So there it is. And the sense of itself, in that little being, at its core, is what it always was. But since that artificial secondary self took over the control of life around the age of eight, and relegated the real, vulnerable, supersensitive, suffering self back into its nursery, it has lacked training, this inner prisoner.
就是這樣。而它自身的感覺,在那個小小的存在里,在它的核心,就是它一直以來的樣子。但是自從這個人造的第二自我在八歲左右接管了生活的控制權,并把真實的、脆弱的、超敏感的、痛苦的自我送回它的育兒室以來,它缺乏訓練,這是個困在內心深處的囚徒。
And so, wherever life takes it by surprise, and suddenly the artificial self of adaptations proves inadequate, and fails to ward off the invasion of raw experience, that inner self is thrown into the front line — unprepared, with all its childhood terrors round its ears.
因此,無論生活在什么地方出其不意,突然適應的人造自我被證明是不充分的,而且無法抵擋來自原始經驗的入侵,那個內在的自我就會被拋到前線——毫無準備,兒時的種種恐懼縈繞在耳邊。
And yet that’s the moment it wants. That’s where it comes alive — even if only to be overwhelmed and bewildered and hurt. And that’s where it calls up its own resources—not artificial aids, picked up outside, but real inner resources, real biological ability to cope, and to turn to account, and to enjoy.
然而,這正是它想要的時刻。這就是它蘇醒的地方——即使只是不知所措、困惑和受傷。這就是它調用自己的資源的地方——不是從外部獲得的人工輔助,而是真正的內在資源,真正的生物應對能力,來考慮,來享受。
That’s the paradox: the only time most people feel alive is when they’re suffering, when something overwhelms their ordinary, careful armour, and the naked child is flung out onto the world. That’s why the things that are worst to undergo are best to remember.
這就是矛盾之處:大多數(shù)人只有在遭受苦難時才發(fā)覺還活著,當某些事物壓倒了他們平時小心翼翼的盔甲,將赤身裸體的孩子拋落到這個世界之時。這就是為什么最痛苦的經歷會留下最深刻的記憶。