Siddhartha only smiled. He bent down and picked up a common river-stone, grey and wet.
“And that is good,” Vasudeva said, his weathered face a mask of ancient calm. “To suffer. To love. To let go.” siddhartha hermann hesse
Vasudeva’s wisdom was not in words. It was in listening. He did not preach detachment or desire. He simply pointed to the water. “It has laughed at you,” Vasudeva said, not unkindly. “But it will teach you, if you stay.” Siddhartha only smiled
Then the vision faded. The river flowed on. Siddhartha sat, a quiet smile on his lips, and listened to the many-voiced laughter of the One. “To suffer
Now, he was the material world. He had learned it slowly, as a child learns letters. From the golden cage of the samana, he had fallen into the gilded cage of the merchant Kamaswami. He had learned the taste of money, the weight of property, the weary sigh of satiated desire. He had learned to wear fine clothes, to feel the smoothness of another’s skin, to watch the sickness of gambling and the sour dregs of wine.
And he had grown tired. So tired, that the only honest thing left was to walk to this river and sink.