My pen pal Prabhata Kumar Sahoo used the word UNEVACUATED in a poem. He was describing the feeling of being surrounded by miles of fog. He must have been walking in fog when he thought of it. What a fine word to capture a lonely mood! It reminds me of a disaster site which cannot be reached by any vehicle…or the self which cannot be emptied of pangs, because it is both container and content. I am the sole (soul?)witness, the privileged observer of events in this subjective zone, so science will have to rely on my reports. But my reports are irritating to science, like a burr stuck inside its boot. Science periodically throws up its hands and decides my inaccessibility is not worth the bother, being filled with mostly expendable phenomena, these inner states which are constantly renewed and constantly strewn about like falling leaves. If these leaves succeed in leaving any trace, it is when they engage with some kind of residue-producing instrumentality (some kind of machinery) , which is the sort of thing science is suited to dealing with. At any rate these inaccessible corners of subjectivity are too numerous to deal with, so they had best be left to deal with themselves. Anyway, they are unreliable sites for colonization by objectivity. What good are reports from someone who periodically gets lost in his own fog?
I say to heck with science! All I know is that I was left hanging out on a limb by the exuberance of creation. The creation strewed life in every direction, until it filled all spaces of possibility with rampant growth, and some of that growth went inward and developed an inner world…and here I am! I am like an invisible peacock’s tail of sensibility that can only show itself by evoking similar states in other tails spread across the inner void. I am left hanging on this strange limb and there is no way to develop out of it…I can only develop further into what I am. So I am like the hop of a kangaroo, the busyness of the bee. The kangaroo develops by hopping farther; the bee gets busier. I have to conspire with other fruits that were hung out on such limbs. Together we can build an outer structure that is internally filigreed with our special loneliness. Then we can feel alone together while continuing to hang on this limb of inwardness! And occasionally a flash of lightning will leap from limb to limb!
……….
Thanks to Mr. Wang Hao for translating this poem into Chinese:
孤垂于内在的树梢上
普拉帕塔·库马尔·撒胡用到一个词：”尚 未撤离”。他这是在描绘被绵延数英里的大雾笼罩时的感受。想到这个词的时候，他是不是正在雾中 行走？用这个词来刻画一种孤独的心绪是多么地奇妙！它让我回想起任何车辆都无法抵达的一个灾难现场……无 法将痛苦倒干的自我——因为自我既是容器也是内容。我是唯一的（无形的）目击者——在这个主观区域内目睹 一切、享有特权的观看者，所以科学只能仰赖我的报道。但我的报道仿佛是戳在靴子内层中的一根芒刺，令科学 十分烦恼。科学摸不到我在哪里，所以一次次举起无奈的双手，说这根本不值得操劳——因为它充满了多半无须 在意的现象，这些内在的状态常在常新，像落叶一样不断被四处抛散。如果说这些叶子可以留下痕迹，那只是因 为它们被绞进了某种会留下残渣的工具性机制，而这才是适合科学去研究的东西。何况这些触碰不到的主观性的 角落实在太多，所以最好让它们自生自灭——总之，它们是客观性无法垦殖的不可靠领域。一个时常迷失在自身 浓雾中的人，他的报道有什么意义？
我说：让科学见鬼去！我只知道我被创造过程的繁枝茂叶 抛于身后，独自悬垂在枝头。这个创造过程把生命洒向四周，直到肆意的生长把可能性的所有空间填满，而且有 些生长朝向内部，延展出一个内在的世界……而我，就在这世界之中！我仿佛一只孔雀的尾羽——这羽毛由无形 的感受性和敏感性攒成，如果想要展开如屏，必须唤醒散布在这内部虚空里面的其他尾羽中存在的类似状态。我 独自悬垂在这奇异的树梢上，无法向外面生长……我只能继续延伸成我自己。所以我就像袋鼠的一跃，就像蜜蜂 的繁忙。袋鼠用跳跃来拓展自己；蜜蜂，更加忙碌。我只能和挂在这类树枝上的其他水果一起密谋。我们可以同 心戮力筑成一个外在的结构，而我们特有的孤独如丝线般绵密地编织于它的内部。这样我们就可以在一起感受各 自的孑立，并仍旧悬挂在这根内在的树梢上！而且时而会有一道闪电在树梢间飞蹿！
王浩: 汉译
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