海鸥乔纳森

madnimo

他着陆时，海鸥们聚集在一起，正在召开海鸥审议大会，看样子已聚集了一段时间，实际上，大家在等它。 “海鸥乔纳森·利文斯顿！站到中间来！”长老以最庄严的声调发话了。站到集会中间意味极大的耻辱或是无上的光荣。光荣地站到中间是海鸥选举最高领导人的方式。他想，今天早晨大家当然看见了那项突破！但是我不是要荣耀，也不想当领导人，只想让大家分享我所发现的一切，把大家都能达到的境界展示出来。他迈步向前。 “海鸥乔纳森·利文斯顿，”长老开口说，“在大伙的眼皮底下，因耻辱而站到中间来！” 这话听来犹如当头一棒。他双膝发软，羽毛垂下，耳朵里嗡嗡直响。因耻辱而站到中间来？不可能！那项突破！他们不会明白！他们错了，他们搞错了！ “……因为他不计后果，不负责任，”严肃的声音继续数落，“还冒犯了海鸥全族的尊严与传统……” 因耻辱耻辱而站到中间，意味着他将被驱逐出鸥群，并被流放到“远方山崖”过孤独的生活。 “……有一天，海鸥乔纳森·利文斯顿，你会明白不负责任是不行的。生活是我们搞不懂的，也没法搞懂。我们只知道，我们来到这个世界就是为了吃，并且想方设法尽可能延长寿命。” 从没有海鸥对长老回嘴，可是这时却响起了乔纳森雄辩的声音。“不负责任？兄弟们！”他提高嗓门，“谁还能比探索和追求一种生活意义、一种更高的生活目标更负责任呢？我们抢吃鱼头已经有千年了吧，但是现在我们有了更好的生活理由——学习、发现、自由！给我一个机会，让我向你们展示我所发现的……” 群鸥也许都是铁石心肠。 “谁是你的兄弟！”海鸥们异口同声说道，他们都板起面孔不再听他讲，一起抛弃了他。 余下的日子里，海鸥乔纳森孤独度日，但他还是飞到了“远方山崖”那边。他的悲哀不是孤独，而是其他海鸥不愿相信奇妙的飞翔在等着他们：他们不愿意睁开眼睛看。 他每天又学一些，学会了流线型高速俯冲潜水，这可以使他找到更加珍奇美味的鱼，那些鱼就聚集在海面10英尺以下。他不需要渔船和那些为了生存而不得不吃的变质面包。他学会了在空中睡觉，在夜风中找到 飞翔路线，从日落到日出飞翔距离达到100英里。海上大雾时，他也能控制自如地飞过，飞越雾层进入耀目的晴空……这时，其他海鸥是站在地上，除了雾雨之外什么都不知道。他还学会了乘着强风飞抵远方内陆，在那里吃细嫩的昆虫。 他曾对群鸥抱过希望，现在他只能独善其身了，他学会了飞翔，对付出的代价毫不后悔。海鸥乔纳森发现无聊、害怕和愤怒，是海鸥的生命那么短暂的原因，从脑中抛开那些想法，真的，他过上了既长寿又美好的生活。 他们来找乔纳森时已是黄昏，乔纳森正独自在他钟爱的天空中平静地飞翔着。这两只出现在他两翼旁的海鸥纯洁如星光，高高的夜空里，他们的羽毛泛着柔和可爱的光。不过，最可爱的还是他们的飞翔技巧，他们翼尖的扇动和他的翼尖一直只相差一英寸距离。 乔纳森一言不发地开始测试他们，以前没有哪只海鸥曾通过这种测试。他弯曲翅膀，以时速一英里近于停飞的状态慢飞，那两只羽光焕发的海鸥也以不变的姿势轻松地跟着他慢飞。他们会慢飞技巧。 他收起双翅，打个翻身，以时速190英里向下飞去。他们也以完美的姿势同他一起向下疾落。 最后，他直接在那一速度上做了一个又长又直的慢滚翻。他们微笑着，跟着他一起滚翻。 接着，他换成了水平的姿势飞翔，沉默了一段时间，他才开口说：“很不错，你们是哪儿的？” “乔纳森，我们来自同一个鸥族。我们是兄弟。”这话说得平静而有力，“我们来带你高飞，带你回家。” “我没有家，也没有鸥族，我只是一个流浪者。现在咱们正那大山风的风口上。再飞高几百英尺，我这副身子就再也无法抬高了。” “乔纳森，你当然能飞得更高，你已经学会了。从一个学校毕业，是另一个学校开学的时候了。” 正如学习照耀着他的一生，理解海鸥乔纳森照亮了那一刻。他们是对的，他是可以飞得更高，是该回家的时候了。 最后，他对着苍穹投下了深 长的一瞥，看着那片宽广、灰白 的旷野，在那里他曾学了那么多。 “准备启程。”他终于说。 海鸥乔纳森与那两只闪亮的海鸥一起展翅腾飞，消失在深深的夜空里。

鲁西西

madnimo

第二章 那么，这就是天堂，他想。不禁对自己微笑起来，飞上来的刹那就对天堂评头论足，恐怕有点不太恭敬吧。 现在，他从地上飞来，飞入云霄，与两只闪亮的海鸥结伴同行，他看到自己的身体也像他们一样发着亮光。的确，他还是那只年轻的海鸥乔纳森，还是那双金色的眼睛，然而，他的外在形象已经大大不相同了。 虽然还是海鸥的身体，但感觉却已经比原来飞得好多了。怎么？他想，我现在用一半的力气，就可以飞得比以前快一倍，表现也比从前最佳状态时好一倍！ 现在，他浑身的羽毛泛着耀眼的白光，翅膀平滑完美如同打磨光亮的银片。他开始高兴地重新学习如何使用新翼，如何对这双新翼施力。 在时速250英里时，他感到这几乎是他水平飞翔的最大时速；在时速273英里时，他感到那就是自己的飞翔极限了；不免有那么一点儿失望。这副新的身体所能做的依然有极限，尽管已经比原来水平飞翔速度快了许多，但要冲破极限还是要费很大力气。他本来想，天堂里应该是没有任何极限的。 云彩散去，同行的海鸥叫道：“乔纳森，欢迎归来！”然后消失在高空中。 他飞过一片海域，朝蜿蜒的沿海岸线飞去。有几只海鸥在山崖上方的上升气流处飞翔着，还有几只在北方远远的地平线上飞翔着新景象、新思绪、新问题都出现了。海鸥怎么会这么少？天堂应该海鸥成群！为什么我会一下这么累？在天堂里海鸥应该不会感到累，也不需要睡觉。 他在哪儿听过这话？在地上生活的记忆渐渐淡忘。地球是他曾学过许多知识的地方，不过细节已经模糊——大约是争抢食物、流放呀什么的。 海岸线上十几只海鸥前来迎接他，尽管什么也没说，他仍能感到自己很受欢迎。确实回到了家。这一天对他来说十分重要。这一天的 太阳是何时升起的，他已不复记忆。 他准备在海滩降落，拍打着翅膀在一英寸高的高中稍作停留，然后轻轻落在沙滩上，其他海鸥也落下来，但他们并没有扑扇翅膀，只是在风中旋转，发亮的翅膀展开，而后，稍稍改变羽毛的弧度，双脚一踏上地面，就立刻稳住了。落地控制得非常漂亮，可是乔纳森现在实在是太累了，无力再尝试。站在海滩上，没吭一声，他睡着了。 随后的几天里，乔纳森发现在这个地方要学的飞翔知识，同他抛在身后的那段生活里已经学过的同样多。不过，还有些不同，就是这些海鸥的想法和他想的一样。对他们来说，生活中最重要的事就是到外面寻求和感受完美，他们最爱做的事也是飞翔。他们全是非常优秀的海鸥，每天都不停地练习飞翔，测试更先进的飞翔技术。 好长一段时间，乔纳森淡忘了他原来生活过的那个世界，在那个地方，群鸥无视飞翔的快乐，只将翅膀作为寻找和争抢食物 的工具。然而，偶尔某个瞬间，他仍然会想起这些。 有一天早晨，他和老师一起出去，练过收翼快速翻滚后，在海滩上休息时，他静静地问：“沙利文，大伙都在哪儿？”现在他已经十分习惯心灵感应这种轻松的交流方式了，这里的海鸥不用叽叽啾啾尖叫。“为什么这儿海鸥不多？嗯，我来的那个地方……” “……成千上万只海鸥，我知道。”沙利文说着摇摇头，“乔纳森，我所知道的唯一答案是，你确实是一只万里挑一的海鸥，我闪大多数都进步得那么慢。我们差不多都是从那样一个世界到这儿来的。别再想着我们来的地方，也别在意我们曾去哪里，为现在活着吧。你想过？在我们第一次想到，除了同群鸥一起争吃、争斗或争权外，生活中还有更多其他事情的时候，我们得经历多少种生活吗？乔，千种生活，万种生活！然后，再过百种生活，那时我们才开始懂得完美这件事。又过百种生活，我们才了解到：我们生活的目的是寻找完美，并且展示它。现在，我们遵循同样的生活原则。当然，通过所学，我们可以选择下一种生活境界。不学的话，下一种生活境界与这个一样，同样的极限同样带来克服极限的重负。” 他伸展翅膀，迎着风，接着说，“不过，乔，你一下子学了那么多，没有经历那千种生活就找到了这个世界。” 一会儿，他们又在空中练习起来。分段侧翻的动作难度大，因为翻到一半乔纳森就得准备整个颠倒，倒转一只翅膀的曲线，和老师的倒转动作一样精确、连贯。 “咱们再试一次。”沙利文建议道。反反复复，“再来一次”。最后，他终于说：“好了。”他们又开始练习向外翻筋斗。 一天黄昏，没有夜飞的海鸥们一起聚在沙滩上，显得心事重重。乔纳森鼓足他所有的勇气，走到海鸥长老跟前。据说他将很快到另一个世界去。 “吉昂……”他有些紧张地开口说。 海鸥长老吉昂慈爱地看着他，问道：“什么事，孩子？”年纪非但没有这位长老衰弱，反而使他的飞翔技术更加精湛；他比任何一只海鸥都飞得远，而且他所掌握的飞翔技巧，其他海鸥还在渐渐地学习。 “吉昂，这个世界根本不是天堂，对吗？” 月光下闪现着吉昂的微笑，他说：“你又在学习了，海鸥乔纳森。” “那么，还有发生什么事？我们还要上哪儿去？没有一个叫天堂的地方吗？” “没有。乔纳森，没有这样的地方。天堂不是一个地点，也不是一段时间。天堂是完美的状态。”他沉默了一会儿，又开口道，“你是一个飞翔好手，对吧？” “我……我喜欢速度。”乔纳森说，有些吃惊，但得到长老的注意却也不无骄傲。 “乔纳森，在你接近完美速度的时候，你将开始接触天堂。而且，那并不是时速1000英里，或是100万英里，或是以光速飞。任何数字都是一种有限，而完美是无限的。孩子，完美速度就是达到那种境界。” 吉昂倏然消失了，悠然又出现在50英尺外的海水边，一切都在瞬间完成。然后他又消失，在千分之一秒内又站到乔纳森的肩上说“这是一种乐趣。“ 乔纳森觉得真是眼花缭乱，忘了天堂的话题：“你怎么做到的？是什么样的感觉？你一下能飞多远？” “你愿意去哪儿就去哪儿，想什么时候去就什么时候去，”吉昂说，“我已经去过懈想去的地方，无论什么时间。”他扫视海面，接着说，“奇怪，为了旅行而藐视完美的海鸥哪儿也去不成，飞得特别慢。那些为了完美而把旅行放在一边的海鸥，却瞬间，哪儿都去了。记住，乔纳森，天堂不是一个点，也不是某个时间，因为时间和地点都没有意义。天堂是……” “你能教我那样飞吗？”海鸥乔纳森打算攻克另一项未知，这时，他的话音听起来有些颤抖。 “当然，只要你愿意学。” “我愿意，什么时候开始？” “只要你愿意，现在就可以开始。” “我真想像你那样飞，”乔纳森说道，他双眼里闪出一道奇异的光，“请教给我该怎么做。”长老吉昂更为仔细观察这只年轻的海鸥，慢慢地讲来：“想飞多快就多快，要去哪里就去哪里，首先你必须知道自己已经到达那里……” 在长老看来，这秘诀就是，乔纳森不再认为自己囿于一个有限的身体，不再认为自己的翅膀只有42英寸宽，也不再以为自己的飞翔无法超出既定的航线图。这里的关键是懂得自身真正的本质所在，懂得完美像一个未被写下的数字，可以让你在转瞬间超越时空。 乔纳森坚持苦练，日复一日，起早贪黑，全力以赴，寸步不离训练场。尽管如此，却始终不能有新的突破。 “忘掉信念！”长老时而提醒他说，“飞翔无需信念，只需理解。这次也是一样。现在，再试一下……” 不久，有一天，乔纳森站在岸边，闭着双眼，冥思苦想。一闪念间，他猛地领悟了长老吉昂所教给他的关键“啊，真的！我是一只完美的、不受限制的海鸥了！”顿时，他感到喜出望外。 “太好了！”吉昂的话音里也含着成功的喜悦。 乔纳森睁开双眼时，看见自己正和吉昂站在完全不同以往的海岸上——绿树一直垂到水边，两轮金黄的太阳在头顶照耀着。 “你终于悟到这一点了，”吉昂接着说：“不过，你的控制力还欠一点功夫……” 乔纳森惊奇地问：“我们这是在哪儿？” 吉昂完全没有在意周围奇特的环境，没有正面回答那个问题，“我们在一颗行星上吧，很明显，碧绿的天空，两颗星星是这里的太阳。” 乔纳森开心地欢呼一声，喊出他离开地球以后的第一声：“成功了！” “噢，当然会成功了，乔，”吉昂说，“只要你清楚自己要干什么，做任何事都会成功。现在说说你的自控力……” 他们回来的时候，天已经黑了。其他海鸥金色的瞳仁里充满对乔纳森的敬畏，因为他们亲眼看到他从这伫立良久的地点消失，又回来了。 他站在那里，他们向他道贺，可是，连一分钟都不到，他就无法忍受了。他谦逊地说：“我是新来的，才开始学！我该向你们多学习！” “不知怎么回事，乔，”站在近前的沙利文不解地说，“你无畏的学习勇气是我万年来所仅见的，没有任何海鸥比得上你。”海鸥们一片沉默，乔纳森觉得有些不安。 “如果你愿意，我们可以来研究时间了，”长老说道，“等你能在过去和将来之间穿行，你就可以开始学习最难，也是最有力、最有趣的一种了。然后你就会准备好高飞，懂得慈悲和爱的意义了。” 一个月过去了，或者说感觉像过去了一个月，乔纳森的学习进步神速。以往他从一般经验中就学得很快，现在，作为吉昂亲自教导的入室弟子，他像一台流线型、长羽毛的计算机似的，大量吸收着新东西。 可是后来，吉昂消失的那一天来到了。他当时静静地对大伙讲着话，告诫大家学无止境，必须不断练习，更要锲而不舍地努力理解各种生活的宝贵真理。就在他说话的时候，他的羽毛变得越来越亮，最后变得那么亮，以至其他海鸥没法睁眼看他。 “乔纳森，”他说，这是他最后的话，“继续努力学习去爱。” 他们再睁开眼时，吉昂已经不见了。 日子一天天地过去，乔纳森发现自己时常想到自己的故乡——原来生活过的地球。如果他在那里懂得现在所知道的十分之一，甚至百分之一，那生命就该有意义多了！他站在沙滩上想着，那里会不会有一只海鸥在挣扎着冲破自我的限制，发现飞翔的意义远不只是从小渔船那里抢一点面包屑？或许那里正有一只海鸥因为敢于对群殴说真话而被流放。乔纳森越是遵循码头的原则，越是努力认识爱的本质，他就越想回到地球。尽管他的过去充满孤独，但海鸥乔纳森却是位天生的老师，他自己奉献爱的方式，就是把自己所理解的真实，传授给另一位渴望一窥真实境界的海鸥。 沙利文，现在长于以思维速度飞翔，正教着其他海鸥学习，却对乔纳森的想法有些不解：“乔，你曾经是流放者。你想那里的海鸥有谁会听你的呢？俗话说，飞得最高的海鸥看得最远。在你来的地方，海鸥站在地上，他们只会互相叫嚷，彼此争抢。他们距离天堂何止千里——你说你要让他们在自己站的地方看到天堂！乔，他们连自己的翼尖都看不清！留在这儿吧，帮助这些新来的海鸥，他们起点高，你教什么，他们懂什么。”沉默了一会儿，他又接着说，“如果吉昂那时也回到他的故乡，那今天你会在哪儿呢？” 最后一点很有说服力，沙利文是对的。飞得最高的海鸥看得最远。 乔纳森留了下来，教起来的海鸥，他们都很聪明，学得很快。但是，那种老想法一再回来，他无法不去想，地球上总有一两只海鸥也会愿意学的。要是长老在他刚被流放的那一天来到他身边，他现在该学会多少东西 啊！ “沙利文，我必须回去，”他终于说，“你的学生们都学得很好。他们能帮你带新学生。” 沙利文叹也口气，但没有再争辩，他只说：“我会想你的，乔纳森。” “沙利，别傻了！”乔纳森嗔怪道，“别忘了，我们每天努力学的是什么 ！要是我们的友谊依赖时空之类来维护，那么，我们最后克服时空限制后，不是就毁掉了我们的手足情？但是克服空间限制后，我们就只剩下‘此地’；克服时间限制后，我们就只剩下‘此时’。就在此地与此时，你不觉得我们还有机会见一两次面吗？” 海鸥沙利文不禁哈哈大笑，“你这只疯狂的鸟，”他和善地说，“要说有谁能向地上的凡夫俗子展示千里之外的世界，那一定是海鸥乔纳森·利文斯顿。”他看了看沙滩，接着说，“再见，乔，我的朋友。” “再见，沙利，我们会再见面的。”说完这话，乔纳森脑海里开始浮现出另一时空中海岸边大群大群的海鸥，他懂得凭他练就的功夫，他已不是皮包骨头的老模样，而是自由飞翔的完美形象，可以随心所欲。 海鸥福来奇·林德还很年轻，但已经懂得没有哪只海鸥曾像他那样，遭受群鸥那么严厉又那么不公正的话。 “我不在乎他们说什么，”他拼命地想，朝“远方山崖”飞去时，视线不免有些模糊。“飞翔怎能只是从一个地方扑扇到另一个地方，没劲！蚊子才那样！当时我只不过是在海鸥长老随便一翻，不过是闹着玩儿，我就被流放了！他们都瞎了吗？他们搞不懂吗？我们真正学会飞翔将带来多大的荣耀？” “我不在意他们怎么想，我会让他们看看什么才叫飞翔！要是他们非要那么做，我倒乐得逍遥自在。我会让他们后悔……” 有声音来自自己的大脑，尽管十分轻柔，却还是吓了他一大跳，他在空中跌跌撞撞起来。 “别对他们要求太高，海鸥福来奇。驱逐你，其实只会伤害他们自己，总有一天，他们会明白这一点的，他们会和你有相同的眼界。原谅他们，帮他们去理解这一切吧。” 距他右翼一英寸处，飞来一只世界上最灿烂的白海鸥，他毫不费力地水平飞着，没有掀动一根羽毛，几乎是以福来厅最快的速度飞着。 这只年轻的海鸥一时被搞糊涂了。 “怎么回事？我疯了吗？还是我死了？这是什么？” 一个低而平静的声音响在他的脑海，问道：“海鸥福来奇·林德，你想飞吗？” “想，我想飞！” “海鸥福来奇·林德，你想飞的欲望是否足够强烈，使你能够原谅群鸥，并在学成的那天再度回到他们中去，让他们了解这一切？” 无论海鸥福来奇有多骄傲，无论他受到过怎样的伤害，都不能对这样一只卓越的飞翔大家撒谎。 “我愿意。”他轻轻的说。 “那么，福来奇，”那只光辉灿烂的海鸥，用非常和蔼的声音对他说，“咱们开始水平飞翔吧……”

slumpp

朝前面 飞翔！

madnimo

第三章 乔纳森在“远方山崖”上空慢慢地盘旋着。这只莽莽撞撞的年轻海鸥福来奇是一流的飞行员。他在空中飞得很卖力，动作轻快，而更重要的是，他确实有一种学习飞翔的强大动力。 此刻，他又飞了回来，一个灰色的模糊身影呼啸着来一个俯冲，时速150英里，从他老师身边一闪而过。又突然开始做另一种尝试，16段垂直慢速侧翻，并且大声数着点数。 “……8……9……10瞧，乔纳森，我飞出了空气的速度……11……我要像你一样做出美妙的结束动作……12……但是，该死！我就是做不到……13……这最后三次……没有……14……哎呀！” 失败让福来奇怒气冲冲，在最高点失速的程度就更加严重。他向后倒下、滚翻、猛地反身旋转，终于调整过来，大口喘着粗气，落到老师身下100英尺处。 “乔纳森，别把时间浪费在我身上了！我太笨了，太没用了，太没用了！我试呀试，可怎么也学不会！” 海鸥乔纳森俯视着他，点点头。“如果你在急升的时候过分用力，你肯定学不会。福来奇，你在开始时，每小时已经慢了40英里！你的动作得稳定而流畅！记住，动作干净利落！” 他降到年轻海鸥飞翔的高度，“现在咱俩一起试，注意那个急升动作，要流畅，放松！” 三个月后，乔纳森已经另外有六个学生了，他们全是流放者，但是都对飞翔的乐趣而 飞翔而飞翔这种新奇的想法大感兴趣。 不过，对他们来说，练习高难度动作要比懂得这样做背后的原因更容易些。 “我们每一位都应真正怀有做伟大海鸥的理想，追求无限的真理，”乔纳森常在黄昏时站在海滩上这样说：“精确的飞翔动作是迈向表达我们真正本性的第一步。一切限制我们真正的第一步。一切限制我们的事情都要先放在一边。这就是为什么要练习高速飞翔、低速飞翔和特技动作……” 他的学生们因为一天辛苦的训练而昏昏睡去。他们喜欢训练，因为飞得快又刺激，学习的渴望随着每节课增长，只有不断的训练才可以满足。不过，他们谁也不信，包括福来奇林德，飞翔的理想实现时，凭着思维飞翔和在风中飞翔一样真实。 “你们整个身体，从翅膀一端到另一端，”有时候，乔纳森会说，“其实就是你们的思维本身，就是你们可以看见的有形的思想。冲破你们的思维枷锁，也就冲破了你们身体的枷锁……”然而，不管他 怎么说，他们听来都不过像好听的催眠曲，听得越多就越好入睡。又过了一个月，乔纳森说，回到鸥群中的时候到了。 “我们还没准备好呢！”海鸥亨利凯尔文说，“咱们不会受欢迎的！咱们是流放者！咱们不该勉强自己回到不受欢迎的地方去，对吧？” “我们想到哪儿就可以到哪儿，想成为什么样子就可以成为什么样子。”乔纳森回答说。说罢，他振翅飞离沙滩，转向东方，朝群鸥地上的故乡飞去。 他的学生们一时苦恼起来，鸥群的法律是流放者永远不能回返，这条法律已经施行了万年，没有一次破例。法律不准他们回去，乔纳森却要回去；现在他已经飞过海面一英里了。如果他们犹豫时间再长些，乔纳森将会单 枪匹马面对充满敌意的群鸥。 “好吧，如果我们不是群鸥的一分子，我们就不需要遵守那里的法律，是吧？”福来奇自言自语似的说，“再说，真要打架的话，咱们在那儿比在这儿更有用。” 于是，那天早晨，他们从西向东飞去，一行八只海鸥，排成两个菱形队，翼尖几乎重叠起来。他们以135英里的时速飞过群鸥参议大会海滩上空，乔纳森带队，福来奇平稳地飞在右翼，亨利觊尔文努力地跟在左边。然后，整个队形像一只鸟一样慢慢地向右侧翻飞……水平……转向……反向……转向……水平飞，风声呼呼地抽打着他们。 这队形好像一把巨大的刀子，立即割断了群欧日常的叽叽啾啾，八千只海鸥眼睛一眨不眨地盯着他们。八只海鸥，一只接一只，干脆利落地做一个完整向上翻筋斗，又绕一大圈，最后几乎垂直般落到沙滩上，而后就像家常便饭一样。海鸥乔纳森又开始了他对学生们飞翔的讲评。 “首先，”他苦笑着说，“你们跟上来有点慢……” 群鸥如遭电击，这是些流放者！他们居然回来了！而这……这是不可能的！福来特预想的战斗被群鸥的迷惑冲散了。 “嗯，可不，他们是那些流放者，”一些小海鸥们说，“可是，嘿，伙计，他们从哪儿学来那种飞翔本事的？” 几乎花了一个小时，群鸥 长老的话才传遍鸥群：别理他们，谁跟流放者说话，谁将立即被流放；谁要敬佩流放者，也就触犯了鸥群的法律。 从那一刻起，群鸥就把灰色羽毛转过来背对着乔纳森，可是，看来他不以为意。他径自在海滩上进行他的训练课程，并且头一次要求学生们向能力极限挑战。 “海鸥马丁！”他的吼声划过长空，“你说你会低速飞翔。用事实来证明吧，飞飞看！” 一向水爱吱声的小海鸥马丁威廉，被老师发火吓了一跳。连他自己都奇怪，自己怎么一下子成了低速飞翔的高手。在极轻柔的微风中，他可以不用扇翅膀，就把速整个身子从沙滩升到云霄，又从云霄飞落到沙滩。 同样地，海鸥查尔斯罗兰德乘着大山风飞上了24000英尺的高空，从空气稀薄的高空中飞下来，他身体冻得有些发紫，但是他又惊又喜，决心明天再飞高一些。 海鸥福来奇跟别的海鸥不一样，热爱特技飞翔非比寻常，这时，他终于攻克难关，顺利完成了他的16段垂直慢速翻飞。第二天，他完成整套动作时还做了个720度滚翻。他的羽毛把耀眼的阳光反射到沙滩上，那里有几双眼睛在人偷偷地看着。 乔纳森每时每刻都在学生们身边，时而示范，时而建议，时而指导，时而鼓励。为了飞翔的乐趣，无论在夜晚，还是多云，或是暴风雨天，他都陪着学生们在天上飞，而这时，群鸥却可怜地蜷缩在地上。 每天练习完，学生们在沙滩上放松，可以更仔细地听乔纳森讲解。他有一些疯狂的想法，他们无法理解，不过，他也有一些好的想法是他们能够理解的。 渐渐的，在晚上，学生圈外又添了一圈——一圈好奇的海鸥在黑夜结束前来听讲，而且彼此都 不想碰见别人，又在黎明前悄悄离去。 他们回来一个月后，海鸥特伦斯罗维尔——群鸥中第一只海鸥越过界线，要求学习飞翔。他这一要求就将自己定为有罪的海鸥，成了流放者。他成了乔纳森的第八名学生。 第二天晚上，又来了一只叫克尔梅纳德的海鸥，他踉踉跄跄走过沙沙以，托着左翅膀，跌倒在乔纳森的脚 边。“帮帮我，”他说得十分平静，就像临终前的遗言，“这世界上我最想要的要飞……”“那么来吧，”乔纳森答应道，“跟 我一起飞起来，马上开始。”“你不知道，你看我的翅膀，它动不了。” “海鸥梅纳德，你可以成为你自己。你有塑造真正自我的自由，就在此时此地，什么也不能阻拦你。这是伟大海鸥的法律，这是真正的法律。” “你是说，我可以飞吗？” “我说你是自由的。” 就那么简单、那么快，海鸥克尔梅纳德展开翅膀，毫不费力地飞上了漆黑的夜空。他从500英尺处使劲尖声大叫：“我能飞了！听呀！我能飞了！”睡梦中的群鸥被他的叫声惊醒了。 日出时，有近千只海鸥站在学生圈外，好奇地看着梅纳德。他们不在乎会被别的海鸥看见，只是聚精会神地听着，想搞懂海鸥乔纳森。 他只是讲了一些简单易懂的东西：海鸥天生就应该飞翔，自由是生命的本质，任何妨碍自由的东西都该摒弃，不管什么形式的限制、宗教或是迷信都应该抛开。 “摒弃？”聚集的鸥群里传来一个声音，问道：“即使是鸥群的法律？” “唯一真正 的法律是指向自由的，”乔纳森解释道：“此外没有别的法律。” “你怎么能使我们跟你飞的一样？”另一个声音问，“你那么特别，那么聪明，那么非凡，不同于所有的海鸥。” “看看福来奇！罗维尔！查尔斯罗半德！朱迪里！他们也特别、聪明、非凡吗？他们和你们一样，和我一样，不比我们强什么。不过唯一的区别是，他们已经开始懂得真正的自我，而且开始学习了。” 他的学生，除了福来奇外，都不自在地扭过头。他们没有意识到这就是自己在做着的事情。 聚过来的海鸥一天比一天多，他们有过来问问题的、有崇拜的，也有藐视的。 “群鸥传说，如果你不是伟大海鸥亲生的儿子。”一天早晨，在高阶速度训练后，福来奇告诉乔纳森，“那么你要比现在超前1000年。” 乔纳森叹了口气。他想，这就是误解的代价，他们不是叫你魔鬼，就是叫你神。“你怎么看，福来奇？我们超前吗？” 沉默了好一会儿，福来奇说：“嗯，这种飞法一直就有，谁肯探索，谁就可以学会这种飞法；跟时代没有关系。也许，我们树立了新风尚，走到了大多数海鸥要走的路的前面。” “说的有道理，”乔纳森说着，侧翻过来，仰身水平滑翔了一会儿，“这比说我们超越时代好多了。” 事情发生在一星期后。当时，福来奇正向一班新学生示范高速飞翔的基本技巧。他刚从7000英尺的高空展翼俯冲之后拉平，在海滩上方几英寸处燃起一条长长的灰线。就在这时，一只第一次飞翔的小海鸥闯入了他的航线，口中还叫着自己的妈妈。在这千钧一发之际，海鸥福来奇林德急忙以200多英里的时速闪向左边，一头碰到了坚硬的花岗岩峭壁上。 然而，对他来说，这岩石就像一扇坚硬的巨门通向另一个世界。这一撞令他眼前一片漆黑，一阵惊慌后，他飘进一个非常古怪的天空，时而晕厥，时而清醒；害怕、难过，一种无法形容的难过涌上来。 他听到一个声音，就像他第一次遇见海鸥乔纳森利文斯顿时那样： “福来奇，关键是循序渐进努力克服我们自身的局限，要有耐心。我们的课程还没有进行到在飞翔中怎么躲避岩石呢。” “乔纳森！” “也有人说是伟大海鸥之子。”老师淡淡地说。 “你在这儿干吗？峭壁！我没有……我没……死？” “哦，行了，福来奇。想想看。要是你在和我说话，那么很明显你没死，对吧？你确实草率地改变了你的意识水平。现在，抉择的时候到了。你可以留在这里，在这一水平上学习，或者回去继续教诲群鸥，顺便说一句，这里比那里层次高多了——长老们正暗暗希望我们出些事，不过，他们可没想到你这这么快就让他们如愿了。” “我当然想回到鸥群中，我才刚开始与那新生打交道！” “很好，福来奇。记不记得我们说过，身体就是思想本身……” 在峭壁下，福来奇摇摇头，伸展翅膀，睁开双眼，站在群鸥中间。他刚一动，聚集在周围的海鸥就发出了叽叽啾啾的叫嚷声。 “他活着！他原来死了又活了！” “用翼尖摸摸他！让他醒过来！伟大海鸥之子！” “不，他不承认！他是鬼！魔鬼！来破坏鸥群的！” 聚集在一起的4000只海鸥被所发生的一切吓倒了，魔鬼，这一叫法像一阵海上的暴风，一时间传开。他们眼露凶光，鸥嘴尖尖，一起上来要除掉福来奇。 “我们离开，你看好不好，福来奇？”乔纳森问道。 “我当然不大反对，要是我们曾……” 立刻，他们一起撤离到半英里外，暴怒的群鸥张开尖嘴，却咬空了。 “为什么，”乔纳森弄不明白，“世界上最难的事是让一只鸟相信他是自由的呢？只要花点时间学习，他自己也可以证明的。为什么这么难办？” 福来奇依然为刚才的情景发呆。“你刚刚怎么办到的？我们怎么到这儿来的？” “你刚刚不是说，你要离开那帮发怒的家伙吗？” “是呀，但是你怎么做……” “像其他事一样，福来奇，练出来的。” 到了早晨的时候，群鸥已经忘记了他们的疯狂，但是福来奇没有忘记。“乔纳森，还记得很久 以前你说过，因为爱，所以要回来帮他们学习吗？” “当然记得。” “我不明白。你怎么能做到爱一帮暴怒的鸟，他们都要杀死你。” “哦，福来奇，当然不是那样！你当然不爱仇恨或是邪恶。你得学着去了解真正的海鸥，他们都有善良的本性，还得帮他们自己发现自己那些优点。这才是我所说的爱。你明白这里的关键后，自然会乐在其中。 “比方说，我记得一只脾气暴躁的海鸥，名叫福来奇林德。他刚流放时，一心准备与群鸥决一死战，所以就在‘远方山崖’为自己构筑了一座痛苦的地狱。然而今天，他却在这里为自己建造了一座天堂，并且带领整个鸥群向同一个目标。” 福来奇转向老师，眼睛里流露出一丝恐慌。“我带领？你说‘我要带领’是什么意思？你是这里的老师，你不能离开！” “我不能吗？你不认为还有别的鸥群，别的福来奇吗？他们比这里更需要一个老师，这里的海鸥已经飞在光明的路上。” “我？乔，我只是一般的海鸥。而你是……” “……唯一的伟大海鸥之子，我猜得对吗？”乔纳森叹口气，向海上看去，“你不再需要我了。你需要每天继续多多地寻找自我，那个真正的、能力无限的海鸥福来奇。他是你的老师，你需要懂得他，学习他。” 过了一会儿，乔纳森的身体在空中摇曳起来，发着微光，开始变得透明。“别让他们散布有关我的愚蠢谣言，或者把我奉为神灵。好吗？我是一只海鸥，我喜欢飞翔，也许……” “乔纳森！” “可怜的福来奇。不要仅仅相信你眼睛看到的东西。它们所显示的极其有限。用你的悟性去看，找出你已经知道的东西，然后，你会发现飞翔的真理。” 微光不见了。海鸥乔纳森消失在茫茫的天空中。 过了一会儿，海鸥福来奇腾空飞起，面对一队全新的学生，他们急切希望开始第一课。 “首先，”他语重心长地讲，“你们得明白海鸥是一种自由无限的理想，一个伟大海鸥的形象，你们的整个身体，从翅膀的一端到另一端，都是你们的思想。” 小海鸥们疑惑地看着他，嘿，伙计，他们想，这听起来不像一个翻筋斗的原理。 福来奇叹口气，又开口说：“嗯，啊……很好。”带着挑剔的眼光看看他们，接着说，“咱们开始水平飞翔吧。”说到这儿，他忽然明白了：他的朋友十分真诚，不比自己更非凡。 乔纳森，没有极限？他想着。好吧，那么不久，我也会出现在那缥缈的高空中，向你演示一两样飞翔特技！ 尽管他尽量在学生面前表现得相当严厉，但海鸥福来奇突然看到这群海鸥的真正面貌，一刹那，他发觉自己不止喜欢他们，而且还深深爱着他们。没有极限，乔纳森？他想着，不觉微笑起来。他学习的长路开始了。 （全文完）

madnimo

《海鸥乔纳森》的作者简介 理查德·巴赫 飞行员，作家，行吟诗人。1970年《海鸥乔纳森》出版后，38周位居《纽约时报》畅销书排行榜第一名，在美国狂销700万册，首次打破《飘》以来的所有销售记录，成为世界文学皇冠上的明珠。理查德·巴赫的作品具备广阔的想象空间和阐释可能，他被读者亲切地誉为“天上派来的使者”，提醒我们永不放弃。 英文原版下载： http://www.brobike.com/download/seagull.rar

鲁西西

Richard Bach Jonathan Livingston Seagull To the real Jonathan Seagull, who lives within us all. Part One   It was morning, and the new sun sparkled gold across the ripples of a gentle sea. A mile from shore a fishing boat chummed the water. and the word for Breakfast Flock flashed through the air, till a crowd of a thousand seagulls came to dodge and fight for bits of food. It was another busy day beginning. But way off alone, out by himself beyond boat and shore, Jonathan Livingston Seagull was practicing. A hundred feet in the sky he lowered his webbed feet, lifted his beak, and strained to old a painful hard twisting curve through his wings. The curve meant that he would fly slowly, and now he slowed until the wind was a whisper in his face, until the ocean stood still beneath him. He narrowed his eyes in fierce concentration, held his breath, forced one... single... more... inch... of... curve... Then his featliers ruffled, he stalled and fell. Seagulls, as you know, never falter, never stall. To stall in the air is for them disgrace and it is dishonor. But Jonathan Livingston Seagull, unashamed, stretching his wings again in that trembling hard curve - slowing, slowing, and stalling once more - was no ordinary bird. Most gulls don't bother to learn more than the simplest facts of flight - how to get from shore to food and back again. For most gulls, it is not flying that matters, but eating. For this gull, though, it was not eating that mattered, but flight. More than anything else. Jonathan Livingston Seagull loved to fly. This kind of thinking, he found, is not the way to make one's self popular with other birds. Even his parents were dismayed as Jonathan spent whole days alone, making hundreds of low-level glides, experimenting. He didn't know why, for instance, but when he flew at altitudes less than half his wingspan above the water, he could stay in the air longer, with less effort. His glides ended not with the usual feet-down splash into the sea, but with a long flat wake as he touched the surface with his feet tightly streamlined against his body. When he began sliding in to feet-up landings on the beach, then pacing the length of his slide in the sand, his parents were very much dismayed indeed. "Why, Jon, why?" his mother asked. "Why is it so hard to be like the rest of the flock, Jon? Why can't you leave low flying to the pelicans, the albatross? Why don't you eat? Son, you're bone and feathers!" "I don't mind being bone and feathers mom. I just want to know what I can do in the air and what I can't, that's all. I just want to know." "See here Jonathan " said his father not unkindly. "Winter isn't far away. Boats will be few and the surface fish will be swimming deep. If you must study, then study food, and how to get it. This flying business is all very well, but you can't eat a glide, you know. Don't you forget that the reason you fly is to eat." Jonathan nodded obediently. For the next few days he tried to behave like the other gulls; he really tried, screeching and fighting with the flock around the piers and fishing boats, diving on scraps of fish and bread. But he couldn't make it work. It's all so pointless, he thought, deliberately dropping a hard-won anchovy to a hungry old gull chasing him. I could be spending all this time learning to fly. There's so much to learn! It wasn't long before Jonathan Gull was off by himself again, far out at sea, hungry, happy, learning. The subject was speed, and in a week's practice he learned more about speed than the fastest gull alive.   From a thousand feet, flapping his wings as hard as he could, he pushed over into a blazing steep dive toward the waves, and learned why seagulls don't make blazing steep power-dives. In just six seconds he was moving seventy miles per hour, the speed at which one's wing goes unstable on the upstroke. Time after time it happened. Careful as he was, working at the very peak of his ability, he lost control at high speed. Climb to a thousand feet. Full power straight ahead first, then push over, flapping, to a vertical dive. Then, every time, his left wing stalled on an upstroke, he'd roll violently left, stall his right wing recovering, and flick like fire into a wild tumbling spin to the right.   He couldn't be careful enough on that upstroke. Ten times he tried, and all ten times, as he passed through seventy miles per hour, he burst into a churning mass of feathers, out of control, crashing down into the water.   The key, he thought at last, dripping wet, must be to hold the wings still at high speeds - to flap up to fifty and then hold the wings still. From two thousand feet he tried again, rolling into his dive, beak straight down, wings full out and stable from the moment he passed fifty miles per hour. It took tremendous strength, but it worked. In ten seconds he had blurred through ninety miles per hour. Jonathan had set a world speed record for seagulls!   But victory was short-lived. The instant he began his pullout, the instant he changed the angle of his wings, he snapped into that same terrible uncontrolled disaster, and at ninety miles per hour it hit him like dynamite. Jonathan Seagull exploded in midair and smashed down into a brickhard sea.   When he came to, it was well after dark, and he floated in moonlight on the surface of the ocean. His wings were ragged bars of lead, but the weight of failure was even heavier on his back. He wished, feebly, that the weight could be just enough to drug him gently down to the bottom, and end it all. As he sank low in the water, a strange hollow voice sounded within him. There's no way around it. I am a seagull. I am limited by my nature. If I were meant to learn so much about flying, I'd have charts for brains. If I were meant to fly at speed, I'd have a falcon's short wings, and live on mice instead of fish. My father was right. I must forget this foolishness. I must fly home to the Flock and be content as I am, as a poor limited seagull.   The voice faded, and Jonathan agreed. The place for a seagull at night is on shore, and from this moment forth, he vowed, he would be a normal gull. It would make everyone happier. He pushed wearily away from the dark water and flew toward the land, grateful for what he had learned about work-saving low-altitude flying. But no, he thought. I am done with the way I was, I am done with everything I learned. I am a seagull like every other seagull, and I will fly like one. So he climbed painfully to a hundred feet and flapped his wings harder, pressing for shore. He felt better for his decision to be just another one of the Flock. There would be no ties now to the force that had driven him to learn, there would be no more challenge and no more failure. And it was pretty, just to stop thinking, and fly through the dark, toward the lights above the beach. Dark! The hollow voice cracked in alarm. Seagulls never fly in the dark!   Jonathan was not alert to listen. It's pretty, he thought. The moon and the lights twinkling on the water, throwing out little beacon-trails through the night, and all so peaceful and still...   Get down! Seagulls never fly in the dark! If you were meant to fly in the dark, you'd have the eyes of an owl! You'd have charts for brains! You'd have a falcon's short wings! There in the night, a hundred feet in the air, Jonathan Livingston Seagull -blinked. His pain, his resolutions, vanished. Short wings. A falcon's short wings!   That's the answer! What a fool I've been! All I need is a tiny little wing, all I need is to fold most of my wings and fly on just the tips alone! Short wings! He climbed two thousand feet above the black sea, and without a moment for thought of failure and death, he brought his forewings tightly in to his body, left only the narrow swept daggers of his wingtips extended into the wind, and fell into a vertical dive. The wind was a monster roar at his head. Seventy miles per hour, ninety, a hundred and twenty and faster still. The wing-strain now at a hundred and forty miles per hour wasn't nearly as hard as it had been before at seventy, and with the faintest twist of his wingtips he eased out of the dive and shot above the waves, a gray cannonball under the moon. He closed his eyes to slits against the wind and rejoiced. A hundred forty miles per hour! And under control! If I dive from five thousand feet instead of two thousand, I wonder how fast..   His vows of a moment before were forgotten, swept away in that great swift wind. Yet he felt guiltless, breaking the promises he had made himself. Such promises are only for the gulls that accept the ordinary. One who has touched excellence in his learning has no need of that kind of promise. By sunup, Jonathan Gull was practicing again. From five thousand feet the fishing boats were specks in the flat blue water, Breakfast Flock was a faint cloud of dust motes, circling.   He was alive, trembling ever so slightly with delight, proud that his fear was under control. Then without ceremony he hugged in his forewings, extended his short, angled wingtips, and plunged direcfly toward the sea. By the time he passed four thousand feet he had reached terminal velocity, the wind was a solid beating wall of sound against which he could move no faster. He was flying now straight down, at two hundred fourteen miles per hour. He swallowed, knowing that if his wings unfolded at that speed he'd be blown into a million tiny shreds of seagull. But the speed was power, and the speed was joy, and the speed was pure beauty. He began his pullout at a thousand feet, wingtips thudding and blurring in that gigantic wind, the boat and the crowd of gulls tilting and growing meteor-fast, directly in his path. He couldn't stop; he didn't know yet even how to turn at that speed. Collision would be instant death. And so he shut his eyes. It happened that morning, then, just after sunrise, that Jonathan Livingston Seagull fired directly through the center of Breakfast Flock, ticking off two hundred twelve miles per hour, eyes closed, in a great roaring shriek of wind and feathers. The Gull of Fortune smiled upon him this once, and no one was killed. By the time he had pulled his beak straight up into the sky he was still scorching along at a hundred and sixty miles per hour. When he had slowed to twenty and stretched his wings again at last, the boat was a crumb on the sea, four thousand feet below.   His thought was triumph. Terminal velocity! A seagull at two hundred fourteen miles per hour! It was a breakthrough, the greatest single moment in the history of the Flock, and in that moment a new age opened for Jonathan Gull. Flying out to his lonely practice area, folding his wings for a dive from eight thousand feet, he set himself at once to discover how to turn. A single wingtip feather, he found, moved a fraction of an inch, gives a smooth sweeping curve at tremendous speed. Before he learned this, however, he found that moving more than one feather at that speed will spin you like a rifle ball... and Jonathan had flown the first aerobatics of any seagull on earth.   He spared no time that day for talk with other gulls, but flew on past sunset. He discovered the loop, the slow roll, the point roll, the inverted spin, the gull bunt, the pinwheel. When Jonathan Seagull joined the Flock on the beach, it was full night. He was dizzy and terribly tired. Yet in delight he flew a loop to landing, with a snap roll just before touchdown. When they hear of it, he thought, of the Breakthrough, they'll be wild with joy. How much more there is now to living! Instead of our drab slogging forth and back to the fishing boats, there's a reason to life! We can lift ourselves out of ignorance, we can find ourselves as creatures of excellence and intelligence and skill. We can be free! We can learn to fly! The years ahead hummed and glowed with promise. The gulls were flocked into the Council Gathering when he landed, and apparently had been so flocked for some time. They were, in fact, waiting. "Jonathan Livingston Seagull! Stand to Center!" The Elder's words sounded in a voice of highest ceremony. Stand to Center meant only great shame or great honor. Stand to Center for Honor was the way the gulls' foremost leaders were marked. Of course, he thought, the Breakfast Flock this morning; they saw the Breakthrough! But I want no honors. I have no wish to be leader. I want only to share what I've found, to show those horizons out ahead for us all. He stepped forward. "Jonathan Livingston Seagull," said the Elder, "Stand to Center for Shame in the sight of your fellow gulls!" It felt like being hit with a board. His knees went weak, his feathers sagged, there was roaring in his ears. Centered for shame? Impossible! The Breakthrough! They can't understand! They're wrong, they're wrong! "... for his reckless irresponsibility " the solemn voice intoned, "violating the dignity and tradition of the Gull Family..." To be centered for shame meant that he would be cast out of gull society, banished to a solitary life on the Far Cliffs. "... one day Jonathan Livingston Seagull, you shall learn that irresponsibility does not pay. Life is the unknown and the unknowable, except that we are put into this world to eat, to stay alive as long as we possibly can." A seagull never speaks back to the Council Flock, but it was Jonathan's voice raised. "Irresponsibility? My brothers!" he cried. "Who is more responsible than a gull who finds and follows a meaning, a higher purpose for life? For a thousand years we have scrabbled after fish heads, but now we have a reason to live - to learn, to discover, to be free! Give me one chance, let me show you what I've found..." The Flock might as well have been stone.   "The Brotherhood is broken," the gulls intoned together, and with one accord they solemnly closed their ears and turned their backs upon him. Jonathan Seagull spent the rest of his days alone, but he flew way out beyond the Far Cliffs. His one sorrow was not solitude, it was that other gulls refused to believe the glory of flight that awaited them; they refused to open their eyes and see. He learned more each day. He learned that a streamlined high-speed dive could bring him to find the rare and tasty fish that schooled ten feet below the surface of the ocean: he no longer needed fishing boats and stale bread for survival. He learned to sleep in the air, setting a course at night across the offshore wind, covering a hundred miles from sunset to sunrise. With the same inner control, he flew through heavy sea-fogs and climbed above them into dazzling clear skies... in the very times when every other gull stood on the ground, knowing nothing but mist and rain. He learned to ride the high winds far inland, to dine there on delicate insects. What he had once hoped for the Flock, he now gained for himself alone; he learned to fly, and was not sorry for the price that he had paid. Jonathan Seagull discovered that boredom and fear and anger are the reasons that a gull's life is so short, and with these gone from his thought, he lived a long fine life indeed. They came in the evening, then, and found Jonathan gliding peaceful and alone through his beloved sky. The two gulls that appeared at his wings were pure as starlight, and the glow from them was gentle and friendly in the high night air. But most lovely of all was the skill with which they flew, their wingtips moving a precise and constant inch from his own. Without a word, Jonathan put them to his test, a test that no gull had ever passed. He twisted his wings, slowed to a single mile per hour above stall. The two radiant birds slowed with him, smoothly, locked in position. They knew about slow flying. He folded his wings, rolled and dropped in a dive to a hundred ninety miles per hour. They dropped with him, streaking down in flawless formation. At last he turned that speed straight up into a long vertical slow-roll. They rolled with him, smiling. He recovered to level flight and was quiet for a time before he spoke. "Very well," he said, "who are you?" "We're from your Flock, Jonathan. We are your brothers." The words were strong and calm. "We've come to take you higher, to take you home." "Home I have none. Flock I have none. I am Outcast. And we fly now at the peak of the Great Mountain Wind. Beyond a few hundred feet, I can lift this old body no higher."   "But you can Jonathan. For you have learned. One school is finished, and the time has come for another to begin." As it had shined across him all his life, so understanding lighted that moment for Jonathan Seagull. They were right. He could fly higher, and it was time to go home. He gave one last look across the sky, across that magnificent silver land where he had learned so much. "I'm ready " he said at last.   And Jonathan Livingston Seagull rose with the two starbright gulls to disappear into a perfect dark sky.

鲁西西

Part Two So this is heaven, he thought, and he had to smile at himself. It was hardly respectful to analyze heaven in the very moment that one flies up to enter it. As he came from Earth now, above the clouds and in close formation with the two brilliant gulls, he saw that his own body was growing as bright as theirs. True, the same young Jonathan Seagull was there that had always lived behind his golden eyes, but the outer form had changed.   It felt like a seagull body, but alreadv it flew far better than his old one had ever flown. Why, with half the effort, he thought, I'll get twice the speed, twice the performance of my best days on Earth! His feathers glowed brilliant white now, and his wings were smooth and perfect as sheets of polished silver. He began, delightedly, to learn about them, to press power into these new wings. At two hundred fifty miles per hour he felt that he was nearing his level-flight maximum speed. At two hundred seventy-three he thought that he was flying as fast as he could fly, and he was ever so faintly disappointed. There was a limit to how much the new body could do, and though it was much faster than his old level-flight record, it was still a limit that would take great effort to crack. In heaven, he thought, there should be no limits. The clouds broke apart, his escorts called, "Happy landings, Jonathan," and vanished into thin air. He was flying over a sea, toward a jagged shoreline. A very few seagulls were working the updrafts on the cliffs. Away off to the north, at the horizon itself, flew a few others. New sights, new thoughts, new questions. Why so few gulls? Heaven should be flocked with gulls! And why am I so tired, all at once? Gulls in heaven are never supposed to be tired, or to sleep. Where had he heard that? The memory of his life on Earth was falling away. Earth had been a place where he had learned much, of course, but the details were blurred -something about fighting for food, and being Outcast. The dozen gulls by the shoreline came to meet him, none saying a word. He felt only that he was welcome and that this was home. It had been a big day for him, a day whose sunrise he no longer remembered. He turned to land on the beach, beating his wings to stop an inch in the air, then dropping lightly to the sand, The other gulls landed too, but not one of them so much as flapped a feather. They swung into the wind, bright wings outstretched, then somehow they changed the curve of their feathers until they had stopped in the same instant their feet touched the ground. It was beautiful control, but now Jonathan was just too tired to try it. Standing there on the beach, still without a word spoken, he was asleep. In the days that followed, Jonathan saw that there was as much to learn about flight in this place as there had been in the life behind him. But with a difference. Here were gulls who thought as he thought, for each of them, the most important thing in living was to reach out and touch perfection in that which they most loved to do, and that was to fly. They were magnificent birds, all of them, and they spent hour after hour every day practicing flight, testing advanced aeronautics. For a long time Jonathan forgot about the world that he had come from, that place where the Flock lived with its eyes tightly shut to the joy of flight, using its wings as means to the end of finding and fighting for food. But now and then, just for a moment, he remembered. He remembered it one morning when he was out with his instructor, while they rested on the beach after a session of folded-wing snap rolls.   "Where is everybody, Sullivan?" he asked silently, quite at home now with the easy telepathy that these gulls used instead of screes and gracks. "Why aren't there more of us here? Why, where I came from there were.. "   "... thousands and thousands of gulls. I know. " Sullivan shook his head. "The only answer I can see, Jonathan, is that you are pretty well a one-in-a-million bird. Most of us came along ever so slowly. We went from one world into another that was almost exactly like it, forgetting right away where we had come from, not caring where we were headed, living for the moment. Do you have any idea how many lives we must have gone through before we even got the first idea that there is more to life than eating, or fighting, or power in the Flock? A thousand lives, Jon, ten thousand! And then another hundred lives until we began to learn that there is such a thing as perfection, and another hundred again to get the idea that our purpose for living is to find that perfection and show it forth. The same rule holds for us now, of course: we choose our next world through what we learn in this one. Learn nothing, and the next world is the same as this one, all the same limitations and lead weights to overcome."   He stretched his wings and turned to face the wind. "But you, Jon," he said, "learned so much at one time that you didn't have to go through a thousand lives to reach this one." In a moment they were airborne again, practicing. The formation point-roils were difficult, for through the inverted half Jonathan had to think upside down, reversing the curve of his wing, and reversing it exactly in harmony with his instructor's. "Let's try it again." Sullivan said over and over: "Let's try it again." Then, finally, "Good." And they began practicing outside loops.   One evening the gulls that were not night-flying stood together on the sand, thinking. Jonathan took all his courage in hand and walked to the Elder Gull, who, it was said, was soon to be moving beyond this world. "Chiang..." he said a little nervously. The old seagull looked at him kindly. "Yes, my son?" Instead of being enfeebled by age, the Elder had been empowered by it; he could outfly any gull in the Flock, and he had learned skills that the others were only gradually coming to know. "Chiang, this world isn't heaven at all, is it?" The Elder smiled in the moonlight. "You are learning again, Jonathan Seagull," he said.   "Well, what happens from here? Where are we going? Is there no such place as heaven?" "No, Jonathan, there is no such place. Heaven is not a place, and it is not a time. Heaven is being perfect." He was silent for a moment. "You are a very fast flier, aren't you?"   "I... I enjoy speed," Jonathan said, taken aback but proud that the Elder had noticed. "You will begin to touch heaven, Jonathan, in the moment that you touch perfect speed. And that isn't flying a thousand miles an hour, or a million, or flying at the speed of light. Because any number is a limit, and perfection doesn't have limits. Perfect speed, my son, is being there." Without warning, Chiang vanished and appeared at the water's edge fifty feet away, all in the flicker of an instant. Then he vanished again and stood, in the same millisecond, at Jonathan's shoulder. "It's kind of fun," he said. Jonathan was dazzled. He forgot to ask about heaven. "How do you do that? What does it feel like? How far can you go?"   "You can go to any place and to any time that you wish to go," the Elder said. "I've gone everywhere and everywhen I can think of." He looked across the sea. "It's strange. The gulls who scorn perfection for the sake of travel go nowhere, slowly. Those who put aside travel for the sake of perfection go anywhere, instantly. Remember, Jonathan, heaven isn't a place or a time, because place and time are so very meaningless. Heaven is..." "Can you teach me to fly like that?" Jonathan Seagull trembled to conquer another unknown. "Of course if you wish to learn." "I wish. When can we start?". "We could start now if you'd like." "I want to learn to fly like that," Jonathan said and a strange light glowed in his eyes. "Tell me what to do."   Chiang spoke slowly and watched the younger gull ever so carefully. "To fly as fast as thought, to anywhere that is," he said, "you must begin by knowing that you have already arrived ..." The trick, according to Chiang, was for Jonathan to stop seeing himself as trapped inside a limited body that had a forty-two inch wingspan and performance that could be plotted on a chart. The trick was to know that his true nature lived, as perfect as an unwritten number, everywhere at once across space and time. Jonathan kept at it, fiercely, day after day, from before sunrise till past midnight. And for all his effort he moved not a feather width from his spot.   "Forget about faith!" Chiang said it time and again. "You didn't need faith to fly, you needed to understand flying. This is just the same. Now try again ..." Then one day Jonathan, standing on the shore, closing his eyes, concentrating, all in a flash knew what Chiang had been telling him. "Why, that's true! I am a perfect, unlimited gull!" He felt a great shock of joy. "Good!" said Chiang and there was victory in his voice. Jonathan opened his eyes. He stood alone with the Elder on a totally different seashore - trees down to the water's edge, twin yellow suns turning overhead. "At last you've got the idea," Chiang said, "but your control needs a little work... " Jonathan was stunned. "Where are we?" Utterly unimpressed with the strange surroundings, the Elder brushed the question aside. "We're on some planet, obviously, with a green sky and a double star for a sun." Jonathan made a scree of delight, the first sound he had made since he had left Earth. "IT WORKS!"   "Well, of course, it works, Jon." said Chiang. "It always works, when you know what you're doing. Now about your control..." By the time they returned, it was dark. The other gulls looked at Jonathan with awe in their golden eyes, for they had seen him disappear from where he had been rooted for so long. He stood their congratulations for less than a minute. "I'm the newcomer here! I'm just beginning! It is I who must learn from you!" "I wonder about that, Jon," said Sullivan standing near. "You have less fear of learning than any gull I've seen in ten thousand years. "The Flock fell silent, and Jonathan fidgeted in embarrassment. "We can start working with time if you wish," Chiang said, "till you can fly the past and the future. And then you will be ready to begin the most difficult, the most powerful, the most fun of all. You will be ready to begin to fly up and know the meaning of kindness and of love." A month went by, or something that felt about like a month, and Jonathan learned at a tremendous rate. He always had learned quickly from ordinary experience, and now, the special student of the Elder Himself, he took in new ideas like a streamlined feathered computer. But then the day came that Chiang vanished. He had been talking quietly with them all, exhorting them never to stop their learning and their practicing and their striving to understand more of the perfect invisible principle of all life. Then, as he spoke, his feathers went brighter and brighter and at last turned so brilliant that no gull could look upon him. "Jonathan," he said, and these were the last words that he spoke, "keep working on love." When they could see again, Chiang was gone.   As the days went past, Jonathan found himself thinking time and again of the Earth from which he had come. If he had known there just a tenth, just a hundredth, of what he knew here, how much more life would have meant! He stood on the sand and fell to wondering if there was a gull back there who might be struggling to break out of his limits, to see the meaning of flight beyond a way of travel to get a breadcrumb from a rowboat. Perhaps there might even have been one made Outcast for speaking his truth in the face of the Flock. And the more Jonathan practiced his kindness lessons, and the more he worked to know the nature of love, the more he wanted to go back to Earth. For in spite of his lonely past, Jonathan Seagull was born to be an instructor, and his own way of demonstrating love was to give something of the truth that he had seen to a gull who asked only a chance to see truth for himself.   Sullivan, adept now at thought-speed flight and helping the others to learn, was doubtful.   "Jon, you were Outcast once. Why do you think that any of the gulls in your old time would listen to you now? You know the proverb, and it's true: The gull sees farthest who flies highest. Those gulls where you came from are standing on the ground, squawking and fighting among themselves. They're a thousand miles from heaven - and you say you want to show them heaven from where they stand! Jon, they can't see their own wingtips! Stay here. Help the new gulls here, the ones who are high enough to see what you have to tell them." He was quiet for a moment, and then he said, "What if Chiang had gone back to his old worlds? Where would you have been today?" The last point was the telling one, and Sullivan was right The gull sees farthest who flies highest.   Jonathan stayed and worked with the new birds coming in, who were all very bright and quick with their lessons. But the old feeling came back, and he couldn't help but think that there might be one or two gulls back on Earth who would be able to learn, too. How much more would he have known by now if Chiang had come to him on the day that he was Outcast! "Sully, I must go back " he said at last "Your students are doing well. They can help you bring the newcomers along." Sullivan sighed, but he did not argue. "I think I'll miss you, Jonathan," was all he said. "Sully, for shame!" Jonathan said in reproach, "and don't be foolish! What are we trying to practice every day? If our friendship depends on things like space and time, then when we finally overcome space and time, we've destroyed our own brotherhood! But overcome space, and all we have left is Here. Overcome time, and all we have left is Now. And in the middle of Here and Now, don't you think that we might see each other once or twice?" Sullivan Seagull laughed in spite of himself. "You crazy bird," he said kindly. "If anybody can show someone on the ground how to see a thousand miles, it will be Jonathan Livingston Seagull." He looked at the sand. "Good-bye, Jon, my friend." "Good bye, Sully. We'll meet again." And with that, Jonathan held in thought an image of the great gull flocks on the shore of another time, and he knew with practiced ease that he was not bone and feather but a perfect idea of freedom and flight, limited by nothing at all. Fletcher Lynd Seagull was still quite young, but already he knew that no bird had ever been so harshly treated by any Flock, or with so much injustice.   "I don't care what they say," he thought fiercely, and his vision blurred as he flew out toward the Far Cliffs. "There's so much more to flying than just flapping around from place to place! A... a... mosquito does that! One little barrel roll around the Elder Gull, just for fun, and I'm Outcast! Are they blind? Can't they see? Can't they think of the glory that it'll be when we really learn to fly? "I don't care what they think. I'll show them what flying is! I'll be pure Outlaw, if that's the way they want it. And I'll make them so sorry..." The voice came inside his own head, and though it was very gentle, it startled him so much that he faltered and stumbled in the air. "Don't be harsh on them, Fletcher Seagull. In casting you out, the other gulls have only hurt themselves, and one day they will know this, and one day they will see what you see. Forgive them, and help them to understand." An inch from his right wingtip flew the most brilliant white gull in all the world, gliding effortlessly along, not moving a feather, at what was very nearly Fletcher's top speed. There was a moment of chaos in the young bird. "What's going on? Am I mad? Am I dead? What is this?" Low and calm, the voice went on within his thought, demanding an answer. "Fletcher Lynd Seagull, do you want to fly?" "YES, I WANT TO FLY!". "Fletcher Lynd Seagull, do you want to fly so much that you will forgive the Flock, and learn, and go back to them one day and work to help them know?"   There was no lying to this magnificent skillful being, no matter how proud or how hurt a bird was Fletcher Seagull. "I do " he said softly. "Then, Fletch," that bright creature said to him, and the voice was very kind, "let's begin with Level Flight...."

鲁西西

Part Three Jonathan circled slowly over the Far Cliffs, watching. This rough young Fletcher Gull was very nearly a perfect flight-student. He was strong and light and quick in the air, but far and away more important, he had a blazing drive to learn to fly. Here he came this minute, a blurred gray shape roaring out of a dive, flashing one hundred fifty miles per hour past his instructor. He pulled abruptly into another try at a sixteen point vertical slow roll, calling the points out loud.   "...eight... nine... ten... see-Jonathan-l'm-running-out-ofairspeed.. eleven... I-want-good-sharp-stops- like-yours...     twelve... but-blast-it-I-just-can't-make... -thirteen... theselast-three-points... without... fourtee ...aaakk!" Fletcher's whipstall at the top was all the worse for his rage and fury at failing. He fell backward, tumbled, slammed savagely into an inverted spin, and recovered at last, panting, a hundred feet below his instructor's level. "You're wasting your time with me, Jonathan! I'm too dumb! I'm too stupid! I try and try, but I'll never get it!" Jonathan Seagull looked down at him and nodded. "You'll never get it for sure as long as you make that pull-up so hard. Fletcher, you lost forty miles an hour in the entry! You have to be smooth! Firm but smooth, remember?" He dropped down to the level of the younger gull. "Let's try it together now, in formation. And pay attention to that pull-up. It's a smooth, easy entry." By the end of three months Jonathan had six other students, Outcasts all, yet curious about this strange new idea of flight for the joy of flying. Still, it was easier for them to practice high performance than it was to understand the reason behind it. "Each of us is in truth an idea of the Great Gull, an unlimited idea of freedom," Jonathan would say in the evenings on the beach, "and precision flying is a step toward expressing our real nature. Everything that limits us we have to put aside. That's why all this high-speed practice, and low speed, and aerobatics...." ...and his students would be asleep, exhausted from the day's flying. They liked the practice, because it was fast and exciting and it fed a hunger for learning that grew with every lesson. But not one of them, not even Fletcher Lynd Gull, had come to believe that the flight of ideas could possibly be as real as the flight of wind and feather.   "Your whole body, from wingtip to wingtip," Jonathan would say, other times, "is nothing more than your thought itself, in a form you can see. Break the chains of your thought, and you break the chains of your body, too..." But no matter how he said it, it sounded like pleasant fiction, and they needed more to sleep. It was only a month later that Jonathan said the time had come to return to the Flock. "We're not ready!" said Henry Calvin Gull. "We're not welcome! We're Outcast! We can't force ourselves to go where we're not welcome, can we?" "We're free to go where we wish and to be what we are," Jonathan answered, and he lifted from the sand and turned east, toward the home grounds of the Flock.   There was brief anguish among his students, for it is the Law of the Flock that an Outcast never returns, and the Law had not been broken once in ten thousand years. The Law said stay; Jonathan said go; and by now he was a mile across the water. If they waited much longer, he would reach a hostile Flock alone. "Well, we don't have to obey the law if we're not a part of the Flock, do we?" Fletcher said, rather selfconsciously. "Besides, if there's a fight we'll be a lot more help there than here."'   And so they flew in from the west that morning, eight of them in a double-diamond formation, wingtips almost overlapping. They came across the Flock's Council Beach at a hundred thirty-five miles per hour, Jonathan in the lead. Fletcher smoothly at his right wing, Henry Calvin struggling gamely at his left. Then the whole formation rolled slowly to the right, as one bird... level... to... inverted... to... level, the wind whipping over them all. The squawks and grockles of everyday life in the Flock were cut off as though the formation were a giant knife, and eight thousand gull-eyes watched, without a single blink. One by one, each of the eight birds pulled sharply upward into a full loop and flew all the way around to a dead-slow stand-up landing on the sand. Then as though this sort of thing happened every day, Jonathan Seagull began his critique of the flight. "To begin with," he said with a wry smile, "you were all a bit late on the join-up..."   It went like lightning through the Flock. Those birds are Outcast! And they have returned! And that... that can't happen! Fletcher's predictions of battle melted in the Flock's confusion. "Well sure, O.K. they're Outcast," said some of the younger gulls, "but hey, man, where did they learn to fly like that?" It took almost an hour for the Word of the Elder to pass through the Flock: Ignore them. The gull who speaks to an Outcast is himself Outcast. The gull who looks upon an Outcast breaks the Law of the Flock, Gray-feathered backs were turned upon Jonathan from that moment onward, but he didn't appear to notice. He held his practice sessions directly over the Council Beach and for the first time began pressing his students to the limit of their ability. "Martin Gull!" he shouted across the sky. "You say you know low-speed flying. You know nothing till you prove it! FLY!" So quiet little Martin William Seagull, startled to be caught under his instructor's fire, surprised himself and became a wizard of low speeds. In the lightest breeze he could curve his feathers to lift himself without a single flap of wing from sand to cloud and down again. Likewise Charles-Roland Gull flew the Great Mountain Wind to twenty-four thousand feet, came down blue from the cold thin air, amazed and happy, determined to go still higher tomorrow. Fletcher Seagull, who loved aerobatics like no one else, conquered his sixteen point vertical slow roll and the next day topped it off with a triple cartwheel, his feathers flashing white sunlight to a beach from which more than one furtive eye watched. Every hour Jonathan was there at the side of each of his students, demonstrating, suggesting, pressuring, guiding. He flew with them through night and cloud and storm, for the sport of it, while the Flock huddled miserably on the ground. When the flying was done, the students relaxed in the sand, and in time they listened more closely to Jonathan. He had some crazy ideas that they couldn't understand, but then he had some good ones that they could. Gradually, in the night, another circle formed around the circle of students a circle of curious gulls listening in the darkness for hours on end, not wishing to see or be seen of one another, fading away before daybreak. It was a month after the Return that the first gull of the Flock crossed the line and asked to learn how to fly. In his asking, Terrence Lowell Gull became a condemned bird, labeled Outcast; and the eighth of Jonathan's students. The next night from the Flock came Kirk Maynard Gull, wobbling across the sand, dragging his leftwing, to collapse at Jonathan's feet. "Help me," he said very quietly, speaking in the way that the dying speak. "I want to fly more than anything else in the world..." "Come along then." said Jonathan. "Climb with me away from the ground, and we'll begin." "You don't understand My wing. I can't move my wing."   "Maynard Gull, you have the freedom to be yourself, your true self, here and now, and nothing can stand in your way. It is the Law of the Great Gull, the Law that Is." "Are you saying I can fly?" "I say you are free."   As simply and as quickly as that, Kirk Maynard Gull spread his wings, effortlessly, and lifted into the dark night air. The Flock was roused from sleep by his cry, as loud as he could scream it, from five hundred feet up: "I can fly! Listen! I CAN FLY!" By sunrise there were nearly a thousand birds standing outside the circle of students, looking curiously at Maynard. They didn't care whether they were seen or not, and they listened, trying to understand Jonathan Seagull.   He spoke of very simple things - that it is right for a guil to fly, that freedom is the very nature of his being, that whatever stands against that freedom must be set aside, be it ritual or superstition or limitation in any form. "Set aside," came a voice from the multitude, "even if it be the Law of the Flock?" "The only true law is that which leads to freedom," Jonathan said. "There is no other." "How do you expect us to fly as you fly?" came another voice. "You are special and gifted and divine, above other birds."   "Look at Fletcher! Lowell! Charles-Roland! Judy Lee! Are they also special and gifted and divine? No more than you are, no more than I am. The only difference, the very only one, is that they have begun to understand what they really are and have begun to practice it." His students, save Fletcher, shifted uneasily. They hadn't realized that this was what they were doing. The crowd grew larger every day, coming to question, to idolize, to scorn. "They are saying in the Flock that if you are not the Son of the Great Gull Himself," Fletcher told Jonathan one morning after Advanced Speed Practice, "then you are a thousand years ahead of your time." Jonathan sighed. The price of being misunderstood, he thought. They call you devil or they call you god. "What do you think, Fletch? Are we ahead of our time?" A long silence. "Well, this kind of flying has always been here to be learned by anybody who wanted to discover it; that's got nothing to do with time. We're ahead of the fashion, maybe, Ahead of the way that most gulls fly." "That's something," Jonathan said rolling to glide inverted for a while. "That's not half as bad as being ahead of our time." It happened just a week later. Fletcher was demonstrating the elements of high-speed flying to a class of new students. He had just pulled out of his dive from seven thousand feet, a long gray streak firing a few inches above the beach, when a young bird on its first flight glided directly into his path, calling for its mother. With a tenth of a second to avoid the youngster, Fletcher Lynd Seagull snapped hard to the left, at something over two hundred miles per hour, into a cliff of solid granite. It was, for him, as though the rock were a giant hard door into another world. A burst of fear and shock and black as he hit, and then he was adrift in a strange strange sky, forgetting, remembering, forgetting; afraid and sad and sorry, terribly sorry.   The voice came to him as it had in the first day that he had met Jonathan Livingston Seagull, "The trick Fletcher is that we are trying to overcome our limitations in order, patiently, We don't tackle flying through rock until a little later in the program." "Jonathan!".   "Also known as the Son of the Great Gull " his instructor said dryly, "What are you doing here? The cliff! Haven't I didn't I.., die?" "Oh, Fletch, come on. Think. If you are talking to me now, then obviously you didn't die, did you? What you did manage to do was to change your level of consciousness rather abruptly. It's your choice now. You can stay here and learn on this level -which is quite a bit higher than the one you left, by the way – or you can go back and keep working with the Flock. The Elders were hoping for some kind of disaster, but they're startled that you obliged them so well." "I want to go back to the Flock, of course. I've barely begun with the new group!"   "Very well, Fletcher. Remember what we were saying about one's body being nothing more than thought itself....?" Fletcher shook his head and stretched his wings and opened his eyes at the base of the cliff, in the center of the whole Flock assembled. There was a great clamor of squawks and screes from the crowd when first he moved. "He lives! He that was dead lives!" "Touched him with a wingtip! Brought him to life! The Son of the Great Gull!" "No! He denies it! He's a devil! DEVIL! Come to break the Flock!"   There were four thousand gulls in the crowd, frightened at what had happened, and the cry DEVIL! Went through them like the wind of an ocean storm. Eyes glazed, beaks sharp, they closed in to destroy.   "Would you feel better if we left, Fletcher?" asked Jonathan. "I certainly wouldn't object too much if we did..." Instantly they stood together a half-mile away, and the flashing beaks of the mob closed on empty air. "Why is it," Jonathan puzzled, "that the hardest thing in the world is to convince a bird that he is free, and that he can prove it for himself if he'd just spend a little time practicing? Why should that be so hard?" Fletcher still blinked from the change of scene. "What did you just do? How did we get here?" "You did say you wanted to be out of the mob, didn't you?" "Yes! But how did you..." "Like everything else, Fletcher. Practice." By morning the Flock had forgotten its insanity, but Fletcher had not. "Jonathan, remember what you said a long time ago, about loving the Flock enough to return to it and help it learn?" "Sure." "I don't understand how you manage to love a mob of birds that has just tried to kill you."   "Oh, Fletch, you don't love that! You don't love hatred and evil, of course. You have to practice and see the real gull, the good in every one of them, and to help them see it in themselves. That's what I mean by love. It's fun, when you get the knack of it.   "I remember a fierce young bird for instance, Fletcher Lynd Seagull, his name. Just been made Outcast, ready to fight the Flock to the death, getting a start on building his own bitter hell out on the Far Cliffs. And here he is today building his own heaven instead, and leading the whole Flock in that direction." Fletcher turned to his instructor, and there was a moment of fright in his eye. "Me leading? What do you mean, me leading? You're the instructor here. You couldn't leave!"   "Couldn't I? Don't you think that there might be other flocks, other Fletchers, that need an instructor more than this one, that's on its way toward the light?" "Me? Jon, I'm just a plain seagull and you're... " " ...the only Son of the Great Gull, I suppose?" Jonathan sighed and looked out to sea. "You don't need me any longer. You need to keep finding yourself, a little more each day, that real, unlimited Fletcher Seagull. He's your instructor. You need to understand him and to practice him."   A moment later Jonathan's body wavered in the air, shimmering, and began to go transparent. "Don't let them spread silly rumors about me, or make me a god. O.K., Fletch? I'm a seagull. I like to fly, maybe..." "JONATHAN!"   "Poor Fletch. Don't believe what your eyes are telling you. All they show is limitation. Look with your understanding, find out what you already know, and you'll see the way to fly." The shimmering stopped. Jonathan Seagull had vanished into empty air.   After a time, Fletcher Gull dragged himself into the sky and faced a brand-new group of students, eager for their first lesson. "To begin with " he said heavily, "you've got to understand that a seagull is an unlimited idea of freedom, an image of the Great Gull, and your whole body, from wingtip to wingtip, is nothing more than your thought itself." The young gulls looked at him quizzically. Hey, man, they thought, this doesn't sound like a rule for a loop.   Fletcher sighed and started over. "Hm. Ah... very well," he said, and eyed them critically. "Let's begin with Level Flight." And saying that, he understood all at once that his friend had quite honestly been no more divine than Fletcher himself. No limits, Jonathan? he thought. Well, then, the time's not distant when I'm going to appear out of thin air on your beach, and show you a thing or two about flying! And though he tried to look properly severe for his students, Fletcher Seagull suddenly saw them all as they really were, just for a moment, and he more than liked, he loved what he saw. No limits, Jonathan? he thought, and he smiled. His race to learn had begun.(the end)

madnimo

有时候觉得生活有些莫名其妙，找不到原因，但就是基于这种莫名其妙有些事情就发生了，就像10分钟前，脑海中划过大约15年前的一个小故事的名字，于是开始寻找，但谷歌同学并没有找到它，看来真的有些久远了，不过我并不失望，我觉得依然幸运，因为我有所获得，在搜索的路上，碰到了一只鸟，一只有点梦想的鸟，他虽然平凡，但却不甘心只为觅食而活，他追问生活的意义，追逐自己的梦想。 他，就是海鸥乔纳森。 [美]理查德•巴赫 第一章 清晨，平静的海面上，道道波纹里，闪耀着一轮初升太阳的金色光芒。 离海岸一英里的地方，一艘渔船在下饵捕鱼，群鸥有早饭吃了，这个消息在长空中迅即传开，一时间，成千上万只海鸥飞来，东躲西闪争抢一点早饭，忙碌的一天又开始了。 然而，海鸥乔纳森·利文斯顿却远离群鸥、海岸和渔船，在远方独自练习飞翔。飞到100英尺的高空时，他身下伸出蹼状的双脚，仰起鸥嘴，努力把翅膀弯成一条曲线。这曲线意味着他开始减速。此刻，他放慢迅速，直到风在他耳边低语，直到海洋在他身下又恢复了平静。他眯起双眼，尽量集中精力，屏住呼吸，努力使身体再弯一些……再……弯……一……英寸……可是，他的羽毛蓬散开来，他飞不动了，开始失速，向下掉去。 你知道，海鸥从不摇晃，从不失速。在空中失速对他们来说简直没面子，丢人。 不过，海鸥乔纳森利文斯并不感到羞愧。他又一次伸展双翅，再使双翼弯成那种曲线，颤抖着，费力地飞起来——慢慢地、慢慢地，又飞不动了——他是一只非同一般的海鸥。 大多数海鸥不愿自找麻烦去学更多的飞翔技巧，他们只满足于简单地飞到岸边觅取食物，然后再飞去。因为他们觉得飞翔并不重要，重要的事是吃。然而，对于这只海鸥，飞翔远比吃更重要。海鸥纳森·利文斯顿热爱飞翔胜过一切。 他发现，这种想法使他不受欢迎。甚至连父母也不理解他为什么整天自己待着，还成百上千次地、不停地试验着低空滑翔。 有些事他也不明白，比如，要是他在离水面不到半翼幅的高度飞，他在空中停留的时间就可以更长一些，也不太费劲，他滑翔结束时不是像往常一样双脚朝下踩入海中，溅得水花四起，而是双脚紧贴身子，以流线型在水面上划出一道又平又长的水道。当他开始不知不觉收着双脚滑到海滩上，然后步测自己在沙中滑行的距离时，目睹这一切的父母真是大为惊讶。 “怎么？乔，为什么”他母亲问道，“难道像大家一样就那么难吗，乔？为什么你不能放下低飞的事让鹈鹕和信天翁去做呢？为什么你不吃东西？儿子，你已经瘦得只剩皮包骨！” “妈妈，我不管什么皮或骨头。我只想搞清楚我能在天上干什么，干不成什么，就这此地。我只想搞清楚这些。” “瞧，乔纳森，”父亲不无慈爱地说，“冬天快来了，船也少了，水面的鱼要深游了。要是你非要学，就学抢鱼吃吧。飞的是不错，可是你看，滑翔不能当饭吃呀。别忘了，你会飞不过是为了吃。” 乔纳森听话地点点头。后来的几天，他努力像别的海鸥一样做。他真的努力了，尖叫着与大伙一起争飞到码头和渔船周围，飞下去抢点小鱼小虾或面包渣。可是，他做不来。 太没意思！他故意抛下一只辛辛苦苦得来的凤尾鱼，逗得一只饥饿的老海鸥拼命去追抢。我本来可以用这些时间学习飞翔。还有那么多东西要学！ 不久，海鸥乔纳森又独自一个飞在远远的大海上，虽然饿，但是学得很开心。 他进步很快，经过一个星期的练习，他学会了好多关于速度的事，现在，飞得最快的海鸥也没他懂得多了。 在1000英尺的高空中，他奋力拍打着一双翅膀向前飞，猛地一个翻身，笔直朝波涛府冲下去。这使他明白为什么海鸥做不到大力笔直飞入海中的道理。仅仅6秒钟后，他又以时速70英里的速度向前飞去，在这一速度下，翅膀一往上扇，他就摇晃起来，无法保持稳定。 这种情况反反复复一再出现。尽管他小心翼翼，全力以赴，但还是在高速飞翔时失去了平衡。 他飞上1000英尺的高度，先使尽全身力气沿直线向前飞，然后再俯身垂直向下飞。可是，每次他要向上振翅时，左翼都会动弹不得。他猛地左滚，让右右翼停下来以保持平衡，接着，翅膀又像燃烧的火似的扑扑扇着，狂野地向右滚去。 做这个向上振翅的动作时，他极其小心，整整尝试了10次，而每次，他只要以时速70英里飞，羽毛就会猛然搅成一团，全身失去控制，他随即跌落到海水中。 后来，他一边抖掉身上的水，一边想，关键是在高速飞翔时，他不应该再扇动翅膀，也就是说，他应该振翅飞到时速50英里，然后双翼保持不动。 他又飞到2000英尺的的高空尝试，翻身向下飞，鸥嘴笔直向下，双翅张开，在时速50英里时稳住不动。这花了他很大力气，但是见效果了。10秒钟，他以时速90英里快速向前飞去。乔纳森创下了海鸥飞翔时速的世界纪录！ 然而，成功是短暂的。在他加速的那一刻，也就是在他改变双翼角度的那一瞬间，他又一次陷入那种可怕的失控灾难中。在时速90英里时发生这样的灾难，就像一枚炸弹击中了他。海鸥乔纳森在半空中“炸开”，掉入硬如石板的海里。 他苏醒过来时，已经入夜了，他还在月光下的海面上飘浮着，他的翅膀简直成了粗硬的铅棍，但是，压在他肩上的更沉的重负是失败。他虚弱无力，心里暗暗希望这重量能够温柔地将他沉入水底，结束这一切。 他往水中下沉时，一种嗡嗡的、奇怪的声音在心中响起来：我做不到那样，我是一只海鸥，天生就受到限制。要是我生来就要学那么多有关飞翔的知识，我脑中就该有飞翔的技巧图。要是我生来就能高速飞翔，就该长一对猎鹰的短翼，要吃老鼠而不是吃鱼。爸爸是对的。我一定要忘掉这种傻想法。我应该回到鸥群中，回到家里，做一只安分守己、能力有限的可怜海鸥。 这声音渐渐消失，乔纳森被说服了。对海鸥来说，夜里的栖息地是海岸。从这一刻，他发誓要做一只普普通通的正常海鸥。这会让大家更高兴。 他疲倦地在黑暗的水面上向前划了一段，又向岸边飞去，幸亏他学会了怎样省力地低空飞翔。 可是，不行！他又想。我不能再用以前学会 的方式飞翔，以前所学的一切就到为止了。我必须同别的海鸥一样，也要像他们那样飞。于是，他痛苦地飞上100英尺，更使劲地扑扇着翅膀，勉力向岸边飞去。 决定回到鸥群中，他感觉好多了，现在再也没有那种催他学习的动力，再也不会有挑战或是失败。不再思考，在黑暗中朝着海滩上的灯光飞，真不错。 黑夜！嗡嗡的声音又在警告了。海鸥从不在黑夜里飞！ 乔纳森没怎么注意听这声音。他想，真不错啊，月光和灯光在水面闪烁，万籁俱寂，一切都是如此祥和、宁静…… 停下来！海鸥从不在黑夜里飞！要是你生来能在夜里飞，就该长一对猫头鹰的眼睛！你脑 中就该有飞翔技巧图！你就该有猎鹰的短翼！ 在那夜里，在100英尺的空中，海鸥乔纳森·利文斯顿眨着眼。他的努力，他的决定这时都不见踪影了。 短翼！猎鹰的短翼！ 这就是答案！我以前多傻！我需要的只是小翅膀，只需把翅膀尽量缩起来，只用翼尖飞就行了！短翼！ 在黑暗的海上，他飞到2000英尺的高空，没顾上考虑失败或者死亡，他把翼根紧贴身体，只剩窄窄的、平顺如短剑的翼尖在风中张开，然后又俯身垂直向下飞。 风在他耳边怪兽般咆哮，时速70英里，又加速到90英里、120英里，更快更稳地飞——现在时速140英里，反而不像原先70英里时费力，轻轻扭动翼尖，他就可以悠闲地向下直飞，掠过波涛，飞如箭发，简直像月光下一枚灰色的炮弹。 他闭上双眼，逆着风，快乐地飞着。时速140英里，状态良好！如果从5000而不是2000英尺向下直飞，真想知道那得有多快！ …… 他把刚才发过的誓言抛在脑后，那疾风将誓言扫得一干二净。不过，违背自己发下的誓言，他一点也不内疚。那种誓言只有接受平庸生活的海鸥才会信守。一个在学习中追求卓越的海鸥，是不需要那种誓言的。 日出时分，海鸥乔纳森又开始练习了。从5000英尺的高度俯瞰，渔船在平静的蓝色海面上也不过是星星点点，群鸥则如一片淡淡的、灰尘般的云团，盘旋着。 他精神百倍，因为喜悦而微微发抖，为自己能克服恐惧而感到自豪。而后，没有什么仪式，他缩进自己的前翼里，伸出他短短的、菱形的翼尖，笔直向身下的海面飞去。飞过4000英尺高空时，他已达到终极速度，现在，他以时速21英里笔直向下飞。风变成一扇坚固的音墙挡得他无法加速。他忍受着，知道如果在这时展开双翅，他就会被风剪成无数碎片，水过这时的速度是力量，是快乐，也是纯粹的美。 他开始在1000英尺高度拉平，翼尖在狂风中发出呼呼的呼声。 船和群鸥仿佛倾斜着，快如流星一般出现在他的必经之路上。 他不能停下来，也不知道在那一时速下怎么改变方向。 冲撞意味着当场死亡。 因此他紧闭双眼。 就在那天清晨，太阳刚刚升起，海鸥乔纳森利文斯顿闭着眼，以时速214英里径直冲向群鸥，风吹着羽毛发出巨大的呼啸。这次，海鸥的幸运之神对他微笑了，没有伤亡。 他向上伸直鸥嘴飞向天空时，仍以160英里时速快速地飞着。 最后，他减速到20英里，在4000英尺高度展翅水平飞翔时，看见海上的船只只有面包渣那么大。 他的想法成功了！终极速度！海鸥竞能以时速214英里飞翔！这是一个突破，鸥群历史一最伟大的一个时刻，同时，这一时刻也为海鸥乔纳森开辟了一个新时代。他飞到自己常单独练飞的区域，合起双翼，在8000英尺的高度向下直飞，他立即发现了如何改变方向。 他发现，只要将翼尖的一根羽毛轻轻移动一英寸的一点点，就可在高速飞翔时划出一道平滑的曲线。然而在懂得这个诀窍之前，他发现，若多移动一根羽毛，在以同样速度飞时，会让他像子弹一样旋转……乔纳森在世界上最早开拓了海鸥的特技飞翔技术。 那天，他没花时间与其他海鸥聊天，而是在空中一直飞到日落。他摸索出翻筋斗、慢速侧翻、反身旋转、反身下落和速旋转等飞翔技术。 天全黑下来，海鸥乔纳森回到海滩上的群鸥那里，头晕晕的，筋疲力尽。然而他高兴地做了一个翻筋斗下落，在最后落地前还做了个快速滚翻。他觉得，大家听说那项突破，也会欣喜若狂吧。现在生活又多么有意义呀！生活更有理由，而不只是单调地在渔船旁蹒跚来去。我们可以改变无知的状态，还可以看到我们与生俱来的优势、才智和技能。我们可以自由！可以学会飞翔！ 未来的岁月在前面召唤着，散发着希望的光芒。 （未完待续）