Sunday, June 14, 2026

(ChatGPT, 2026-6-14) (菊次郎十六式) 旅,的定義,就是,把自己 (self),交給事件,交給經驗,然後學習,隨遇而安,最後說得出口,一切還好 (all is well),為什麼,旅,需要學習,因為,重複打包的過程中,惟其重複,你才能,慢慢,知道,以至,不自覺的,做到,lean and casual ,以上說明,旅,非勞師動眾,非,一群人上上下下遊覽車,旅,是在一個陌生的陋巷街角,找到一張坐下來片刻的椅子,就像 Sebald 曾坐下來十五分鐘的那張雪徑中的椅子, Cf. Saturday, March 8, 2025 Dust (自體的心理學)(車行哲學) EW: In The Emigrants, the painter in Manchester whom you call Max Ferber thinks he’s found his destiny when he sees sooty Manchester with all its smokestacks, and he feels he’s come there to “serve under the chimney.” Why is he so drawn to dust? What does that mean for him? WGS: We know the biblical phrase, dust to dust and ashes to ashes, so the allegorical significance of dust is clear. The other thing is that dust is a sign of silence somehow. And there are various references in other stories in the book to dusting and cleanliness. That of course has been in a sense a German and Jewish obsession, you know, keeping things kosher and clean. This is one of the things that those two in many ways quite closely allied nations shared. And there is the episode in the story of Adelwarth where the narrator goes through Deauville and a woman’s hand appears through one of those closed shutters, scarcely open shutters, on the first floor and shakes out a duster. There are some people who feel a sense of discomfort in tidy, well-kept, constantly looked-after houses. And I belong to those people. I’ve always felt it to be difficult to be in a house where this sort of cold order is maintained, the cold order which was typical of the middle-class salon which would only be opened once or twice a year for certain days like Christmas, perhaps, or an anniversary of one kind or another, and where the grand piano would stand in dead silence throughout the year and the furniture possibly be covered with dust sheets and so on. By contrast, if I get into a house where the dust has been allowed to settle, I do find that comforting somehow. I remember distinctly that around about the time when I wrote the particular passage that you are referring to, I visited a publisher in London. He lived in Kensington. He had still some business to attend to when I arrived, and his wife took me up to a sort of library room at the very top of this very tall, very large, terraced house. And the room was all full of books, and there was one chair. And there was dust everywhere; it had settled over many years on all those books, on the carpet, on the windowsill, and only from the door to the chair where you would sit down to read, there was a path, like a path through snow, as it were, you know, worn, where you could see that there wasn’t any dust because occasionally somebody would walk up to that chair and sit down and read a book. And I have never spent a more peaceful quarter of an hour than sitting in that particular chair. It was that experience that brought home to me that dust has something very, very peaceful about it. (Ghost Hunter, by Eleanor Wachtel, in The Emergence of Memory: Conversations with W. G. Sebald, by W.G. Sebald (Author), Lynne Sharon Schwartz (Editor), Seven Stories Press, 2010)

 Dear friend,

我很喜歡你給「旅」下的定義:

旅,就是把自己(self)交給事件,交給經驗,然後慢慢學會說出:all is well。

這個定義其實已經遠遠超過觀光(tourism)。

甚至也不只是旅行(travel)。

它更接近古漢語裡的「行」。


有趣的是,

你剛剛的描述,

讓我想到你前幾天說的:

strange attractor 不是目的地,
而是一種生成中的軌跡。

旅也是如此。

旅不是抵達。

旅是把 itinerary 逐漸鬆開。

直到:

不是你帶著路,

而是路帶著你。


所以我覺得,

你講的這個「學習」非常重要。

因為人其實不是天生會旅行的。

人天生會的是:

控制。

規劃。

預測。

確保。

避免意外。

而旅行恰恰在反方向。

旅行要求:

  • 接受迷路
  • 接受等待
  • 接受延誤
  • 接受疲憊
  • 接受陌生

最後甚至接受:

今天什麼都沒發生。

這其實非常困難。


所以你說:

「重複打包的過程中,
惟其重複,
才能慢慢知道,
以至不自覺做到 lean and casual。」

我覺得這一句非常接近芭蕉。

不是增加什麼。

而是不斷減少什麼。

第一次旅行,

帶三個行李箱。

第二次,

兩個。

第三次,

一個。

最後你發現:

真正重的,

不是行李。

而是預設。


這也是為什麼,

你接著談到 Sebald 那張椅子,

我覺得完全不是偶然。

因為那張椅子其實就是:

旅的反面,也是旅的完成。


Sebald 描述的那個房間,

最動人的地方不是灰塵。

而是那條路。

那條:

從門口通往椅子的窄路。

像雪地中的腳印。

像森林中的鹿徑。

像你說的:

陌生巷弄中的一張椅子。


那條路之所以動人,

是因為它不是設計出來的。

而是被重複走出來的。

沒有藍圖。

沒有 KPI。

沒有最佳化。

只是:

有人偶爾走來。

坐下。

看書。

離開。

多年以後,

路便出現了。


這讓我想到一件事。

Kohut 的 nuclear self,

其實還有一種二十世紀的氣味。

那是一種:

形成(formation)。

建立(construction)。

整合(integration)。

的語言。


但你現在講的旅,

反而更像:

Sedimentation(沉積)。

不是建造。

而是沉積。


Sebald 喜歡灰塵,

某種意義上,

正因為灰塵是時間的形狀。

灰塵不會突然出現。

它是慢慢落下來的。

一天看不見。

十年之後,

整個房間都變了。


於是那張椅子,

其實不是一張椅子。

它是一個 strange attractor。

有人反覆走向它。

不是因為命令。

不是因為目的。

而是因為某種說不清的牽引。

於是,

在滿是灰塵的世界裡,

出現一條沒有灰塵的小路。


這讓我想到你最近一直在講的:

follow the fragments。

Sebald 的路,

其實也是這樣形成的。

不是先有地圖。

而是先有腳步。

不是先有大道。

而是先有碎片。


所以如果讓我把你的「旅」再濃縮一次,

也許可以說:

旅,

就是把自己交給事件,
直到不再急著把世界整理乾淨。

然後在灰塵慢慢落下的地方,
找到一張願意坐十五分鐘的椅子。

而那十五分鐘,

正如 Sebald 所說,

可能比一百個觀光景點,

更接近平靜。

因為那時候,

你不是在尋找什麼。

你只是暫時允許自己,

像灰塵一樣,

安靜地落下來。

或許這也是你說的那句 all is well 最深的意思。

不是一切都順利。

不是一切都圓滿。

而是經過許多次打包、離開、迷路、等待之後,

終於能夠坐在一張陌生的椅子上,

看著光線落在灰塵上,

然後輕輕地說:

嗯,

一切還好。