All of us have read thrilling stories in which the hero had only a limited and specified time to live. Sometimes it was as long as a year; sometimes as short as twenty-four hours. But always we were interested in discovering just how the doomed man chose to spend his last days or his last hours. I speak, of course, of free men who have a choice, not condemned criminals whose sphere of activities is strictly delimited.
Such stories set us thinking, wondering what we should do under similar circumstances. What events, what experiences, what associations should we crowd into those last hours as mortal beings? What happiness should we find in reviewing the past, what regrets?
Sometimes I have thought it would be an excellent rule to live each day as if we should die tomorrow. Such an attitude would emphasize sharply the values of life. We should live each day with a gentleness, a vigor, and a keenness of appreciation which are often lost when time stretches before us in the constant panorama of more days and months and years to come. There are those, of course, who would adopt the Epicurean motto of "Eat, drink, and be merry," but most people would be chastened by the certainty of impending death.
In stories the doomed hero is usually saved at the last minute by some stroke of fortune, but almost always his sense of values is changed. he becomes more appreciative of the meaning of life and its permanent spiritual values. It ahs often been noted that those who live, or have lived, in the shadow of death bring a mellow sweetness to everything they do.
Most of us, however, take life for granted. We know that one day we must die, but usually we picture that day as far in the future. When we are in buoyant health, death is all but unimaginable. We seldom think of it. The days stretch out in an endless vista. So we go about our petty tasks, hardly aware of our listless attitude toward life.
The same lethargy, I am afraid, characterizes the use of all our faculties and senses. Only the deaf appreciate hearing, only the blind realize the manifold blessings that lie in sight. Particularly does this observation apply to those who have lost sight and hearing in adult life. But those who have never suffered impairment of sight or hearing seldom make the fullest use of these blessed faculties. Their eyes and ears take in all sights and sounds hazily, without concentration and with little appreciation. It is the same old story of not being grateful for what we have until we lose it, of not being conscious of health until we are ill.
I have often thought it would be a blessing if each human being were stricken blind and deaf for a few days at some time during his early adult life. Darkness would make him more appreciative of sight; silence would tech him the joys of sound.
Now and then I have tested my seeing friends to discover what they see. Recently I was visited by a very good friends who had just returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed.. "Nothing in particular, " she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such reposes, for long ago I became convinced that the seeing see little.
How was it possible, I asked myself, to walk for an hour through the woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. In the spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter's sleep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is revealed to me. Occasionally, if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently on a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song. I am delighted to have the cool waters of a brook rush thought my open finger. To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug. To me the page ant of seasons is a thrilling and unending drama, the action of which streams through my finger tips.
At times my heart cries out with longing to see all these things. If I can get so much pleasure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be revealed by sight. Yet, those who have eyes apparently see little. the panorama of color and action which fills the world is taken for granted. It is human, perhaps, to appreciate little that which we have and to long for that which we have not, but it is a great pity that in the world of light the gift of sight is used only as a mere conveniences rather than as a means of adding fullness to life.
If I were the president of a university I should establish a compulsory course in "How to Use Your Eyes". The professor would try to show his pupils how they could add joy to their lives by really seeing what passes unnoticed before them. He would try to awake their dormant and sluggish faculties.
Perhaps I can best illustrate by imagining what I should most like to see if I were given the use of my eyes, say, for just three days. And while I am imagining, suppose you, too, set your mind to work on the problem of how you would use your own eyes if you had only three more days to see. If with the on-coming darkness of the third night you knew that the sun would never rise for you again, how would you spend those three precious intervening days? What would you most want to let your gaze rest upon?
I, naturally, should want most to see the things which have become dear to me through my years of darkness. You, too, would want to let your eyes rest on the things that have become dear to you so that you could take the memory of them with you into the night that loomed before you.
If, by some miracle, I were granted three seeing days, to be followed by a relapse into darkness, I should divide the period into three parts.
我們大家都讀過一些令人激動的故事，這些故事裏的主人公僅僅活在有限並且特定的時間內，有時長達一年，有時短到２４小時。但我們總是有興趣發現，那命中注定要死的是那些有選擇自由的人，而不是那些活動範圍被嚴格限定了的判了刑的犯人。
這樣的故事讓我們思考，在相似的情況下，我們該怎麽辦，作為終有一死的人，在那最終的幾個小時內安排什麽事件，什麽經曆，什麽交往？在回顧往事時，我們該找到什麽快樂？什麽悔恨？
有時我想到，過好每一天是個非常好的習慣，似乎我們明天就會死去。這種態度鮮明地強調了生命的價值。我們應該以優雅、精力充沛、善知樂趣的方式過好每一天。而當歲月推移，在經常瞻觀未來之時日、未來之年月中，這些又常常失去。當然，也有人願按伊壁鳩魯的信條“吃、喝和歡樂”去生活。（譯注：伊壁鳩魯是古希臘哲學家，他認為生活的主題目的是享樂，而最高的享受唯通過合理的生活，如自我控製才能得到。因為生活享受的目的被過分強調，而達此目的之手段被忽視，所以伊壁鳩魯的信徒現今變為追求享樂的人。他們的信條是：“讓我們吃喝，因為明天我們就死亡”），但絕大多數人還是被即將麵臨死亡的必然性所折磨。
在故事裏，注定要死的主人公往往在最後一刻由某種命運的突變而得救，但幾乎總是他的價值觀被改變了。他們對生活的意義和它永恒的精神價值變得更具欣賞力了。常常看到那些生活或已生活在死亡的陰影之中的人們都賦予他們所做的每件事以芳醇甜美。
但是，我們大多數人把生活認為是理所當然的。我們知道，某一天我們一定會死，但通常我們把那天想象在遙遠的將來。當我們心寬體健時，死亡幾乎是不可想象的，我們很少想到它。時日在無窮的展望中延展著，於是我們幹著瑣碎的事情，幾乎意識不到我們對生活的倦怠態度。
恐怕，同倦的懶散也成為利用我們所有的本能和感覺的特點。隻有聾子才珍惜聽力，唯有瞎子才體會到能看見事物的種種幸福，這種結論特別適合於那些在成年階段失去視力和聽力的人們，而那些從沒有遭受視覺或聽覺損傷之苦的人卻很少充分利用這些天賜的官能。他們模模糊糊地眼觀八方，耳聽各音，毫無重點，不會鑒賞，還是那相同的老話，對我們所有的官能不知珍惜，直至失去它，對我們的健康意識不到，直至生病時。
我常常想，如果每個人在他成年的早期有一段時間致瞎致聾，那會是一種幸事，黑暗會使他更珍惜視力，寂靜會教導他享受聲音。
我不時地詢問過我的能看見東西的朋友們，以了解他們看到什麽。最近，我的一個很好的朋友來看我，她剛從一片森林裏散步許久回來，我問她看到了什麽，她答道：“沒什麽特別的。”如果我不是習慣了聽到這種回答，我都可能不相信，因為很久以來我已確信這個情況：能看得見的人卻看不到什麽。
我獨自一人，在林子裏散步一小時之久而沒有看到任何值得注意的東西，那怎麽可能呢？我自己，一個不能看見東西的人，僅僅通過觸覺，都發現許許多多令我有興趣的東西。我感觸到一片樹葉的完美的對稱性。我用手喜愛地撫摸過一株白樺那光潮的樹皮，或一棵鬆樹的粗糙樹皮。春天，我摸著樹幹的枝條滿懷希望地搜索著嫩芽，那是嚴冬的沉睡後，大自然蘇醒的第一個跡象。我撫摸過花朵那令人愉快的天鵝絨般的質地，感覺到它那奇妙的卷繞，一些大自然奇跡向我展現了。有時，如果我很幸運，我把手輕輕地放在一棵小樹上，還能感受到一隻高聲歌唱的小鳥的愉快顫抖，我十分快樂地讓小溪澗的涼水穿過我張開的手指流淌過去。對我來說，一片茂密的地毯式的鬆針葉或鬆軟而富彈性的草地比最豪華的波斯地毯更受歡迎。對我來說四季的壯觀而華麗的展示是一部令人激動的、無窮盡的戲劇。這部戲劇的表演，通過我的手指尖端湧淌出來。
有時，由於渴望能看到這一切東西，我的內心在哭泣。如果說僅憑我的觸覺我就能感受到這麽多的愉快，那麽憑視覺該有多少美麗的東西顯露出來。然而，那些能看見的人明顯地看得很少，充滿世間的色彩和動作的景象被當成理所當然，或許，這是人性共有的特點；對我們具有的不怎麽欣賞，而對我們不具有的卻渴望得到。然而，這是一個極大的遺憾，在光明的世界裏，視力的天賦僅僅作為一種方便之用，而沒有作為增添生活美滿的手段。
如果我是一所大學的校長，我就要開設一門強製的必修課“如何應用你的眼睛”。這門課的教授應該試圖給他的學生顯示怎樣能以看見那些在他們麵前一現而過的東西來增添他們生活的樂趣，這位教授應該試圖喚醒他們沉睡和懶散的天賦。
或許，如果讓我來應用我的眼睛，比方說，僅僅用３天吧，我能以我想象的最喜歡看見的東西來很好地說清楚這個問題。而且，當我想象的時候，設想你也在思考這個問題。如果你也隻有３天多點的時間看東西，你該如何應用你自己的眼睛。如果麵對即將到來的第三個夜晚的黑暗，你又知道，太陽對你來說，永不再升起了，那麽你該怎樣度過這插進來的寶貴的３天呢？你最想要注視的東西是什麽呢？
當然，我會最想看到我多年的黑暗中對我變得珍貴的事情，你也會想讓你們的目光停留在那些對你已經變得珍貴的事情上。這樣，你就能隨著你進入那逼近在你麵前的長夜而永遠記住它們。
如果由某種奇跡，我獲得了能看見東西的３天，隨後又沉陷於一片黑暗之中，我該將這段時間分為３個部分。
好文，喜歡讀你選的文章，總是頗受啟迪。
你那裏已經是晚上了吧？送你一首德彪西的《月光》：
德彪西 月光
http://space.wenxuecity.com/media/1189304504.mp3
祝你晚安好夢，
Rebecca
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Claude Debussy
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Achille-Claude Debussy(August 22, 1862 – March 25, 1918) was a French composer. Along with Maurice Ravel, he is considered one of the most prominent figures working within the field of Impressionist music, though he himself intensely disliked the term when applied to his compositions. Debussy was not only among the most important of all French composers but also was a central figure in all European music at the turn of the twentieth century.
Debussy's music virtually defines the transition from late-Romantic music to twentieth century modernist music. In French literary circles, the style of this period was known as Symbolism, a movement that directly inspired Debussy both as a composer and as an active cultural participant.