本帖最后由 ヮ成熟、羙° 于 2013-7-13 07:02 编辑
给我三日光明
荷叶/译
有时候我想把每一天都当做是最后一天来生活，会是个很棒的建议。这样的态度会突出人生的价值。我们对每一天都会温柔，热情，充满感恩，而当生命的长河中日月悠长时，这一切却会丧失殆尽。当然有些人会采取伊壁究鲁的吃喝玩乐的人生信条，但多数人会为不可逆转的死亡的临近而惴惴不安。
故事中，在劫难逃的主人公总会在最后关头被命运之神所挽救，而他们的价值观几乎总是同时被颠覆。他会更能感知生命的价值和欣赏其永恒的心灵价值。人们经常注意到那些生活在或曾经生活在死亡阴影中的人，会给他所做的一切涂上一层温柔甜蜜的色彩。 然而，我们多数人认为生活理应如此，不予重视。我们知道人固有一死，但我们把那一天规划到遥远的未来。当我们健健康康时，死亡是难以想象的。我们很少想到它。日子无休止地延展开去。因此，我们终日忙于细小的琐事，很难注意到自己对生活态度之无精打采。 恐怕，我们对自己的身体官能和感觉也会同样漠视。只有聋子才赏识听力，只有盲人才体会上帝体现在视觉中的多重赐与。这条法则尤其适用于那些成年才失聪失明的人。但那些听力和视力从未伤过的人，罕有充分利用这些天赐官能的。他们目之所见，耳之所听，朦朦胧胧，从不集中，更少赏识。正如老生常谈，失去方知应珍惜，生病常思健康时。 我常想如果一个人在早年生命的某一时期，因故失聪失明几天会是一种福分。黑暗会使人更赏识视力，沉寂会教人声之乐趣。 有时我会测试一下我的有视力的朋友目之所见。最近，一位刚从树林中散步归来的朋友来看我，我问她看到了什么。“没什么特别的。”她答道。如果不是习惯了这种漠视，我会认为这难以置信。我久已相信有眼的人所见甚少。 我自问，在森林里散步一小时，怎么可能看不到任何值得注意的东西？我一个没有眼的人，仅仅通过触摸都能发现数以百计的东西足以引起我的兴趣。我感觉到一片叶子的对称精美，我的手掌爱抚地摸着白桦树光滑细腻的皮肤，还有松树粗糙蓬乱的树皮。春天，我的手在树枝上充满希望地寻找经过一冬的休眠，预示着大自然觉醒的第一粒春芽。我欣喜地抚摸质地如丝的花朵，感受它奇异的繁复，大自然在借此向我透露它的奇妙。偶尔我会很幸运地把手轻轻放在一棵小树上，来抚摸一只小鸟在高歌时幸福的震颤。让清凉的溪水流过我张开的指尖，我欣喜。对于我，一层厚厚的松针或是海绵一样的草坪，要比最华丽的波斯地毯更受欢迎。对于我，季节如戏剧，即扣人心弦又源源不断，画卷的更换流淌在我的指尖。 我的心时时在呐喊，我渴望见到这一切。如果仅仅通过触摸我能感受到如此乐趣，那视觉展示的岂不更多！然而，有眼的人却视而不见。他们把色彩和情节的画卷视为理所当然。也许这就是人性，拥有的不知珍惜，渴望的却得不到。然而，在煌煌世界中，视觉这件礼物只被用作便利之资，而不是用作对生命增加圆满的手段，这太遗憾了。 假如我是大学校长，我会把如何使用自己的双眼设为一门必修课。教授应该向学生讲授怎样通过发现他们视而不见的东西来为生活增添乐趣。他应该尽力唤醒他们的蛰伏的懒洋洋的感官机能。 我想也许想象一下假如给我眼睛的使用权，比如说三天，我最想看到什么，这最能说明问题。当我想象这个问题时，我想，你也该设想一下，假如你还只有三天使用眼睛的权利时，你会怎样使用它们呢？如果随着第三天夜幕降临，你知道太阳将再也不会为你升起，你会怎样度过这介于黑暗和黑暗之间的宝贵的三天时间呢？你最想让你的目光注视什么？ 我当然想看看那些在我多年的黑暗中，变得亲近的那些东西。你一定也想让目光定在你亲近的事物上，为得是这些记忆可以伴你度过即将到来的漫漫黑暗之夜。 Three Days to See Sometimes I have thought it would be an excellent rule to live each day as if we should die tomorrow. Such an attitude would emphasize sharply the values of life. We should live each day with a gentleness, a vigor, and a keenness of appreciation which are often lost when time stretches before us in the constant panorama of more days and months and years to come. There are those, of course, who would adopt the Epicurean motto of "Eat, drink, and be merry," but most people would be chastened by the certainty of impending death. In stories the doomed hero is usually saved at the last minute by some stroke of fortune, but almost always his sense of values is changed. He becomes more appreciative of the meaning of life and its permanent spiritual values. It has often been noted that those who live, or have lived, in the shadow of death bring a mellow sweetness to everything they do. Most of us, however, take life for granted. We know that one day we must die, but usually we picture that day as far in the future. When we are in buoyant health, death is all but unimaginable. We seldom think of it. The days stretch out in an endless vista. So we go about our petty tasks, hardly aware of our listless attitude toward life. The same lethargy, I am afraid, characterizes the use of all our faculties and senses. Only the deaf appreciate hearing, only the blind realize the manifold blessings that lie in sight. Particularly does this observation apply to those who have lost sight and hearing in adult life. But those who have never suffered impairment of sight or hearing seldom make the fullest use of these blessed faculties. Their eyes and ears take in all sights and sounds hazily, without concentration and with little appreciation. It is the same old story of not being grateful for what we have until we lose it, of not being conscious of health until we are ill. I have often thought it would be a blessing if each human being were stricken blind and deaf for a few days at some time during his early adult life. Darkness would make him more appreciative of sight; silence would teach him the joys of sound. Now and then I have tested my seeing friends to discover what they see. Recently I was visited by a very good friend who had just returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed…"Nothing in particular, "she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such reposes, for long ago I became convinced that the seeing see little. How was it possible, I asked myself, to walk for an hour through the woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. In the spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter's sleep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is revealed to me. Occasionally, if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently on a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song. I am delighted to have the cool waters of a brook rush though my open finger. To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug. To me the pageant of seasons is a thrilling and unending drama, the action of which streams through my finger tips. At times my heart cries out with longing to see all these things. If I can get so much pleasure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be revealed by sight. Yet, those who have eyes apparently see little. The panorama of color and action which fills the world is taken for granted. It is human, perhaps, to appreciate little that which we have and to long for that which we have not, but it is a great pity that in the world of light the gift of sight is used only as a mere conveniences rather than as a means of adding fullness to life. If I were the president of a university I should establish a compulsory course in "How to Use Your Eyes". The professor would try to show his pupils how they could add joy to their lives by really seeing what passes unnoticed before them. He would try to awake their dormant and sluggish faculties. Perhaps I can best illustrate by imagining what I should most like to see if I were given the use of my eyes, say, for just three days. And while I am imagining, suppose you, too, set your mind to work on the problem of how you would use your own eyes if you had only three more days to see. If with the on-coming darkness of the third night you knew that the sun would never rise for you again, how would you spend those three precious intervening days? What would you most want to let your gaze rest upon? I, naturally, should want most to see the things which have become dear to me through my years of darkness. You, too, would want to let your eyes rest on the things that have become dear to you so that you could take the memory of them with you into the night that loomed before you. | 
发表于 2013-7-12 11:07:45
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发表于 2013-7-12 16:07:49
