Seelenbild

"Psychology has a long past, but only a short history." - Herman Ebbinghaus

[russian-style]

Leonid Pasternak - The Passion of creating, 1880s

[psige-blog]

Deeply, he felt the love for the run-away in his heart, like a wound, and he felt at the same time that this wound had not been given to him in order to turn the knife in it, that it had to become a blossom and to shine.

Herman Hesse, in Siddhartha

[psige-blog]

Deeply he felt, more deeply than ever before, in this hour, the indestructibility of every life, the indestructibility of every moment.

Herman Hesse, in Siddhartha

[psige-blog]

No, there was no lesson a truly searching person, someone who truly wanted to find, could accept. But he who had found, he could approve of any teachings, every path, every goal.

Herman Hesse, in Siddhartha

[psige-blog]

was not all suffering time, were not all forms of tormenting oneself and being afraid time, was not everything hard, everything hostile in the world gone and overcome as soon as one had overcome time, as  soon as time would have been put out of existence by one's thoughts?

Herman Hesse, in Siddhartha

[psige-blog]

the river is everywhere at once, at the source and at the mouth, at the waterfall, at the ferry, at the rapids, in the sea, in the mountains, everywhere at once, and that there is only present time for it, not the shadow of the past, not the shadow of the future.

Herman Hesse, in Siddhartha

[psige-blog]

this water ran and ran, incessantly it ran, and was nevertheless always there, was always at all times the same and yet new in every moment!

Herman Hesse, in Siddhartha

[psige-blog]

he pondered this transformation, listened to the bird, as it sang of joy. Had not this bird died in him, had he not felt its death? No, something else from within him had died, something which already for a long time had yearned to die. Was it not this what he used to intend to kill in his ardent years as a penitent? Was it not his self, his small, frightened, and proud self, he had wrestled for so many years, which had defeated him again and again, which was back again after every killing, prohibited joy, felt fear? Was is not this, which today had finally come to its death, here in the forest, by this lovely river?

Herman Hesse, in Siddhartha

[psige-blog]

and now he was again facing the world void and naked and stupid. But he could not feel sad about this, no, he even felt a great urge to laugh, to laugh about himself, to laugh about this strange foolish world.

Herman Hesse, in Siddhartha

[psige-blog]

now I'm standing here under the sun again just as I had been standing here as a little child, nothing is mine, I have no abilities, there is nothing I can bring about, I have learned nothing

Herman Hesse, in Siddhartha

[psige-blog]

Passionately he wished to know nothing about himself anymore, to have rest, to be dead. If there only was a lightning-bolt to strike him dead! If there only was a tiger to devour him! If there only was a wine, a poison, which would numb his senses, bring him forgetfulness and sleep, and no awakening from that! Was there still any kind of filth, he had not soiled himself with, a sin or foolish act he had not committed, a dreariness of the soul he had not brought upon himself? Was it still at all possible to be alive? Was it possible to breathe in again and again, to breathe out, to feel hunger, to eat again, to sleep again, to sleep with a woman again? Was this cycle not exhausted and brought to a conclusion for him?

Herman Hesse, in Siddhartha

[psige-blog]

That fear, that terrible and petryfiying fear, which he felt while he was rolling the dice, while he was worried about losing his stakes, that fear he loved and always sought to renew it, always increase it, always get it to a slightly higher level, for in this feeling alone he still felt something like happiness, something like an intoxication, something like an elevated form of life in the midst of his saturated, lukewarm, dull life.

Herman Hesse, in Siddhartha

[psige-blog]

And yet, he envied them, envied them just the more, the more similar he became to them. He envied them for the one thing that was missing from him and that they had, the importance they were able to attach to their lives, the amount of passion in their joys and fears, the fearful but sweet happines of being constantly in love. These people were all of the time in love with themselves, with women, with their children, with honours or money, with plans or hopes. But he did not learn this from them, this out of all things, this joy of a child and this foolishness of a child.

Herman Hesse, in Siddhartha

[psige-blog]

...that tense expectation, that proud state of standing alone without teachings and without teachers, that supple willingness to listen to the divine voice of his own heart..."

Herman Hesse, in Siddhartha

[psige-blog]

Most people...are like a falling leaf, which is blown and is turning around through the air, and waves, and tumbles to the groud. But others, a few, are like stars, they go on a fixed course, no wind reaches them, in themselves they have their law and their course.

Herman Hesse, in Siddhartha

[psige-blog]

and inside of you, there is a peace and refuge, to which you can go at every hour of the day and be at home yourself.

Herman Hesse, in Siddhartha

[psige-blog]

At times he felt, deep in his chest, a dying, quiet voice, which admonished him quietly, lamented quietly; he hardly perceived it. And then, for an hour, he became aware of the strange life he was leading, of him doing lots of things which were only a game, of, though being happy and feeling joy at times, real life still passing him by and not touching him... The source ran somewhere, far away from him, ran and ran invisibly, had nothing to do with his life anymore. And several times he suddenly became scared on account of such thoughts and wished that he would also be gifted with the ability to participate in all of this childlike-naive occupations of the daytime with passion and with his heart, really to live, really to act, really to enjoy and to live instead of just standing by as a spectator.

Herman Hesse in Siddhartha