop product methodologies, and reflect on the essence of business.
School. Although I don't have obvious neurotic or psychotic issues, the entire counseling process focuses more on personal growth. Today, I even joked with the psychologist that the consultation fee comes not from my medical budget but from my education fund 🐶. Psychologists are like private coaches in sports; it's similar to how even if someone splashes around in the ocean every day, if they really want to learn how to swim properly, they still need to correct their techniques. Psychological counseling is
Levels of enlightenment.
Perhaps the highest realm after enlightenment is just as described in the final words of the book "Siddhartha":
He saw many other faces, a long procession of them. He saw a river of faces flowing ceaselessly. Hundreds, thousands of faces were born, extinguished, yet existed simultaneously, displayed themselves. These faces kept changing, renewing themselves. Yet they were all Siddhartha's face. He saw millions of people and their faces intertwined in myriad ways. They helped each other, loved each other, hated each other. They perished, reborn. They were full of death, full of a strong and painful belief in impermanence. But not one of them was extinguished; they only changed, were reborn, gained new faces. There was no time between this face and the past ones—every image and face remained still, flowed, self-conceived, floated, merged with each other.
Above all this, something thin, unreal yet real, continuously hovered. Like thin ice or glass, like transparent skin or gauze, like a form and mask of water. This mask was Siddhartha's face. It was the face he smiled with at the moment Govinda kissed his forehead. Govinda saw the smile on the mask, which covered millions of births and deaths simultaneously. This smile was peaceful, pure, subtle, perhaps compassionate, perhaps mocking, full of wisdom, consistent with Gautama's smile. Just like the hundreds of smiles of Buddha Gautama that he had witnessed countless times with awe. Govinda knew, it was the smile of the perfected one.
Govinda did not know whether time existed, whether this situation had lasted a second or a century. He did not know whether there was a Siddhartha, a Gautama, whether there was an "I" and a "you." Govinda's heart seemed to be struck by a divine arrow, and the wound flowed with honey. He was intoxicated, releasing joy. After standing still for a moment, he bent down to look at Siddhartha's face which he had just kissed, the face that had just shown all forms, all those who will be, exist, and have passed. This face had not changed. After countless illusions faded from the surface, his smile remained calm, gentle, compassionate, or mocking, just like the Buddha's smile.
Govinda bowed deeply. Tears flowed unknowingly down his aged face. As if a flame ignited the deepest love and humblest reverence in his heart. He bowed deeply to the ground, paying homage to the seated Siddhartha. Siddhartha's smile reminded him of everything he had loved in his life, everything precious and sacred in his life.