God only knows what is afoot, but I feel that something wonderful is about to happen. Something that would fill my heart for good. Strangely, two things come to mind in this connection: the end of Proust’s Remembrance and the end of Arthur C. Clark’s sequel to 2001. Premonitions of a happy end, I suppose. The tears in my eyes tell me I am onto something.

Addendum I (September 16, 2003)

“Sounds like Nirvana,” wrote Diane Pernet in response to this piece circulated as an electronic postcard. Hope so, I whispered to myself as I read these words. But then she added: “I know that I can look forward to you sharing this magic with us.” This touched me. “The story goes that it is impossible to tell the experience,” I wrote back at once, “but I will strive for transparency.” And then I thanked her for her trust. A good reader is the writer’s greatest reward. The only reward, rather.

Addendum II (September 18, 2003)

Better than power over all the earth, better than going to heaven, and better than dominion over the worlds is the joy of the man who enters the river of life that leads to Nirvana.

The Dhammapada, Translated by Juan Mascaró, Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1973, p. 61.

Addendum III (September 23, 2003)

The copy of The Dhammapada I was reading on a beach in Mošćenička Draga, from which I copied the above quote into my notebook, was bought in London on November 26, 1998. I always record the place and date of purchase on the first page of every book I buy. I finished reading the book on the very same day, and I jotted the following words on the last page:

Strange reading. Occasional pearls, many funny bits. Still, one feels good when one strives to cut one’s way through this thicket.

By the way, I always date comments of this ilk. On September 18, the date of the previous addendum, my feelings about the book were not the same. Far from it. This is what I wrote beneath the above assessment of one of the paramount Buddhist texts:

On this reading, things are different. Different is the word. I was not ready five years ago!

Indeed, when I read the paragraph quoted above, I burst into tears. This I take as a sign of truth, I must admit at once. Real truth. Or “the truth revealed by the great,” to quote from The Dhammapada once again.[1] For better or for worse, I take my tears seriously. As witnessed by the original piece, as well as many others I have written in recent years, they are my guides. The older I get, the more I let myself be guided by something as fickle as tears. This may well be sentimentality of old age, but the truth thus revealed is so much more soothing than the truth of any other kind that it cannot be forsaken. More, it must be transmitted, as well.

Footnote

1. Translated by Juan Mascaró, Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1973, p. 46.