《美食祈祷和恋爱》Chapter 69 (152):住在边境的人

By the way, I found my word.

顺便提一下，我找到了我的用词。

I found it in the library, of course, bookworm that I am. I'd been wondering about my word ever since that afternoon back in Rome when my Italian friend Giulio had told me that Rome's word is SEX, and had asked me what mine was. I didn't know the answer then, but kind of figured my word would show up eventually, and that I'd recognize it when I saw it.

像我这样的书虫，当然是在图书馆找到的。打从在罗马那天下午，我的意大利朋友朱利欧说罗马的用词是“性”，问起我的用词，我便一直在想自己的用词是什么。我当时不清楚答案，却认为自己的用词终会出现，看见它的时候就会认出它来。

So I saw it during my last week at the Ashram.

于是，待在道场的最后一个礼拜，我看到了它。

I was reading through an old text about Yoga, when I found a description of ancient spiritual seekers. A Sanskrit word appeared in the paragraph: ANTEVASIN. It means "one who lives at the border." In ancient times this was a literal description. It indicated a person who had left the bustling center of worldly life to go live at the edge of the forest where the spiritual masters dwelled. The antevasin was not one of the villagers anymore—not a householder with a conventional life. But neither was he yet a transcendent—not one of those sages who live deep in the unexplored woods, fully realized. The antevasin was an in-betweener. He was a border-dweller. He lived in sight of both worlds, but he looked toward the unknown. And he was a scholar.

当时我正在阅读一段有关瑜伽的古经文，看见对古代心灵探索者的描述。文中出现一个梵语词汇：“安特瓦信”（antevasin），意思是“住在边境的人”。在古时候，这是字面的描述。表示某人远离喧嚣的世俗生活，跑去住在灵修大师们居住的森林边沿。“安特瓦信”不再是村民——不再是过传统生活的居民。但他也不是超凡者——不是住在深山野地的圣贤之一。“安特瓦信”是中间人。他住在边境。他看得见两个世界，却看向未知。他是学者。

When I read this description of the antevasin, I got so excited I gave a little bark of recognition. That's my word, baby! In the modern age, of course, that image of an unexplored forest would have to be figurative, and the border would have to be figurative, too. But you can still live there. You can still live on that shimmering line between your old thinking and your new understanding, always in a state of learning. In the figurative sense, this is a border that is always moving—as you advance forward in your studies and realizations, that mysterious forest of the unknown always stays a few feet ahead of you, so you have to travel light in order to keep following it. You have to stay mobile, movable, supple. Slippery, even. Which is funny, because just the day before, my friend the poet/plumber from New Zealand had left the Ashram, and on his way out the door, he'd handed me a friendly little good-bye poem about my journey. I remembered this verse:

读到“安特瓦信”的描述时，我兴奋至极，发出一小声惊叹表示认可。“这是我的用词，宝贝！”在现代，原始森林一景自然是用在比喻上，而边境也是比喻用法。但你仍能住在那里。你仍能住在旧思维和新体悟之间，永远处于学习状态。就比喻的含义来说，这个边境不断移动——当你朝向自己的学习和理解推进时，这片未知的神秘之林始终在前方数米之处，因此你必须轻装上路才赶得上。你得保持移动、变化、灵活的状态，甚至滑溜。这很有趣，因为前一天，我的新西兰水管工诗人朋友离开道场，出门时递给我一首告别小诗，关于我的旅程。我记得这几行：

Elizabeth, betwixt and between Italian phrases and Bali dreams, Elizabeth, between and betwixt, Sometimes as slippery as a fish . . .

伊莉莎白，非驴非马，意大利语辞藻，巴厘美梦，伊莉莎白，非驴非马，时而滑溜，好似鱼儿……

I've spent so much time these last years wondering what I'm supposed to be. A wife? A mother? A lover? A celibate? An Italian? A glutton? A traveler? An artist? A Yogi? But I'm not any of these things, at least not completely. And I'm not Crazy Aunt Liz, either. I'm just a slippery antevasin—betwixt and between—a student on the ever-shifting border near the wonderful, scary forest of the new. Eat, Pray, Love

过去几年来，我花费许多时间猜想自己该是什么。妻子？母亲？情人？独身者？意大利人？贪吃鬼？旅人？艺术家？瑜伽士？但我什么都不是，至少不完全是。我也不是古怪的小莉阿姨。我只是滑溜的“安特瓦信”，非驴非马，在接近美妙险峻的新森林边境，始终变动不定，持续学习。