Krishnamurti & the Art of Awakening
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Pages from the Book of Life


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Sat, 11 Aug 2018 #121
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 259 posts in this forum Offline

 K Group Discussion 29th April, 1948 (reader & experientially friendly edited)

Final Words of Wisdom

K: We have been discussing the problem of individual transformation and why it has not been possible for you to effect immediate transformation. We saw that transformation can take place only in the Now and not in the hereafter; any form of approach which involves thinking in terms of time, evolution, growth, leads to postponement.
The (self-centred) thought-process cannot bring about ( a holistic inner) transformation since it implies a constant response (from the 'known'?) of the conditioned mind ( this conditioning is due to the psychological memory which is the residue of incomplete experience).

All human (related?) problems are changing and not static. Therefore, a mind that has a fixed opinion or a conclusion cannot understand a new problem. Emotions, feelings, cannot lead to transformation since they are within the field of the ( self-centred) mind and they are sensations. When we put aside all the above 'screens' or barriers (blocks ) to ( self-)understanding, what is left with us? When all these forms of ( calculated?) intellection are removed, there is an inward sense of creative being. There is no problem outside the mind; so, when the mind is cleansed, we are face to face with the problem. (Hint:) It is only when you directly experience this state that you will see what difference it makes.
What is the actual state of the mind when the mind is alert and when there is no action of ( one's past) memory on the problem or when there is no desire for a ( psychologically rewarding?) result?
We said that when the mind is not acting on the problem, we experience first a 'stillness' ( an inner peace?) . The whole content of one's consciousness, not merely the superficial layers, is quiet. (However?) if only the superficial layers only are still, the deeper layers will project themselves into the superficial and there will be the pulsations of the past, the promptings of the deeper layers. Therefore, this state of quietness where there is no such prompting, is the one corresponding to the quietness at all levels of one's consciousness. In that state, we are not ( concerned with?) naming and recording – this is the (integrated) state of experiencing, in which there is neither the 'experiencer' nor the 'experience'. When the experience fades away, there arises the experiencer and the experience, the thinker and the thought. This stillness is not the result of a desire. Desire or seeking a result creates action; from action the actor is born. Therefore, if there is seeking for a result, there cannot be stillness.

Question: Did I not ( in my attempt for meditation?) push out all the thoughts that arose in my mind, in order to bring about stillness?

Krishnamurti: No. Your ( global) understanding of the thought-process led to the thoughts dropping away by themselves. But... as long as you do not understand that ( the past?) memory cannot ( holistically) solve any ( inner) human problem, your effort to push away, which is based only on memory, cannot produce stillness of the mind. When you realize that no action of memory can lead to (self-) understanding, then ( the psychological ) memory ceases to function and the ( self-centred) mind is no longer acting on the problem, and therefore the mind is ( finally silent & ?) still.
In this state, the ( mental momentum of the 'psychological' memory of the ?) past has been 'wiped away' (put on hold ?) , even if it be only for a split second. ( Hint:) This memory is always waiting to creep in and therefore an (ego-centric?) thought may arise during this interval of stillness. The understanding of this ( possibility ?) makes the mind very watchful and very alert, but it is also still. The ( totality of the?) mind has now realized that all this has to be put away; therefore, all these (hectic thoughts?) drop away and the mind is silent. In that silence, there is only the ( integrated) state of experiencing - an inner stillness which is not static but with an extraordinary ( creative?) activity. Only the ( self-imposed) stillness which is the product of ( the knowledgeable?) memory, is static.

Question: My mind is now still and seems to be 'non-existent'(transparent?) .

Krishnamurti: If I tell you anything (felt very) strongly , you ( may subliminally ) accept it even if you have not (the actual) experiencing; this is (a very popular ?) form of 'hypnotism' ( aka : messmeric suggestion ? )

Question: When I understand that ( the mechanical response of) memory conditions, there is stillness. Then I tried to experiment with the suffering of another person whom I knew. I then felt as though I was myself suffering and not the other person of whom I was thinking. Then the thinking crept in.

Krishnamurti: We were trying here to find out what it means to have this constant revolution inside us, the inner regeneration. Regeneration is a new state ( of integrated consciousness of ) which I do not know (anything yet?) ; and I must approach it through negation, and understand it negatively.
Any ( mechanical) response of memory, however fleeting, cannot produce regeneration. When I see it, the response of ( my psychological) memory drops away. It may come back again; but, if I see it again, again it drops away. From every movement ( of this negative ?) thinking there is a creative existence. When ( the psychological?) memory is in abeyance, the mind is very ( naturally?) quiet. By constant watchfulness, this ( silent inner) 'interval' arises when thought does not act at all. What comes out of this interval is a natural expansive awareness which is not exclusive; i.e., there is a state of concentration without a 'concentrator'.

The (inwardly regenerative?) process is as follows : (a) one is inwardly watchful. (b) When any thought arises it is examined and its truth seen. Then ( c ) that thought 'drops away'. (d) The self-understanding mind is denuding itself of all ( its redundant?) thoughts and as a result (e) there is also the lengthening of the interval between thought and thought. ( f) When a new thought arises in that interval, that thought is examined ( ASAP?) with greater quickness & anew. ( Hint:) The lengthening of the ( silent) interval between two thoughts gives (to the earnest mind ?) a greater capacity to deal with any (self-centred) thought that may arise in that interval. (g) There is a ( renewed) vitality in this interval. In this interval all effort has stopped; there is no choice, no condemnation, no justification, and no identification; there is also no ( personal) interpretation of any kind.

Question: What is meant by examining a thought, in the state of silence? I suppose it is not merely to recognize it as a form of memory and to push it out, but to realise the significance of it.

Krishnamurti: We are trying to see if the 'new' (thought, challenge, etc?) can be met anew and understood without the burden of ( our psychological) past. Meeting of the new as the new is ( bringing its own inner) regeneration. I have understood a thought and that thought disappears. There is an interval of calm and clarity. Then another thought arises. How do I deal with that thought? Can you examine the ( incoming) thought without ( the help of) your ( previous?) memory?

Question: If I do not push that thought away, the thought ( unfolds & ) disappears of itself.

Krishnamurti: How do you deal with the thought without memory? Has not that ( silent) interval a relationship with that thought? Does not that interval which is a state of being which is 'new', meet the 'old' which is the thought arising? This means the new is meeting the old; but, (the experiential difficulty is that) the 'new' cannot absorb (incorporate?) the old. The old can absorb the new and modify it; but the new cannot absorb the old. Therefore ( realising this fine point?) the (silent intelligence of the?) new always extends and ( eventually?) the 'old' disappears by itself (dies of a 'natural death'?) . There is no exclusion, no suppression, nor condemnation, nor avoidance. It is in this manner that that ( particular self-centred?) thought arising in the (silent) interval (simply... ?) disappears.
( In a nutshell:) In that silent interval the newly (awakened intelligence?) is operating on the old and – as the old cannot be absorbed by the new - the thought ( withers & ) disappears. This ( thought-free ?) interval is extraordinary in that it is ( self-sustaining?) without effort, without choice.

Question: Will there be a 'pure perception' then?

Krishnamurti: In that interval, there will be a complete cessation of desires. That ( silent) interval is ( an integrated inner state of) alert, passive, choiceless awareness. There is cessation of desire, cessation of thought. In that state which is 'experiencing' ( the 'real thing'?) , any verbal communication is impossible & there is no ( material?) 'sensation'. If you and I are experiencing the same state, then, because it is non-sensuous, we can ( love & ) understand each other.

( To sum it up?) Regeneration is not a factor depending upon me; because, it cannot be brought about by any effort or any struggle on my part. In itself, that ( silent ) interval lives by itself and it also gets lengthened. There is a state of being without causation, with no time in it (no 'yesterday' producing 'today' and no 'today' producing 'tomorrow'), a state without time and yet living vitally. In other words, this is a ( self-sustained) state of being which is full of vitality, which has no causation and therefore timeless, and yet without death. There is also a newness which is not repetitive. That state is Creation. In that state a new birth takes place always, a ( regenerative?) transformation -not in terms of time- is taking place all the time.
(In a nutshell:) It is a ( most excellent?) state of real action without a cause, timeless, living and undergoing a transformation in itself. It is not one isolated experience but it is a state of constant experiencing. Therefore, ( this inner) regeneration is ( creating ) a constant revolution (of the new?) inside us, which will meet every problem anew. If that (integrated Intelligence?) is functioning, the 'new' meets the old without being contaminated by the old. Therefore, such a man can live even in the midst of a 'greedy' world without being affected by that (stream of collective?) greed, but himself altering (from the inside-out?) the greed in the world. This New (holistic Consciousness?) is always 'moving' and it transforms ( qualtatively?) everything it meets.

Now (for optional homework:) your difficulty is not in understanding (your countless personal ?) problems , but to have that (silent) interval between two ( self-centred) thoughts. Therefore, you do not have to strive to be 'good', to be 'non-violent' etc. You are only concerned with that ( silent creative?) 'interval' with which you can live from moment to moment. You have no ( personal?) problem ( no deeds to do ?) and nothing to maintain; for, as that (silent) interval functions, the problems as they arise will be promptly dealt with, by the (Intelligence of the?) New meeting the ( time-binding momentum of the ?) old without being in any way contaminated by the old.

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Sat, 11 Aug 2018 #122
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 259 posts in this forum Offline

As this thread is dedicated to 'lost & found' pages from the Book of Life, the following insightful notes are dating from the same period (Bombay 1948) and were recorded by Mrs Pupul Jayakar who was part of a rather select K discussion group ( the selected exerpts are from her remarkable book: Krishnamurti, a biography)

"The first discussions in Bombay in 1948 were confused and dispersed. A question was asked of K. His fluid mind took in the question and turned it back, challenging the questioner and the group to seek the answer within the field of self-knowing. K spoke slowly, with many pauses, bending forward as if each response was for the first time. He listened to his own responses with the same openness and receptivity as he did to the voice of the questioner. The energy of Krishnaji’s response was met by struggling minds, battling with confusion, conditioned to respond from memory and to seek solution from a higher authority, inner or outer, spiritual or temporal. We found Krishnaji’s way difficult to comprehend. We strained to understand the words of Krishnaji and to apply them to our own minds. We attempted to approximate, to reach beyond the word with the only instruments of enquiry available—memory and thought. But these were the very instruments that were being challenged, and there was a sense of bewilderment. The clues were missing and the mind, clinging to words, was a battlefield of despair and conflict.

The discussions proceeded slowly. K moved from thought to thought, pushing, blocking, retreating, advancing. In the very movement of this step-by-step observation of the mind, the thought process slowed down until, in an instant, the (inward) perceptions of the participants awoke, and there was direct contact of perception with mind and its flux. The first “seeing” of mind was the starting point of enquiry. It was the clue that unraveled and revealed and, in the very revealing, illumined the question and the answer.
The people who investigated with K were discovering the structure and nature of consciousness and the immense strength and resilience of the thinking process. To observe the movement of the mind caught in thought and to “see” its own inadequacy had in it the excitement and awe of discovery, of traveling uncharted terrain.

Thought held in its grooves could not break through its own bondage.But by discussion, seeing, observing, challenging, and doubting, the grooves in which thought moved and the process of becoming was born were being shattered.

A new methodology born of ( direct) seeing and listening was unfolding, new perceptions were awakening. A ground of observing and enquiry was being established. The energy generated by the question was not permitted to dissipate in the reflexive answers and responses that arose from the store house of memory. K was challenging the minds of the participants. Every cell in the body and mind of K was awake. His relentless questioning opened up the psyche; and as the muscle and tone of the listeners strengthened, the mind of K in turn was deeply challenged. In K’s very challenging there arose rare insights into the human condition. Like an antenna, K’s mind reached out to sense the minds of the participants. When the dialogue got bogged down or the group entered into sterile dialectics and the discussion was barren, K’s mind would take a leap, carrying the discussion out of its rut. He brought into the discussion the nature of love, death, fear and sorrow; feelings and situations that were of the skin and heart; and suddenly the discussion would come in direct, tactile contact with the problem.

The breakthrough in the discussions began one morning in 1948 when Rao Sahib Patwardhan said that the ideals and beliefs that had carried him through the political struggle had crumbled under him. He was faced with a blank wall and felt that the time had come for him to reexamine his fundamental beliefs. Then he turned to Krishnaji and asked him what he meant by “creative thinking.” Krishnaji, who had been sitting quietly, listening intently to Rao Sahib, sprang to his feet and sat down next to him. Leaning forward, he said, “Do you want to go into it, Sir, and see whether you cannot experience the state of creative thinking now?” Rao was perplexed and looked at K, unable to comprehend what he was saying.

“How does one think?” K began. Rao responded, “A problem arises, and to meet the problem thoughts arise.”

K asked, “How do you try to solve a problem?” “Find out an answer,” said Rao.

“How can you find an answer and how do you know that it is the right answer? Surely you cannot see the whole content of the problem—how can then your answer be the right one?”

“If I do not find the right answer the first time, I try other ways of finding it,” answered Rao.

“But whatever way you try to find an answer it will only be a partial answer, and you want a complete answer. How then will you find a complete answer?” K was blocking all movements of the mind—refusing to defuse the energy held in the question.

“If I cannot see the problem completely, I cannot find the right answer,” Rao responded.
“So you are no longer looking for an answer.”
“No.”
“You have shut off all the avenues seeking an answer.”
“Yes.”
“What is the state of your mind when it is no longer looking for an answer?” My own mind was quite blank, but this was not what he was getting at. We were missing something.

During a discussion a few days later, K spoke of memory as the “I” consciousness, the factor that distorts and hinders understanding of the present. He separated factual memory from psychological memory—the “I” will be, “I” should be. Then he asked, “Can we live without psychological memory?”
The discussion proceeded slowly, and I lost interest. My mind darted away in pursuit of some desire. The more I tried to concentrate on the subject, the more restless the mind grew. I was so disgusted that I let it roam. Soon I found that it settled down, and for the first time that morning I listened to what was being said.

Professor Chubb of Elphinstone College had entered into an argument, and I listened. Could memory drop away? I asked myself. I did not want to be free of the “I” principle. I had built it up so carefully; why should I be free of it? I would be lost.
Then I felt curious to find out whether one could drop memory. There was an immediate clarity. I started watching the mind. K was saying, “What can you do, Sirs? You are faced with a blank wall. You can’t just leave it, you have to do something.” In a flash I spoke: “Drop memory.” Suddenly, my mind was clear. K looked straight at me. The clarity deepened.

“Go on,” he said. “What is the state of your mind when you drop memory?” It was as if the fifty people were gone, and there were just K and I. “My mind is still,” I said. Suddenly, I felt it—a quality so potent, so flexible, so swift and alive. He smiled and said, “Leave it, go slow, don’t trample it.” The others tried to intervene to get at what I had experienced, but K said, “Leave it alone, it is so delicate, don’t strangle it.” When I left the meeting he came to the door with me and said, “You must come and see me, we must talk of it.” I had the feeling my mind had been washed clean.

As the intensity and clarity generated in the dialogue became evident, we were eager to continue. And on days when public talks were not held, we met and discussed with K. Most of the questions that arose concerned the urgency of ethical action in the midst of a chaotic society, and it was only later that the fundamental human problems—envy, ambition, fear, sorrow, death, time, and the agony of becoming and not achieving—were to surface and find expression.
In later years K wrote, “To be still after tilling and sowing, is to give birth to creation.”

As the discussions proceeded through the years, various analytical enquiries were made; tentative and exploratory. We questioned without seeking immediate solution; rather, we developed a step-by-step observation of the process of thought and its unfoldment—penetration and withdrawal, every movement plunging attention deeper and deeper into the recesses of the mind. A delicate, wordless communication took place; an exposure of the movement of negation as it met the positive movement of thought. There was the “seeing” of fact, of “what is,” the releasing of energy held in “what is,” which is the mutation of “what is.” This was again perceived from various directions to examine its validity.
The nature of duality and nonduality were revealed in simple language. In that state of questioning—a state where the questioner, the experiencer has ceased—in a flash “truth” was revealed. It was a state of total nonthought, the ending of duality. At the end of the discussion many of us felt as if our minds had been freshly bathed.
In later years K was to say of these discussions, “The mind which is the vessel of movement, when the movement has no form, no ‘me’, no vision, no image, it is completely quiet. In it there is no memory. Then the brain cells undergo a change. The brain cells are used to movement in time. They are the residue of time and time is movement; a movement within the space which it creates as it moves... When there is no movement, there is tremendous focus of energy. So mutation is the understanding of movement, and the ending of movement in the brain cells themselves.”

The revelation of the instant of mutation of “what is” provided a totally new dimension to the whole field of intellectual and religious enquiry.
Years later I said to Krishnaji, “Having a personal discussion with you, one is exposed to a nothingness. It is like facing something totally empty. There is nothing except ‘what is’ as reflected in oneself. You throw back on the person exactly ‘what is.’ ”
K replied, “That is what Aldous used to say. But when K throws back, it is yours.”

When he arrived in Delhi, I went to meet K alone. He told me that he had dreamed about me (he rarely had dreams). “Listen to what I say. I am going to talk as if I were you. I am a Brahmin born of a tradition of culture and learning with a background of intellect and sensitivity. In this background there is a vein of weakness, of crudeness. I spent my childhood in a civil servant’s house. I ate meat and was made to reject my Brahminism. I went to Europe, married, had a child, a severe illness. I went blind, life used me and left its mark on me. I grew ambitious and cultivated ruthlessness and denied sensitivity. In meeting people I have absorbed and reflected their coarseness or their sensitivity. I have not had the intelligence to meet coarseness with intelligence. Then Krishnamurti came. At first I saw in what he had to say a way of sharpening my brain, but soon I was caught in it. In the most powerful influence I had known. And all the time, although I denied my Brahmin background, it was there, the main contradiction, the Brahmin background never understood but rejected, and so I am always in conflict.”

Then he said, “You see the picture, the patches, the lights, the shades, the crudeness, the sensitivity. What is it you feel when you see the picture as a whole?” I said it was a mess, and asked what I could do to straighten out the contradiction. Surely I must be able to act in the contradiction.
He said, “You are still concerned about doing. But any action on your part will mean adding another patch. Why can’t you just see it? It is you, with all its shades and lights. What is the use of prejudice or pleasure? Just absorb it and see yourself as you are, clearly. Then you will stop bridging the coarseness and sensitivity.”
“That is, I must stop trying to be sensitive, when I am coarse.”
“No,” Krishnamurti replied. “You cannot do anything. Just watch the truth of your 'bridging', which you are constantly doing.” This was the first time I had heard him refer to the background and the necessity of understanding it. I asked him how it could be understood.
“See that it is there in all its richness, its fullness, its thousands of years of racial memory. Then when it next projects itself, you will see it and there will be instant understanding and the end of conflict with it. You cannot reject the ( racial) background, for it is there as much as your arm or skin. You can only understand it, and understanding it be free of it.” A little later he said, “What man needs is that contentment that is in the earth when it has given birth to a tree. In a bush when it has produced a flower.”

This post was last updated by John Raica Sat, 11 Aug 2018.

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Tue, 11 Sep 2018 #123
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 259 posts in this forum Offline

Here are ( flash posted !) a few very inspiring 'lost & found' pages from W. T Stead's 'Letters from Julia' For one thing, they do justice to what K called in his last years of life listening ( & also thinking ?) with 'the mind in the heart'

September 27th 1896.

It is a mistake to say that there is no longer time in which to think. With the increased rush there are many oases. But, with the continued rush there disappears the capacity to utilize them. And what I wish to do to-day is to point out some of the methods in which the lost Meditation-time may be recovered. What I want Meditation-time for is to get a chance at your soul. The mundane and material veil the soul from us. We catch fitful glimpses of your soul as if through thick hanging clouds. We want to see more of it and to influence you more in Time with the thought of Eternity. And the first way to help is to teach you how to utilize your spare moments. Here let me answer that thought of yours as to the idleness of purposeless meditation. It is not my purpose that your meditation should be purposeless.

What you have to do is to take the first steps towards the realization of the Divine. This you can do only in one way. Where Love is, God is. There is no formula so true as that. To get man into the presence of God, make him love. And the worst sign of the latter times is when the love of many has grown cold. But do not quench the smoking flax. Break not the bruised reed. Wherever life is, love is not impossible. For the complete absence of love is the final cessation of life. Love is often latent as heat is. But the development, the expansion of love - that is the growth of life. Hence the use of the Meditation-moment is primarily the development of Love. And this can be done quite simply by giving the Divine nature within each a free chance to assert itself.
For all around man lies the quickening spirit of God. And you have but to allow it a chance, instead of hustling it out of the way, to see the God-germ grow.

Must man, then, think first of himself and not of the others? Now you are surprised, but what a man ought first to think of when he meditates is himself. What am I making of myself? For love begins at home. And if a man is cruel to his own soul - - ? No, you must care for your higher self, the God within. What are you doing with that? Giving it exercise? And what? Since when has it had an opportunity of doing anything worth doing? And are you stunting or starving or killing it? Soul-murder - are you guilty of it? For it is possible to murder your own soul. And then the next thought must be, My enemies, what good have I done them? For an "enemy" is the man with whom you have failed. It may not be your fault, but if he is your enemy, you have failed; for it is failure when any fail to realize that One is your Father, and all ye are brethren. Whom you dislike, that is an enemy - a failure. Have you done anything to make him a success? You may do nothing. But have you thought kindly of him, pitying his blindness and his shortcomings, longing to see him better? But sometimes it is best kindness to punish? Yes, I know you are quite right in thinking that there are times when it is necessary to punish evildoers; but as you punish, love! And remember that punishment without love is not of God. Have, then, a list, long or short, of the people you dislike, and run over them lovingly. Out of joint with this, with that, with the other - this is not in the Divine order, and you ought to try to be in charity with, that is to like, all men. Then your friends, and those to whom you are related. Your success depends upon individualizing. Take each in turn. What have you done for him, for her, since yesterday? What have you left undone? In short, evil is the want of thought. Think - a loving thought is a prayer. You have not time to pray? Then make time to think of those you love. Without thinking on to people you lose vital connection with them. To all men and women you know you owe some duty, however slight. It may be a smile, it may be a word, it may be a letter, it may be praise, it may be blame; and there is more love needed to blame rightly than to praise. But whatever it is, it is due from you to each of these. Have you paid your dues? Not in the lump but to each his due?

What is the excuse for the unkindness in the world? What is the cause of most of the sadness? Not poverty of this world's wealth, but poverty of loving thought. You do not think; you forget. You neglect for want of thought. You allow the love that is in you to grow cold. For love dies when you never think of the person loved. Therefore think of them all. If you can do nothing else, think of them lovingly; for the loving thought of a friend is an Angel of God sent to carry a benediction to the Soul. Yes, in this way we all fulfil, or help to fulfil, our own prayers. When you think with real feeling and earnestness of another's welfare and long to help him, you do help him. Here is, as it were, the secret source whereby the fire is fed which would else have flickered out and died. Oh, my dearest friend, if you only knew the power of thought, and if you would but think, think, think! Do not forget that the supreme need of the Soul of Man is time to think ( & meditate ?) , which means time to love, i.e. time to live.

(...) But the doorway into the Infinite is the 'Soul' (see K's 'Mind' ?) , and the Soul is lost. When you have no time to think, no time to pray, you have no time to live. Therefore you must before all else make time.

S: Easier said than done!

J: Oh, my dear friend, you waste more time in brooding over the Past which you cannot recall, or in anticipating the evils of the Future which you may never meet, than would help you to possess your Soul in the living Present. What you do not seem to see is that the Soul (the Mind ?) is not a mere abstraction. It is the Power which enables you to do all things. I speak the most sober and literal truth, when I say that if you did but possess your Soul and exercise its powers, Death or separation in this world would cease to exist for you, and the miseries which haunt the human race would disappear. For the whole of the evils that afflict society arise from the lack of seeing things from the standpoint of the Soul. If you lived for the Soul, cared for what made the Soul a more living reality, and less for the meat and drink and paraphernalia of the body, the whole world would be transfigured; you have got a wrong standpoint and everything is out of focus.

I do not say neglect the body. But make its health and ease only the means to the end. The body is only a machine. The work that it does ought to be for the Soul. What you do now is to make the ( body) 'machine' everything. It consumes on itself its own force. The wheels go round, but nothing moves. And in the whirl of the wheels the Soul is lost. No I must repeat once more - you must find time to live. At present you have lost your Souls even partly by the strain ( effort ?) of trying to find them. I mean that much of the so-called 'religious life and works', while good in their way, constitutes no small addition to the preoccupation of time which renders Soul-life impossible. It is possible to lose your Soul in Church as well as on the Stock Exchange. If you have not leisure to be alone with your Soul - it does not so much matter whether the rush and whirl and preoccupation is ecclesiastical or financial - the Soul is lost, and there is nothing to do but... to find it again.

This post was last updated by John Raica Tue, 11 Sep 2018.

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1 day ago #124
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 259 posts in this forum Offline

Here are for our readers' fun & pofit a few 'lost & found" pages from Sidney Fields' memoirs of K dating from the early 30's in Ojai, California

( ...) Here I was, at the threshold of adult life, just beginning the whole painful business, when Krishnaji kindly called me up to invite me to spend a week with him at Arya Vihara. Rosalind and Rajagopal were going to be away that week, and I’d have a chance to relax and be alone with him, to do anything I pleased. To be in Arya Vihara with Krishnaji, away from Hollywood and my sordid problems, loomed like a bit of paradise to me.

A pleasing warmth and the fragrance of orange blossoms filled the peaceful Ojai Valley the afternoon I arrived at Arya Vihara. Krishnaji was sitting alone on the front porch of his private cottage, behind the main house. There was a feeling of great peace and power about him. He said how happy he was that I had come. This remark presented an opportunity to ask him a question that had often come to mind. I said, “Krishnaji, does the presence of a friend, one you’re fond of, make you happier than the presence of just anyone who might come in from the outside?”
His smile told me immediately that he knew the meaning of my question. He answered, “I am truly happy that you are here, Sidney, but if you hadn’t come I’d be just as happy.”
That took the wind out of my ego’s sails, but after all, I reasoned, what else could he say and remain consistent with his view of complete self-sufficiency?
We then went for a long walk in the coolness of the late afternoon, behind the Thatcher School, in the shadow of the great Topa Topa mountain, enveloped in its darkening robe of dusk. All his life Krishnaji was a great lover of Nature, and it was always fun walking with him because you felt the bubbling sense of joy he experienced in the outdoors. As we tramped over the brush and rocks, I couldn’t help but think of the remark he had made earlier in the day, pulling the rug out from under me, when I had asked him, indirectly, if he had any favorites. It was, perhaps, an impertinent question, for it was obvious that a man like Krishnaji was really not one of us, even if he was concerned about our problems and sorrows. He was a man alone, unentangled, unattached, living on the mountaintop like a solitary eagle.

After a delicious vegetarian dinner that evening, we went into the kitchen to help wash and dry the dishes, a chore that Krishnaji had imposed on himself to help the aging cook. Then we moved into the wood-paneled living room, where Krishnaji built a fire in the fireplace. Both of us sat on a couch, watching the fire without making a single comment. There is something wonderfully relaxing about dancing flames and crackling wood in a fireplace. Tonight, however, the psychic atmosphere in that charming old California bungalow, given to him by a friend, was not conducive to relaxation. The feeling was more like that generated by a giant dynamo. There was a powerful force concentrated there; it was almost physically palpable. It didn’t surprise me, though, for many times before I had felt it in Krishnaji’s presence, although never with such intensity.

Krishnaji was one of those rare persons who could be perfectly relaxed in the company of another while completely silent, and I had visions of spending the whole evening with him just watching the fire wordlessly. I kept thinking about a remark he had once made to me, that he was like a deep well, out of which each person took as much of the quenching spiritual waters as he was capable of drinking. Unfortunately, the highly charged atmosphere tonight had a curious effect on me. Instead of sharpening my sensitivity, it dulled it. Perhaps I had eaten too much. Whatever the cause, my usually meager capacity to drink from the Well of Wisdom had diminished alarmingly. I simply wasn’t able to frame any kind of question appropriate to the occasion.
At length, Krishnaji got up to stoke the fire. He turned and faced me, straight and austere, regal in appearance, a prince in faded Levi’s and worn cotton shirt, his expressive black eyes alight with a great fire. All at once, the veil of unawareness that had obscured my perceptions vanished. I felt entirely vulnerable.

“What do you want out of life, Sidney?”
“I’m not sure, Krishnaji. I thought I knew in Eerde, when I walked under the tall trees with you. I felt sure then that I could face any situation in life with serenity, confidence. I felt I would never lose that inspiration. Today, after battling with lawyers, bill collectors, and sitting for weeks in the witness chair in Superior Court, I feel like a truck had run over me.”

“Forget about Eerde, what you felt and thought and did there. When you divide life between the beautiful woods of Eerde and the ugly business world of Los Angeles, you create a hopeless conflict. You long for a memory and fight the reality of your life now.”

“You’re telling me to fully accept my present situation, without complaining.”
“No, to accept is an attitude of the mind. To understand is to see, to perceive at the deepest level, and be free.
“I understand and perceive this, Krishnaji. That I am unhappy, in pain, frustrated. A life without conflict, such as you talk about, seems to me, at this point in my life, totally out of reach.”
“It’s really easy,” he said casually. “But you complicate things. You don’t let Life paint the picture. You insist on doing it your own way.

“You’re a spiritual genius, Krishnaji. Most of us don’t have any particular talent in that respect.”
“No, no,” he protested. “That’s just an excuse for not facing yourself. The very fact that you are here with me now shows you have the potential.”
“I thought I did a while back,” I said, thinking of the great joyous laughter I had experienced. “It’s gone now. That’s the sad part of all this. You have moments when you think you’ve made a breakthrough, then the next day you’re in the soup again. Men like Walt Whitman and Edward Carpenter spoke about moments of great illumination, but they lost it, all but the memory of it.”
“They tried to hang on to it,” said Krishnaji, as if he were well acquainted with the lives of these great mystics. “They didn’t let it come to them.”

**“Are you in constant touch with the Reality you call Liberation?”

“There’s no separation,” he said. Then, after a moment: “I am an example. I have cleaned the slate. Life paints the picture.”**

There was a long silence. The fire crackled in the fireplace; the wind whistled in the orange grove. Then Krishnaji spoke about a subject we had often discussed before: the importance of being a "spiritual aristocrat", which he obviously was to his fingertips, of totally rejecting the deadening mediocrity which engulfed the world, of abandoning oneself to that great spiritual adventure which is unique to every person.

“You have had great teachers,” I said. “You have reportedly taken several initiations and have been especially trained and guided for your role as World Teacher. Is it reasonable to expect that we who have not had any of these advantages can attain what you have discovered?”
“I took the long road to find the simple Union. And because of that, because I have attained, you too can find the simple Union.”

I had quickly scribbled some notes, which Krishnaji thought useless. We talked some more and then Krishnaji picked up his big Mexican hat and sauntered out, advising me to go to bed early, that I needed the rest. But that would prove a difficult task. I went over my notes and expanded them, then glanced at some of the interesting books on the living room shelves ( Krishnamurti was a contemplative mystic, not a studious man of letters. His favorite reading was mystery novels, and he also enjoyed nonfiction books, especially about nature. His “library” was more a collection of books presented to him by some authors he knew and other gifts) My mind was racing; there was no possibility of sleep. I went out for a walk, but quickly returned because of the evening chill. Arya Vihara is a spooky place at night. I had been told that Dr. Besant had magnetically sealed off the place to keep “uninvited astral entities” from loitering on the premises. But the fact was that the night noises here were scary. No doubt they were caused by the expanding of the wood in the daytime with the heat, and the contracting of it with the evening chill. The effect, however, was disturbing. On top of it was the great force generated by Krishnaji, which did not leave with him. The house still felt like the central dynamo of a power plant.

I went to bed, closed my eyes and tried to go to sleep. Impossible. The creaking, thumping, bumping noises no longer bothered me. It was that inescapable, pervading, challenging power that filled the house which I seemed unable to adjust to. At about three in the morning, without a wink of sleep, I could no longer cope with what a friend of mine had called “Krishnaji’s roaring kundalini.” I got dressed and went out for a long walk. The sun was peeking over Topa Topa when I returned. I had walked miles, but I was so filled with the restless energy I had “caught” at Arya Vihara that I felt I could have walked back to Hollywood.

At breakfast that morning Krishnaji asked me if I had had a good, restful night. When I told him what had happened, he laughed. I said, “I thought if I didn’t get out quick and walk fast I’d go out of my mind, like Fenn Germer.” Fenn Germer was a young devotee of Krishnaji’s who had worked for him at Arya Vihara and Eerde, and who had to be taken to a mental institution after suffering a nervous breakdown.
“The trouble with Fenn was that he had completely repressed sex. I don’t think that will ever be the case with you, Sidney,” he laughed.

strong textI stayed on several more days at Arya Vihara, enjoying Krishnaji’s companionship, the unique beauty of the valley and the fine weather. They were restful, happy days. Either I had become adjusted to Krishnaji’s “roaring kundalini” or else he, compassionately, had turned it off for my benefit. There were no more serious discussions. I helped him clean the stable, which a sloppy cow kept messing up, helped with the dishes, took long walks with him, talked about unimportant things, laughed and read the “nut” mail. Krishnaji’s “fan” mail, which was voluminous, was answered by his secretary in Hollywood. But the “nut” mail he kept aside and showed me for my edification. One hilarious letter was written only along the margins of the paper. It stated that both the writer and Krishnaji were “electrical eggs” specially hatched in order to save a crazy world. There were suggestions on how the world’s redemption might be accomplished, including instructions on how to prepare certain foods, and when to eat them, in order to attain enlightenment. This letter should have been preserved; only a totally scrambled brain could have written it.

In the car, just before leaving, thinking about the inner treasure I had discovered at Eerde, but had not found again at Arya Vihara, I said, “I want to rediscover something that I first experienced at Eerde.” Krishnaji was silent for a long moment, during which I thought, uneasily, that he might ask me what it was I had experienced. He didn’t. He said simply, “Go ahead, do it.”
About this time a big event occurred at Arya Vihara: Rosalind and Rajagopal became the proud parents of a baby girl, Radha. The new arrival became the center of attraction. Krishnaji was completely upstaged by the baby, and he seemed to enjoy it. He became very fond of Radha, picking her up at every opportunity and planting a kiss on her baby cheek. It was fun watching Krishnaji in his new role of “loving uncle.” Radha would grow into a lovely child who fully returned Krishnaji’s love. She called him Krinch.

This post was last updated by John Raica 1 day ago.

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