"Роджер Желязны. Lord of Light (Лорд Света, engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

truths and throw in a few pieties-- but make it twenty minutes."
"Twenty minutes, then. And afterward we pack. Tomorrow we leave for
Khaipur."
"So soon?" asked Tak.
Yama shook his head. "So late," he said.

The monks were seated upon the floor of the refectory. The tables had
been moved back against the walls. The insects had vanished. Outside, the
rain continued to fall.
Great-Souled Sam, the Enlightened One, entered and seated himself
before them.
Ratri came in dressed as a Buddhist nun, and veiled.
Yama and Ratri moved to the back of the room and settled to the floor.
Somewhere, Tak too, was listening.
Sam sat with his eyes closed for several minutes, then said softly:
"I have many names, and none of them matter." He opened his eyes
slightly then, but he did not move his head. He looked upon nothing in
particular.
"Names are not important," he said. "To speak is to name names, but to
speak is not important. A thing happens once that has never happened before.
Seeing it, a man looks upon reality. He cannot tell others what he has seen.
Others wish to know, however, so they question him saying, 'What is it like,
this thing you have seen?' So he tries to tell them. Perhaps he has seen the
very first fire in the world. He tells them, 'It is red, like a poppy, but
through it dance other colors. It has no form, like water, flowing
everywhere. It is warm, like the sun of summer, only warmer. It exists for a
time upon a piece of wood, and then the wood is gone, as though it were
eaten, leaving behind that which is black and can be sifted like sand. When
the wood is gone, it too is gone.' Therefore, the hearers must think reality
is like a poppy, like water, like the sun, like that which eats and
excretes. They think it is like to anything that they are told it is like by
the man who has known it. But they have not looked upon fire. They cannot
really know it. They can only know of it. But fire comes again into the
world, many times. More men look upon fire. After a time, fire is as common
as grass and clouds and the air they breathe. They see that, while it is
like a poppy, it is not a poppy, while it is like water, it is not water,
while it is like the sun, it is not the sun, and while it is like that which
eats and passes wastes, it is not that which eats and passes wastes, but
something different from each of these apart or all of these together. So
they look upon this new thing and they make a new word to call it. They call
it 'fire.'
"If they come upon one who still has not seen it and they speak to him
of fire, he does not know what they mean. So they, in turn, fall back upon
telling him what fire is like. As they do so, they know from their own
experience that what they are telling him is not the truth, but only a part
of it. They know that this man will never know reality from their words,
though all the words in the world are theirs to use. He must look upon the
fire, smell of it, warm his hands by it, stare into its heart, or remain
forever ignorant. Therefore, 'fire' does not matter, 'earth' and 'air' and
'water' do not matter. 'I' do not matter. No word matters. But man forgets