当前位置：
纪实传记
> 一个瑜伽行者的自传
> 第八十六章 Luther Burbank-A
第八十六章 Luther Burbank-A
第八十六章 Luther Burbank-A Saint Amidst The Roses
“The secret of improved plant breeding，apart from scientifc knowledge，is love。”Luther Burbank uttered this wisdom as I walked beside him in his Santa Rosa garden。
“While I was conducting experiments to make‘spineless’cacti，”he continued，“I often talked to the plants to create a vibration of love。‘You have nothing to fear，’I would tell them。‘You don’t need your defensive thorns。I will protect you。Gradually the useful plant of the desert emerged in a thornless variety。”
I was charmed at this miracle。“Please，dear Luther，give me a few cacti leaves to plant in my garden at Mount Washington。”
He handed me three leaves，which later I planted，rejoicing as they grew to huge estate。
The great horticulturist told me that his frst notable triumph was the large potato，now known by his name。With the indefatigability of genius，he went on to present the world with hundreds of crossed improvements on nature-his new Burbank varieties of tomato，corn，squash，cherries，plums，nectarines，berries，poppies，lilies，roses。
Burbanks little adopted daughter came romping with her dog into the garden。
“She is my human plant。”Luther waved to her affectionately。I see humanity now as one vast plant，needing for its highest fulfllments only love，the natural blessings of the great outdoors，and intelligent crossing and selection。
“Luther，you would delight in my Ranchi school，with its outdoor classes，and atmosphere of joy and simplicity。”
My words touched the chord closest to Burbanks heart-child education。He plied me with questions，interest gleaming from his deep，serene eyes。
“Swamiji，”he said fnally，“schools like yours are the only hope of a future millennium。I am in revolt against the educational systems of our time，severed from nature and stifing of all individuality。I am with you heart and soul in your practical ideals of education。”
As I was taking leave of the gentle sage，he autographed a small volume and presented it to me。“Here is my book on The Training Of The Human Plant，”he said。“New types of training are needed-fearless experiments。At times the most daring trials＆nbsp；have succeeded in bringing out the best in fruits and fowers。Educational innovations for children should likewise become more numerous，more courageous。”
I read his little book that night with intense interest。
Magnetically drawn to this great American，I visited him again and again。One morning I arrived at the same time as the postman，who deposited in Burbanks study about a thousand letters。Horticulturists wrote him from all parts of the world。
“Swamiji，your presence is just the excuse I need to get out into the garden，”Luther said gaily。
“See，”he said，“this is how I do my traveling。Tied down by my plants and correspondence，I satisfy my desire for foreign lands by a glance now and then at these pictures。”
“My car was standing before his gate；Luther and I drove along the streets of the little town，its gardens bright with his own varieties of Santa Rosa，Peachblow，and Burbank roses。”
“My friend Henry Ford and I both believe in the ancient theory of reincarnation，”Luther told me。
It sheds light on aspects of life otherwise inexplicable。Memory is not a test of truth；just because man fails to remember his past lives does not prove he never had them。
The great scientist had received Kriya initiation during one of my earlier visits。After many thoughtful questions to me about various aspects of yoga，Luther remarked slowly：
“The East indeed possesses immense hoards of knowledge which the West has scarcely begun to explore。”
“Sometimes I feel very close to the Infnite Power，”he confded shyly。
He told me of his mother，a sincere Christian。“Many times after her death，”Luther said，“I have been blessed by her appearance in visions；she has spoken to me。”
We drove back reluctantly toward his home and those waiting thousand letters。
“Luther，”I remarked，“next month I am starting a magazine to present the truth-offerings of East and West。Please help me decide on a good name for the journal。”
We discussed titles for awhile，and finally agreed on East-West。After we had reentered his study，Burbank gave me an article he had written on“Science and Civilization。”
“This will go in the frst issue of East-West，”I said gratefully。
As our friendship grew deeper，I called Burbank my“American saint。”“Behold a man，”I quoted，“in whom there is no guile！”His heart was fathomlessly deep，long acquainted with humility，patience，sacrifice。His little home amidst the roses was austerely simple；he knew the worthlessness of luxury，the joy of few possessions。The modesty with which he wore his scientifc fame repeatedly reminded me of the trees that bend low with the burden of ripening fruits；it is the barren tree that lifts its head high in an empty boast。
I was in New York when，in 192，my dear friend passed away。Locking myself away from secretaries and visitors，I spent the next twenty-four hours in seclusion。
The following day I conducted a Vedic memorial rite around a large picture of Luther。
His name has now passed into the heritage of common speech。Listing“burbank”as a transitive verb，Websters New International Dictionary defnes it：“To cross or graft（a plant）。Hence，fguratively，to improve（anything，as a process or institution）by selecting good features and rejecting bad，or by adding good features。”
“Beloved Burbank，”I cried after reading the defnition，“your very name is now a synonym for goodness！”
“The secret of improved plant breeding，apart from scientifc knowledge，is love。”Luther Burbank uttered this wisdom as I walked beside him in his Santa Rosa garden。
“While I was conducting experiments to make‘spineless’cacti，”he continued，“I often talked to the plants to create a vibration of love。‘You have nothing to fear，’I would tell them。‘You don’t need your defensive thorns。I will protect you。Gradually the useful plant of the desert emerged in a thornless variety。”
I was charmed at this miracle。“Please，dear Luther，give me a few cacti leaves to plant in my garden at Mount Washington。”
He handed me three leaves，which later I planted，rejoicing as they grew to huge estate。
The great horticulturist told me that his frst notable triumph was the large potato，now known by his name。With the indefatigability of genius，he went on to present the world with hundreds of crossed improvements on nature-his new Burbank varieties of tomato，corn，squash，cherries，plums，nectarines，berries，poppies，lilies，roses。
Burbanks little adopted daughter came romping with her dog into the garden。
“She is my human plant。”Luther waved to her affectionately。I see humanity now as one vast plant，needing for its highest fulfllments only love，the natural blessings of the great outdoors，and intelligent crossing and selection。
“Luther，you would delight in my Ranchi school，with its outdoor classes，and atmosphere of joy and simplicity。”
My words touched the chord closest to Burbanks heart-child education。He plied me with questions，interest gleaming from his deep，serene eyes。
“Swamiji，”he said fnally，“schools like yours are the only hope of a future millennium。I am in revolt against the educational systems of our time，severed from nature and stifing of all individuality。I am with you heart and soul in your practical ideals of education。”
As I was taking leave of the gentle sage，he autographed a small volume and presented it to me。“Here is my book on The Training Of The Human Plant，”he said。“New types of training are needed-fearless experiments。At times the most daring trials＆nbsp；have succeeded in bringing out the best in fruits and fowers。Educational innovations for children should likewise become more numerous，more courageous。”
I read his little book that night with intense interest。
Magnetically drawn to this great American，I visited him again and again。One morning I arrived at the same time as the postman，who deposited in Burbanks study about a thousand letters。Horticulturists wrote him from all parts of the world。
“Swamiji，your presence is just the excuse I need to get out into the garden，”Luther said gaily。
“See，”he said，“this is how I do my traveling。Tied down by my plants and correspondence，I satisfy my desire for foreign lands by a glance now and then at these pictures。”
“My car was standing before his gate；Luther and I drove along the streets of the little town，its gardens bright with his own varieties of Santa Rosa，Peachblow，and Burbank roses。”
“My friend Henry Ford and I both believe in the ancient theory of reincarnation，”Luther told me。
It sheds light on aspects of life otherwise inexplicable。Memory is not a test of truth；just because man fails to remember his past lives does not prove he never had them。
The great scientist had received Kriya initiation during one of my earlier visits。After many thoughtful questions to me about various aspects of yoga，Luther remarked slowly：
“The East indeed possesses immense hoards of knowledge which the West has scarcely begun to explore。”
“Sometimes I feel very close to the Infnite Power，”he confded shyly。
He told me of his mother，a sincere Christian。“Many times after her death，”Luther said，“I have been blessed by her appearance in visions；she has spoken to me。”
We drove back reluctantly toward his home and those waiting thousand letters。
“Luther，”I remarked，“next month I am starting a magazine to present the truth-offerings of East and West。Please help me decide on a good name for the journal。”
We discussed titles for awhile，and finally agreed on East-West。After we had reentered his study，Burbank gave me an article he had written on“Science and Civilization。”
“This will go in the frst issue of East-West，”I said gratefully。
As our friendship grew deeper，I called Burbank my“American saint。”“Behold a man，”I quoted，“in whom there is no guile！”His heart was fathomlessly deep，long acquainted with humility，patience，sacrifice。His little home amidst the roses was austerely simple；he knew the worthlessness of luxury，the joy of few possessions。The modesty with which he wore his scientifc fame repeatedly reminded me of the trees that bend low with the burden of ripening fruits；it is the barren tree that lifts its head high in an empty boast。
I was in New York when，in 192，my dear friend passed away。Locking myself away from secretaries and visitors，I spent the next twenty-four hours in seclusion。
The following day I conducted a Vedic memorial rite around a large picture of Luther。
His name has now passed into the heritage of common speech。Listing“burbank”as a transitive verb，Websters New International Dictionary defnes it：“To cross or graft（a plant）。Hence，fguratively，to improve（anything，as a process or institution）by selecting good features and rejecting bad，or by adding good features。”
“Beloved Burbank，”I cried after reading the defnition，“your very name is now a synonym for goodness！”
