Krishnamurti & the Art of Awakening
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Sun, 02 Jul 2017 #331
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May tenth, 1974, and Krishnaji and I are in Malibu. ‘Krishnaji came into my room while I was at the desk, and as we talked, there was that remote look on his face, and very suddenly I felt that curious sense of 'something else'. It was as though there were an inaudible sound that one was listening to or for. His face had that look of listening inwardly, infinitely austere and away. He said, “It is strange. Do you feel it?” And then he said, “Do you write down when these things happen? You should.” A little later he said that he can sense that the Rs’—that’s Rajagopal and Rosalind— ‘don’t know where he is, but when they know he is here, it is as if they “beamed hate” at him. I asked if he feels it at Brockwood and does it reach that far, and he said “No.” I then asked if it would not be worse if we lived in Ojai. “No,” he said, “I can turn it away. They will try to prevent us being there. Could they?”’ ‘I said “No. Anybody can buy land, and we could buy land like anybody else.” I asked why he doesn’t turn away any emanations from them if he can? He said he didn’t try to. They might change. That people do change.’ 

And he had that look… you see it sometimes on people who are listening to music, or wrapped up in something… it’s not seeing…it’s listening. They’re hearing something. And the sense of something, for me, has always been like a kind of very high-pitched, too high to hear, trembling in the ear, a kind of intensity, a kind of…like an electrical something…that you just sense.

May twelfth. ‘It was Krishnaji’s seventy-ninth birthday.’ ‘To my words and messages from Narasimhan, Naudé, and Kishbaugh, who all telephoned, he waved away any utterance. “It’s not 'my' birthday,” he said.’

‘Krishnaji and I and our gardener—‘cut our way through the bushes to try to find out how’ ‘rabbits are getting in the garden in spite of a wire fence. We filled in some holes, but in the evening, there were four of them on the lawn.’ Rabbits are hard to control.
On the fifteenth, ‘Krishnaji asked Erna, Theo, and me what it is that is blocking us in Ojai. We could not answer. He suggested that by hanging up plans of our settlement of the case, we were dependent on Rajagopal and that is wrong. We also discussed whether we should try to get zoning for a center primarily without a school, a place where Krishnaji would spend three months a year and discuss with people who were able to absorb his teachings.

Then we went to the other side of the valley, behind the town, off the back road, climbed a hill, and looked down on abeautiful, untouched valley with rolling golden fields, oak trees, and wooded mountain. Everything that is loveliest in southern California as it was a hundred years ago. It would be perfection for us.’
‘On the drive back to Malibu, Krishnaji spoke of the insults he had received constantly from both the R's. Her first calling him “a swine” in Sequoia…his shock. He told Rajagopal, who shrugged. Their forcing him to go to drive-in movies and eat in tacky restaurants, which he hated. And again, the story in India of Rosalind going at him with an empty bottle, trying to hit his head. Sunanda was a partial witness to this. Krishnaji said he put up with all of this because there was nothing he could do. There was no one he could go to. He spoke of a sense of helplessness, and said he wondered if, when I go out, if something happened to me, what would he do? I felt like weeping at his helplessness and the sense that he must put up with whatever is done to him. Then, is this total vulnerability part of what makes his face light up with delight at flowers on a hill as we pass, or the blue of the sea?’

A nonstop London flight. As usual, we had front seats, poor food. There was a movie we had seen, The Sting, but Krishnaji liked to watch it without sound’ ‘seeming to enjoy it more because he knew what was coming.’ ‘On this flight, it never got dark, and we didn’t sleep.’
On Tuesday, the thirtieth of May. ‘We landed at Heathrow at 7 a.m. Dorothy, Doris, and Ingrid and two cars were there. Krishnaji and I drove back with Dorothy. When we got to Brockwood, all the school was on the driveway to meet Krishnaji. Brockwood was in bloom. Slept after lunch, and at 5 p.m., Krishnaji came and said, “We must walk.‘So, with Dorothy and Whisper, we went gently through the grove. The azaleas, rhododendrons, and the handkerchief tree are still in flower.

On the second, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school on the softness, at Brockwood. Krishnaji said “I’d like to talk to someone who can discuss the brain with me, who can challenge me. I’ll have to do it myself.”’
The next day, Krishnaji spoke to the school on being hurt, and is there a part of the mind that is empty.’

The seventh of June. ‘The Digbys and Mary C. came for lunch, and to discuss books. One book is provisionally titled Beginnings of Learning, which they put together from Brockwood discussions of Krishnaji with the school.

‘In the midst of this conversation, which took place in the West Wing kitchen, Krishnaji started asking Mary things about the biography, and then suddenly asked her if she would write the second volume. She said she would, but that if she did, she wanted to do it differently, with the personal part only as a background, and the main part, a chronology of his teachings told in his own words. It would be an enormous work starting with the reading of everything he has said all these years. “But will you do it?” said Krishnaji. “Yes, I will,” she said. “Good,” said Krishnaji. “That’s settled, because if you didn’t, the Indians would want to do it, and they would make a mess of it.‘“I will tell them you have undertaken it.”
Pleased, he went off for his nap, and Mary and I talked all afternoon.

On June fifteenth, ‘Krishnaji saw the younger children of the school alone, and then the next day, he spoke to the whole school.’
The eighteenth of June, ‘Krishnaji and I went to London, met Mary L. for lunch at Fortnum’s. I gave her pages, so far checked, of the manuscript and returned to her an album of photographs of Adyar published in 1911. They are photos by Alcyone . The text is by Leadbeater. Krishnaji said Leadbeater must have done something bad that made the young Krishnaji dislike him. He can’t remember what it was. He was a rather brutal man, apparently. Krishnaji doubts it was anything homosexual. He would’ve been afraid to make any advance towards Krishnaji, but something must have caused the aversion. Krishnaji said that when he was quite young he used to stare out the window with his mouth open. And it irritated Leadbeater, who kept telling him not to do it, but Krishnaji did it in a sort of a dreamy way. At one point, Leadbeater came up behind him and banged his mouth closed. And as Krishnaji said to me, that was the end of Leadbeater as far as he was concerned.

The nineteenth of June. ‘Krishnaji said, “I will live at least another ten years. After that, the 'door' will close.” I wondered what 'door'. Is it a door for us to another dimension, which he opens for us?’

On the next day, ‘Doris and I finished checking the 309 pages of the transcription of Krishnaji’s extraordinary manuscript. It seems to grow and grow evermore like him. The “Other” permeates it, and it is at the same time his own very personal eye on the world, his delicacy of perception. His most personal human side comes through to me in every line and yet he has entered a realm in this writing that he has only alluded to fleetingly, briefly before. It is a sacred writing in the utmost use of that word. At times, reading it rapidly in this checking, I felt overwhelmed and wanting to be silent, almost blown away by his words.

June twenty-third, ‘Krishnaji held an absorbing discussion with the school. After lunch Krishnaji talked to David Bohm about the scientist’s meeting in October. He told David and me all this on the walk, and then about getting Indian musicians to play here each year, a Brockwood Festival, he said. “We must make Brockwood self-sufficient. Britain is going to pieces, and we must try to be self-supporting. We should find out if we can have our own chickens, goats for milk, plant more fruit trees.”

‘A few days ago he said he had had a good meditation in the night. I asked him about the distinction he appears to make in the book between meditation and “that otherness,” that immensity. Krishnaji asked, “What does it say?” I said that it seemed to me as if there were something in him, a state of perception of which he was capable, whereas “the otherness” appeared to come to him and enter into his consciousness. He replied, “That sounds right, but they are not entirely separate.” When I spoke of the ( Notebook) manuscript he wrote, he said, “It’s not my book. I didn’t write it.”’

Krishnaji then said, “It is strange. Four days ago when I was going down to lunch, the thought came. I said, ‘Nitya, do something about Arya Vihara. They are such silly people. See that something happens about this.”’

June twenty-sixth: ‘A while back, in a conversation with Krishnaji about interviews, he said, “When they are open, they want you to 'read their letter'. Other times, they have a mask on, and I am deceived.”’ He always said that he never looked into people if they didn’t ask him to. “You come to see me, and you are serious. You ask me to look. I never offer my opinion. Then it is simple and clear. I can go ahead. Others say, ‘Look, but not too deeply.’ I go as deeply as they want me to. If they want me to go a mile, I go a mile.
Naudé never did. I wish he had. That is what makes me uncomfortable. ‘Krishnaji also said, “If you are able to perceive me, you must be in a meditative mind.”’

In the evening, we watched a TV program of Walter Cronkite interviewing Solzhenitsyn.’

Monday, the first of July. Dorothy drove us to Heathrow. We left at 11:30 a.m. and stopped for a nice picnic lunch in the car at Runnymede by the edge of the river. Ducks and wind in the willows. Krishnaji watched too the aircraft in the sky. A busload of children came with food, one a Sikh boy in a pink turban. “Nonsense” said Krishnaji. “It’s a smelly, awful thing. They should pull it off him.”’ He had some experience of turbans in his youth.

Paris, loaded with the worst of American tourists; fat, hideously and unsuitably dressed, and talking loudly to each other about buying things. Krishnaji stood observing, remote, in an aristocracy of centuries about him. On the plane, he declined the champagne’—one is proffered champagne in first class—‘and had a tonic instead. Earlier at Runnymede, he was merrier. Dorothy offered him Ribena. “I only drink champagne”, he said.’ ‘We were soon over Paris, and Krishnaji by the window picked out Longchamps, Le Bois. We came by taxi to the Plaza Athénée and to our usual comfortable rooms. It is pleasant and I feel a sense of having brought Krishnaji safely to a shelter in the sense of a necessary shell around him, clean, quiet, adequate food, and something he is used to. “Without you, I wouldn’t be here,” he said. Then he said, “Thank you for looking after me.” It is warm in Paris, and nice to be here. We went for a little walk to a pharmacy for toothpaste and came back to supper in the rooms. Krishnaji had stopped twice at windows of a patisserie. “It makes me hungry,” he said. So we had tarte aux pommes for supper. But it didn’t agree with him. On French TV, there was the idiotic Tour de France, and little else.’
This morning he said, “There is something even in this room, a marvelous meditation, that thing is going on. It started here last night. It was good to get away from Brockwood. The atmosphere was too infantile.”’

Krishnaji stood all the way on the train to Lausanne looking out. The train is very smooth, and he was pleased by this way of going to Switzerland.’
‘Moser, with the gray Mercedes freshly waxed and very splendid, was waiting for us at the Lausanne station. We put the bags in and drove up through the city, toujours direction Berne, until we took the Oron-Bulle road. It was a marvelous afternoon; the rolling green of the fields and mountains. “We are back in our country,” said Krishnaji, pleased with it all and with the car.

‘Up on the hill to Tannegg were Vanda and Fosca, who had arrived yesterday. The apartment downstairs is now a narrow, rather dark room with an interior bath and no kitchen.’ They’d remodeled it. ‘Krishnaji went to bed, and Vanda and I talked long after supper, bringing her all the news.’

Krishnaji remained in bed till 4 p.m. when the Sufi leader Pir Vilayat Khan, who has asked to see him, was due. He didn’t turn up till 5. “Typical of these people.”’ That’s a quote from Krishnaji. ‘He came with a young woman who remained outside, and Krishnaji and he talked alone for one-and-a-half hours. Tea was then given. The Sufi left. Long black robe, gray beard, speaks excellent French, lectures in it, and German. He told Vanda and me that he was for subduing the self, control, etcetera. Krishnaji said, “How rigid these fellows are.”’

Wednesday, the tenth of July. ‘Krishnaji had a cable yesterday from Balasundarum at Rishi Valley and received a letter from Erna about being unable to make an agreement on Vasanta Vihar part of the KFA settlement. Part of the cable asked if Krishnaji wanted them to continue their case in Madras. This morning Krishnaji dictated a cable saying “yes” most strongly, and then dictated a letter going into it more fully. I sent both. At 11 a.m. he saw Edgar Graf alone about his reasons for wanting to give up the Saanen work. It seems his wife is demanding it.

The next day, ‘I woke up and worried about Krishnaji’s weakness yesterday. Until almost 8 a.m. his door was closed. He then appeared almost shaking with energy. “Fine, fine,” he said. He said he had been thinking of a center in Ojai and everywhere else.
He had me write it down. “Must produce people so intelligent they will be basically religious, and with that intelligence will function in every field, politics, art, business, and every form of social relationship.”’
Krishnaji, blazing with energy, told me to write about the essentials of the center: keep the school in a corner, separate from the center. But he wants also a school for older children. The center is to have a meeting room to hold 200 people, kitchen and dining room for 100, and housing for thirty to forty people there on invitation to discuss, etcetera. He wants to keep the Oak Grove for talks, including half the land to the west of it. “In case we want to build something there,” and sell the rest.’ I pointed out we had no funds yet to even pay Mark Lee’s salary. “You’re always talking about money,” he said impatiently.’ said I would never speak of it again.’ Oh, goodness.

Krishnaji said suddenly, “I woke up early and something extraordinary happened. It was as though this”’ [wide gesture] “‘were enormous, spreading out to take the universe.” I asked, “This being consciousness?” Krishnaji replied, “More than consciousness. It went on for more than an hour.” I asked, “Did it fade then?” Krishnaji answered, “No, you know how this is. It is there somewhere.”

In spite of rain on the first day, the tent was surprisingly almost full, and Krishnaji began with full energy and impact. The need for clear action in all fields, not born of thought, to give “your energy and your years.” At the end, he raised the question, “Is there action of mind that is not of thought?” but left it to go into it in another meeting. Krishnaji ate in his room. Later, we went to Saanen for a pair of walking shoes for him like the ones I had just bought. We wore them on a walk to the river. On the way, I speculated what would happen if people really said no fighting, no wars. The aggressor nations would take over. Krishnaji said you couldn’t let them do that. You would speak up, get people to not cooperate. Do no work. Russians or anyone else couldn’t control the world if everyone refused to work. “You’d have to talk, organize it ahead of time. At the last minute, it’s too late.” I said, “Isn’t it already too late?” and he said, “Maybe. Now I must get woolly. I have to talk tomorrow.”’ ‘I said no more, but walked ahead so he could be alone. In the woods, he called to me,  “Maria, remind me of these words: idea creates conflicting energy.”

 
July sixteenth, 1974, in Gstaad. ‘Krishnaji gave his second Saanen talk. He spoke of 'seeing the whole'. Vanda and I lunched alone, and then went into Krishnaji’s bedroom for coffee with Krishnaji, who had finished his tray and was reading Le Carré’s spy story, Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. We spoke a little about the talk, and Krishnaji’s reply to questions he had been asked about “how are you going to change people who are only interested in getting enough to eat?” etcetera. Krishnaji had said "he was talking, to you ( those present) here in this tent. If you change, it will change other ways, old ways; of war, reform, systems, etcetera, which have resulted in the present chaos. Only change in the psyche can alter the world.”’

‘“But I’m thinking about Thursday’s talk,” he said. “When there is a cause, the energy created by that cause is the energy of thought as matter. Meditation is without cause, without past, time, or form. Why is thought divisive? Because it is the past. It must be fragmented. Cause, as long as there is a cause, there is the past. If there is no cause, there is no past, no time. The Greeks were concerned with form and the manipulations of matter. They made a prototype of beauty, etcetera. They never went into the question of form being matter. In the West, matter is the most important and then there is God, which is considered to be non-material, but it is an idea and hence matter.”’

‘Then he said, “You cannot organize the world unless there is the ‘Other.’ There must be the whole. There must be energy, which is of intelligence, which is not of matter. For it,   you must 'negate'.
Is there anything beyond matter? “One sees this as on this side of the river, which is suffering and misery, and what is one to do? The ordinary man living in this world, oppressed and suffering, wants to break ( free from) it. But he doesn’t see the whole thing is wrong. When I see it, passion makes the break.”’
‘“Life and death are always close together. Don’t put it all over there.”’

Thursday, eighteenth of July. ‘It was a marvelous third Saanen talk by Krishnaji. I thought he was tattooing it on my brain. It was cold, raining. Dorothy and Montague came for lunch. Krishnaji ate in his room but came in before and after, which is a good system; it rests him, yet he can see people, too. We showed them the narrowed quarters downstairs and invited them, if they would prefer it to camping in the Land Rover.

On the twenty-first, ‘Krishnaji gave the fourth talk, more on materialism, and it was a magnificent one. The tent was overflowing. Dorothy, Montague will move up here from the camping tomorrow.’

On the twenty-fifth, Krishnaji gave his sixth Saanen talk on death, but it was more on living.
Later, Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked by the river, and afterward, Krishnaji questioned me on whether Dorothy really understands what he’s talking about. Her incomprehension of his manuscript at BrockwoodPark, her defensiveness when he speaks of Brockwood, which makes her unable to respond or go forward. He was severe. “All of you will just go along this way if I die tomorrow.” He is disturbed and quite withering about it. He wants me to talk to Dorothy.’

The twenty-sixth. ‘There was the annual meeting of the International Committees. Krishnaji put Dorothy rather on a carpet about Brockwood, questioning her about it. “They wanted to know these things,” he said later, but all the time knowing Dorothy’s difficulty, his speaking in front of a group, it seemed too forced, and his criticism of Brockwood may have come across to some as too much about schools;

‘On the walk, I talked a little to Dorothy about her reactions to Krishnaji’s Brockwood meeting on Tuesday. Her defensive reaction prevents the flow forward of what he is saying. Brockwood has achieved a certain level and now it should concern itself more deeply with its original concerns, the more esoteric ones. She listened, and said she saw something in what I said, and thanked me.’

The twenty-eighth of July. ‘Krishnaji gave his seventh talk, which completed this year’s talks in Saanen. It was on fear and meditation.’
‘Narasimhan had come from Geneva last night and stayed with Simonetta di Cesaro and attended the talk. He came back to Tannegg with Krishnaji and me. He showed the forms for Krishnaji to apply for British citizenship. He will make an appointment to see the home secretary, Roy Jenkins, on the thirteenth of September, and will present the application. He is sure it will be granted.’

‘At 4 p.m., Krishnaji held a second Brockwood meeting with the same people.’ Krishnaji was less condemning. He spoke of good and evil, which we all know and which emanate from man’s actions, which are the field we generally live in and act from. He spoke of something outside of these, something not growing out of them or a progression, but from “the other side.” Can we act and educate in that? I saw it clearly and felt deeply moved. I saw my own crouching in everyday busy-ness, seeing that one cannot seek out the “Other,” but rather using this non-demand to allow too much energy on this side of things, and hence not looking in Krishnaji’s sense for the “Other.”

The twenty-ninth of July. ‘There was the Saanen Gathering Committee meeting, Krishnaji gave us a talk on the need for leisure. Weall are too busy. We need leisure to listen, to be aware, less work, more time to be quiet.

 

On the thirtieth. ‘I met Nadia Kossiakof and Mary Cadogan at Belle Air. Nadia wants to publish Tradition and Revolution in French. Sybil Dobinson, who is here, agrees to re-edit it into proper English before the French translation.’

On August second, ‘Krishnaji held the third Saanen discussion. He spoke of the inner and the outer responsibility in relation to action in the world. When one sees the harm images have done, one feels totally responsible.’
‘I brought the two Siddoo sisters and Tapas back for lunch. Krishnaji talked at length to them about their school in Vancouver. He gave them permission to use his name, but they must work closely with KFA.’

The sixth of August. ‘A lovely, clear, warm day. I went up Diablerets in the cable car for the first time in all these years, with Dorothy and Doris. The mountain is majestic and silent. Krishnaji had stayed in bed, except for seeing Mr. Sendra, and then Barabino in the morning.

August eleventh. ‘It was a gray morning. Snow fell in the night on the top of the Wasserngrat.’
‘Krishnaji slept well. After breakfast he wanted the Leonore Overture and the Fifth Symphony on the new Uher cassette player. Then he said, “There are two things you must do. First, you must talk to Dorothy and make her realize she mustn’t let Brockwood just go on as it has. There must be the “Other.” She must give herself time and attention to be open to that; otherwise, I won’t go on talking to these people. They must be ready for it. If not, I will withdraw; not suddenly. But instead of three months, I will stay there two months, then one. You follow? Second, you must look after the whole, then everything will come right. It looks as if we will get the Happy Valley 100 acres. We must live in Ojai, not Malibu. As long as I live, you will be with me, and you must think of that and probably you will outlive me. You would live there and Brockwood as long as you live, but you must have someone to look after you. So you must think of that, and have someone.’ I said that my life and activity to the degree I can help goes to him, in his lifetime and to his work, and that is the determining thing for me. I have no desire to live personally in Ojai, but Krishnaji and his work are my life, so we will build a proper house there for him, which I will pay for, and it will belong to KFA when I am gone. He spoke of precision, watching how one lives, watching one’s memory, writing down, avoiding carelessness, letting faculties slip. One must train the mind now. Mrs. Besant didn’t. She wore out her mind. She used to breakfast on coffee and bits of orange. He doesn’t think I would be ill, but he watches over me when we are apart. “I see to it, but you must be very attentive.”’

On the thirteenth of August, ‘Dorothy and Montague left in the Land Rover and set off for Brockwood via Holland.

After he got back, Krishnaji’s head began to hurt. “This has been going on since 1922.”’ He meant the events in Ojai.
Thursday, the fifteenth. ‘It was a hot day. I fetched Tapas up to lunch and took her back. Krishnaji and I walked in spite of the heat. “I feel far away, as if I didn’t want to speak or touch anything.

Friday, August sixteenth. I was reading Castaneda’s Journey to Ixtlan’ ‘and Krishnaji asked me about it. I told him the part about “entities” in the wilderness and at night, which are dangerous in the book. Krishnaji nodded. He told of the sense of antagonism in the park in Madras when he went there at twilight, and at Ashdown Forest years ago, and Jayalakshmi’s going to an ancient temple at night and the sense of evil there. I asked if darkness opens the mind to such perceptions because the limited senses make one feel more vulnerable and also because of the recognition of known things fills the perception and one doesn’t see other things. Partly, he said, but there is more than that. He said he wouldn’t walk on the path we take every afternoon if it was night. Many forests have a menace at night. I asked about Sequoia, where he lived alone in a cabin. He said he never felt it there. It was a friendly place. “But I never went out at night. I was always back by six,”

‘Krishnaji and I walked to the river. I asked him if he had seen psychological changes in me? Did he think I was caught in conditioning? “No,” he said, “you’re not attached, not to me, not to your house, or any ideas. You were attached to your husband, but not now.
‘I asked why it was important. What was of sole importance was what was needed for him.’
‘“Because there is no one to look after you,” he said. “You must carefully consider. I shall write a letter to Mrs. Lilliefelt, as chairman, about your having the house.”
‘Further on the walk, he said, “If one is not attached, one cannot be hurt.” I pressed him for some psychological noticings about me. He said sometimes my mind is slow to see things,’ and to think about that. Then he said that when he dies there must be someone to see that all this continues, not the organizational part, but the spirit.’
‘Later in the evening, he looked far off and said, when I asked, that his head was “going.” It is somehow not restful for him here after the talks. I will be glad to go to Brockwood.

The eighteenth of August. ‘We packed in the morning. Krishnaji spoke of the intense physical sensitivity he is having. He is overly sensitive to touch, his head especially. “Something is happening,” since intense meditation about three weeks ago. We had supper, and went early to bed.’
Monday, the nineteenth at 3:15 a.m. Krishnaji was already awake. Fosca made me a cup of her good strong Italian coffee. She stays to clean and close the chalet before returning to Florence on Friday.’
‘We were winding down the hill in the car, in the clear night air by 4 a.m. The storm had changed the weather, but all day there was a cloud cover shielding the sun and keeping it cool, which was luck. We were on the autoroute when Krishnaji, who lately is nervous in the car, said he would drive to settle down. He did until we started to climb to Saint-Cergues and the La Cure border crossing and his driving made his body calm down. We stopped for croissants in Lons-le-Saunier and had a picnic breakfast on the roadside place of the last years, but it was rather cold, and Krishnaji had seen an inn a mile back. So, we went there for something hot—verveine tea for him, and café au lait for me with pain grillés. Felt better and drove on through Chalon-sur-Soâne, where we took the autoroute. We reached Paris by 1:30 p.m. and ate our picnic lunch, once again, in the Bois near where we used to walk. A woman who appeared to be a prostitute stood on the corner. Krishnaji said, “I feel as though she were my sister. What would I do if she were my sister?” His compassion seemed to be that thing he described in the 1961 manuscript of being undivided from the person. By 2:30 p.m., we were at Plaza Athénée. Krishnaji went to bed.
August twentieth. ‘We spent a quiet morning in the hotel. We then walked before lunch over to the Champs-Elysées looking for a place that sold thin jeans. Krishnaji liked some worn by two people he interviewed in Gstaad, but the place they had recommended was for women and rather junky; there were crowds in the arcade, people eating standing up at counters; all made Krishnaji feel queasy and we fled. It is not good for him to be in these places. It is like blaring noise to his senses. We went back to that bastion of another stylen‘the Plaza Athénée. I had a slow, relaxed, and delicious lunch in the garden. The weather was pleasant: between warm and cool. We had a leisurely departure at 3:40 p.m. for Le Havre. Krishnaji was again somewhat nervous in the car, but he drove for a little, which relaxed him. Near the Tancarville Bridge, we passed a bad accident of a car that had rushed passed us earlier. The police were in charge. We arrived at Monaco, the usual restaurant we go to, at 6:30 p.m. and had to wait till 7:15 p.m. to dine. Krishnaji kept saying, “This is the last time here. After this, we fly, no more driving.” We took the Normandy ferry at 9 p.m. It was not as crowded as on other crossings. We went right to bed and had a quiet voyage.’ We had cabins for the crossing, which made a difference.

August twenty-first. ‘We were off the ferry and driving through Southampton by 7:15 a.m. It was a gentle, summer morning, cloudless with mist rising from the hollows. “You are back in your England again,” said Krishnaji, and so I felt, smiling and full of affection for this lovely countryside. As we drove up to the front door of the West Wing, Dorothy was opening it. She, Montague, and Doris got there Monday.

The twenty-sixth of August. ‘Krishnaji said there had been “a marvelous meditation.” He looked happy and well.
On the twenty-eighth of August, ‘Mary Links came down by train and I met her at Petersfield at noon. She had questions on his occult powers not dealt with in the biography. Krishnaji described it as a faculty he could have but doesn’t choose to use. “Like reading other people’s private letters.”

The next day, ‘Krishnaji said again there had been “a marvelous meditation.” He dictated several pages on Rajagopal and their relationship through the years. I typed it and some letters. He and I walked in the afternoon, as usual. Whisper was stung by something, and Krishnaji rubbed her.

The next day, ‘Krishnaji gave the first Brockwood talk. We ate in the tent. The weather was medium good, but the tent was filled. We walked in the afternoon.’
On the first of September, ‘Krishnaji gave the second Brockwood talk. Afterward, I gave him salad and fruit in the kitchen in the West Wing, and then he went back to the tent for the rest of lunch with everybody. There was rain and wind. We walked in the afternoon.’
The next day, ‘there was heavy rain and gale winds. We walked all the same.’ ‘We had a meeting of the Bohms, Dorothy, Ted Cartee, Joe Zorski, and Harsh Tankha about the scientific meeting in October.
September third. ‘Krishnaji held a public discussion in the tent in spite of heavy showers and gales the canvas of the tent, it reminded me of a sail on a ship…
t would rise up and then it would come wooooosh down, and each time I thought, will it come all the way down this time?
On the fifth of September, ‘it continued to rain steadily. We filled the tents with straw to sop up the mud. Krishnaji held the second public discussion. It was very good. He and I had salad upstairs and the balance of lunch in the tent.
The next day, ‘Sun at last. Krishnaji gave the fourth talk in the tent. Jane and Ian Hammond had a picnic lunch with us in the kitchen, after which Krishnaji and I went back to the tent. As this was the last talk, people began to leave.’

There is what appears to be two partial conversations between Krishnaji and me.

Krishnaji: “I’m interested to see what the brother was like because the last few days it’s been haunting me. Am I very polite? The last few nights I dreamt of him, a peculiar dream. He and I were talking. Rajagopal came in, and we pushed him. A deep rooted distress, or pain, or suffering…or a sense of fun?

Mary: “Were the dreams painful?”

Krishnaji: “Sometimes he’s on a train, and I try to catch it and can’t. Or, he’s falling into a river, and I try to catch him and can’t.”

Mary: “What about fun?”

Krishnaji: “Sometimes we’re laughing.”

Mary: “When did this physical sensitivity come about?”

Krishnaji: “Before Gstaad.”

Mary: “All of a sudden?”

Krishnaji: “Slowly. It began with the head, of course. When we came back to Brockwood, sometimes the sensitivity precedes the head pain; sometimes they go together.”

Mary: “Did you have it today in London?”

Krishnaji: “I was lost.”

Mary: “And at lunch?”

Krishnaji: “A little bit.”

Mary: “Did the haircut bother you?”

Krishnaji: “A little bit. I told the barber to go slow.”

On the fourteenth, ‘At 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji held a follow up on Tannegg/Brockwood discussion on schools. ‘Krishnaji and I met the two Siddoos with Tapas present about their schools in Vancouver, to be called The Krishnaji Educational Center, with Krishnaji as honorary chairman. Jackie Siddoo as president, and Sarjit Siddoo as vice president, and a Mr. Smith as secretary/treasurer. I was asked to be on the board, but suggested Erna instead.’

This post was last updated by John Raica Mon, 03 Jul 2017.

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Tue, 04 Jul 2017 #332
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

K STORY TIME (Continued)

September twentieth, 1974. Not much happened for Krishnaji other than an interview with a woman and her daughter. The mother felt she was possessed, and the daughter brought her to Krishnaji. Krishnaji talked to her, and then told her to send him something that belonged to her, like a ring or a piece of jewelry or something that was hers. And she did; she sent some sort of a silver pin or a ring; and he kept it on his bedside table, and periodically touched it. Then he sent it back.

On September twenty-third, We lunched with Mary at Fortnum’s, and discussed subtitles for the first volume of the biography. At present it is Krishnamurti: The Years of Unfolding, which Krishnaji doesn’t like. He doesn’t like the word unfolding.’ Krishnaji had a strawberry ice cream for dessert ‘and the scoops were rather small so he had another serving’ He was pleased as a child. We chose some cheeses and coffee downstairs, and I got him a recording of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony that he has asked for. We got quickly to Waterloo and were able to get right into an empty carriage on the 5:14 p.m. train. Krishnaji looked perfectly well, and opened one of the six new detective novels. I was glad when he was safely into bed and had his supper tray. I was suddenly very tired by 9 p.m. He said I had suffered for him. ‘Maybe, maybe, but I went to bed thankful.’

The next day, ‘Krishnaji had a subtitle for the biography: Krishnamurti: The Years of Awakening.’
it came into his mind in the night. He is pleased. So is Mary, and luckily, so is John Murray the publisher. Krishnaji also said he had awakened at 4 a.m., “As though I was completely purged of everything. The mind was washed out clean and healthy. Much more than that, a tremendous sense of joy, ecstasy it was.”’

On September twenty-sixth, ‘Mary and Joe left for their holiday in St. Paul de Vence and Venice,

The next day, ‘John McGreevy of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation arrived to do the film for television of Krishnaji for the series People of Our Time program. Discussed it with Krishnaji and then again in the afternoon, Krishnaji did filming for the Canadian Broadcasting in the drawing room and walking on the lawn. It was very disturbing to talk on a subject for three and half minutes or four, exactly. He did a voice-over audio recording of Krishnaji reading from theKrishnamurti Penguin Reader. Krishnaji said he had never done that, but he tried it and, as he seemed to think his own words, which he had never read, were rather apt, he found it easier.’
‘When he talked to the camera, it was necessary to explain how close and intimate it is; there is no need to project as if he were talking to a person. Krishnaji said he doesn’t look at people when he talks. It might be an intrusion. He doesn’t want to read their minds. After the day’s shooting was done, we went for a walk, and it was a release for him.’

Krishnaji said today, “I don’t know why I’ve been dreaming for the last two days. Long ago and far away.”’
‘The scientists began to arrive for the next week’s meetings. Dr. Shainberg was the first one. Krishnaji has a slight cold.’ ‘The rest of the scientists arrived. The drawing room is set up with long tables for the meeting. The first meeting, a preliminary one without Krishnaji, was held after supper. David Bohm as chairman went over the agenda, but they all fell to discussing then and there.’There was the first formal meeting between the scientists and Krishnaji, with David Bohm as chairman. Present were: Krishnaji; Dr. David Brett, physician; Dr. F.J. Capra, physicist; Dr. Elisabeth Ferris, alternative medicine; Dr. Gordon Globis, psychiatry: Dr. Brian Goodwin, biological sciences; Dr. Basil Hiley, theoretical physics; Dr. Julian Melzack, philosophy of science; Robin Monroe, bio-physics; David Peat, theoretical physics, and a representative of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation and who is reporting the conference for it; Dr. Karl Pribram, researcher in brain structure; Dr. David Shainberg, psychiatry; George Sudarshan, physicist; Harsh Tanka, Brockwood teacher of math; Dr. Montague Ullman, psychiatry; Professor Maurice Wilkins, bio-physics, Nobel prize laureate; Dr. Joe Zorski, Brockwood teacher of physics and chemistry; and Professor David Bohm, theoretical physics. Observers were Dorothy Simmons, Ted Cartee, George Carnes, Saral Bohm, and me.’

On the seventeenth, ‘at the meeting, Krishnaji asked Dr. Pribram if the brain is ever still. Pribram said no, even in deep sleep, the neurons are in motion, but quieted. Pribram said hypnosis is the opposite of meditation. The brain is very active. A discussion of meditation followed. Scientists asking Krishnaji questions.’
October eighteenth, ‘David Bohm spoke briefly in the morning. There was considerable discussion between Krishnaji and Dr. Melzack. Krishnaji, at last, gave his talk in the afternoon. Some part of it was autobiographical. Then, he spoke about what he saw that caused him to break with the Theosophical Society, etcetera. The discussion that followed led to their wanting him to discuss what death is.’
‘In the evening, the students invited the scientists to meet them and told them there is fear in the school.
On the nineteenth, ‘the meeting began with Krishnaji wanting to talk about meditation before talking about death. He brought in extrasensory perception, levitation, siddhis, and called them childish toys to a real religious person. Then after that discussion, Krishnaji spoke on death.
The next day. ‘Most of the scientists departed, but some, including Professor Wilkins and his family, came to Krishnaji’s talk with the school in which he went deeply into the question of fear. They stayed for lunch, but by evening all were gone.

‘He also said that the body must live much longer because the brain is untouched. “I see the body must be much more protected and more alone.”’

Krishnaji, Dorothy, Frances, and I flew BEA at 1:35 p.m. to Rome. Vanda and Barabino met Krishnaji and me, and Dorothy went with Frances to the Pensione Svizzera on via Gregoriana. Krishnaji and I with Vanda went to Via Barnaba Oriani’—that’s where she had a flat—‘and I telephoned Filomena. She and Arturo have colds. There was no heat in the house yet, so it’s damp and cold in Rome. Slept more or less.’
On the sixth, ‘Krishnaji had a very serious talk with me. I go to Ojai as his representative. I must keep this in mind without any personal opinions. I must be in relation to Krishnaji a thousand miles away. A feeling for it. There are decisions to be made. Be very non-personal. I must have an alert, very quiet body, capable of reception. Krishnaji cannot decide from India. I must decide about what is right, then telegraph him. The whole body must be quiet and take time to know what is right. If I represent Krishnaji, I cannot allow other elements to enter my consciousness. I must telegraph him of my New York and Malibu arrivals. Krishnaji is watching over everything. I must train the body to be still. Sit for one half-hour without moving, for a feeling of quiet. This is very serious.’

The next day, ‘I packed Krishnaji’s one bag. We left for Fiumicino at 12:30 p.m. Krishnaji and Frances left on Flight 106. At the last moment, Maharishi Mahesh bordered the flight smiling coyly over a bouquet.’
What happened was that we saw Krishnaji off. He walked across the tarmac all by himself carrying a little bag of personal things, and climbed up the steps. It was a big plane, a 747 Then, suddenly, down the middle of the airport came a procession. First of all there was a carabiniere, you know, with those hats and a staff with a gold top. And he walked like a majordomo down the center, followed by this tiny, coy figure carrying a rose, which is the Maharishi. And after him came very devout disciples, and he was sort of smiling as though to the public. And out he went and across the tarmac and up into the plane. Whereupon, we were laughing that they were going to meet, obviously, and what would happen. So what did happen, Krishnaji had, as usual, the most forward seat, which, as you know, is on its own—one on the right side of the aisle and one on the left side of the aisle. I always got him one of those, so nobody was next to him or in front of him. The Mahesh yogi was several rows back sitting by the window on a lion skin or a tiger skin or something like that, with a demurely devout disciple beside him. Soon after takeoff, a stewardess appeared holding the rose, and said to Krishnaji, “The gentleman in row so-and-so wishes you to have this.” So, Krishnaji took it, and then he gave it right back to her So, somehow he knew what it was all about, but he didn’t do anything, but eventually he had to go to the toilet, which meant walking down the aisle past the Maharishi. He got past apparently, but on his way back, a disciple had been primed to leap up and said, “Please, have my seat,” and Krishnaji found himself sitting next to a man on the lion skin or tiger skin, or whatever it was, and who engaged him in conversation saying that he had changed the consciousness of Europe, and he was now going to change the consciousness of India. He went on to say that Krishnaji should come with him and they’d do it together. Krishnaji replied that no, he was sorry, that he had appointments that he had to keep, and he had other things to do; talks to give and so forth. Maharishi dismissed that as unimportant because “together we will change the consciousness of…” Somehow, Krishnaji wangled his way out of that, and got back to his seat, where he stayed until the plane made one of those landings to refuel. Krishnaji, as usual, got up and walked, you know, exercising vigorously in the airport, which he reported astonished the Maharishi people. Then, of course, they landed in Delhi, and there  Krishnaji was met with the usual car at the foot of the steps down from the plane, and wafted away.

I flew to California on November twentieth.
On the twenty-fifth of November. ‘I got a cable from Krishnaji in Benares. All is well. A letter is on the way. He will be in Madras on the second of December.’

Eleventh of December. ‘Letter number three from Krishnaji in Rajghat and Madras. He saw Madahvachari and told Madahvachari what he had done without mincing words. “Madahvachari cannot wash his hands of the business. It is immoral, non-Brahmanical. One has to do penance to wipe all this before one dies, etcetera.” That was because, it turned out, and this was discovered by KFI members, that through all this legal business when Krishnaji had been confiding in Madahvachari about what was happening with Rajagopal, Madahvachari was relaying it to Rajagopal.’

On the twenty-sixth of December, in open court, the judge announced the approval of an agreement and the closing of the case. Mrs. Porter, Mrs. Vigeveno, and both Casselberrys were there. Christensen told us the keys for Arya Vihara would be at the real estate office in Ojai after he had spoken to Rajagopal.’

December twenty-ninth. ‘I left at 8 a.m. for Ojai, and with Erna and Theo went through all three houses; Arya Vihara, Pine Cottage, and the office, emptied of all furniture except one table, one day bed, and one leather suitcase with the initials KJN and the address Adyar, Madras, India. It was a cold, clear, marvelous day. There was snow on Topa Topa and all the mountain range. We walked around the Arya Vihara land and found higher up, among the avocado trees, a majestic oak tree and possible place to build a house for Krishnaji. After lunch, we went to the Oak Grove. That was the day we finally got the property.

On December thirty-first, ‘There were violent winds all day. I worked at the desk, had an early supper, then read and listened to Krishnaji tapes. So ended 1974.’

We start at the beginning of 1975. Krishnaji was in India, and I was in Malibu, unsuccessfully to telephone Balasundaram and find out where to send it. I wrote to Krishnaji this morning.’
I got a letter from Krishnaji on January thirteenth. ‘Pupul, Achyut, Sunanda, and Balasundarum wrote to Rajagopal about “working together” and asking for a quit-claim to Vasanta Vihar. Also, KF India wants the right to sell Indian books in English outside of India.

On February second, ‘Krishnaji left Bombay after midnight and arrived in Rome. I telephoned Vanda’s and spoke to him at 9:30 a.m. local time here, but late in the evening there. He says he is over the flu and bronchitis. His voice sounded himself.’
On the fourth, ‘Krishnaji flew Rome to Brockwood to pick up his clothes, and arrived at Los Angeles at 3:20 p.m. His one bag took a long time to appear and so it was an hour till he emerged, looking better than I had feared after the fever in Bombay and all the traveling since. He came home to Malibu and had supper in bed, but, though tired and half-falling asleep, he wanted to go on talking and staying up. He slept wakefully. I have an enormous sense of relief at his being here. I had an intense feeling of his coming all day long.’ I could feel him…‘He brought his letters to date, and one written on the plane.’ He always brought his letters right up to date, including the day on the plane. It was lovely.

February ninth. ‘Krishnaji was in bed all day, having his meals on a tray. He slept most of the morning, but after lunch he gave an account of the events in India. He has not felt well all the time there. He never really was over the flu from Rome in October. He said he felt “sick” most of the time. He found much deterioration in India. Rajghat is full of conflict and indifference between the students and teachers. The students walked out in the middle of one of his talks as a demonstration, not against him, but against the teachers. Krishnaji met both sides later and both said they were antagonistic. He has hope that Ahalya Chari and Upasini will pull the place together. Rishi Valley has a strong sense of deterioration. Balasundarum is running it as an autocracy, and also spending too much time on other matters. Krishnaji talked to him, and Balasundarum was silent, afraid of him. Krishnaji insisted the school be run by a group of teachers working together. The principal and Foundation secretary shouldn’t be the same person. He told Balasundarum to take six months to go into himself.
‘He said Pupul has deteriorated too, intellectually, etcetera. She is to leave government work and will do more work for the Foundation. Socially, politically, India is in a greater mess. He spent two hours talking to Mrs. Gandhi , and felt sorry for her, the enormity of her problems. He has told Pupul, Sunanda, Achyut, and Balasundarum that unless there is change in the schools, they will “not see my face.” This had a bomb-like effect.’

Tuesday, the eleventh of February. In the Green Beauty Mercedes, with Krishnaji driving, we left at 9:30 a.m. for Ojai. We met Erna and Theo by the Ranch House Restaurant, and then went around and walked in the Oak Grove and in the adjoining land. Krishnaji had forgotten how beautiful it is. He was surprised and very pleased. He walked across the field to the other side of Besant Road and up around Rajagopal’s place to the top of the hill where we could see down to Ventura Road, the part it’s still for sale! ‘Then we drove to Arya Vihara. For the first time since 1966, Krishnaji entered the house. The Lees, Ruth, and Albion were there. Krishnaji went through the house except for upstairs where the Lees are living. On the ground floor west bedroom, Krishnaji said, “My brother must’ve died here,” and, “Dr. Besant used this room.” In the hall, he said to me, “What quarrels there were here.” We walked through the orange trees to Pine Cottage, and Krishnaji went through it and through the office rapidly as though wanting to get away from something repellant. “I couldn’t spend a night here.” Too small, too closed in. “I have been spoiled by Brockwood and your house. I need space.”

The thirteenth. ‘I am sixty. Don’t feel sixty. Feel well and rather young.’ ‘Krishnaji doesn’t heed birthdays and didn’t know it was the day until he asked me how Naudé happened to telephone.’ ‘A white azalea plant came from the Simmonses and Brockwood. My family telephoned. Krishnaji rested, and we had a pleasant, quiet day at home, which is everything wonderful a birthday could be for me.’

On the fifteenth. ‘I made lunch in the kitchen. Krishnaji said he felt like saying something and he didn’t know how to tell me, it was about a feeling he has had the last few weeks, which he once had years ago before his brother had died. At Adyar, standing outside of the building in which they lived, looking up at their chambers, a feeling of emptiness, of no association at all.’
‘We unpacked two suitcases found at Arya Vihara; one a magnificent crocodile, one with his initials. We found some kurtas and lots of socks. Some socks had JK woven in them, and one pair had JKN. It was as if they had been left there years ago by his brother when they shared their clothing. The cupboard was cedar and all the things now cedar-y. Krishnaji was interested in the clothes but wants to give most of it away.

After supper, Krishnaji seemed disoriented, and had that “listening to something” look. It had begun in the car, though he was driving, but by bedtime he looked as if he didn’t know where he was, which is always strange, and he wanted me at hand. I slept on the couch I bought and put in his sitting room so that it could be used to sleep on,’ because he had his room, naturally, but there was nowhere for me.

The sixth of March. We had a useful discussion about a center. I suggested it have several purposes rather than just having a constant program; that we have as well a retreat in which we offer quiet and a chance for people to go into themselves and Krishnaji’s teachings on their own, with an absence of outside influence. ‘At 4 p.m., Krishnaji and I drove to Malibu and Krishnaji discussed our redoing the cottage completely into a proper house for us. If the cottage is to be used partly for a school next year, we will have to wait till the west end school is built.’

The Lilliefelts, Ruth, Albion, and Kishbaugh came at 11 a.m. for a day-long discussion with Krishnaji about the center, To begin with, trustees should be available for this; not as interpreters, but to explore and discuss. This and retreats should be available during the nine months that Krishnaji is away. We went over what would be the best arrangement of buildings. Krishnaji was stressing the sense of security and freedom necessary for children. We are all to meet with John Rex and his people on Wednesday. Later, I asked Krishnaji if he thought the trustees are capable of the necessary discussion when he isn’t there. “That’s what I was trying to find out!”

On the twelfth of March. ‘In the morning, he said “But it is much more, something tremendous, and it has to do with 'that'.”
Krishnaji dictated an earlier memo on “protection, security, affection in buildings and space, freedom.” The quality of a monastery he has seen outside Florence. You do not see it till you come close, it is so much a part of the land. Quiet, dignity, a sacred place. Decided on two students maximum to a room. Later Krishnaji warned Erna that he felt Rajagopal would try to prevent KFA getting the balance of the KWINC’s funds through K&R.’

The thirteenth of March. ‘Krishnaji didn’t sleep too well. So, he spent the day in bed. We had supper, as usual, on trays in his room, while a noisy western with Burt Lancaster shot it out as The Law Man.’ That’s the name of the film. ‘Krishnaji’s face changed. His eyes were heavy-lidded. He was far off. I felt the change, motioned to turn off the TV, but he shook his head. He asked, “Do you feel it?” There was a something electric close at hand. He didn’t want to speak of it.’

The fourteenth of March. ‘Krishnaji has slept well. “Something had continued.” At lunch he had asked me if I was keeping a record of these things. “You should keep a complete diary.” I asked what relation there was between what happened last night and the noisy television. He said that the movie rests and relaxes the mind, then the 'other' comes. He used to go to the movies for rest. Later, he washed both cars. In the evening, he said, “It is still going on. I wonder why. Maybe because of the talks. I don’t know, and I don’t ask.”’

The seventeenth of March. We took a United flight to San Francisco. Alain Naudé met us at the airport, and drove us to the Huntington Hotel. We had the nice suite we had on two previous visits. It’s a very nice hotel; quiet and dignified. We went for a walk, bought some fruit, etcetera, and came back. Alain had supper with us. Krishnaji told Indian stories. Alain suggested that so much yoga makes Krishnaji oversensitive and hence he has hay fever.’

Krishnaji said in the evening that there is a great deal of evil in the world. He said he didn’t like to use the word 'evil' and it is caused by organized belief. For instance, Christians say Jesus is the only one, our god is the only one. “Dogma always makes for division and therefore it is evil.” We spoke of killing and he said organized killing results from dogma. Christianity has resulted in organized killing. I spoke of the human response to things that intrude—killing pack rats, flies, ants in the kitchen. Krishnaji said there was a difference.’ ‘It’s not organized killing, because they come into a place that is not theirs. I said they consider it theirs. I said that if an intruder, for example, with a knife came to attack him, I would do anything to protect him. He said that is different in that it is a spontaneous reflex to protect, but killing a human being is still wrong, and the destructive animal, the pack rat, the gopher, etcetera must not be allowed to destroy what it wants—coyotes, sheep, etcetera. Krishnaji told of the fox he saw stalking chickens in Ojai. He watched it come slowly close, then let out a great shout’ and the fox disappeared and never came again.’

At supper there was a curious Otherness in the room, or something I felt, like clear invisible water running in the air. Krishnaji noticed something in me and asked if I were upset about something. I didn’t try to describe but said I was fine, because it is the night before the talk and silence is best.’
On March twentieth, At 6 p.m., we walked next door to the Masonic Hall and Krishnaji gave his first talk. It was a good audience. Krishnaji used a new word, the “scaffold of the self". He also spoke of learning, freedom, and the observer and the observed. Afterward, he had to wait backstage a little to recover, and then we left.’

M: March twenty-first. ‘“Knowledge is always the outer,” Krishnaji said. We lunched with Mrs. Mathias. She is almost totally blind, but knows where everything is in her apartment, and she moves naturally, talking as she looks at you as if she could see. The conversation went eventually to the Rajagopal case. She said that many were hurt by Krishnaji. Krishnaji asked who. She said, “Well, I was.” Krishnaji explained that what he considered in this, as when he dissolved the Order of the Star , was what is the right thing to do. Mrs. Besant had been hurt when he dissolved the Order, though she came to say, “If the World Teacher is doing this, it is right.” Krishnaji said he had tried for years to get Rajagopal to inform him, consult him, etcetera and got either nothing or abuse.

‘Mrs. Mathias has two extraordinary photographs of Krishnaji taken in 1934, ones I have never seen and which should be in the biography. She says she has many letters from Krishnaji, which she is thinking of giving to Yale for a “Blanche Mathias Collection.”’
One of two photos of Krishnaji taken in 1934 that Mrs. Mathias had and which Mary had never seen.‘I also told her about our conversation with Judge Kenny, who told us to go to the attorney general and how he eventually said that Rajagopal was to be pursued because of “grave impropriety with regard to a charitable trust” and directed us to commence litigation in which he was co-plaintiff.
‘When we left, there was a tearing gale and rain. Krishnaji was almost swept off his feet. We clung together and managed to go the two blocks back to the Huntington, our umbrella inside out and half-drenched.’ ‘Alain came in for tea later and stayed to supper. We talked about homeopathy and astrology. I took him to task, not in front of Krishnaji, for withholding information. He said he had only looked at certain aspects of Krishnaji’s chart, which indicated not commencing a project to do with his personal life, such as building a house, etcetera during the second half of this year. By December it would be okay, Alain said. He also said that Krishnaji must’ve been born at 12:25 a.m., not 12:30.’ That astrological stuff leaves me nowhere.
 Saturday the twenty-second of March. ‘Krishnaji gave the second talk in the Masonic Hall. Very good, intense, well-shaped, a vivid and splendid one of tremendous vitality. We lunched in the rooms.

On the twenty-third, ‘Krishnaji gave his third talk in the Masonic Hall on suffering and death. Some hysterical woman named Solange again got backstage afterwards, grabbing his hand and sobbing that she loves him. At the hotel, Naudé, the Simmonses, Kathy Harris, Kishbaugh, and the Lilliefelts came and then we all went to lunch at Señor Pico Restaurant in Ghirardelli Square. Naudé and the Simmonses had not met’ ‘since the terrible to-do in Gstaad in 1969 when Alain left. No surface scars remain.

Tuesday, March twenty-fifth. Sally Richardson came to see me at 3:15 p.m.; southern, sentimental, nice, well-meaning, and who just lost her husband. She was at Happy Valley and couldn’t take Rosalind Rajagopal. She might be helpful in the school when it really gets going. She said she would do anything for Krishnaji, “to be near him. I would be his servant,” she said. At 6 p.m., Krishnaji gave the fourth talk, completing this series at the Masonic Hall. It was on meditation, a very fine one. The Solange woman cut up again. Alain Naudé joined us for supper. Krishnaji gave him the Dodge income as he has since he left.

At lunch, Krishnaji said suddenly, “I realize how they deliberately forced me to go to cheap places to try to break my dignity. I had to go to drive-ins; ride on buses, I didn’t care. But that is what they tried.” Then he said, “It is extraordinary that I feel such an energy. It must be having good food.” We went to town at 3 p.m., bought some beautiful houseplants and a hose, and other things. Krishnaji had some more dental work done. Coming home, when we turned up the coast, the mountains were clear against the blue sky and he said, “Look at those mountains. That is god!”’
The twenty-ninth of March. ‘Krishnaji, after breakfast, had a pain in his stomach, and vomited a very little, so I put a hot pad on his stomach. He took Nux Vomica and it subsided. He felt well enough for ice cream!—his idea for lunch, but that came up. We spent a quiet day but found the new St. Augustine grass under-watered and so watered it by hand and felt the better for it.’
Sunday the thirtieth is Easter. ‘A lovely morning. I ran the sprinklers, then telephoned Filomena in Rome and urged her to come to visit us in Brockwood around May twelfth. She said she would. Krishnaji and I took off in the Mercedes by 10 a.m. for Ojai, Krishnaji driving most of the way. The cottage has had an exterior coat of new paint, not cream, not pink, not white, rather like the magnolia colors at Brockwood. It looks improved. I left things for the Simmonses to use in the office upstairs where they will stay. I have had the sitting room where they will stay and the bath painted white and natural-color curtains made. We went to Arya Vihara where the Lilliefelts, Ruth, and Albion were and where the Lees had a Professor Rush, who is an accredited ecologist and who has listened to Krishnaji and is willing to give advice on building the school. We talked of “patterns” of living, relationships in various kinds of buildings. He said we should study the land for a year before deciding where and how to build. We are always in a hurry.’
‘At lunch on the patio, Rush said he has a school of his own for ten to fourteen-year-olds, about forty of them. Krishnaji listened to what he had to say about it, and later spoke to Erna and Theo and me about Rush being someone for our school. “It will work out,” said Krishnaji. At 2:30 p.m., we all went to the Oak Grove. Met John Rex, his wife, and his partner, Reibsamen. They presented a tentative plan for various buildings on the land. We walked about and discussed. Krishnaji wanted the large open space in the center left open. They will rethink it and present a new suggestion to us on Wednesday. We drove back to the cottage to leave some things. Mark had Bruce and somebody Meyers leave yesterday because he said they were too occupied with themselves and their own two children, and too messy in their habits. The new iron gate at Arya Vihara is handsome. Rosalind Rajagopal is already objecting, and claims she has an easement. None is recorded. Krishnaji had tea with Erna and Theo. We’re waiting for Louis Blau to return on the second before discussing with Cohen the Rajagopal easement “fraud” as Cohen has called it. We now find easements to Rajagopal and his wife all over the west valley land. Krishnaji and I got home after 7 p.m. Krishnaji in the car said, “Why was ‘the boy’ sensitive to (good ?) taste? Brahmins aren’t. Why did he know about such things?” I said he had obviously had it from the beginning, as in other things, he was not the product of something as others are. He was born with certain faculties, had the greatest taste in everything, save one. “You mean those two?” he asked. I said, “How you would put up with them is beyond comprehension.”’

The thirty-first of March, 1975. He wants to start writing again. He has been wanting to start but the first notebook was too narrow!’ ‘He asked, “Must I write every day?” I replied, “Of course not, just when you feel like it.” “But I like to do it in an orderly way,” he said. He seemed satisfied with the present new notebook and some lined paper.

April first. ‘Today Krishnaji began to write again. The first one is in pencil, and he wasn’t comfortable at the desk. I have arranged a folding table for him in front of the window. He gave it to me to read and wants me to “correct” it without consulting him. There are only bits of syntax that go wrong because he probably doesn’t read what has gone before when he pauses. I doubt he rereads any of it as he goes along or when he is through. It is again in the form of a nature description and then what he has to say about something. Today on "space and division".’
He was so turned toward the present that he didn’t reread something he’d written. And he didn’t like to hear about it afterward. Often, after he’d written something or dictated, I would have to ask him something, and he never wanted to hear it. He’d say, “Oh, do whatever you want,” or “fix it” or something, but I’d persevere because I wanted it to be just what he intended, and if I did that, he would want to change it completely. He would say, “There’s no sense reading it to me because I’ll change it.” It’s silly to compare, but if I write a letter and have to rewrite it for some reason, I have to begin all over again. I just don’t want to amend what I wrote". And of course, The Notebook and all that, as Mary said, it’s without erasures. It’s just written.

The third of April. ‘Krishnaji said, “Something has been happening since that day in San Francisco. The head is almost to the point of bursting. It’s full. All last night it went on and the night before. There is tremendous attention inside the head, a physical feeling. It’s going on now.” He had a far-off look on his face. Then he said, “All energy is concentrated there inside, in the eyes and head.”

This post was last updated by John Raica Wed, 05 Jul 2017.

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Wed, 05 Jul 2017 #333
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

The ninth of April, ‘Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, and I went to the K&R office to see the archives. Rajagopal met us. We sat at a table in a greenish office, empty as a prison. Krishnaji was sitting behind and slightly apart, not looking at Rajagopal after the initial greeting, Indian fashion. Rajagopal looked more than ever like an angry simian with the glare of disturbed, dark-ringed eyes.
‘He said there were no manuscripts left over from the Commentaries . He said the archives are all turned over to the K&R Foundation. He also said there are no other manuscripts. Rajagopal claimed that large shipments of archive material were shipped from Holland by Folkersma at the start of the war and was lost. He kept making references to Krishnaji, who spoke not a word until Rajagopal said he had once had friendly relations with Krishnaji “but he now won’t speak.”’
‘Then Krishnaji stood up, looking very tall and rather tense and aloof and said, “I will speak. If you want that friendship, you will resign from everything and do penance. That is all I have to say.”
‘“What did he mean?” asked Rajagopal angrily. We said we had heard what Krishnaji had said; we weren’t there to explain or interpret; we were there to see the archives. He started to say something like. “It’s all off.” So, I said, “Are you refusing to show us the archives? We are here for a very simple physical thing—to begin to see the archives.”’

‘Angrily, reluctantly, hit by what Krishnaji had said, he then opened a couple of file drawers. They were thorough, well-kept files, transcripts of discussions. He seemed to turn to showing things as an escape from Krishnaji’s statement, and, as if dealing with a sick person, we showed admiration for the way things were kept. We then were led into a back room of book stacks from all over the world in various languages. We asked for what Krishnaji had requested, namely, Mrs. Besant’s letters to Krishnaji as a boy, and he even offered to photocopy them for us. Then, albums of Krishnaji, tiny, wonderful pictures of Krishnaji and Nitya as they were when they were found. Rajagopal denies having letters between Mrs. Besant and Leadbeater about Krishnaji as a boy.’

‘Erna, during this, was laying the basis for future visits. Earlier, Rajagopal claimed archive material was given to him personally, which may result in much being in his own vault. He claimed today that all archives are in K&R office.’
‘We left and met Krishnaji down the road. He had been in the Grove. His first comments were that Rajagopal is a sick personality. Krishnaji enlarged to me that Rajagopal’s resignation would be the 'penance'. Krishnaji now wants Erna to tell Rajagopal that he, Krishnaji, wishes to come to see certain things without Rajagopal being there.’

‘Reg and Mavis Bennett arrived from Australia. They are nice as ever. Reg had a coronary (bypass) eighteen months ago. Such kindly people they are.’
The twelfth of April. ‘The weather changed, a cloudless sky, warm sun, but still a frosting of snow on Topa Topa. In the Green Beauty, we drove to the Oak Grove, where at 4 p.m., Krishnaji gave his first talk there since the autumn of 1966. Many people, many children, many dogs, but it seemed well arranged Krishnaji walked down the road a little after the talk, until I caught up with him in the car. He said he liked talking in the Grove, but had no familiar feeling about it. We had lunch in the cottage.

‘We came back to the Lilliefelt’s while Erna telephoned Rajagopal to say Krishnaji wanted to come to see the archives. We saw the Besant letters, photographs, and also Pupul Jayakar’s account of what happened to Krishnaji around 1947 and 1948 in Ootacamund  This is something she wrote as a report for Rajagopal, and he made her not keep a copy.

Sunday, the thirteenth of April. Krishnaji gave a magnificent and powerful talk in the Grove, number two. Among others, he spoke of the difference between reality and truth. Reality is of the mind and thought; truth cannot be touched by either. I sat closer, away from children and dogs, and listened only. Krishnaji came back to the car, saying, “That talk exhausted me,” Later, joking, he said that in the old days they would’ve said, “The Lord spoke today.”

Krishnaji had said he wanted to eat on the hill where Hooker, at Krishnaji’s request, was putting on an inexpensive vegetarian lunch for people who had attended the talk. He sat a long time in the car before we walked over there. It was cold and windy. We sat at a table with the Simmonses, Kishbaugh, and Theo. But when I moved over to the adjoining table with the Blau family and Erna, three perfectly strange, staring young people, uninvited, sat down at Krishnaji’s table. No sense of intrusion, politeness, nothing. Just themselves. Krishnaji had a longish nap at 4:30 p.m. He saw the two Siddoos, Sarjit and Jackie, and the latter brought me from Tapas seven copies of Ananda—the Indian version of the Star Bulletin, of 1929; also a pair of gray silk trousers copied in India at Krishnaji’s orders from a pair of Courrèges trousers. The Siddoos are planning to open their school in Vancouver, on Vancouver Island, in the autumn of ’76. Krishnaji and I walked to Erna and Theo’s for tea. Erna sent to Rajagopal a letter via Casselberry, saying we are coming Tuesday to see the archives and do not want “supervision.” We discussed what to do if he refuses or tries to harass Krishnaji.’

The fourteenth of April. Krishnaji rested in the morning. He then gave a taped interview to Donald Ingram-Smith for Australia Broadcasting. K asked about the Ananda magazine that Tapas had sent. I read him part of an article by E. A. Wodehouse withering Arundale for carrying on ceremonies in Benares in 1928 when Mrs. Besant asked Krishnaji to preside at a TS congress in her absence, and out of politeness to Krishnaji and his views decreed there should be no ceremonies. Krishnaji remembered it vaguely and smiled. He said E. A. Wodehouse wrote very well, but gradually died of laziness.’ ‘He looked at the magazines. “We were all very young then.” He said some of all this should be put together in a book. There is a chapter on the Hindu version of the Lord Maitreya in their sacred books. I read it to Krishnaji. Maitreya foretold by Gautama, it said, did not become a Buddha himself, but refused it until humanity is rescued, hence he returns to human life.’ That’s why the Maitreya returns.

‘I asked Krishnaji, “Will you become a Buddha?”’
‘“You mustn’t ask that,” he said. “It doesn’t work that way. These people made it all into a hierarchical affair.

Tuesday, the fifteenth. Krishnaji,  Erna, Theo, and I went to the K&R office at 11 a.m. Rajagopal was there with Austin Bee, who was seated at a desk and never rose or gave more than a glance. We went into the back office. The safe was open and the things we had asked to see were there. Rajagopal stood there, and Erna said we wished to look at things in private. He bristled. “This is my office,” but finally went out, refusing to close the door. He said he probably didn’t have to mention it, but things couldn’t be taken out. Erna and I just looked at him, and he went away. Krishnaji felt pain in the stomach from the violence of Rajagopal. I got him to sit down and went through the photo albums with the pictures in 1913 and ’14 in Taormina, and Cornwall, and one early one in 1909. There were many more which Krishnaji looked at, but Erna handed me to read the five-page account, handwritten by Pupul Jayakar of events in June 1948 in Ootacamund when Krishnaji was “off,” in great pain, spoke of “they have burnt me so there can be more emptiness. They want to see how much of Him can come.”’
But when I eventually got it photocopied and brought it to Pupul, she said but that was just one day; and the “process” went on for eight days. Of course, he’d just given us a sop. Anyway, then it goes on about ‘something to being close to death but not wishing it “as there is so much to be done” and of something happening on the walk (when he was alone) and not being able to remember it, of fearing pieces of him were left on the road, of a great power filling him.

‘We were to ask Rajagopal for a photocopy, but to be sure of having the text, I read it quietly to Erna, who took it down in shorthand. Krishnaji, by this time, had looked at the many photos and wanted to leave. He did so, and walked down the road while Erna and I gave Rajagopal the list of things we would like copied.

At supper, Krishnaji looked back at the years here. He said he could’ve been killed or injured on his long climbs in the mountains, and they didn’t think of it or care. He said he used to like to drive around Santa Paula, Ventura, and back, fifty miles. He said he used to go alone to places like Cleveland, Toledo, and Seattle to talk. Somebody must’ve bought the ticket, but then he went on his own. He said maybe Jadu was there.’ Krishnaji told of staying with the Theosophists in New Zealand, who washed all the dishes in the pan and didn’t rinse them. This so appalled Krishnaji, he told them he was good at washing up and asked if he could do it?’ ‘“If you want,” they said.  “So I got two pans. They were nice people and caught on.”’

Thursday, the seventeenth. ‘Another cold day. Krishnaji wrote in his notebook. There was a decision to go ahead with one building on the Oak Grove land without waiting for the donation drive. Krishnaji wants to get it going there, and wants to redo this cottage here. I have agreed to do it. He speaks of staying in California through May next year.

Krishnaji’s third talk in the Grove was on time, suffering, and death, and I felt emptied of everything by it. That curious, drained feeling that leaves me somewhere else or perhaps without a 'me' at all. There were many people and those immediately around him appeared hypnotized. We sat in the car about ten minutes before Krishnaji felt like moving.
After supper, he went over to Arya Vihara in his dressing gown to say goodbye to Mavis and Reg Bennett, who return tomorrow to Australia.

April twenty-first. ‘Packed. Put the cottage in order. Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, and I went to the K&R office
‘Rajagopal said, “Isn’t Krishnaji with you?”’
‘I said that Krishnaji would remain in the car and would like to see the manuscript of The Commentaries there.’
‘“I haven’t got them. I think they were destroyed,” said Rajagopal. We stared at him in shock.’

‘I asked, did he mean that he had destroyed Krishnaji’s original manuscripts written in his own hand?’
‘He said it had been published, and that was their custom, and he wasn’t sure what had happened.’

‘By this time Rajagopal was so angry that I couldn’t tell what he took in. He started to say “This is my house.”’
‘“House?” said Erna.’
‘“Office,” he caught himself.’
‘We said it is the K&R office, and under the agreement, we have a right to come here to see archives.’
‘He implied we have seen the archives. He decides what are archived material.’
‘Erna said that we had not seen so far one thing in Krishnaji’s handwriting. Where were the other manuscripts?’
‘He said, “You have the manuscripts.” He means the so-called Scaravelli manuscript.’ The Notebook.
‘We asked, did that mean he had nothing else?’
‘He said he would say nothing more and wouldn’t answer questions.’

‘Rajagopal had transcripts of The Commentaries, typewritten which, of course, are not an authentic archive source. He also had photocopies of Mrs. Besant’s letters to Krishnaji, 1915 to 1930, Pupul’s report of 1948 and reports of Krishnaji, Nitya, and A.P. Warrington, August seventeen to twenty-one in 1922.

‘He took the wheel on the coast road to Malibu. Driving, he asked me if I was too tired for a question. ‘He then asked me if anything had happened to me in these two weeks, was I changed in some way? I asked what he meant. What was he asking about? And I went over various things in these two weeks from my point of view. First, that the Rajagopal thing, though unpleasant’—and in parentheses I have that Krishnaji apologizes for my being subjected to it—‘didn’t really bother me. He said, “I could see something must have happened when you came out of Rajagopal’s, but you hadn’t reacted.” “Now we won’t talk about it for the moment,” but he went on that we must make a change, have more leisure, we must do it at Brockwood. We will take a picnic and go off, have leisure and quiet. I do feel a curious emptiness that I feel I must not examine now; let it be. It is something good. So, we came home to Malibu. The grass has taken root, and the flowers are bright. It looks lovely. This is a very dear house. The ocean murmurs.’

April twenty-second. ‘Krishnaji rested. He was reading the book on whales and their enormous brains’ ‘and the fact that until man, they were menaced by nothing, which Krishnaji said made him “see something.” He called me in and asked me to remember to have him tell the others at tomorrow’s meeting that “the school must provide complete security to the students, a vast protection in depth.” Then he added, “That is what they did with me until those monsters came along.”’ Meaning the Rajagopals.

The next day, ‘Krishnaji and I went to the Carnegie Endowment Institute, where Dr. David Shainberg had assembled about two dozen psychiatrists, psychotherapists, and social workers to meet and talk to Krishnaji. No formal talk, just questions and answers. The questions were mostly on fear. Krishnaji immediately went past theories and specific fears to examine and ask, what is fear itself, its central root? Is thinking the central cause? One questioner said thinking is how we master fear, cope with it. Krishnaji said, “Without understanding the nature of thought, one cannot understand fear.” Some of them thought that fear is helpful, i.e., about danger. Krishnaji asked if that was fear, also asked can we be totally free of fear. He said ( the reaction of) self-preservation in the face of danger is not fear. Someone brought up the fear of the atom bomb. Krishnaji said, "what can I do as an individual against a monstrous system, and what is the good of being frightened? What is a human being to do?’

Thirtieth of April. ‘Krishnaji slept only 'fairly well'. He had a feeling of “ecstatic energy in my head.” He spoke of it in the evening, that he had never had it before, ecstatic energy. He certainly gave outward signs of extraordinary energy in the second session with the psychiatrists and psychotherapists. It was a continuation of yesterday’s meeting and again the question came: Can thinking decide when thinking is relevant?’ And then again, I have much description of what was said, which we don’t need.

The second of May. ‘We landed at 8:45 a.m. in London. Dorothy, Doris, and Ingrid met us and all drove to Brockwood. The school was out front to greet Krishnaji. The completed Assembly Room is very handsome. The lack of tile in the Long Hall and its new floor is a considerable improvement.
The sixth of May. ‘Dr. Parchure was to arrive today, but Dorothy received a telephone call from Balasundarum that his exit permit was not forthcoming. Maybe next week. Krishnaji was sorting clothes for Parchure, and I found him in our kitchen in his toweling bathrobe and the black woolen cap Fosca had crocheted for him, modeled on his fur one. “This is my lifestyle,” he said, laughing.’ ‘Later in Dorothy’s office he said, “Look. The spirits are after it.” Outside the window, the head of a broom was waving back and forth rather eerily in the wind. He laughed as no one else can laugh, all laughter and merriment. We walked at 4:30 p.m. Very windy and cold. Whisper on the rope nearly pulled Krishnaji down in the field.

The eighth, ‘I did errands in Petersfield, and met Mary L. at the train. Krishnaji, she, and I talked before and after lunch about Ojai, and she also went over certain things in Krishnaji’s 'Scaravelli (Notebook) manuscript' and the introduction she is writing to it.

The next day, Mary and Joe came in on their way to stay the weekend with her sister Barbara , and Mary gave Krishnaji the first and only copy so far of the biography Krishnamurti: The Years of Awakening. On the dust jacket there is part of one of the photos of Krishnaji taken in 1926 in Indian clothing standing in front of the Gobelin tapestries at Castle Eerde. I read the biography all afternoon while Krishnaji slept. Then, he and I went for a walk and talked about the book. He asked if it would really interest people, what they could make of it.’ ‘I said that the first part, which is all that I have so far read, may bring up the inevitable questions about Theosophy, masters, etcetera—if the Masters exist, why all those 'communications' reported with them then and nothing since?’

‘Krishnaji said, “It is simple. The Lord is here.”’

‘I said, “You mean those communications were necessary to prepare for that?”’

‘Krishnaji replied, “Obviously.”

‘I asked him “Am I being dense or insensitive not to perceive such things, or am I simply not being spoken to?”’

‘Krishnaji said, “You’re doing what you should, looking after K. There may be no need to communicate. You have been with me how long? You are perhaps used to certain things.”’

‘I began to tell him of the curiously full reporting by the young Krishnamurti of his “initiation,” so unlike his present-day way of describing, so detailed, etcetera.

But Dorothy came along the lane and joined us, and we couldn’t go on with the conversation. Krishnaji wants me to attend the school meetings, which I never have, because of Dorothy’s embarrassment, as she calls it. But he told her today that I should, and she, of course, accepted it nicely with a bit of humor. Later, I sat up till midnight reading the biography.’

 
The tenth of May. ‘I put the biography on Krishnaji’s bed beside the breakfast tray. He said he wasn’t going to read it’ ‘but I thought he might read parts, and so he did, starting with the discovery of the boy. He asked how far I had read in the night, which was up to page 120, and what it seemed to me.’
‘I said, so far, the mystery of his becoming what he is, is deepened by the book. Working from Krishnaji’s letters to Mary L.’s mother and the latter’s diary gives a picture of an entirely immature, partly Victorian child, surrounded by jealous and competing friends, much talk of love that is childish and unreal.’
‘Krishnaji said the boy was not conditioned, that he was fed all the TS stories, but that it was superficial, and it went into his head and out. If he were conditioned, he said, he would’ve gone on in the TS way. I pointed out that many people have changed belief or views, but he said this was different. He was simply empty, moronic, dull. What made him awake? He thinks that slowly, drop by drop, he was awakening, changing. There was no real conditioning there. He was untouched and the very slow maturing was important. “Care of the body was and is important. I have right food and all that. I may live to be 100. We’ll celebrate that instead of eighty.”

On May eleventh, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school in the Assembly Room. He asked what is the most important question in life? He was critical later of their lack of response. On the walk, he said to Dorothy, “They are 'dead'…It’s no use to ask what Brockwood can give to them or they to Brockwood.” And in the evening, to me he said, “What is the use of all this? In five years, there is not one student who has understood something.”

‘This of course is what he has said of the Indian schools. One wonders if the teachings can be understood by those only with a certain capability, a quality of mind and intelligence. Krishnaji thinks Dorothy is too sentimental about the students here.

May twelfth. ‘At thirty minutes into the morning, Krishnaji reached eighty years of age. He waved aside all greetings, but said, “I think I will live another twenty years, and then you can celebrate.” I said I would hold him to that, but who will push my wheelchair to the celebration? He said the body should last because it is looked after, because there is someone who cares, who looks after him, someone who doesn’t want something. Dr. T. K. Parchure arrived from India, his first trip here. A small, bald man with bright ferret eyes’ ‘Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked. The students wanted to but didn’t sing “Happy Birthday” to Krishnaji at lunch. Dorothy got singing and cake at supper. It’s her birthday, too. I telephoned Mary L. about the book.’

The fourteenth of May. Doris, having read the biography, heatedly asked Krishnaji why he had to suffer so. Do we all have to go through that? Krishnaji replied that to come upon something new, to discover, one person had to go through it in order to be able to point it out to others.’

The nineteenth of May. ‘Krishnaji reads parts of Mary’s biography each morning. His liking for it grows. “She must’ve worked very hard,” he said. In response to questions of Mary’s, Doris found an old book of records she kept in 1961 showing when Krishnaji went for three weeks between the London talks and Saanen to Ojai. Mary, meticulous in background details, wanted to discover where he was and what were the references in the beginning of the Notebook manuscript. He spoke of going to an airport, others noticing something, etcetera. The airport was London, the others mentioned were Mrs. Bindley, Doris herself, who had forgotten, and Anneke. Krishnaji remembers nothing of it.’

May twenty-second. ‘Krishnaji has told Dr. Parchure that I must outlive him. When, in the kitchen, I asked Krishnaji why, he dismissed it with a “you know very well why.” Parchure told Krishnaji what he is doing to my leg with massage as being able to unblock it. But Krishnaji has treated his ears and told him not to think of his hands or a cure, not to want something, just be quiet and open, then perhaps something can get through. Krishnaji told him that his own energy is not depleted when it goes to someone in this way. Krishnaji spoke to the school today—fact is doing in the instant. “Something new,” he said. I talked at supper to a man about the Ojai school where he would like to teach. He didn’t seem suitable, but was pleasant.’
May twenty-fourth. ‘We learned from Amanda Pallant, who is back from Rome, that Vanda was struck by a car in Florence, bruised on the legs, and her head was cut, but is alright and was able to come to Rome to receive Amanda. I telephoned Vanda, who said it is nothing, characteristically, and Krishnaji spoke to her, getting almost no information. In the afternoon, Krishnaji did a two-hour taped dialogue with David Bohm, continuing last Sunday’s on reality and truth. Dr. Parchure participated very slightly. Dorothy, Saral, and I were present.’
The twenty-fifth of May. ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school, over their heads, I think, but very interesting on thought. Is there thought without word or image? To see something as true is an action outside of thought. When I brought Krishnaji his supper, he said he had a message from “the Great White Brotherhood thanking me for looking after him, but I mustn’t spoil him.”’
On the twenty-ninth, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school. Tidiness and untidiness.
The next day, another dialogue between Krishnaji and David Bohm.
Dr. Parchure is teaching me to massage Krishnaji.’
June third, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school and said, “I will teach them in spite of themselves.”’

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Wed, 05 Jul 2017 #334
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

On the first of June 1975 ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school in the morning on "silence and seeing", and began a staff meeting at 6:30 a.m.’ Why would that be? ‘I got fairly sleepy watching Kojak with Krishnaji on television at night. Dr. Parchure is teaching me how to massage Krishnaji.’ Nothing came of that, but that’s what happened on the second of June.
On the third of June, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school, and he said again to me, “I will teach them in spite of themselves.”

The fifth of June, Krishnaji and I went to London, and he came with me to Rowe’s, where I had ordered some trousers, because he wished to supervise the fitting!’ ‘Which he did. And he thinks that I should have them cut a bit longer. This was a slight contention between us. He won, naturally.’ ‘He said that the trousers should break at the bottom.’ ‘Only then, according to Krishnaji, were they proper.’

‘We walked to Fortnum’s and lunched with Mary and Joe. Joe asked Krishnaji’ about the philosophical belief in the Masters, and he wanted to know about that Scottish one.’ He meant the Maha Chohan!’ A Scottish name, clearly! ‘It is difficult listening to Krishnaji not to think he puts credence in their existence, though he doesn’t say so.

The scientists are arriving at Brockwood for the second session of the discussion with Krishnaji.’
Friday, the sixth of June. ‘Krishnaji and the scientists met in the Assembly Room. Wilkins, Bohm, Shainberg, Ullman, Goodwin, Butt, Peet, Monroe, and Parchure, Harsh, and Zorski. Students chosen by Harsh and Joe Zorski came as observers. In the afternoon, the same meeting continued. No papers were read this time. They went straight into discussion.’

On the thirteenth, ‘Krishnaji in bed all morning. I came in before going to Winchester on errands, and Krishnaji said, “I was playing the Beethoven Ninth Symphony, that loud part, that demonic energy part, and not reading, lying here like this and I felt this odd feeling as if death came. Everything was going through a little hole, and I realized it mustn’t happen, and so it came back. I have felt a little of it for a couple of days, as if death were like that.”’
‘Me: “So near?”’
‘Krishnaji: “Like that, through this little hole.”’
‘Me: “Was it different from when certain things happen in your head?”’
‘Krishnaji: “Maybe.”’
‘Me: “What was it made you realize it shouldn’t happen?”’
‘Krishnaji: “Oh, you know, I have to try on that suit.“I remember Sacha had a fitting, and he died without getting it finished, and that mustn’t happen. You must go now to Winchester, and drive carefully because I have to live.” After breakfast, Krishnaji said, “I am tired. I must be getting old. Of course, I am old. But I feel tired.” I went off to Winchester, with all this and the day, which was actually bright, had gone gray in that odd way as if the light had gone out of it. It shook me. Not yet, he has too much to do. He is more alive than anyone.’

On the fourteenth, ‘Krishnaji did a taped dialogue in the afternoon with David Bohm about animal energy. Are the energy of thought and the energy outside of thought the same? Or, is the one outside totally different? Krishnaji finally came to see that they are totally different. There was a Brockwood garden party for Bramdean neighbors.’
On the fifteenth, ‘Krishnaji talked to the school in the morning. I asked about a verbal, superficial level of seeing things. Why does one not go deeper? “One must look,” he said. At 4 p.m. Krishnaji came to a staff meeting and hit hard on the subject of respect, its meaning and how to bring it about.’
On the sixteenth, ‘there was a school meeting at 6:30 a.m.’ Why did we have it that early? Well, anyway. ‘We told the students of the meeting yesterday about respect. There was a fairly good discussion. Krishnaji gave an interview to Carol Allwell, at Frances McCann’s request. Krishnaji didn’t go for a walk to avoid the hay fever. It rained, and I walked with Whisper.’
The seventeenth. ‘Krishnaji again stayed in, though he walked down to see a “communist creeper,” a Russian vine planted to hide the lavatories in the field. He isn’t sleeping too well.’ We had lavatories down in the field for the campers who were here during the public talks. It’s a vine that grows terribly quickly, a Russian vine, and he called it a “communist vine.” It was planted in June, so that by September it would hide the lavatories!

The next day, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school in the morning, and then taped a dialogue with David Bohm in the afternoon. Narayan and Dr. Parchure were part of that, but contributed little. It was the most far-reaching on the relationship of truth to reality—there seemed to be none as Krishnaji explored it.’

June twenty-seventh, ‘At 6:30 a.m. there was another staff meeting. After that, I started to pack. Mrs. Gandhi has arrested her political opponents, 700 of them, and declared an emergency with tight censorship of news.’
The twenty-eighth, ‘I continue packing. Krishnaji did another dialogue with David Bohm, more on truth this time. David has just read the biography, and questioned Krishnaji about whether there had been a particular moment of change for him. Krishnaji said no. The physical suffering of the process made him more sensitive, and so did the psychological suffering of his brother’s death. But meeting both fully left no marks.’

We flew to Paris on British-European Airline, coming in by taxi from Orly and passed all the old familiar site Porte d' Orléans, Porte de St Cloud, etcetera, that remind us both of our arrivals in the car, and Krishnaji said, “I’m glad we aren’t going to drive.” It was fun when we did it, and those long drives across the wide summer spaces of France are deep in my affection, but they are too much effort today, for both of us, really. I feel very well, and have much energy, but I tire more than I did, and the long drives are too much. At the Plaza Athénée, we have our usual rooms, au deuxieme this time. I unpacked one bag, and then Krishnaji wanted to walk, his first in over three weeks. There is no pollen in Paris, just good whiffs of benzine.’ ‘We found the place on the Rue Marbeuf where we could again get fluid to clean his shaver, and an enlarging mirror also, then came back. That is enough, he said. We had supper in my room with cherries, apricots, and peaches; and listened to President Giscard d’Estaing give a talk to the French people before their summer holidays.’‘“La France est solide!” he said.’ I can still hear him! ‘In this chaotic world, it was amazing to hear someone reassure everyone, and make the assertions he did.’

Tuesday, the first of July in Paris. ‘I did a few errands on foot while Krishnaji rested in bed. What is it in the air of Paris that makes everything smell good? The boulangerie, women’s perfume, the latter sickened me usually in other places; here, it is softer and pleasant. I met Nadia Kossiakof downstairs at 12:30 p.m., and then Krishnaji joined us. She has worked with Madame Duchet on the translation of The Awakening of Intelligence, L’Éveil de l’Intelligence, and done huge work on its publication. She wanted to tell me this, and gave information on the journalists meeting Krishnaji in the afternoon. Nadia looked older; she has been ill, and now she has worry over her mother trapped in the civil fighting in Beirut. I gave her a copy of the biography. Krishnaji appeared and was warmly considerate to her, inviting her to Brockwood to stay and rest. Marcelle Bondonneau joined us for lunch in the garden; melon, gazpacho, tagliatelle au gratin, and crème caramel for him, and fraises des bois for me.’

A youngish man Bernard Chevalier, who does a radio program, Après-midi de France, came first and wanted 20 minutes of radio interview with Krishnaji. I ran interference. A François de Closets, a science writer, did most of the questioning. Krishnaji’s reading of L’Éveil de l’Intelligence, to improve his French for his meeting, worked well at first. In the taxi going over, he said, “I’m going to talk in English.” I suggested that he start in French, as that appeals to the French, even if one makes mistakes. But as Krishnaji began to feel tired, he had more trouble and spoke less readily than usually in French. I was relieved when he explained in English, things that, to me, are complicated things. He spoke of a conference theme: What is the role of knowledge and transformation in a new society, and what will change man since knowledge hasn’t done it? Much on la pensée. It was hard for them to see its limitations. Krishnaji then came to “time must have a stop”

The second of July. ‘It was a warm, sunny day. We went to Lobb, now in Hermès, where Mr. Dickinson tried on two new pair of shoes.’ ‘So, the shoes were pronounced perfect. Dickinson said, “We can continue three or four more years. After that, it is over.” No young people know the craft. Though, these shoes today cost $496 with the shoe trees, they are worth it to Krishnaji for their fit, their excellence, and because they are, in a way, a vanishing work of art.
We taxied to the Tour d’Argent, where we lunched with my brother and his wife, Lisa. Krishnaji sat facing Notre Dame, and watched barge life on the Seine while family conversation went on. Bud and Lisa seemed to have enjoyed their five days at Malibu.’ They stayed at my house when I wasn’t there for awhile, about a fortnight ago. ‘They are here on museum matters and return to New York.
‘Krishnaji and I did a couple of errands. Looked for a movie, but none appealed, and it was hot and tiring, so we came back to the hotel where we both were content to be quiet and read.

We flew Swiss Air to Geneva. Narasimhan met us at the airport with a Hertz Taunus station wagon in which we went with him to the Palais des Nations for lunch. He was rather noncommittal on Mrs. Gandhi’s seizure of dictatorial powers.

We drove via the Route du Lac and then up around Lausanne on the familiar road to Oron, Bulle, and through the valley.’ A lovely day, with the sun warm but not too hot. It was the warm, extra pleasure, and recognition of seeing again the landscape so woven into the years of this life that has meant so very much. It was sunny all the way, and we both kept exclaiming at the brightness of colors. Many greens, greener than anywhere, and the blaze of flowers, geraniums in window boxes seem on fire with color. We reached Tannegg after 7 p.m. Vanda and Fosca were there. All is in order, ready and welcoming. Krishnaji has a new shower in his extra room. The kitchen has been redone, ugly tile, dark, pretentious and wood, but there is a dishwasher and a better refrigerator. We had supper, talked to Vanda, unpacked, and went to bed.’

The next day, the fourth of July, Krishnaji stayed in bed. It rained, and cleared the air and his hay fever symptoms.’

The eighth is another quiet day. ‘The Siddoo sisters brought mangoes to Krishnaji.’
The following day, ‘the two Siddoo sisters, Jackie and Sarjit, came to lunch, and brought architect’s drawings for their school on Vancouver Island. Krishnaji was very interested and examined it all. He reiterated that the architecture should not be Canadian, not American, not European, Japanese, etcetera, but totally new.’ That’s what he wanted! ‘Sarjit, having just come from India, brought mangoes, and saw Mrs. Gandhi a few days ago. She is in total control, and all is outwardly calm.’
Krishnaji said, “Do you feel a different atmosphere in the house? It is because I’m about to talk.”’
The next day, ‘I did were errands and letters. Vanda and I lunched alone, and Krishnaji and I went for a small walk.’
The thirteenth. ‘It was a perfect summer day. Krishnaji gave his first talk on energy and the difference between reality and truth. The tent is set up in a new way, without wooden risers. All the benches are on the ground, and Krishnaji on a platform on the south side.

 
On July fifteenth, ‘I had a fever of 99.6 on awakening. My glands are still swollen. Krishnaji gave his second Saanen talk. I sit in the outer area to avoid people. I have the mumps!’ Luckily, Krishnaji has had them, so I wasn’t worried, but I was a leper for a while.

‘In the afternoon, Krishnaji and David Bohm did a dialogue. Dorothy, Vanda, Saral, and I were present. George Carnes taped it. Krishnaji again talked about the early days, the mystery. He said he feels he could know what was happening, but doesn’t wish to.’

Krishnaji had a private talk alone with Radha before lunch, and asked about conditions in India, saying he needed advice he could trust before October on whether it would be safe for him to go there and to speak, speaking freely as he would. He would trust Achyutji Krishnaji ate in his room, but came in and joined the other five of us. He questioned Simonetta and Radha on the reactions to the biography, and particularly to what reasons “he” had remained untouched by conditioning etcetera. Krishnaji put forth various alternatives: ill health, malaria, etcetera, keeping the boy too weak in impressionable, conditioning years, reincarnation, evolution through lives, Maitreya keeping “the boy” uncontaminated, vague, backward until later. Simonetta said, with a definite voice, that she believed in reincarnation. Radha asked, “If so, what reincarnates?” Krishnaji took it up, and wove as follows: Self is thought, memory, conditioning, etcetera. When the body dies, a strong ego is part of the stream of selfishness, a manifestation of that. That manifestation may occur again “but why call it Krishnaji?” i.e., a particular individual. It is that stream manifesting. Also, genetics, social conditioning, all sorts of other factors can be in it. When CWL found Krishnaji, he saw no selfishness. How was that? If 'selfishness' can manifest, so can 'unselfishness', but then what kept him that way, untouched? A protection? Protected by whom? Krishnaji left it there. He said later he didn’t like to discuss these things in front of Frances McCann. He rather jumped at her for commenting, “Oh yes!” But apart from her, he seems intent on pursuing these matters, to enjoy examining the mysteries surrounding those early years. He also said that within the “selfishness” stream or manifestation, an awareness of that state can occur, and there is no longer the selfishness. This can happen at any time, to anyone, he said, if they truly look.’

In the afternoon, Vanda had a young German physicist, Dr. Fritz Wilhelm, to the house, and Krishnaji saw him briefly with a friend, an American picture director, Maranelli.

Sendra says he described his “meditation.” “So, you become the little guru,” said Krishnaji. When they left, Krishnaji  walked alone while I went down to fetch him a fresh detective story, some castor oil for his hair, and bring Fosca up with fruit and vegetables. When Krishnaji got back, he said that the conversation with Sendra tired him. That man, Sendra, is not straight, he said.’
July twenty-third. ‘Radha Burnier came to lunch. Krishnaji talked at length about his going or not going to India. He will not go if he cannot speak freely, or if an exception is made specifically for him. He will not speak “with permission” of Mrs. Gandhi. He looks to Achyut’s advice on whether to go. Pupul and Sunanda perhaps take it too lightly, or impulsively. He had Radha write down his questions. Dorothy and Montague moved up from the camping to Vanda’s room in Tannegg.’

‘Krishnaji had me tell them that he doesn’t intend to talk twice a week to students who don’t understand and don’t care. He will talk to the staff and to serious students who will treat it as a privilege. He may hold discussions at Brockwood with the Brockwood staff here in Gstaad after the public meetings end.’
The twenty-fourth of July. ‘Krishnaji gave the sixth Saanen talk on death and authority, and the stream of selfishness. Rain beat on the tent at times. It cleared. I telephoned Radha Burnier after the talk and fetched her up to lunch. Krishnaji talked further on India and conditions there that would prevent his going. He said he would not talk if others are not also free to talk.

July twenty-fifth, ‘Mary Cadogan came for lunch, and I added the young German teacher Fritz Wilhelm, who Krishnaji noticed as looking “serious” in the tent. Later, I stayed to listen while at 3:30 p.m., Krishnaji and David Bohm did a taped dialogue. Yves Zlotnicka taped it. Dorothy and Saral were present.’

The next day, ‘Mr. Mirabet of Spain came to give Krishnaji the annual donation for $4,000 for the work. He reviewed with me the list of funds to go to Krishnaji on Mirabet’s death.’ He was such a nice old man. Every year, he brought cash to go to Krishnaji, and ever since Brockwood was founded, Krishnaji turned it over to Brockwood.

‘He had rested all day and gone for his walk. After supper, he came in and talked very seriously and with a sort of irritation he has been showing here in Gstaad about Brockwood. “Why should I go there and talk to these empty-headed students? What is the point of it? It’s going to become a second-rate, a third-rate school. You’re a trustee, what are you going to do about it? It is not my job.” I asked how I could change what he hadn’t. “Find out,” he said.’ He was critical of Dorothy Simmons. “What am I doing there? Not one student after three years.” I said that I had never been optimistic about schools. He says schools were right. Then said, “What will I do? I may never go to India again. I like Brockwood. It’s a nice place. But I’m not going to talk to uncaring students who don’t know what it’s about. I’m not going to stay there three months. It’s your responsibility. If I’m gone, what would you do? This afternoon I felt like going off. I can’t talk to you unless you’re objective.” I said I would call the other two trustees who are here, and Dorothy and David and talk to them. “There’s no creativity,” he said, then tried to change the subject by asking about my leg. I am to think this over calmly.’
‘I kept waking in the night thinking of what Krishnaji had said.’

The next morning, ‘when he came in to do my leg, he was in bright, changed humor. Had I got over his tirade, he asked.’ ‘At breakfast, I told Dorothy that Krishnaji  wanted three trustees here, she, David, and I, to meet about the policy of choosing students, what to do to bring them closer to the teachings. I telephoned Graf early and said Krishnaji wished me to announce the KF school in Ojai and that I would be in the tent to answer questions tomorrow. When I told this to Krishnaji , his face lit up, pleased. He had that look that makes anything doable. “Does it make you nervous?” he asked in the car. I said I don’t look forward to it, but I don’t mind. The look earlier was my talisman.’
‘I went into the tent on arrival, spoke briefly to the audience before he came in, and then went around and sat inside the tent, so I am today out of mump quarantine. This was the first public discussion, and there were no questions about the biography. Krishnaji talked briefly, then took mainly one question on the stream of selfishness. “When you see, really see, that you are that stream, that there is no self apart from it, the impact does something to the brain cells, and one is out of the stream.”

August third. ‘Krishnaji gave his fifth Saanen dialogue, completing this year’s. The need for space—a superb unfolding. This whole series was marvelous. We had lunch together in the dining room. Mr. and Mrs. Nathan Shainberg to tea. I drove them back to their hotel in the rain that lightened the heat a little.’ That’s the parents of David Shainberg.

Krishnaji slept and read. At lunch, I asked him about things he said in the sixth talk. The stream of selfishness; when the person dies, he says, the stream goes on. I asked if that meant that the stream was outside and independent of the human mind, it having been created by thought. He seemed to be saying yes, but I wasn’t putting the question properly. He’ll go into it with Bohm. He said you can talk to a consciousness, and then unexpectedly, he said, “I talked to the tiger.”’ ‘There is a large color photo of a tiger that I pinned up on his wall in his second room in Ojai.’ That’s the room where he does yoga. ‘“I think you can talk to consciousness. I talk to tiger consciousnes

‘He said about events in the book, he literally has no memory. Much of the time his brain is empty. The recording of thought is not there, or is only superficial. He said “the boy’s” recording system was deficient, and he questioned whether there had been an imprint in his brain cells. There were peculiar phenomena, and one must go back and question, not so much what “the boy” experienced, but why “that boy” was not conditioned. He said that today something similar is happening with regard to his going to India this year. He is not going to make a choice. That would be wrong. “What will happen will be right.” The starting point of examination is that “the boy” was untouched as an actual fact, then we can start examining. About the initiation description, he can’t see how “the boy” could stay in the room three days. He wasn’t drugged. Peculiar things were going on. The whole starts from a mind that was not conditioned, not “diseased.” He said that the rest is all minor, like going to a cinema and repeating what he saw or dreamed. But though it must have been extraordinary, it left no mark.’
‘I said it must have left a faint mark deep in his mind.’
‘“I doubt it,” said Krishnaji. “I’ve tried. I can’t get it.”’
‘I said that the important things he seems to have forgotten, and yet trivial things remain. He recognizes people in photos of that era.’ I asked if there’s an inhibitory action, not suppression, but because, unlike other people, he looks without memory acting?’
Krishnaji said again, that from the beginning, “the boy” was never conditioned. It was a whole phenomenon from birth. And he asked why hadn’t he wanted power and money when he was surrounded by it? None of it, apparently, touched him, right from the beginning. He said, unless you answer that, the rest is meaningless. He spoke of his brother’s death. He cannot remember it. Why was he not conditioned when everything around him worked to condition him, the Order of the Star, adoration, candles, etcetera. “That is what I would like to investigate.” No imprint on “the boy,” ill, malaria, up to age thirteen, all the happenings—the “peculiar head all the time.” Later on the walk we spoke a little more.’
‘I said his lack of interest in power, money, etcetera, is not so mysterious. It could be not his nature, as it isn’t in many people, though they are exposed to it. But no conditioning at all is more mysterious. It is as if his mind never took the stain that experience leaves on other minds. He agreed with this simile.’

Tuesday the nineteenth of August, 1975, we’re in Gstaad. ‘Krishnaji dictated a letter to Pupul, questioning, apart from the present political climate there, his coming to India that winter. For what purpose or what value did it have? He had the same physical organism, now over 80, and he should consider how best to spend the next 10 or 15 years. He said he had the right to ask, and should ask why, in all these years, not one person in India has been totally completely dedicated to 'living the teachings'. He said he, those in India, and those in America, and England must consider how he can spend the rest of his life most usefully for the teachings. He also asked if they had read Mary’s book. She sent copies to several of them in India, and in a letter from Mary this morning, she said she had not heard a word of acknowledgement or comment.’
Only Shiva Rao wrote. Krishnaji says this is Indian; they don’t thank, they take for granted, feel themselves superior. Pupul looks on the Lilliefelts and Brockwood people as 'middle class' and Madahvachari looked down on all 'non-Indians'. Krishnaji said that Shiva Rao was distrusted by Pupul and her crowd, who thought him to be an American spy.’ ‘She and others never would answer political questions in front of him, and when Pupul had Mrs. Gandhi to dine with Krishnaji at her house, she never included Kitty and Shiva Rao. Krishnaji was feeling pretty severe toward all this. Krishnaji read to me from the Herald Tribune that India has cut off Telex and telephone to theNew York Times correspondent in India for not self-censoring, and also refused entry to an Israel member to a textile convention that was to be held in India in November. The other members counseled holding it in India. Krishnaji said with vehemence, “I would like to start a political party, not left, not right, a global party.” He repeated it watching the television news. We looked at each other, and then more quietly he added, “God forbid!”’

On the twentieth of August. ‘It was a grey day. A woman telephoned twice on behalf of a woman named Swami Hidrayananda of the Divine Life Society, about seeing Krishnaji and Krishnaji said, “Okay, for five minutes.” She came, a middle-aged Indian, an eye doctor, orange robe, hair flowing. Krishnaji saw her for almost an hour. He said afterward, he had told her, “If you listen to me, 'you' will be lost” meaning her present life.’ She has begun to doubt and is frightened, had given up her doctoring work, and husband, and children to join the Divine Life Society, is perpetually on lecture tours explaining the Gita, yoga, etcetera. Krishnaji was compassionate toward her predicament. We went for a walk.’

On the twenty-third, ‘Krishnaji’s queasy stomach from last night has continued. He stayed in bed all day. It rained and was rather cold. News of Marcelle is not good. She is on an artificial kidney machine.’
On the twenty-fourth, ‘It rained. I packed. Krishnaji was feeling well again. I exchanged the Hertz Peugeot for Taunus to have room for the luggage tomorrow. We went on the usual walk through the woods. On our return, Nadia telephoned to say that Marcelle had died this afternoon. Krishnaji said he had not foreseen it, when I asked, during his conversation with her a week ago. He said, “I couldn’t get through to her. She was too nervous.”’

Monday, the twenty-fifth of August. It was a lovely, warm, and sunny day in England. Brockwood was beautiful and quiet. Only a few of us are here. The quiet is extraordinary. Krishnaji said how noisy Gstaad has become, and it was good to be back in our own rooms here.’

The next day, ‘Krishnaji gave the first Brockwood talk in the marquee, which was overflowing. The weather was good. Krishnaji asked, “What is correct action for survival with freedom in a disintegrating world?” This is the question he and David Bohm have been discussing as a topic for the Ojai conference next spring.
On the seventh, ‘Krishnaji gave his second talk on fear, pleasure. It was one of those talks that takes one apart. I sensed that it was the most complete one ever on these matters.
On the tenth, Krishnaji decided definitely not to go to India, and will fly to the U.S. on October fifteenth.

“What wasted lives people allow themselves,” he said! “Society is sick. Western society has ruined the world!” I asked, where or when was it any better?’

. We lunched with Mary and Joe. We told Mary about Topazia’s saying that Vanda was distressed at thinking Mary wanted Krishnaji’s letters for the second volume of the biography. Mary was distressed at this interpretation, and wouldn’t ask for letters, but wanted only memories of events in Krishnaji’s life. Krishnaji mentioned the time “the face” changed and the voice asked Vanda if she would look after him.

‘Mary told, jokingly, of a sentence she had censored in Krishnaji’s letters to her mother. He had written from Ojai, “I am going to Santa Barbara, where I will 'cook a millionaire'. ‘To our amazement and hilarity, Krishnaji said, “Yes, and she only gave a hundred dollars!”’ ‘It was a Mrs. Bliss. For a man who cannot remember so many things’ ‘he suddenly remembered this!’ ‘
Yesterday, Krishnaji saw Mary’s mother’s turquoise ring on Mary’s hand, and remembered his wearing it for her. They believed he “magnetized” things.’
‘So this morning, he wore my four rings.’ That’s these four ‘And, when he told me to be careful, to come back safely, he put them back on my finger, and I felt that they were indeed a talisman, his protection.
Mary told of her mother’s turquoise ring and discussed the ring dazzling both her and Joe the day after Krishnaji had worn it through lunch last Friday. Joe, who doesn’t imagine such things, says it was the first time he had known firsthand of such a thing. I told Krishnaji, who nodded. He says it works better with precious stones than gold. He asked for my ring, a diamond that is in the bank in Malibu. I gave him a star sapphire one instead. He put it on his little finger during the morning, but to wear it all night, he said, was better. I did the laundry, housekeeping, and desk. He and I walked with Whisper. The countryside is so beautiful. The smell of autumn in the leaves, adds to such a sense of love for being in this landscape. I am deeply grateful to be here. In the afternoon, Krishnaji saw briefly a Mr. Rothman from Argentina. In the evening, I played the tape of the dialogue Krishnaji had with David Bohm last Saturday, number ten in the series. David had asked about “the process,” etcetera.’
A letter from Nandini told of dreaming twice that she asked Krishnaji, “Are you through with India?” and his reply was “I think so.”’
‘I wrote fourteen letters. We walked across the lovely fields. There has been no frost, and the summer leaves are still on the trees and hedgerows in this lovely land.’

This post was last updated by John Raica Thu, 06 Jul 2017.

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Thu, 06 Jul 2017 #335
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

More MZ & K Story Time

October first, 1975, a Mr. Malcolm Feuerstein of the BBC came to lunch, and he and Krishnaji and I talked afterwards. They want him to do something on television, a segment of a program on world religions. It is too much associated with gurus for Krishnaji, he said. Krishnaji, Dorothy, Whisper, and I went for a walk, and picked mushrooms and nettles for tea.’

On the fourth, Krishnaji, the Bohms, and I discussed the spring conference in Ojai, ‘In the afternoon, Krishnaji and David did a taped dialogue on wisdom, intelligence, and truth. Krishnaji and I took a brief walk around the grove.

the fifth of October. ‘Krishnaji had kept one of my rings for several days. I am to wear it until he arrives. It shines.’

‘I put in some food for supper and went to the airport to meet Krishnaji. He came on TWA, and it was on time. After many passengers had come out of customs, suddenly he was there, glancing about for me, all grace and shine in a new tweed jacket flannels, and a jersey shirt. He was elegance and youth. He had asked for the visa to last until May fifteenth, longer than they generally allow for a tourist. So, he had had to see a special immigration man who questioned him. “Would the hostess”—that’s me—“be responsible all that time if he should fall ill, etcetera?”’ “Where would he be staying in New York? And with whom?” He had to answer all that. And “did he have any friends?”’

‘Krishnaji apparently won the immigration man over, as he gave him the time he requested until May fifteenth. We took a taxi into town. New York is hot, in the eighties.
I reported a feeling from listening to audio tapes that David Bohm was rather flat-sounding. Krishnaji agreed he may come over rather professorially. Who else could do it? Shainberg, but for only a couple, not the whole series. Krishnaji finally thought that Naudé would be good if he would “pull his socks up.” He has the capability. “He’s our man.” I must tell him to be controlled, not over-talkative.

‘Dr. Wolf and Krishnaji got off on meditation rather than medicine.’ ‘Dr. Wolf had a transcendental meditation booklet from a patient. Krishnaji said, “Throw it out!”and told him of the process of desire on brain cells. He also showed him healthy breathing exercises. Wolf said Krishnaji’s heart was very strong; blood pressure 120 over 62. Good span between systolic and diastolic. He said Krishnaji’s arteries in the eye are those of a thirty-year-old.
“The body is galloping to Malibu,” said Krishnaji.’

So, the next day, the eighteenth, ‘we took a TWA noon flight to Los Angeles. At the airport, we discovered Krishnaji didn’t have his ticket! We had to report it lost and get another one at the airport. After a smooth flight, we arrived on a gentle, sunny, pleasant California afternoon.’
The gardens looked beautiful, and were in perfect order. Elfriede kept them well. Kishbaugh stayed to tea. Then, we had supper on trays, and so to bed in the blessed quiet and peace of this house. Only the ocean making its murmur. Enormous relief and thankfulness to be here.’

The nineteenth, I unpacked. Krishnaji rested. He is glad, too, to be here.’ Then, it goes on about the Dunnes. ‘The children came over. Krishnaji came out and talked to them for a bit.

M: On the twentieth, ‘I discussed with Krishnaji his being, as he says, unable to visualize or imagine with a picture in the mind. It is as if, in him, memory communicates with the conscious mind, and without images.’

Now, we go to the twenty-third. ‘It is a clear, beautiful day. We went to Ojai, Krishnaji driving most of the way. Krishnaji is happy with the beauty of the day and exclaimed on the coloring of the rocks and hills. We lunched with Erna and Theo, and discussed the situation in the school of Person X continuing to interfere with the school, that those in the school were not coping with it, and the atmosphere in the school was almost destroyed with not handling the situation.
October twenty-fifth, ‘Mark Lee came and spoke alone to Krishnaji. Krishnaji put the situation to him very clearly. He must solve the problem with Person X or he will have “no capacity” for the school.’

On the twenty-ninth, ‘we went to Ojai. At the cottage, Krishnaji talked alone to Mark who seems to have found a way of dealing with Person X.’
Krishnaji saw Michael Krohnen, who was cooking there, Asha, Nandini’—that’s Mark and Asha’s child—‘and others. At the cottage, he talked with three teachers, and trustees about the school, how he would cope with a child such as’—well, the child is named—‘who is aged ten, who when introduced to Krishnaji and to me, didn’t get up.’ Not that children get up today when an adult is introduced to them. ‘How to bring about consideration, not by coercion, example, etcetera. Moody, Mark, and Needham had no answers. Krishnaji said mostly to get to know the child, get him to reveal his interests, etcetera, and through a relationship with the child to be able to encourage these other qualities.

At the table, we discussed that Alain, to both of us, seems to be outside the work, no longer interested, and not really at ease with us. There were too many polite protestations of being glad to see us. Krishnaji has given up the idea that Alain should do the discussions with him. He is too far from it all now. Then, I asked Krishnaji about his remark against giving a part of the body to someone else, i.e., a kidney or an eye after death. Krishnaji is very much against it for himself, or “anyone around me.” It was hard to get his reasons. It seemed to be that giving part of one’s body, especially if one had been concerned with sacred things, would give some sort of power to the donee, to affect a residue in consciousness. Equally, accepting something, such as a blood transfusion, is to be avoided. One would have to know a lot about the donor. Krishnaji would not take a transfusion. He spoke of the responsibility for the body, and especially the brain. He feels remiss if he cuts himself, for instance. And, the time in September in London when he hit his head in the taxi, he checked himself carefully. “Have I hurt it?” He spoke of the ring he held and had me wear from the time I left Brockwood till he came. Now, he wants me to wear it if I go to town without him. It has a quality of protection.’ ‘In the evening, we watched two Kojak films.’

Krishnaji was sick to his stomach after taking zinc tablets in the morning. And he slept all morning. He was better and up for lunch.’
On the fifth. ‘Krishnaji and I drove to Ojai. At 11 a.m. there was a trustee meeting in the cottage. At 12 p.m., Alan Hooker came to tell us about a Mrs. Barbara De Noon, a possible administrator. Erna and Theo badly want somebody to just take over. There’s too much of a burden on Erna now in the office. Hooker gave De Noon praise. Radha Burnier, who was here on a TS visit at Krotona, joined us for lunch at Arya Vihara.

On November eleventh, ‘Mrs. Gita Sarabhai and a daughter, Palevi, and a friend came to tea.’ She wrote that book that’s down in the…she knew Krishnaji way, way, way back, the Sarabhai family.

. We drove home rather fast as young Palevi Sarabhai came at 5 p.m. for Krishnaji’s healing.’ That’s the daughter. ‘Driving fast tired Krishnaji, so he gave me the wheel the last few miles. In the morning in the car, I asked him about what level in the brain does the ordering up of “duty.” What wakes one up, says this and this must be done now, or today, and do it. It can’t only be memory and conditioning? Part of the brain’s notion of order, survival, but the bad of it is to let it have too much activity. It should be quick, seen, then emptiness.

But one can over-plan and it becomes imagination, fantasy, and this saps energy that should have space for something else. I had an insight into this today, and also saw that it is this level of thought that is tedious, not things done. The mind free and empty is not weighted by activity on this level.’

The thirteenth of November ‘was a hot day in the eighties. Krishnaji again saw Palevi Sarabhai at 4 o’clock for a treatment. Then, we had a long beach walk. Monet-scene sky. Not as warm as yesterday. When I went barefoot and felt the fun of the waves and the sand, I also felt how numb my left foot has become. But the feel of the ocean, even in this tiny way, was good. Evelyne Blau telephoned about my asking yesterday if Lou could do anything about Krishnaji’s status in this country and citizenship. She says that Lou thinks it is not impossible and will talk to Senator Alan Cranston. Krishnaji is pleased and optimistic.’

The next day. Krishnaji told me that I am sometimes too slow to drop conclusions. He observed that, when I do see something, that I am quick to get to it. He cited the citizenship and architects.’ He meant that I point out difficulties, rather than let things unfold. That’s the truth. I’ve done that always.
Sometimes, I thought it was necessary! But sometimes, I clearly overdid it. ‘“You are dealing with something different here.”’
Also said he would like with David Bohm to go totally into one subject and not “jump from thing to thing.”’
‘At lunch, he said, after listening to a bit of a tape with Bohm on October fourth, “I wondered if, when I talk, I think? I don’t.” And then another quote: “No memory. Language is memory. You have to use it. You see the tree; you describe it. You use the word, but perception has no thought. There is no thought operating except that of language.” We spoke about imagination and he said, “When there is total detachment, that is not imagination. It is a picture without any content, any distortion.”’ He said he had woken up this morning at 2 a.m. and couldn’t sleep, then meditation began. “Feeling of exultation, elation, exultation.”

In the evening, Krishnaji turned on the television of the movie Judgment at Nuremburg. I had to leave at the scenes of the camps. Krishnaji watched it and then came into me, and said, “What is the matter with humanity? This is monstrous, people are this way everywhere.” He was very shocked.’
On the sixteenth of November, ‘Krishnaji and I drove to CanogaPark, ‘on a favored expedition in the Mercedes. I had bought the new grey 240 diesel Mercedes. We ordered it in the spring to replace the Jaguar. Krishnaji was very pleased. It’s neat and nice-looking, a sedan.

‘We talked about American people being “taught to be selfish and to need pleasure” by the movies. We had seen old movies on TV last night, MGM musicals. Out of this, Krishnaji mentioned our schools, and I questioned teaching doing anything except minimizing mistakes. But what Krishnaji is cannot be taught, obviously, the most that can be done is to point out and remove impediments, mistakes, i.e., thought, conditioning, ambition, ego, etcetera. It seems to me that that way, at its widest reach, may make a better human being. But for a Krishnamurti or a Buddha, there must be something inherent in the child, something like, but beyond, genius.

Krishnaji then said that it is like 'oil in the earth'; it is there, waiting to be reached. The children we teach cannot be taught to reach it, but there are young people capable of this. He implied we must find them, or the ones we can teach may have such children. They may be turned in that direction. He seemed to agree, or at least not disagree, with my saying that even if a person were able to shed all the “mistakes,” the errors, it would not bring about the “Other.”’

‘He spoke of an extraordinary meditation last night. I asked if he could describe it a little, and he said it is not describable. I asked him if there is a quality of light in it, that so many people of religious experience speak of light…“enlightenment.” He said it does not seem light, but the closest description would be 'emptinessr. As he said that, it seemed to me that the light—which I have experienced somewhat—is just that—still in the realm of experience. And there is no experience in what Krishnaji speaks of.’

On the twenty-sixth, ‘we drove to Ojai in the green car. Krishnaji saw Ralph Edsel for a few minutes, a young man who is doing yard work for Arya Vihara. Then, in the cottage, we met with five architects plus Charles Rusch, the Lilliefelts, Evelyne, Patterson, and Mark Lee, about the Oak Grove buildings. We lunched and resumed our meeting afterward. All architects agree to meet in Ojai with us on the seventh and eighth, and explore the territory and the immediate building to start the project.’

Krishnaji says he will be alright here while I’m in the hospital in January. The probable stay is five days?!’
Krishnaji said he woke up in the night with an intense feeling and the sentence, “Suffering and the remembrance of suffering are still in the field of the self.”

On the thirteenth, ‘Krishnaji and I drove to Ojai in the grey car. At the cottage, Krishnaji saw a twelve-year-old girl who was said to have musical and psychic gifts, Belita Adair.
The fifteenth of December. ‘Jackie and Sarjit Siddoo came at noon to see Krishnaji and to talk about their proposed school. During lunch, a cable came from Kitty and Balasundarum that Shiva Rao had died today in New Delhi of a heart attack.’

The sixteenth. ‘‘A cable came from Balasundaram, saying Suba Rao died today in India. Krishnaji felt it more, he said, than Shiva Rao because “Subarao has always been with us. Shiva Rao was a politician.”

December twenty-first, has been a weekend of many Krishnaji things. We drove up to Ojai after lunch on Friday.’ ‘On the road’—driving to Ojai on the nineteenth—‘Krishnaji said to me, “Watch and have the mind empty,” and then “it is beginning, the head, pressure from the back of the head in the brain.” We went to the Oak Grove. Met Erna, Theo, and Mark there, and walked about to look for sites for the assembly building. Krishnaji is not satisfied with the architect’s suggestion of putting it up the hill among the trees. We liked one place near the grove itself, at the edge of the meadow. We walked across Besant Road and around Rajagopal’s place. “That crook,” said Krishnaji’ ‘in a resonate voice. At the cottage, Mark, in the school room, ran a newly made copy of a film made in 1925, which we found in the cottage basement, hidden away; probably only the dryness of Ojai preserved it. The lab Erna and Evelyne took it to said they hadn’t seen such an old film, and that it was dangerous.’ It was a nitrate film. They copied it well. It was several short reels taken in Ommen in 1925 by a Swedish man. Krishnaji, Mrs. Besant, Rajagopal, Jadu, Lady Emily, and many familiar people that Krishnaji recognized. The film is amateurish and shot in such brief length, it was hard to see well. The young Krishnaji was very much a boy, though he was all of thirty years old. Krishnaji said later, “He must have been developing slowly. The mind wasn’t mature yet.” He asked afterward how it seemed to us. Mostly, rather childish. The Liberal Catholic Church processions looked rather shocking in a Krishnaji film. Mrs. Besant seemed old, feeble, and not at ease. Krishnaji seemed more curious about our impressions than having any of his own.’
‘Saturday, we slept late, till 8 a.m.!’ Eleven hours in bed. That’s good,” said Krishnaji. I felt the good of it, too. I felt distracted in the morning yesterday, trying to finish things before leaving Malibu, and it was a rest to be in the quiet here, to fix our simple supper, no TV, and then the ease of sleep. I did some marketing, then we lunched with Erna and Theo. At 2:30 p.m., we held a discussion at Arya Vihara that didn’t get going, really. There were too many people who aren’t versed in Krishnaji’s teachings, and don’t know how to discuss. We walked afterward.’
‘At 3 p.m., there was a tea party at Arya Vihara for old Ojai fans. Krishnaji soon slid out and went for a walk. On our return, Mark showed a second batch of the old films, these done in 1925 at Adyar. Leadbeater, Arundale, Wedgwood, Jinarajadasa in miters and robes.’ ‘Krishnaji was beautiful in Indian clothes. Then, a short film in 1924 with Nitya, briefly. Watching all these, there were “oh’s” of surprise and recognition from Krishnaji and “slowly, slowly” when the film was too quick and abrupt. He sat and talked afterward to Erna and Theo, Mark, and me. He hadn’t wanted to watch the film with anyone else present. I felt the young Krishnaji, though eager and smiling, was being polite rather than a part of it all. The short glimpses of Nitya moved me very much, and during the meeting at Arya Vihara, I kept thinking of him there, the sadness of his dying there without his brother, and I kept wanting to say to him, “See how this turned out. Krishnaji has become everything. Listen to him.”’
At lunch, he said to Erna, “You asked about the process. It began here. Pains, fainting. It’s probably Kundalini. I am very skeptical about those things. I doubt most who say they have had it.”’

On December thirtieth, ‘Krishnaji said the day is “to do something extravagant.” So, we went to the movies, the first time since last spring. In the car going to town, Krishnaji said yesterday’s feeling in his head left it “feeling more powerful.” I asked, “Do you mean more energy?” Krishnaji replied, “That’s it, much more energy. I never felt this before.” We then met Alan Kishbaugh at a Mexican restaurant near Lindberg’s, El Capote. We had enchiladas and tostadas, and it all seemed to agree with Krishnaji. He had suggested Mexican food. This morning, he resumed with an egg for breakfast and had more kefir. He reported the added protein was good for him. ‘Then we saw the movie The Man Who Would Be King. Almost good. Krishnaji vouched for the authentic look of Indian trains during the British Raj days. We came home to a long letter from Balasundaram about the settling of the Vasanta Vihar case, and the K Trust Madras.’
Wednesday, the thirty-first of December. ‘A quiet day at home. We walked on the beach at sunset. The sand shone with reflections of the sky. One walks in the slanting sun light. I feel “lost” and floating in the light of such days. We had supper on trays as usual and heard a TV broadcast of Krishnaji’s favorite, The Ninth Symphony, with Von Karajan and the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra. Krishnaji watched carefully the way Von Karajan directed, eyes closed, an inward look, and gestures that seemed to shape the music. So, this year ended with a blessing in peace of Krishnaji’s presence here.’

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Fri, 07 Jul 2017 #336
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

More ' K Story Times'

January first, 1976. Krishnaji was in Malibu, not having gone to India that year. ‘A new year, a new diary. It began in the quiet joy of Krishnaji’s presence. His face was the first thing I saw; and his voice spoke the first words of the new year. Then, we each did exercises separately, as usual, but made breakfast together, and played a new record of Gregorian chants. It was a quiet clear morning. One of the Dunne girls lunched with us. In the afternoon, on awakening from his nap, he and I washed the grey Mercedes. It is cold today. My fingers grew numb inside the rubber gloves. We walked over to Amanda and Phil Dunne’s to wish them a Happy New Year. All their three daughters were there, and also David—a friend of theirs. Krishnaji thought that Amanda looked unwell, withdrawn. Was she in pain? I asked her later. She said, “No, only a bit tired.”’
The next day, in the grey Mercedes, we went to Ojai in the afternoon and settled into the cottage. It was very cold there. The temperature had gone down to nineteen degrees this week, but it was snug in the cottage. We walked a little. I made supper, and after some TV, bedtime came early.’

January fifth. ‘Krishnaji had eleven hours of rest, he told me, happily feeling the good of it on waking up. Over breakfast, he talked at length about seeing what his presence had done here and the need to spend extended time in Ojai. That points to a need to expand the cottage to be a proper house. And we talked about this, and which architect to use. He said, too, that Ojai, Brockwood, and India must be brought together. He puts his faith in Sunanda and Balasundaram. “Pupul is diminishing,” he said. He said that Bohm, Fritz, the Lilliefelts, and I must talk in the spring about what the center ought to be. He said Brockwood has reached a level as a school, but that it is not enough. It’s too limited. It must, “flower as a European oasis.”’
He said, “I must do this, the center, before I die.” He wants to stay alone in the cottage on the weekend that I am in hospital’
‘“Something is happening here.”…“I feel safe here now.”…“I don’t want to interrupt it.” He doesn’t want any strange person to stay in the cottage with him. He will take lunch and supper with the Lilliefelts.
Erna came for a walk. She says that they will stay above the office next weekend if Krishnaji stays alone in the cottage.’ That’s so they’d be near by, the office being right next to the cottage.

‘At supper, Krishnaji said I was slipping into habits. I don’t control my body. Why? Am I worried about my cousin?’‘Or about my own operation? No. Only fatigue at times. I feel well, have plenty of energy mostly, but it runs out sooner. Krishnaji said I was much more energetic at Brockwood. He said that with him, I should have the most energy. “What will you do if I die?” he asked. Then, he said, “Do you feel something in the room?” I had and did. And strangely, the tiredness I had felt disappeared as if a transfusion of strength had been given.’

On January tenth. ‘At breakfast Krishnaji said, “I once saw ‘a face.’ I’ve been feeling ‘that face’ all night. Something happens to me here.”’
‘I asked, “Something curious happened to me last night when you were talking to me. Did you know that?”’
‘He replied, “Yes. I will tell you sometime, not now.” He went on talking about being here. It was important. He may return here on Wednesday, while I am in the hospital. We talked about living here all the time without Malibu. Would I mind giving up Malibu? I said I loved it, but was not attached to it. My home is where it is best for him and the teachings.’

At supper, Krishnaji said, “I will live another fifteen years, and you another twenty.”’ He looked intently at me. I asked what it was. “I feel that 'other' thing.” For me, it is interesting that I haven’t felt tired at all today.’
Krishnaji continued on the subject: Is there something original and not in the realm of knowledge and self? Do we see that we live in ( the realm of) conditioned thought? How do we drop concepts to see the false and remaining only with the question? I questioned not accepting answers, even from God himself.” To truly ask is not to know, and from this, something different can be. It takes great energy and attention to remain in the question.’

‘In the car coming home, I asked about “the face.” He has seen it often, “out there like that bush there.” A face only, not a body.’
‘I asked, “Does it move or speak?”’
‘“No. I have been seeing it since that night”’ That was Friday; two days ago…‘“not outside, but inside. It usually means it is moving into this body.”’
‘I asked if it could presage his “going off,” and, if so, should he stay alone in the cottage while I am in the hospital?’
‘“That will not happen when I am alone,” he said. “The body must be looked after.”’

He’d seen “the face,” and according to this, it seemed to move into him, ‘“A face only, not a body.”’
Then I ask, ‘“Does it move or speak?”’
He replies, ‘“No. I have been seeing it since that night”’—I put in parenthesis ‘(Friday),’—and this was on Sunday, two days ago—‘“not outside but inside.”’

January twentieth. Krishnaji was concerned about my finances. “You must live as you do now, be able to travel,” he said. We agreed that “my job is to look after K.” He then said that at Ojai, he had a feeling’ ‘he must offer a chance to Rajagopal and RR’—that’s Rosalind—‘to redeem themselves, before they die. Must do it, so they cannot refuse, for if they do, it will be worse.’
‘“Greater damnation?” I asked.’
‘“Yes,” said Krishnaji.’bHe talked to the Lilliefelts yesterday, who must’ve been shaken by this. I listened without comment. Then he said, “Rajagopal was a Brahmin. I want to tell him that.”

Today, we reminisced about Aldous Huxley. He remembered his saying to Krishnaji, “It is nice to hear English spoken again after all these years in California.”’ ‘He remembered visiting Aldous and Maria’ once in Rome when Aldous came to a World Health Organization meeting. “We used to walk in the Borghese Gardens in the morning. Then, Aldous had to go to the WHO. I think it bored him.” Krishnaji was very sprawling, elegant, and turning on the chair he sat on, and laughing at the remembrance.’In evening, Krishnaji did my leg. He told me later that he felt a 'presence' as he did it, and it remained in my room instead of following him “as it usually does.”’

Now, we go to the twenty-seventh. Krishnaji came in and talked seriously. He said, “My life is uncertain and because it is uncertain, it is enduring.”’
‘“You must carry on.”’
‘He said, “There is something more in my life than K, and if 'that' operates, it will do what it wants. No one can prevent it.” And he said, “My love for you is without attachment, and therefore it will endure.”’
‘“I am coming with you to talk to Blau.” “I want to tell him this property in Ojai is to be yours; I may be there, but it is yours.”’
‘“Because you have taken the responsibility for K, you must be protected.”
He spoke of the possibility of his “going off.” He said, once at Brockwood, only Whisper’s presence prevented it. I asked what it meant. Did it mean he would die? Maybe, he said, but it seems to be as if he dismissed that as minor—the “going off” seems the point and a different sort of disappearance.’ He used to talk about 'disappearing' a lot. But he spoke of the body living another ten to fifteen years. He spoke of the importance of Balasundaram and Sunanda carrying on the work in India. He said Pupul is finished, too pulled by “selling cloth.” ‘Her being able to spend only three days at Rishi Valley showed her boredom. It is important that Sunanda be around Krishnaji here and at Brockwood to learn. Then, Fritz Wilhelm, Alan K., Mark Lee must be in on discussions between him and David Bohm regarding what a center is to be. “It will come out. It always does.” He spoke about rescuing “those two” (Rajagopal and Rosalind) from damnation. Why? Because they had been close to the teachings and had rejected it, and therefore, the greater damnation.’

Later, after lunch, he said he was tired, his head hurt. It began when he talked seriously.’ Then I put in a p.s.: ‘Krishnaji also said that if it were not “for K,” my operation and its healing wouldn’t have gone as well as it did.’

January twenty-eighth ‘was a quiet day.
‘Krishnaji at lunch said, “I’ve had two things going through my mind all morning. One, a Buddhist temple at Adyar with a pond where he”’—Krishnaji as a boy—“‘used to go there, when he first lived there, in the early mornings and stand there, vacant, lost.”…“I wonder why this memory has drifted up?” He had looked a bit “off” all morning. He picked up the biography in my room, opened it, and stood smiling faintly at a very early picture of him and his two brothers.’
January twenty-ninth. ‘Krishnaji and I went to Beverly Hills, I driving the grey Mercedes slowly and without too much effort. For two-and-a-half hours we talked in his office with Louis Blau about Krishnaji getting immigrant status in this country, meaning a “green card.” We’ll try under the special category of a religious leader. There are endless forms to fill in. I will undertake to give all the necessary information. Then, Lou went into a strong statement which sounded like ones Krishnaji had come to make, i.e., that I must be in the position where I can live in the new proposed Ojai house for the rest of my life with privacy, protection, etcetera. To that end, Lou and his office will advise on how to bring the cottage and the land to be a total property legally vis-à-vis the Foundation, Krishnaji was rather amazed at the complication of the “business,” but he likes and has confidence in Lou. It was after 7 p.m. when we got home.’

February first. ‘It is as hot as summer. Not a cloud. “Another beastly day,” says Krishnaji. Kishbaugh lunched with Krishnaji and me in the cottage. We discussed the mind being within the field of knowledge. Much review, but a good one. Krishnaji, Alan, and I walked. I rested. We had our usual supper and each was deep in a book.’

Friday, the sixth. Krishnaji brought up “saving the souls” of Rajagopal and Rosalind. Krishnaji said they had both 'spat on the teachings', which was such a dreadful thing that he feels they should be given a chance before they die to expiate it. All of us seem to feel that Rajagopal is incapable of it, but Krishnaji feels he should have one more chance. I pointed out that Erna, Theo, and I had gone to long considerable efforts to extricate Krishnaji from the swamp he was in with those people, and that even a touch of it again was repugnant. Krishnaji said it was not a question of that, but because they’d been close to the teachings, and betrayed it, they are 'damned'—a word I began and now he uses.

On February ninth, ‘Rain lessened. We left and drove back to Malibu. I was tense in the car. I’m leaving forty minutes behind schedule; and the schedule was tight. Krishnaji intended to drive the second lap as usual. When I said we had to hurry, he said I was irritable, and he didn’t want that. “All right, anything for peace.”’ ‘He wouldn’t drive, which shocked me, and I stopped in the usual place and gave him the wheel. He drove back beautifully and swiftly.

February seventeenth. ‘Krishnaji said, “I feel as if something were expanding in my head. It has been going on for a few days, a new feeling. If I shut my eyes, it is there.” And then, “Your responsibility is to look after K. Therefore, you must be healthy. I will live a long time, ten or fifteen years.”

Mark and Asha lunched with Rosalind and Beatrice Wood. Rosalind said she will never forgive Krishnaji for refusing to see her in Rome.’ She had gone to Rome to try to see him when he was staying with Vanda, and he refused to see her.

From Krishnaji, “I will talk to your body, not you, on a quiet face and quiet hands.”…“I am aware of gestures as I talk; why aren’t you?” said he.’ Well, he sits on his hands. I never could. I move my hands much too much, and I realize it. Krishnaji was always bothered that my hands were not quiet. It bothered him always. Bothers me still.

On the twenty-second, ‘Krishnaji walked in his sleep last night. I must’ve heard him bump into something in his room, for I woke up suddenly and totally and alarmingly.’ ‘He came into the sitting room, where I was sleeping on the sofa. I spoke to him, and he said, “Maria?”’ That’s the name he called me. ‘I put on the tiny Dutch flashlight Dorothy gave me a year ago and saw Krishnaji was standing against the wall facing it.’ That means he would’ve had his back to me. ‘He woke up with the light and went back to the bathroom and bed, falling immediately deeply asleep. I could hear his breathing was that of sleep. I stayed awake a long time. In the morning he said, “I must’ve walked in my sleep. I have never done that.”

February twenty-third. ‘Krishnaji at breakfast said, “My head, here”—he indicated the back part—“feels as if it were expanding—great stillness, air, and light.” He gestured and laughed. Last night he seemed to have walked in his sleep again. I was instantly awake around 1 a.m. when I heard him walking in his room. I spoke and he responded, and came in. “I wonder why I do this.” He went back and slept immediately.
Meanwhile, Moorhead telephoned from England on his arrival from India. He says that Balasundaram has hepatitis, and may not be able to come to the conference. Krishnaji talked alone with Smoot, and then called in Erna, Theo, and me. Krishnaji had smoothed it all out.’

‘And so, we didn’t get off till about 5 p.m. in the car. Krishnaji said his head was suddenly bad. He asked me to drive between fifty and fifty-five m.p.h.’ That means slowly. ‘Suddenly he said, “I almost fainted just now.” Several times, he put one hand over his eyes and groaned. “It’s pretty bad,” he said. Along the coast road near Decker Road, he fainted for about two minutes. The seat belt held him gently so that he didn’t fall into my lap as in past faintings. When we reached the house, he said he was alright, and jumped out and opened the garage doors. We carried things into his room. When I asked, he said, “I’m alright. Don’t worry. I never faint when I’m alone.” So, I went to fix our supper. Going to bed and saying goodnight later, he said his head was bad.’

February twenty-seventh. “A strange thing happened this morning. I was sitting quietly, a sort of meditation, and suddenly, there was absolute silence, a withdrawal of everything, and it was like death; there was this body sitting quietly and this truth of not existing anywhere; complete death. And if I hadn’t felt, 'by Jove, this is getting too far', I don’t know what would’ve happened. It was absolute nothingness. It felt as though, if that state continued, the body would die. There would be an end of everything.”’
‘Then, I asked, “Was it similar to the times on a walk alone when you felt like going away?”’
‘Krishnaji replied, “It was much more intense this morning.”’
‘I asked, “When did it happen?”’
‘He replied, “Oh, long before breakfast. There was a period when the back of the brain was tremendously ventilated, as though taking deep breaths and being filled with air. It went on for some time.”’
‘“How long?” I asked.’
‘Krishnaji said, “May have been two or three minutes or more. I don’t know.”’
‘I asked, “When you felt it was getting too much, was it then instantly out?”’
‘Krishnaji replied, “Oh, instantly out.”’
‘“What do you think it is?” I asked.’ 'I think it has to do with what happened in the brain, the expanding, getting ventilated, really air going into it: a slight strain, as though a new fresh brain had been put into it. A totally uncontaminated…”’

February twenty-eighth, ‘At 3 p.m., Krishnaji held a private discussion in the cottage on thought, realities, that of nature, of objects created by thought (machines, etcetera) and that of thought itself (ideas, imagination). Understanding the illusion of thought is truth. Krishnaji in this began a dialogue with himself, and said, “Since you won’t question, I will do it,” and he did both ends of dialogue. “I say to my friend, etc.” He was pleased with this device, and in the evening said he was going to do that in future discussions.’

Krishnaji said he has been thinking of Rosalind and Rajagopal and no longer thinks an attempt to help them “repent,” undo the evil they have done, will work. “I think I will leave it alone.” He described her anger when he used to heal. “Why do you do that!?” she would say.’ And her walking out when he would talk to the Happy Valley teachers. She didn’t come to discussions. ‘“She was too stupid to understand,” and he retold her query when The Commentaries were published, “Did you write that? You couldn’t have. It must’ve been Rajagopal.”

Krishnaji came in before going to bed and told me to write down, “When there is understanding of reality, there is infinite order, and love and justice are inherent in reality.”’

The first of March. Krishnaji said his head was bad most of the time now. It had been that morning. Then he said, “I feel like doing something extravagant. What shall we do, Maria?”’ ‘I replied, “Shall we go to a movie? Go dancing? To Las Vegas!”
‘Krishnaji laughed and said, “That would be punishment.”’ ‘I asked, “What would be extravagant?”’
‘He replied, “I don’t know.” He was tired after supper.’
On the second of March, Krishnaji rested and was waiting in the driveway as I arrived home at 4 p.m. As the rain began, we couldn’t walk, but tried a new gadget for doing a headstand on a shoulder stool.’
After a while, he said, “The curious thing is happening. A 'new' thing is being added to it. This morning it was so easy—it has become quite ordinary—it is there, "nothingness", a vast space of nothingness. The 'new' thing I felt a few days—something sacred; something totally holy—I don’t know what it is.” We came around the big rock, and then there was Topa Topa, white with snow. Krishnaji said, “What a country this is, real California. I wish I could remember what it was like in 1922.” Then, “Darling Maria, we must have that house a jewel, austere, holy, nothing extravagant, showy.” There was a pause. Then, “Thank you for having me here.”’

Krishnaji talked about the house we will build and how someday we may live only here and Brockwood. Not India, he said. He asked if, “When we have K & R,” if Rajagopal’s names can be removed from The Commentaries? “It doesn’t belong there.”’

‘At 4 p.m. he saw Mark, David Moody, about how to handle a child who doesn’t respond to two approaches they use, creating an atmosphere and by dialogue. The child is self-centered, gets attention by behaving badly. Krishnaji said, “Can you move his attention from himself by creating another attention which he will want, instead of giving him the personal attention which he wants, you move his attention away from him with the same intensity, divert his energy.”’
‘“I will talk to 8,000 people in Bombay about things that are the opposite of what they want. This is my problem, how to reach them. I point out something that is true, get them to look at it, not as opposed to something else. I appeal to their 'unconscious'.
There may be an unconscious movement for change. And this may affect parents to send the child to the school. The same quality may affect the child.
There may be an unconscious demand, urge, that we cannot go on living as we have in violence. So, there are two things, to direct his attention and talking to his unconscious. You mustn’t put him in the position of resisting. He may be here because something else sent him, not his parents. Therefore, my responsibility is much greater.
Patterson said, “You are impatient.”’
‘Krishnaji replied, “I’m not impatient, but you repeat over and over things I’ve already said.” Krishnaji told him that he was setting himself up as an interpreter of the teachings. When he denied saying things about the school and the Lilliefelts, Krishnaji called them, and they all had it out.’

On the ninth of March, Erna read a letter to Krishnaji from the prime minister of Canada’s wife, Mrs. Margaret Trudeau, about her wish to attend the scientists’ conference as an observer. I spoke to her in Ottawa; she will come under her maiden name of Sinclair.

I came home late. I found Krishnaji waiting in the dark at the turn in the driveway in his white bathrobe…’ And I felt strongly that my role was a protective one to smooth his life as much as I could, to protect him, to serve him in whatever he needed, see that he had the right food, and he was in the right place so that it would be comfortable and clean and all the things that you do for a person; and that he wouldn’t have had unless it was done. And I happened to be the one there to do it. And he did seem to need…he was very sensitive of the presence of different people. And certain people, it was very bad; he didn’t want…that.
And other people, he was sensitive to the good of whatever that was.

So, the next day was March twelfth. It was time for Krishnaji and me to go to the airport to meet Saral and David Bohm, having flown in from London. We brought them back to Malibu for the night.’
March fourteenth, ‘Krishnaji spent the morning in bed, but talked to David Bohm of what the Center should be. The Bohms and the Lilliefelts lunched with us in the cottage. At 3 p.m., Krishnaji held the Sunday discussion with the Bohms attending, and which I taped. Krishnaji said in the discussion, “All causation is mechanical,” and “All thought leads to sorrow.”

On the nineteenth. ‘The first day of the scientists’ conference began at 10:30 a.m. David Bohm was the chairman and asked Krishnaji to speak, to begin with. The theme of the discussion is: In a disintegrating society, what is right action for survival. Krishnaji said the essence of religion is to discover what is truth and reality. When that doesn’t exist, there is degeneration. The transformation of the individual is the transformation of the world, using the word “individual” in the sense of whole, indivisible. During the discussion, Sudarshan asked: Is there such a thing as another 'state'? Krishnaji replied, “I would say there is but not to be experienced.” Krishnaji said that all thinking leads to suffering; all religion is based on thinking; does death lead to immortality; can a human being learn what death is; a state of timelessness? He said, “A man who suffers lives in darkness.” He said there is a quality of mind which is free from thought; everything based on thought is time-binding; time is the essence of suffering. If thought spills over into timelessness, then it is illusion. So, thought must see its limitations and stop there, without any effort, compulsion. If I see the limitation (of my self-centred thought) , then begins real meditation; then, I can explore what suffering is.” If I see the whole, it is not suffering.” Concerning thought leading to suffering,

David Bohm said that you cannot control what mathematical thought will lead to. Thought cannot take place in an isolated context, and you cannot control the context.’

‘Krishnaji easily dominated the meeting, without wishing to. Most of the group was silent. He spoke with force and eloquence. In forceful emphasis, he made a gesture of his fist with his thumbs up, moving out and down. The morning meeting stopped at 12:30 p.m. and moved to Arya Vihara, where the Hookers and Michael Krohnen had lunch on the patio ready. I washed dishes. Margaret Trudeau, as Ms. Sinclair, arrived having walked from Ojai.’ Very blue eyes, creamy skin, listened attentively, and took notes in a small book. Krishnaji, Erna, and I walked later.’

The next day Krishnaji began the conference, talking about the 'mind', and consciousness not separate from the mind.
‘Seems she was interviewed on television some weeks ago, and when asked about influences in her life, she mentioned Krishnamurti. She wanted to come, but was uncertain about the invitation, hence her letter to Krishnamurti which caused me to telephone her and clear her.’
‘In the afternoon, it was calmer. Krishnaji spoke of the part of the mind that is mechanical, because that which has cause is always mechanical. Is there a part of that, that is not mechanical? He said: Understanding, pleasure, and ending fear and sorrow is necessary to go beyond thought. He asked if living without ego is possible. Can we act without conclusions, images; can we prevent image-making, and wipe away ones already there? Thought is always limited, and because of that, creates images. He said: If I were whole, I would be the whole of mankind, the global sense of a human being. “It is insanity that creates images,” (in the sense of whole equals sane, healthy, holy). A question was raised of why perception doesn’t always work the first time.

Krishnaji asked if we are conditioned to the process of gradual seeing, and if we gave conflict attention, but we don’t. “We are not willing to give our lives for this.” We are concerned with our own clarity, not clarity itself. If you listen with no resistance, if there is no barriers, you will have it, you’ve seen it. “In total listening, the problem is finished.”’
‘We rationalize first, and then try to perceive. Perceive is direct insight. “Let the question answer you, not you the question.” Perception is timeless, correct action is always timeless.’

March twenty-first, ‘was the third day, Krishnaji commenced by asking, “What is correct action?” Not born of ideas. Is there perception without idea?

the twenty-second. ‘The fourth day of the conference. Globus beforehand proposed to Krishnaji that Margaret Trudeau be admitted as a participant. This led to all observers being considered as participants. The tables were rearranged. Someone urged more discussion of each person’s problems.’
So, we go to the twenty-third, the fifth day of the conference. ‘Globus and Franklin tried to reduce it to personal discussion of “violence” at the conference, causing the departure of…’ Somebody with a name beginning with D—don’t remember his name.
The sixth day of the conference was on March twenty-fourth. ‘The meeting began with Krishnaji discussing silence. And then fifteen minutes of silence ensued. Then, Krishnaji asked if Globus, who had raised personal things, wanted to go into that. Globus said he had seen that it was in him, and so the discussion was released and went on to some extraordinary depth by Krishnaji. All ended favorably and warmly. In the afternoon, most of the scientists left, including Margaret Trudeau.’

March twenty-fifth, ‘David Bohm and David Shainberg came to the cottage at 8 a.m. to discuss the proposed videotaped discussions that are to be held at Brockwood in May, Krishnaji gave an interview to Dr. Renèe Weber’—she had been in the conference—‘who teaches philosophy at Rutgers. She had stayed to lunch at Arya Vihara with us, the Bohms, and the Patwardhans, Erna, Theo, Mark, and Michael Krohnen. We discussed the conference and, in certain human concepts, Krishnaji described the Theosophical hierarchy, etcetera. In explaining it, he realized he was describing a version of his own. “Mustn’t mix it,” he said. There was a certain atmosphere as he spoke. At 3 p.m., we drove to Malibu. He said “that” is inexhaustible. The body is tired, but never “that.” “Silence is original, untouched by the human mind.”’

The next day, ‘I had a 9 a.m. appointment with an immigration lawyer, George Rosenberg, about Krishnaji’s residence in the U.S. We were trying to bring Krishnaji in as a religious leader, and he said to me, your organization is not a religious one because there’s no deity.

The next day, ‘Reg and Mavis Bennett came to tea at the cottage.’ Then, the Indians suggested going over to Rajagopal’s. I said I wouldn’t go, and Erna wouldn’t either, but urged Theo to go with them. They went. Unshaven, dilapidated, in a bathrobe, Rajagopal met them. He greeted Sunanda enthusiastically. They talked on the porch. He said he was helpless. His lawyer’s advice was preventing him. Then, he invited Sunanda to come the next day, and he would show her. Asit said he was leaving today and would like to see his aunt’s, “Pupul’s account” of the Ootacamund events. Rajagopal said he didn’t quite know where anything was. They didn’t stay. Sunanda said she would let him know. She came back, and over lunch at Arya Vihara, recounted it to Krishnaji. Sunanda, Asit, and Pama were shocked by what they had seen. Sunanda at lunch became tearful. Krishnaji said Rajagopal was a scoundrel, and it was insulting to invite her but refuse entry to the rest. It was awful to see a man so deteriorated, Sunanda said. She was sorry for him, as a tragedy. Sunanda later telephoned Rajagopal and said she wasn’t coming.’

April tenth. ‘Krishnaji gave his third public talk in the Oak Grove. We lunched near the Ranch House Restaurant. In the afternoon, Krishnaji held an education discussion in the cottage which included the Siddoos, Tapas, Sunanda, Pama, Shakuntala, Narayan, etc. Later, Mrs. Mathias came and talked to Krishnaji.’

April eighteenth, ‘Krishnaji gave his sixth and final Ojai talk for this year. Over 5,000 people were there. He spoke on religion, meditation, and duty.

April twenty-seventh, 1976, and we’re in New York. Krishnaji, and I walked to the Côte Basque for lunch. Bud spoke of Krishnaji’s biography and the large impression it made on him. He sent it to all the members of the family, and he asked Krishnaji about the 'communications' reported between Theosophy and the Masters. Krishnaji explained the beliefs that were held by the Theosophists, and way back, before that, by the Hindus and Buddhists. He said he has no memory of those days. Bud noted that Krishnaji had always spoken and written of what is amiss in human thinking, but not directly about the Other. The book gave Bud some glimpse into that. I mentioned the about-to-be-published Krishnamurti’s Notebook. Bud asked if Jesus figured in the Theosophical hierarchy. Krishnaji said Jesus was considered to be “a disciple,” not an 'original' Krishnaji was concerned, you know, because Mrs. Gandhi still had martial law in place.

I think those were the days of the psychiatrists’ meetings, so I’ll have to do that from memory. First of all, they weren’t all psychiatrists; there were psychologists, too. They were sort of unintelligent about asking good questions of Krishnaji. I think it’s at this one that the subject of fear came up; and everybody had anecdotes about patients with trouble with different fears, fears of death, fears of illness, fears of mothers-in-law, endless fears they trotted out. But they never were interested in discussing what fear itself is. Krishnaji tried to cope with that. But they were, trivial, just being critical of a lot of people.
Shainberg was head of some psychiatric organization in New York, and so he whistled in all these people. I felt it didn’t produce much, but maybe it did.
We lunched with the Shainbergs. I think I asked David Shainberg once in the taxi going to lunch about why the psychiatrists wouldn’t examine what fear is, and he said, “Oh, they’ll never do that!” They want to talk about their patients’ problems.

May first, we arrived at Heathrow at 7:30 a.m., and Dorothy, Doris, and Ted Cartee were there to meet Krishnaji. We drove to Brockwood on a lovely, sunny day. The trees are just beginning to leaf. The school turned out for his arrival. I unpacked, took a nap, and spoke to Mary Links.’
The next day David Bohm gave a report of the Ojai scientist conference to the school.
Krishnaji decided to have meetings alone with students one day a week, starting Thursday.
The sixth of May, ‘Krishnaji spoke alone to the students, no staff were present, and no tape recorder. Mary Links and Amanda Pallant drove down in the morning and spent the day with us. We discussed the Krishnaji and Bohm dialogues for publication and/or cassette sale. Mary was against it.’ She was very resistant about the Bohm dialogues.She felt that Bohm might give the impression of being too dominating in the discussions. But that was because most of these dialogues between them were held as Krishnaji got up from his nap, and he was sort of still a bit fuzzy, waking up. So, David would reprise a little bit of where they’d left off. But Mary felt that it sounded like he was telling Krishnaji what he should say. Mary wasn’t too interested in the intellectual aspect of things.

May twelfth, ‘Krishnaji, on his eighty-first birthday, came in as I was ironing in the pre-exercise dawn. “Oh,” he said, in dismissal of his birthday.’ ‘He was joking in the kitchen while we made breakfast. Later, the Guardian book review department rang up asking to interview him about The Notebook. Its publication date is the twentieth. The BBC is sending down a Radio 4 interviewer to interview him. Krishnaji asked, “Why are they interested?” ‘He spent the morning in bed reading and sleeping. He greeted Dorothy with a “Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday.” And kept going, saying to Doris, too, “That takes care of that.” It is Dorothy’s birthday, too. I had no present for her, and hence a quandary. I gave her several of the photos of Krishnaji I took in the cottage last month. In a great wind, he, she, and I walked our way four miles across the fields. Krishnaji was glowing with vitality. In the evening, we watched a long Kojak on TV.’

On the seventeenth, ‘At 11 a.m., Krishnaji, David Bohm, and David Shainberg did a one-hour videotaped discussion. There was an excellent, very professional crew of nine people, plus Hoffman and Wyland. Three color cameras, and recorded on two-inch tape. Krishnaji had a large clock off-camera, so he kept pace, and cut off at the right moment. I watched on a monitor in the hall outside the drawing room, where the director’s set-up was.’
Tuesday, the eighteenth. ‘The second day of videotaping. They recorded discussion number two in the morning and number three in the afternoon. It went well. Krishnaji stayed in; no walk this week as he has signs of hay fever beginning. He said to me in the evening, “I had the most extraordinary meditation while sitting at breakfast. I went off. I must be very careful. You know, death is very close. You mustn’t look like that when I mention 'death'. It isn’t that; it is complete emptiness, nothingness.

May nineteenth, ‘Krishnaji and the two Davids did discussions four and five, and number four was particularly good.’

May twentieth. ‘Videotaping of discussions six and seven, both of which were marvelous. The videotaped discussions are now finished.

On May twenty-fourth, ‘from the BBC, Monica Furlong and James Priestland came to lunch, and then interviewed Krishnaji about Krishnamurti’s Notebook for the program Chapter and Verse, which reviews books with a religious bent. Krishnaji saw them alone, but he said they hadn’t asked any intelligent questions.’

And on the twenty-sixth, ‘A Ms. Angela Neustater came from The Guardian newspaper to interview Krishnaji about Krishnamurti’s Notebook. She saw him for one-and-a-half hours, took copious notes, and went off with two other books and the biography. Krishnaji said she was more intelligent than the BBC pair.’

The BBC book review of Krishnamurti’s Notebook was broadcast in the evening. 'A nothing.’ I guess that’s what I thought. ‘Priestland didn’t seem to have read the book’ ‘and asked nothing but pointless questions about Mrs. Besant and Leadbeater.’

June nineteenth.The Guardian review of Krishnaji’s book by Angela Neustater is 'undistinguished'. ‘Krishnaji didn’t read it through, but gathered it was nothing much; and said, “I will review it,” and he dictated a splendid review, laughing all the way as he went along.’ atblunch with Mary at Fortnum’s, Krishnaji gave her the book review that he wrote of Krishnamurti’s Notebook without telling her who wrote it. He watched with a merry look’ ‘Mary didn’t guess, though I thought she would. At the end, she asked, “Who wrote this?” and laughed a very great deal when she was told.

the twenty-seventh, Krishnaji spoke to school and guests. On registering only at the biologic or technical level but not at the psychological level. A “thin, thin” surface registering without reaction of the psychological 'me'.

June twenty-ninth, ‘ Dorothy drove Krishnaji and me to Heathrow, leaving Brockwood at noon. We took British Airways to Paris, landing for the first time at the new Charles de Gaulle airport. Paris is even hotter than England. Only the lobby at the Plaza Athénée is air-conditioned. We had our usual rooms, but on the fifth floor. In spite of the heat, we took a walk around to stretch our legs and then had supper in our rooms.’
We stayed in all the hot morning. Then lunched in the hotel garden on melon gazpacho, tiny haricots verts, tagliatelle au gratin, and fraises des bois.
Madame Duchet, who has a slow cancer, is working nonetheless on translating Krishnaji’s  Notebook, Tradition and Revolution and on Education. Suarès is terminally ill of cancer. I later asked Krishnaji if he wished to do anything about the Suarèses; he said, no, he didn’t want to contact him.

July second. ‘We are delighted to leave Paris. It is as if the air hadn’t ever been changed in the city. Breathing is oppressive, like being inside a vacuum cleaner. Both Krishnaji’s and my legs and feet are like cushions. We went to Roissy and the Charles de Gaulle airport again.b‘A fifty-minute flight, and we were in the plain, simple airport in Geneva. Hertz provided a screamingly green Opel instead of the expected BMW.

We were hoping it would be cooler in the mountains ‘So, we set off on the Route du Lac, and it was not like Paris. One could breathe. The country is dry for Switzerland, but not the scorched look of France. Krishnaji was thirsty, so we stopped for apple juice and drove on. The country above Lausanne is as beautiful as ever, and the air tasted of mountains. Finally, Gstaad: cool, green, rained upon. Vanda and Fosca were in the chalet. And, oh, oh, oh, how good to be here, cool, clean, quiet. The mountains have snow imperturbably. I unpacked, and disappeared into sleep.’

July third. ‘How narrow the limits in which the body can function properly. Krishnaji and I are both revived by the cold climate. The edema is gone’—that’s our feet—‘we feel renewed and normal. It rained a little.
‘And then the Siddoo sisters, Jackie and Sarjit, with Tapas, came in the afternoon with mangoes to see Krishnaji. They have bought thirty-two acres and a house on the sea on Vancouver Island for a school. They showed us photos. They want to open it in September. We discussed the pros and cons of Narayan being the director. Krishnaji has received a letter from Sunanda saying that Balasundaram presently is thinking of relinquishing the principal-ship of RishiValley. Later, I joined Krishnaji in the woods for a walk.’
On July fifth, Krishnaji rested, and then he saw a Mr. Russu in the afternoon, who claims that he had been at the point of death in hospital several months ago, and Krishnaji came to him for eight hours and ''saved his life''. He also claims that he met the Lord Maitreya. Krishnaji says he’s getting a little gaga.’ ‘Krishnaji went for a walk, and I drove Mr. Russu home.

Then, Krishnaji told me in the morning of a “strange happening,” and dictated the following: “Before beginning asanas, he generally sits quietly, thinking of nothing. But this morning, a strange happening took place, most unexpected and in no way invited. And besides, you can’t invite these things. Suddenly, it appeared as though in the center of the brain, the head, right inside, there was a vast space in which was an unimaginable energy. It is there that nothing whatever is registered, for that which is registered is a wastage of energy. If one can call it, it was pure energy in a limitless space, a space that had 'no-thing' but this sense of immensity. One doesn’t know how long it lasted, but all during this morning, it was there. And as this is being written, it is as though it was taking root and becoming firm. These words are not really the thing itself.”’ Basta. I better go ahead and eat.”’

July seventh. ‘Krishnaji has a letter from Pupul, saying that she had just met the prime minister, and “have arranged everything regarding your visit here this winter. I told her that the Krishnamurti Foundation of India was anxious to invite you to come and hold discussions and talks in India this year, and we wanted to talk it over with her so that there would be no embarrassment on any side. She assured me warmly that ‘Krishnaji is most welcomed to come and speak here.’ I then told her that you would be holding discussions and public talks, and she said that would be no problem and that this arrangement would be ‘perfectly alright.’ She knows of your talks and has read several of your books. I have also told her that if any local arrangements have to be made in Bombay and Madras, where the public talks will be held, I will tell the chief ministers that this matter has been cleared up with her, and she has asked me to do so. There is, therefore, no problem of any kind, and you should go ahead and fix your program to come to India accordingly. I am prepared to stand absolute guarantee.” This was dated the second of July, 1976.’

‘Krishnaji also received a separate letter from Pupul dated the twenty-fourth of June from Bombay, saying she and Nandini had been writing all they could remember about the incidents at Ootacamund in May and June of 1948. This is an attempt to fill in the missing parts of the record written by Pupul at the time, given then to Rajagopal, but missing from the photocopies he provided KFA in the spring 1975. Pupul states that she wrote down every night what had taken place during the evenings that she and Nandini were living at a hotel nearby, and Krishnaji was staying with Ms. Hilla Petit and Maurice Frydman. She describes Krishnaji’s pain in spine, nape of neck, and tooth. Krishnaji had asked Pupul and Nandini to sit quietly, not interfere and not be afraid, not to touch him except to close his mouth if he fainted, and on no account to leave the body alone. He would toss on the bed, have fits of shivering and would call out for Krishna, and then put his hand to his mouth and say, “I must not call him.” The body appeared to be only a shell. In this state, the voice was frail, childlike. “Then, suddenly, the body appeared to fill with a vast 'presence', Krishnaji would sit up, cross-legged, his eyes closed, the fragile body would appear to grow and fill the room, and there was a palpable, throbbing silence that poured into the room and enveloped us. In this state, the voice had great volume and depth.” They remembered one incident vividly: Krishnaji in great pain, stomach swollen, tears streaming down his face, suddenly fainting, and the body becoming intensely still. “The traces of pain and fatigue were wiped away. The face was greatly beautiful. There was a radiance, a light that illumined it and a stillness, and a sense of vastness that we had never witnessed. A quality of sacredness filled the room.”…“For moments, he lay unmoving. Then, his eyes opened. He saw us, and after sometime said, ‘Did you see that face?’ We said, yes, but could not say anything else as we had no words. Krishnaji lay silently, and then, ‘The Buddha was here.’ And then after sometime, ‘You are blessed.’…“Most of the time in the room, we had no part to play in what was happening, and yet, we had a role we could not understand. We questioned him during the day, but he became vague and would not explain…On most occasions, while the pain rocked him, he spoke of trees and wind, rain, nature, its storms, and vast silence. There was nothing personal in him during the incidents, no emotion, no relationship to us. The ordeal appeared physical, and yet the next day it left no traces on his face or body. Not a word that was said by him had psychological overtones. What he spoke was totally impersonal. The sense of the sacred permeated the room and the atmosphere on every occasion.” signed by Pupul Jayakar and Nandini Metha, dated 23-6-76.

Krishnaji didn’t read it for quite a while. He said, “We’ll read it together later,” and then put it off. When I asked about it later, he said, “I’ve seen it. I’d be shy to have it read out loud.”’ ‘Krishnaji is absorbed in  reading All the President’s Men. He didn’t go for a walk, but I did.’

July eighth, I went down to tea with the Siddoos and Tapas. Krishnaji’s idea is that I should talk to them informally. They should work it out for themselves.’
‘Krishnaji put his hands on Mr. Russu.’
‘Vanda has been urging Krishnaji to see Iyengar, who is in Gstaad for a few days. Krishnaji wants nothing to do with him. He wouldn’t take a lesson from him. Vanda showed Iyengar the yoga stool that Krishnaji is using for head stands. He said it was alright for Krishnaji, but to avoid the blood it gives to the head, something should be placed so part of the weight is on the forearms. He said it’s not good for anyone with high blood pressure. Vanda persuaded Krishnaji to let Iyengar come by to greet him before leaving today. I wasn’t in then, but Krishnaji said he is a man full of arrogance and self-importance

Iyengar, of course, was put out because Desikachar had replaced him. But Iyengar came every year to teach yoga to Menuhin. Anyway, Vanda was always friendly with Iyengar. Vanda never took lessons from Desikachar. She was an Iyengar student, and she thought that Krishnaji should try to make a kind of peace with Iyengar. so, she got Iyengar to come and pay his respects.

July ninth. ‘ Lou and Evelyne Blau arrived last night, and are using a friend’s chalet near Eggli. Lou leaves on Tuesday. They all came for lunch, ‘Krishnaji quizzed Lou on Jimmy Carter. Lou gave a good report’—Lou was a staunch Democrat—‘and Krishnaji was pleased and said later, “I would vote for him.”
On July the tenth, ‘A quiet day. Krishnaji saw Mr. Russu for a treatment.’

This post was last updated by John Raica Sat, 08 Jul 2017.

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Sun, 09 Jul 2017 #337
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

More of MZ's Kmemoirs

September twenty-ninth, ‘Krishnaji and I went to Fortnum’s to lunch with Mary. She is against using the Krishnaji-Bohm dialogues mixed in with talks for the next book.’ We’ve already discussed Mary’s reluctance with those dialogues. ‘We told Mary about the videos being broadcast on WGBH. Then, Krishnaji began rather intensely talking about India, about nothing having been done there in all these years. Would Sunanda be able to? She is immature still, he said, still may feel too 'personally' about him. “Haven’t we all, in our time?” said Mary.’ ‘We all doubted India would accept a Westerner being in charge one day. “They are snobs,” said Krishnaji. He was very critical of Pupul, whom he saw on television “selling,” rugs to Mrs. Thatcher. “A Brahmin?”’ ‘He was shocked.’ ‘His distaste for this got mixed up in the more realistic criticizing of Pupul’s association with Mrs. Gandhi. He suggested a group: me, David Bohm, the Lilliefelts, Mary Lutyens, Dorothy, and probably Fritz. But this didn’t sound too good in the train later; he said to me, we must have some serious talk about the work. He said that we care for each other, that is understood, . Then he said, “You block yourself by defending and saying that things are impossible. Not free. The Lilliefelts have not gone into things deeply. The Indians are good at repetitive inquiry, but not free. That is what is left at the end of sixty years. So, really, there’s actually no one. Someone may turn up in the next five to ten years, but now there is no one. What to do? Mary Links is out of it. She can’t do it either. We must take things as they are, and work from there. The Digbys are out. There’s you and Sunanda. In India, I will meet Sunanda, Achyut, Pupul, Ahalya, Radha Burnier, and Balasundaram. The best of the lot are in England: you, David Bohm; Dorothy is not pliable enough. In Ojai, there is the Lilliefelts, you, Fritz Wilhelm if he proves right. He will be 'on trial' in India this winter. India sometimes makes people crazy.”’

‘I asked if there’d ever been anyone. Krishnaji said Jadu and Rama Rao had capacity, but Rajagopal drove them away.’ ‘In India, leave it open. Radha might have something. Theosophy?’ ‘She can’t leave it. It is her job. What to do with these few? Build everything as though I’m going to die tomorrow. At Brockwood, David Bohm, Dorothy, and you. At Ojai, it’s the Lilliefelts, you, Fritz, and David Bohm again. You and David Bohm are "kingpins" between U.S. and England. Both are liked and trusted. In India, Pupul may be finished or might come out of it. Sunanda will cooperate with you. He then said I must remind him when he is in India to talk about who will come to Ojai in March for 'complete confidence' in each other. It is doubtful about Balasundaram. The point of all this is to keep the teachings fundamental and vitally in the schools and centers. If the schools don’t vitally reflect the teachings, they are better cut loose. He wants me to talk to Dorothy about her defensiveness, lack of pliability. I pointed out that her qualities and David’s complement each other. Together, it might work at Brockwood. I said 'he was   stuck with me, and please to hammer on my head.' “I will, he said.”’ ‘He doesn’t want me to go to India. He said the climate is too rough. I must keep healthy for all of this.’

In the evening, I asked Krishnaji why all his talk about “after my death,” and reminded him that he had said recently he would live another ten to fifteen years. “That still stands,” he said, “and luckily my brain is alive as ever and will be till I die.”’

The seventh. I went to meet Krishnaji, who came in on the 10:45 a.m. to Mary Links’s house. She had the Fortnum’s menu: cheese flan and spinach. Krishnaji went on about her cooking until she confessed that the flan was from Marks & Spencer and the spinach was frozen.’ ‘His mind was only barely on the topic we were discussing: should a little of the Krishnaji-Bohm dialogues be put in the book that is mainly of the Saanen and Brockwood talks? The Digbys have suggested it as a compromise to printing all the dialogues now, which some, Mary especially, feel give a wrong effect on paper of David Bohm’s 'interpreting' the teachings to Krishnaji. We caught a taxi to Waterloo and then the 2:50 p.m. train to Petersfield. Krishnaji dozed in the train and kept waking himself up with what he calls 'shouting'. He would sort of doze off, sometimes in the car driving, and he he kept waking himself up with what he calls shouting, more of a sudden start and cry. “I don’t know why I do it. I’ve tried to figure it out, and never could.”
October eighth. After lunch, he talked with Mary Cadogan, Dorothy, and me about David Bohm, and the danger that is “assuming the mantle” when Krishnaji is gone. We all felt that David Bohm doesn’t intend it, is a good man, devoted to Krishnaji and the teachings, but his weakness is liking praise and being able to be pushed by more dominant personalities. There is a difficulty of having someone talk, go into things, without assuming authority. Krishnaji is bothered by Dorothy’s “defending,” and not having new ideas. He said again to me that I see difficulties ahead instead of how things can be done.’ And that bothered him. I shouldn’t always look for reasons not to do something.

Krishnaji asked Narayan, if Canada doesn’t work out, would he go to India? And Narayan said, “Of course,” which Krishnaji liked. He is pliable. Krishnaji presently is very bothered by the lack of this in Dorothy. He kept repeating, “What will we do? She isn’t moving forward. What do we do if something happens to her? Brockwood will fall apart.” He is disturbed that there is no one else. She hasn’t found anyone as a backup. This doesn’t seem Dorothy’s doing as it is with Balasundaram, who apparently dismisses capable people.
‘Professor Maurice Wilkins arrived for the weekend and is in the West Wing guest room. I went to David Bohm’s meeting in the afternoon. There were only six students; his audience was mostly staff and visitors. It was an intellectual plowing in depth, but rather in circles, I felt.

the next day is the tenth. ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school, mostly on what love is (i.e., where there is no self), and beauty, which is when there is no thought. Students seem to see the latter more easily. It was a tiring session for Krishnaji, as he had to put much energy to 'get through' to their understanding.

There was much talk then at lunch. A Madame Maroger sat next to him, a nice and distinguished-looking French woman with her son and granddaughter Ariane, the latter is a possible student. Madame Maroger has been long interested in Krishnaji. Her group are very young, consisting of her grandchildren and a few others who would meet, and so she was interested in the ways of teaching very young children. She and her son spoke fluent English. The son gave me a cassette on which is one of the Saanen’s talks with the son’s translation into French following each sentence of Krishnaji’s. The French feel it is very helpful and want to get permission to make them.’ I thought that was wonderful; that’s when we started the audio translations. He spoke as good English as a non-English person could speak, and he did it beautifully.

Krishnaji asked Dorothy who would run Brockwood if he and she weren’t there. Later, he attacked me for the same.’ ‘He seems to raise this when he himself is tired and when pressure is inescapable, as now, when we are about to leave and there are endless things to be done. He was impatient with me. “You always say the same thing. I must keep away from you,” as though my fatigue affects him, which I suppose it does, though I keep it to myself. His objection to both Dorothy and me is that one is not able to give time to what he is teaching. There is too much energy channeled into the necessities of everyday work. This is so, but how is one to make it possible?’
The next day we went to Fortnum’s, where Mary lunched with us. Krishnaji talked intently with Mary about who should see to the teachings being alive in the schools and centers: me, Sunanda, possibly Erna. Mary felt that three was a better number than two, and that Krishnaji should leave it as a request and instruction as it can only be done that way, not as a legal thing.

The question the students asked in the meeting was on meditation. He spoke on thought, the chattering mind, the quiet mind, and mentioned "seeing with all the senses", which gave me a chance to ask what is meant by that. Krishnaji replied that looking with all the senses implies looking without a 'center', a 'self' that looks and reacts.’

The next day, went to David Bohm’s discussion in the afternoon. Round and round on what “you are the world” implies. Krishnaji and I watched The Two Ronnies on TV, which Krishnaji finds funny, and he laughs with his high-pitched child laugh.’ Then, we looked at Starsky and Hutch. Rather poor, but it held.
 
October seventeenth, ‘Narayan, Fritz Wilhelm, and David Bohm had planned to have a discussion. Krishnaji said he would sit in “as an observer.” Dorothy and I also were present. Once there, of course, Krishnaji participated.’ ‘They began to examine the way a child learns, motor-learning, action-learning, then touch, etcetera. After a bit, Krishnaji 'jumped it' way forward to insight.’ ‘He asked if our consciousness can be aware of itself. He said that if insight is not acted upon, it dies. He spoke of observation in which there is no distortion; distortion is the 'me'. He said there is no action before insight. If there is action, it is the action of learning. Dave said humans handle their lives through action-learning, therefore, insight must be different. “You say insight comes before action, something goes beyond action—what is it? Perception?” Krishnaji said “Insight implies a 'holistic' action, which affects my daily life, the way I live, feel, love.” Dave said that then motor-learning is a limited perception and insight is when it is whole. Krishnaji said he had yesterday picked up his biography and read about dissolving the Order of the Star “And I said, How did he do it? He had tremendous insight—he did it.” Krishnaji went on to say that insight doesn’t come out of learning. Dave pointed out that Krishnaji emphasizes observation and learning. Isn’t it necessary?
Krishnaji said it helps free the mind. Narayan said that Krishnaji had once spoken of the art of listening, the art of looking, and the art of learning—"the three arts". Do they precede insight? Krishnaji replied, “They open the door, but it doesn’t mean that there will be insight. He didn’t do these—he simply said, “This is absurd.”… “The point is how we move out of the pattern. Looking, listening, learning is in the pattern.”… “Can you have insight without compassion? But he (as a child) didn’t know the meaning of the word.”…“There is outward-going and inward-going. Most of us are outward-going, linear. That means he was entirely inward-going at that time. He was not an 'extrovert'. There was insight. That is what I want to get at. . ‘“Can consciousness become aware of itself? Is there a mirror in which consciousness sees itself—the three arts.” David asked, “What does it learn?” Krishnaji replied, “Its content. I think it can. I say, yes it can.”…“Can consciousness listen to itself without an outsider listening in?” Can consciousness listen to itself? What happens? Nothing happens. There is empty space, absolutely nothing. No observer, only that.”’
‘“What is insight? If memory, it will not lead to insight, if it is totally different, what will bring it? Thought won’t. There must be a certain 'foundation'. The foundation is 'non-self'. Insight is in the absence of self. When consciousness is aware of itself, and there is 'nothing', then there is insight. That 'no-thingness' is insight. Insight is emptiness and non-self.”’
‘“Consciousness becomes aware of itself, and there is nothing, no content.”…“How am I to communicate this? If education isn’t (helping) the flowering of human beings, it has no meaning.”’
‘“Without love, compassion, there is no 'fine' (subtle) mind. No 'fine' mind without insight, observation.”’

‘At the end, he said, “This morning while I played Southerland singing Bellini there flashed a great delight I missed in my youth. I said, ‘What the hell are you looking at there? It is here.’ That was insight.”’

October twenty-second. ‘For once I was packed and ready by breakfast, everything put away, laundry done. Krishnaji was a little behind. “Jee-zus!” he said’ [‘when he saw the time. Dorothy’s Cortina has serious engine troubles, so it was in Doris’s mini that she drove Krishnaji and me, with Ted bringing our bags in his Land Rover. All the school was out to say goodbye, as always, when we left at 9:45 a.m. Krishnaji and I told Dorothy she must use school funds to get a new engine as the car’s work is almost totally for Brockwood.’
‘At Heathrow, the woman at Alitalia check-in asked me if Krishnaji was the writer of the Commentaries on Living; I said yes firmly. She was dazzled, and for whatever reason, our seven bags went through without charge.’ ‘Then, at passport control, a white-haired immigration man recognized Krishnaji, and said, “My wife will be thrilled to hear I’ve met you,” with such enthusiasm, he forgot to stamp Krishnaji’s passport.’
Krishnaji, in the crowd, looked like a falcon, aloof, a little tense, and very beautiful. Rome was stifling in the traffic and its fumes. After the Brockwood air, breathing was unclean. Benzina now costs, they say, $2.20 a gallon here, but there is no lessening of traffic.
I joined Krishnaji, Vanda, Topazia, and the Emilio Villas at table. Villas is the man who pleased Krishnaji by saying that there is no evidence that Jesus as a man ever existed. Krishnaji often talked about that.
‘Krishnaji talked about Sanskrit and chanting and sat on the floor and did a few chants, his long fingers bending at right angles on the floor, or hanging straight with their constant grace. His fingers never curl, never grasp. Everyone left, and I took a bit of a nap until Krishnaji came in, ready to walk. We drove with Vanda to the edge of the BorgheseGardens where we left the car, and walked across the gardens to Piazza di Spagna, where we caught a taxi back.

Krishnaji and I went for a walk twice around Villa Glori.’ That was a lovely park that was really just across the street from where Vanda lived. ‘On the walk I spoke to him about it seeming as if there is insight, revolution, breaking away from concepts, and freedom; then this stiffens into a new pattern, which becomes dogma and so power.’ What I was thinking of was: say a teacher, Krishnaji or Buddha, or whoever, comes and something new is seen. And then, by the followers, what happens afterward, it becomes dogma.
He picked it up immediately. “Freedom is movement,” he said. “When I am gone, it must go further, deepen.”’

‘I said, “Between the Buddha and him there have been 2,400 years. Who is to now go deeper than he?” “Write it down, write it down, We must talk about this in March when there is the international trustee meeting.
‘We came back to the flat, and there were about fifty people to meet Krishnaji. He spoke on questions asked, like what is the now, memory, thought, etcetera. Finally, they all left, the lights failed, and we had supper by candlelight.’

October twenty-fifth on TWA over the North Atlantic. I was ready by 8 a.m. Vanda, very warmly, saying a friendly goodbye. I sat with Krishnaji while he ate his breakfast. He said our talk yesterday in Villa Glori was very much in his mind. He had me repeat it, and then write him a memo on it to take with him. He said, “First there is freedom, then insight, revolutionary action. If they stiffen into a pattern, then follows dogma and power. Freedom is movement. When or if insight becomes knowledge, then dogma follows. Freedom from 'self' brings insight. When there is insight, there is radical transformation, which is freedom. When fundamental change does not take place, then there is pattern, dogma, and power. It is the function of the Foundations to see this doesn’t happen.”
Krishnaji should have landed in Delhi’
For the thirtieth of October, ‘Today, Krishnaji should’ve flown from Delhi to Benares. Mrs. Gandhi canceled the elections, due to take place in 1977.’
November eleventh. ‘I received a cable from Krishnaji in Benares.’
November seventeenth, and I’m now in Malibu. ‘The first letter came from Krishnaji beginning October twenty-seventh and written daily through November sixth. It took eleven days to come from Benares. He is well.
On the fifth of December, it says: ‘Krishnaji goes from Rishi Valley to Madras.’
immigration problem. We got rabbis, we got all kinds of people, to back up the fact that we were religious.’
December thirtieth, Letter number six came from Krishnaji written in Madras.’ And that’s the end of 1976.

*

On January first, 1977 Krishnaji is in India, and I’m in Malibu. Then nothing more about Krishnaji until January ninth when, ‘I got a telephone call from
Narasimhan in New York, who had just arrived from Madras. He says that everyone there had colds, including Krishnaji, at the completion of his talks, causing Krishnaji to delay his travel to Bombay from December thirty-first to January fourth. Waiting for me was a cable from Krishnaji: He is going straight from Bombay to Brockwood on the twentieth.’
He told me of his meeting with Mrs. Gandhi, alone for over an hour before the dinner party in Delhi on his arrival. Her nerves and tension and the trouble with her eyes. He’s offered to put his hands to help her, her becoming quiet, weeping, eyes were better. She asked to see him again the next day.’ ‘The next day, Mrs. Gandhi came and sat for a long time without speaking. She said she was “riding a tiger,” not afraid of being eaten, but doesn’t know how to get off. Krishnaji did not reproach her for what she has done. He was gentle with her, held her hand and she wept. A friend who has known her for years said she has visibly changed since the meetings with Krishnaji. This week she has freed political prisoners, lifted some censorship, and called for elections.’
‘Krishnaji also described enormous crowds at the Bombay talks. Rajneesh sent his father to listen, and if possible, to touch Krishnaji, because “he is a living Buddha.”’ ‘Film people are coming to the talks. He was mobbed afterward. Further news as Balasundaram decided to give up the principalship of RishiValley. He will take six months off and then travel around, kindling interest in Krishnaji’s teachings in India. Krishnaji is going to offer the principal-ship of RishiValley to Narayan. Sunanda has too much to do at Vasanta Vihar to come to the March meetings in Ojai. Radha Burnier and Ahalya Chari are coming to the meetings in Ojai for India.’
January twenty-third. ‘I slept for ten hours, and would have gone on, but I heard Krishnaji open my door. So, we made breakfast and talked. At 10:30 a.m. Krishnaji had David Bohm join us, to speak of the adult centers. It seems Fritz Wilhelm didn’t impress the Indian group when he was in India. He was silent in discussions, or “not quick,” with answers off the point of their questions. We discussed the pitfalls for the adult center, the danger of people expecting it will “explain Krishnamurti.” Krishnaji said one can take the position, “I have some understanding of what Krishnamurti has said, and I’m interested. Let us explore, examine together.”’ That’s the way he wanted it handled. We talked most of the afternoon.

Krishnaji told in detail of his meetings with Mrs. Gandhi, also, the enormous veneration by crowds toward him this year—more than ever. The feeling of some friends that Mrs. Gandhi’s change in India is due to, or at least since she saw him.’

‘Home at Malibu now. We went into immigration together and handed over the envelope. “The thickest we’ve had,” said the officer, shuffling through it. I saw a copy of Krishnaji’s On Education in the file. The man then stamped something, handed Krishnaji a little card with Krishnaji’s photo on it and said, “You are now a resident of the United States.” Clutching at last that precious green card, which isn’t green at all these days, we went out to find our two bags, go through the customs, and out to where Alan Kishbaugh was waiting. He drove us home to Malibu and left. Krishnaji at last in his room sat on the bed and said, “I may faint.” He sat quietly a little, then got up, turned facing the bed, and fell forward on it, his face buried in the bed and his knees on the floor. I held onto him for about a minute, and then he came to and was alright. He said later that he thought in all the noise and confusion at the airport, that he probably would faint later.’

The first of February. Krishnaji spent the day in bed sleeping, reading. He said, “I don’t dream anymore. Somewhere in Madras or RishiValley, I forget which, I dreamt Rajagopal was chasing me and then I woke up. I said this is silly to keep thinking of that man. That is enough. And so I went into it, and I haven’t dreamt since.”’
The next day is February third. Evelyne Blau, Erna, and Theo came to lunch. Krishnaji talked about India, some of his meetings with Mrs. Gandhi, various plans in India for schools, etcetera. Evelyne left, and Krishnaji spoke very seriously and challengingly to Erna and Theo and me. Do we flower? If not, why not? Who is to be responsible in the future, and right now, as if he were dead? He said he had realized for the first time in India that there is no one to carry on. He said, the Buddha had only two disciples who understood him and they both died before the Buddha. Why is there no one?’ ‘He said he knew the easy answers: Nothing grows under a great oak tree, etcetera. “But what will you do?” He said he knew what he would do. “Say I have listened to that man, and I have understood a little bit—and I am going to talk about it.” Then, he said, “I’ll be around to help you for another ten years, maybe fifteen.”’

Later, Krishnaji talked in the cottage to Erna, Theo, and me. He asked if I should really build onto the cottage. Was it worth it? He raised the question of his getting as much rest there as he does in Malibu. The factor is the psychic pressure of people concentrated on him.’ ‘Few people know he is in Malibu, so he rests well there. But everyone assumes and thinks of Ojai as where he is. He said he could cut off the feeling, but he didn’t like to. We discussed this. He finally said he could avoid it by going away for a day occasionally to Santa Barbara or somewhere. At Brockwood, going to London for a day does it.

The next day, ‘Krishnaji greeted me with a “happy birthday,” which is just about as far as I want to go with it. At lunch, Krishnaji said, “I am feeling tismic,” and looked mischievous. It seems it is what he and Nitya said about people putting on “mystic airs.”’

Krishnaji and I left at 9:30 a.m. in the Green Beauty for Ojai with Krishnaji driving. Along the beach road, he said, “During the last three or four months, something has been happening during sleep. It sounds silly, but it is a sense of ecstasy, as though the brain were trying to assimilate a depth—depth usually means shallowness and depth. It isn’t like that—a depth that is the opposite of shallowness. Dreams are usually superficial and have very little meaning. I have hardly any dreams.
‘I asked, “How do you perceive it?”’
‘Krishnaji replied, “When I wake up, there is a strange feeling that I haven’t had before.
‘Me: “Is it that the brain is touching something it hadn’t touched before?”’
‘Krishnaji: “Yes. That’s it. It is something the brain hasn’t touched before. It isn’t an 'experience'. In that sleep, there is a greater penetration into something that no thought can never touch.”’
‘Me: “What happens to most people is that you see something and then you try to understand what it is, but this is different? How is it different? Is it outside the realm of what the brain can investigate? Is that right?”’
‘Krishnaji: “The brain is trying to understand it, trying to find out what it is.”’
‘Me: “When you say ‘the brain,’ do you mean thought, or the brain without thought?”’
‘Krishnaji: “No, not thought.” A little later, he said, “You remember that night we were sitting quietly and there was something in the room? That has been happening more. It happened in India a little.” I asked him about the pain, and he said it is going on slightly all the time. I asked if the “otherness” of The Notebook and this thing he is speaking of today, is of the same, and he said, “Yes, yes”…“But I don’t remember ‘the other.’ It is gone.”’

‘I said, “Though you don’t make a mental comparison, you know what I mean.”’
‘And he said, “yes.”’
Teacher Dennis Duncan came to represent the teachers while we discussed school matters. Krishnaji went into the intent of the school. He said if he were a parent, he would send his son to us so that he would be intelligent enough to live in any society, a total human being.
In the evening, I read a review of a book on fairies, and asked Krishnaji when was it that he used to see them. “In England,” he said, when they lived in Ashdown Forest, he saw them all the time. Sometimes he was afraid to walk in the night. He couldn’t describe them to me. He’s forgotten.’ ‘I asked if Nitya could see them. He couldn’t remember. Did he see them in India? Probably. Could he see them today if he tried? Maybe, probably I could see them in the grove at Brockwood. Why then, and why not later? “It was jus after coming from India. Later, probably I got more sophisticated and didn’t see them,” he said.’
‘In the car, Krishnaji said, “I was wondering how you came into all this. It must’ve been planned.”’

The twenty-fourth of February. ‘We left early for Ojai. In the car, our conversation fell to talking of atmosphere—good and bad. ‘Krishnaji said, “Do you know why?”’
‘“Well, there is that,” I said.’
‘Krishnaji replied, “You can see it.”’
‘I said, “There is animosity, there is conflict, there is envy.”’
‘Krishnaji asked, “Why is it there?”’
‘I said, “Because people who feel that way go there, contaminate it.”’
‘Krishnaji said, “That’s all.” We talked a little further. Krishnaji asked me, how I met it. And I said I did nothing about it. I just sensed it, but the larger relation for me, in a place, is to the land, the beauty, the hills or ocean, the light.’
‘Krishnaji said there must be no resistance, no antagonism. There is compassion. There is no self, nothing one is defending, and there is also the extraordinary beauty, the hills and light. “There is no self in this, but there is a goodness that can be invoked or to be allowed to form a circle through which the other does not come. But as long as one resists, or has some antagonism to the bad, the good cannot be.”’

February twenty-fifth, ‘Krishnaji slept badly. He said he had a nightmare. “Evil ones were trying to push me, fight me, and I was trying to make a circle around myself, but it didn’t work and I finally woke up.”…“I was trying to make a circle around the house. I knew you were in there, and I was trying to make a circle.”’
‘When I questioned him about why the circle didn’t work, he said. “Well, it did because I woke up.”’

‘And he had cramps in his right foot and had to crawl to relieve it. Then he went back to sleep, and the other foot had a cramp, and again he had to crawl to relieve it. Then we started to talk about making the circle, and he said it was something he didn’t want to talk about.’ ‘I asked, “Was it magic?”’
‘And he said, “Yes, sort of.”’
‘I asked, “Did you learn it? Were you taught it?” He replied no, but he knows things like that. I asked why shouldn’t it be told to other people? “I’m not asking you about the magic itself, but why shouldn’t it be told?” And he said, “I have an instinct about it. I’ve never talked about it.” Then he said, “Do you remember when we first came to this house?”’—he was referring to Pine Cottage—‘“I wanted to run from it, it was bad, it was all wrong. And then we came and stayed, and it became alright, and it got better and better. Do you remember that?” I remembered. And out of this, he told me he does this thing whenever he comes to a house, Brockwood, Malibu, here, or I presume Tannegg too, or a hotel room. He does what he calls “drawing a circle around a place” and he said that that is one reason that when he is not with me, it is difficult for him to do it—when I’m traveling or away, and yet even when I go to town in the car alone, he does it to some degree to protect me. And in this, there is what I gather is the crux. One does not protect Maria or oneself. One is with non-resistance, non-opposition, non-setting-oneself—there is no self in this because there is no opposition—the intrinsic part is the non-self and non-opposition. He spoke of 'angels', not angels as sentimental beings but the invitation to the good, the beauty.’
‘I spoke of my feeling of the nastiness in the village of Ojai, and he said, what cause that? And I said, well, people who have these qualities of envy, jealousy, antagonism, opposition, it affects a place. He said, what do you do with it? And I said, I don’t do anything about it, but to me reality and beauty of the valley, the hills, the sky…but see the reality is the beauty of the valley, the hills, and the sky, and it isn’t mine, and there isn’t any me in it, and he said, “Yes, you know that, now move from that. That is the beginning of it, no opposition, no self, no center, but the invitation, the openness to the beauty and the good.” And he spoke of there being the forces of good, the forces of evil—the forces of evil are enormously widespread, you sense it in the world today, tremendously. You see it in the brutality, the wars, the killing, the torments, the hurting animals, and destroying the loveliness of nature. But there is the enormous force of good. He wants me to talk to the Lilliefelts about it, not from him, but to talk about this non-centered, non-selfed sense of the 'other'. He said he does many things, but magic must not be taught, there are things he can do, that if I were to learn them on my own I couldn’t do it.’
He spoke of arriving at Vasanta Vihar last fall, and the house was filled with the bad, and they made the mistake of not taking him to his old rooms, but to his new rooms which are upstairs, and somehow, he fainted, and Sunanda, who doesn’t understand these things, left him alone, but finally when he came to, he did this thing and it became good.’ ‘I said there will be a great pressure of the bad on these places here, and he said it is simple to change that. “It is not strong enough—one makes something different and good.”’
‘At 11 a.m., he held a discussion with parents and teachers at Arya Vihara. We left at 4 p.m. and drove slowly home. On the way, he said that I must learn to heal. It is to be without self, with compassion. Not for the person, but compassion. I asked if he could heal himself. He said, “No,” but then said, “Perhaps I could if you put your hands and then I put mine on yours.”’

March third. ‘At 11 a.m., Krishnaji held the first meeting of the assembled trustees at Arya Vihara. Present were: David Bohm, Mary Cadogan, Dorothy Simmons, the Lilliefelts, Evelyne, Alan Kishbaugh, Ruth Tettemer, Jackie and Sarjit Siddoo, Mark Lee, Fritz Wilhelm, and me. Krishnaji began by saying he wished to discuss what would happen when he dies. Books, tapes, etcetera are not enough. Who will be overall guardian to see that the teachings are protected and no division exists between the Foundations, a “brooding body” he called it. There must be a group who have known Krishnaji, been with him, who have the perfume of knowing him, and have understood something of the teachings, who will go about and convey that understanding, talk about it. That group should be formed in Krishnaji’s lifetime, a group of those who have known him, are respected by others, who have no other interest than this. Only such a group will hold things together.’

This post was last updated by John Raica Mon, 10 Jul 2017.

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Mon, 10 Jul 2017 #338
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

K Story Time (continued)

March fifth, 1977 ‘there was the second meeting of the international trustees with Krishnaji. He raised the suggestion by India for an “apex group,” of representatives of the Foundations without powers of authority, but as 'Guardians of the purity of the Teachings', to discuss major problems, and hold the Foundations together in spirit and structure. This rose hackles in some.
Krishnaji switched on the TV. There was President Carter with Walter Cronkite, into the second of Carter’s two hours of answering telephone calls from the public. Dorothy watched it with us. It was excellent. Krishnaji kept saying, “This man will change a lot in this country.” He said he would have liked to telephone in a question’ [both chuckle] ‘through me. The question would be: “This country and people are lacking in respect, integrity, and morality. What can be done about it?”’ That’s his question. ‘Krishnaji said no one had asked a moral question.’

‘“How will these Foundations be held together?” he asked. As the discussion progressed, the idea grew that people from each Foundation should go to India with Krishnaji this year. And there also should be an annual meeting of the whole group. This was tentatively agreed to. We will go into the problems and details tomorrow which Krishnaji doesn’t want to attend. We went on to discuss 'adult centers', a name he doesn’t like, The center, The Center, The Krishnaji Center. Krishnaji said he knew what he would say to people if he were Fritz or one of us. “I heard K talk. I’ve understood what he said. I’m not putting my own feelings out. I have put aside my own capacities and am here to convey what I have understood, discuss it, work at it, so that [the other person] can catch something of that. It’s not my own notion. It’s totally impersonal.”’ Another quote: ‘“They”’—the trustees, etcetera—‘“are representatives of what they have heard, understood, and live.”

Krishnaji joined us for lunch at Arya Vihara. In the afternoon, Erna came to Pine Cottage and we talked about Theosophy, Radha being in the Esoteric Section, etcetera. Krishnaji joined us. It seems Pupul thinks of Radha as her successor, as president of KFI, which shocked Erna.’ ‘How can the president of the KFI be a Theosophist, etcetera? Krishnaji is going to bring it up.
The next day, ‘We all met with Krishnaji at Arya Vihara for the fourth meeting. He began by asking what will prevent someone, when we are all gone, from taking over everything? How do we insure that this doesn’t happen? What will keep everything moving, flowering? He said, “What am I to do? It is the main thing occupying my mind. If I go on talking as long as I can, travel as long as physically possible, not till the end, I don’t want to die on the platform.”… The Foundations haven’t felt this. So, it is my responsibility. What am I to do? This has been in my mind for a couple of years.”’
‘He then went into the analogy of a baby: if one has a baby, one cares for it, etcetera. “This is my baby,” he said. And it became clear that the rest of us feel it is his baby, not ours. No one had an answer to what the Foundations can, or should be able to do with “his” baby. He spoke of the disintegration into ritual, etcetera, after the deaths of the Buddha, other teachers. How can it be kept alive? He said, “Because it has never been done, it is possible. That is the challenge.” He said that the Foundations are the vessel in which the thing goes on flowering
I went back to the cottage and sat on my cot. Krishnaji almost locked me in, not seeing me there, and held me when he saw I was shaking. After lunch, he talked to the Siddoo sisters alone. They are starting their school in the fall, have three teachers, and a dozen children. They bought out others in the family trust, so they have less funds at present, but will have these replenished in a couple of years when they plan to sell the present school buildings at Wolf Lake. They assured Krishnaji that they are in this for life. We then drove to Malibu.
March tenth. Dr. Orloff, radiologist, X-rayed his kidneys and bladder. Krishnaji felt no ill effects from the intravenous dye or from missing breakfast.

At 11 a.m., Krishnaji held the fifth meeting with the trustees. He said his and the Foundation’s responsibility is to the 'light of the teachings'. The Foundation is to understand the tremendous depth of it. He said, I feel responsible till this thing is conveyed fully, to see that the Foundations and schools understand it fully, not partially. It is their responsibility to understand it. If you feel total responsibility, you will have the capacity. Then, it happens. Capacity comes as one gets into it. So, my responsibility is to see that each member of the Foundations understands. If some are not so involved, what shall we do together? What is preventing it? Not flowering—is that a tremendous issue to you? It may be there all the time—this crisis. Crisis has no motive. To ask how to bring about a crisis is too silly. Either it is a crisis, or it is not at all. If it is a crisis, it will happen. Crisis is tremendous to understand. I would be at it, watching, questioning, seeing if my mind is conditioned, ambitious; I’d work at it, investigate it, feel I’ve got to find out. A crisis. If flowering is not happening, it would be a crisis, challenge. If the Foundation members realize it is not a crisis to them, then it will not take place. My responsibility is to feel the tremendous crisis. I’ve been wondering the last few days what it was. I see it now: If that is my responsibility, what will I do if you don’t?’ (realize the crisis). ‘Walk out? Or work at it? Give it a time limit? What is my responsibility—to go to a new group and go through all that again? My tremendous responsibility is to see that you flower, and yours is to see that it becomes a crisis in your life. But, if it doesn’t, what shall I do? Another group—same problem. So, I can’t leave this group. I’m beginning to see something. Knowing if I leave this group, it will be worse, utterly futile, and a waste of colossal energy. Do I put up with it? I refuse! I have to do something to make you change. I’m going to stick, whatever happens.’
‘Everyone seemed to feel stunned, silent, and deeply moved after this. All sat without moving.

‘I spoke to Dr. Hausman on the results of Krishnaji’s X-rays, and he said that he has “a small obstruction.” He is 85 percent sure it is prostate, but said that there is a 5 percent possibility of a tumor. Wants to do a cystoscopy to determine it. Made an appointment for the twenty-eighth to look at the X-rays and discuss it with us.’

March fourteenth, ‘Krishnaji held the sixth meeting with trustees. Krishnaji asked why would people come to the centers. He said that if he had come to the Buddha it would’ve been to find out how he thought, how his mind worked, why he said certain things, to understand his mind, to be in the atmosphere, see the quality of the Buddha. When Krishnaji is gone, will people come saying, “You have spent time, gone into it with him, so being there, I would capture something of that.”’ This is fundamental. Then, you can discuss fear, etcetera.” Krishnaji said the books are alright, but greater depth is not reached that way. Some other quality is necessary. That other quality cannot be reached through this (effort on this level) though one must be without fear, sorrow, etcetera.
‘He said to us, “You haven’t asked for this. When you want it, you get it.” And “Don’t spend a whole life laying the foundation. Have it done . Then, something much more must take place.” Again, the impact of what he said left most of us silent and overwhelmed.

Mary C. came to talk to me in the cottage, and Krishnaji joined us. We spoke of the worry of many at Radha’s position as both KF member and TS.
‘Krishnaji said he would talk alone with Radha about it before it is raised in these meetings. We spoke, too, about the implications of what he is telling us. I asked if his presence, his having been with us will make it more possible for us to carry on; if something more than what we have learned will be at work. Later, alone with him, I tried to say what I seldom mention but is the ground I stand on—that with all my being, I want to go all the way in this. I said that all along, I’ve seen that wanting, willing, seeking is not the way, that it moves against realization, but that without those there remains a burning center that cares only about what he calls “much more.” Spoke of “opening the window”—he said to speak of it in the next meeting.’
March sixteenth, ‘Krishnaji’s seventh meeting with the trustees. I asked about the “open window” through which the wind may come.’
‘Krishnaji said that “laying the foundation (understanding, fears, etc., etc.,) demands the other.”…“If one understands a part, one understands the whole.” Laying the foundation brings about a movement—“the volume of the water brings the movement.” Movement brings energy. In laying the foundation “not taking too long—compress it,” then there is momentum, energy, movement. Then, discussion would take place at a different level, verbally or nonverbally. Later, he said, “Can we act now as if K were no longer here?”…“What would you do?” and “if you have imbibed the teachings, you are the teacher.” “You’ve got a deep well, don’t go to it with a little bucket. For god’s sake, use K, learn. You’ve got a short time. It is the responsibility of the Foundation to suck that dry.”’
‘As it continued, it was clear that one goes to the well with no bucket. Consciousness, empty of knowledge, is no bucket.’
‘In the afternoon, Krishnaji had a long talk with Radha about her position in KFI and TS. She apparently had never considered that there might be a contradiction. Krishnaji told Dorothy and me afterward that he had not advised her how to act, but to look at the whole.

March eighteenth, ‘Krishnaji’s meeting with the trustees number eight. It began with David Bohm suggesting we start where the K-Bohm-Shainberg videos ended, the subject of something “sacred.” There was considerable exploring of guilt and responsibility. Krishnaji rather denigrated 'responsibility' in favor of a much larger, encompassing 'compassion'. “Compassion can never be wrong.” He said, “Compassion can never be inadequate in any circumstance.” If action comes first it leads to guilt. Let compassion act. If you "are" the world, which I feel most profoundly, compassion arises.”…“Sacred is the sense of wholeness. To live at the point of wholeness is a tremendous thing.”…“The teaching is concerned with all of life, and out of that, comes compassion.”…“K feels you should enter into this sense of compassion, and so he is working at it. You are asking what do we do about this and that, the school, and the administration, etcetera. And K says, ‘Stop all that, and come into this, and you will answer rightly.’…“I won’t feel guilty if you don’t do it. I want you to do it, but it would be a horror if I felt guilty or disappointed. So it is my job to see that you come in.”…“Isn’t it your job to see that others come in? But, first, come here.”…“Do we feel guilty because we can’t do it? Churches have said that you must renounce, and there began the guilt.”’

“Are you listening 'consciously' or 'unconsciously'? Conscious is reaction. Deep listening is without response. That may be the answer. At that deep level, there is no 'you' and 'me'- there is something extraordinary in this. You are listening to K on the surface, and you are making an effort to go 'down there' and listen. That doesn’t work that way. Can you listen without the waves? Listening with background and knowledge is one thing; such listening is movement. Can you listen without movement ? That may convey what K wants to say more profoundly than listening with waves.”’ “If you listen at a deeper level without words something entirely different takes place about the schools, the centers, etcetera, then 'you' are the teachers because you have moved from the periphery to the very center of it.”…“If you really listen in silence, because there is no me, you 'are' the world.”’

next meeting with the trustees Krishnaji asked if responsibility for flowering rests on all Foundation members. Do we all help each other to bring about in the centers a sense of Otherness? He said “I do not think we are demanding of ourselves the highest. We are still saying we can’t do it. It’s yours. We will explain your teachings.”…“If it is yours”’—he means the Foundation members—‘“it will not be polluted. I thought on the plane yesterday, how do we go through with this?”…“K says ‘Come over in this, and drink as much as you can, involve yourself totally.’ And I fear you are saying, ‘It is too much. We don’t know how.’”…“In the centers, when someone asks, will you be able to deal with it—not as individuals?”… He spoke of a mine of gold; are we going to stop at the edge of the cave? What are we going to do about the mine of gold?”…“I’m going to pursue this for the rest of my life with the Foundations. It happened we are together. My job is very clear for the next ten years. Whenever we meet, I’m going to push this thing. What is your dharma? Dharma means 'sustain the Original'—if I may use that word with tremendous hesitation. It is not understood in the West.”…“So, what am I to do as a member of the Foundations when K is gone? K says this 'mine' is a sacred treasure. I leave it to you. What will you do with it?”…“My dharma has become very clear in these meetings, apart from the public meetings, to push and pull you into the 'cave'. I feel this tremendously. I accept that. What happens at the end of fifteen years? What will you do?”’

March twenty-first says: ‘Mrs. Gandhi fails to win a parliament seat in the India election, and so does her son. The Congress party is defeated. Krishnaji is not surprised. He wonders what she will do.

The twenty-second of March. ‘Krishnaji’s trustee meeting number ten. There was a discussion of what relationship is between Krishnaji’s teachings, Krishnaji’s words, and truth. Is there such a thing as Krishnaji teachings, or only truth? Is he talking out of the silence of truth, or out of an illusion of truth, the “noise of illusion.” How to find out? Who is to judge? Is it out of silence of truth, or out of reactions and conditioning? How to approach this question? “As I don’t know, I listen”’—this is what we should do, but he’s talking—‘“put aside the personality, influence. I’m questioning—am I questioning my own questioning (with my judgment, conditioning, etcetera). Can I listen to what he says with an abandonment of the past? Then, there is a different relation to him. I’m listening out of silence. I see all the dangers of thought, etcetera.”’ The next day, ‘Krishnaji’s eleventh and final trustee meeting continued the discussion of how can we know Krishnaji is speaking the truth. Bohm said, "insight sees it is true, and having seen it, one can logically work it out. So, perception is at intervals, or is there one perception that never ends?" When Krishnaji dies, the Foundations are to be “guiltlessly” totally responsible to have their own perception, insight of the truth Krishnaji has spoken. One perception is enough. It opens the door, so there is insight all the time: never confusion. Will further action confuse perception, or will perception never be confused? The mind seeks security in insight. In real perception (complete) there is no confusion. The possibility of 'stepping out' of the stream exists for human beings. “Don’t say ‘everyone.’ Perception is never partial. In total perception, there is no further confusion. One cannot have perception if daily life is in disorder. Any conclusion is detrimental to perception. What is "perception"? There is perception only when there’s no division between the observer and the observed, and in the act of watching there is insight. There was the analogy of washing a window through which one looks. The art of watching cleans the window. Krishnaji said, he has never done this, i.e., it was never necessary. David Bohm asked, "how do you know anyone else can?" Krishnaji replied, “Because you see it instantly. You see all this. Must you go through all this, or do it instantly? In seeing the observer and observed, seeing the working of it, one sees the totality.”…“I think that is the only way.”’
‘It was asked, is it open to a human being to see it all at a glance, total perception?’
‘Krishnaji said, “No human being has refused to go through all this (fear, etc.) and said I won’t operate in my conditioned response.”…“If he did, something other may take place.”…“Something other does take place when you look at the whole thing.”…“Yet, that man, K, never said that, he just did it.”…“Demand for the essence of excellence washes everything else way. It is possible.”…“One must have passion for excellence.”… “Total insight is the flame that burns away all confusion.”…“Don’t you then act as a magnet when you are passionate to bring about transformation? Passion may be what is missing. If it is missing, ask for it!”’

Bohm gave a radio interview about Krishnaji on station KPFK, which we listened to with Erna and Theo at their house.
Russian couple, Elena and Jan Dyansky who wrote to him about two years ago from Leningrad and who have immigrated and come here to see him. He has got a job at the Ojai Inn; they have green cards, a car, a new life. Both are young and childlike.

The next day, at 3 p.m. saw Dr. Hausman at his office in Beverly Hills. He showed us the X-rays of the kidneys, which are fine, and the bladder where prostate is enlarged with a narrowing exit. We discussed thoroughly what should be done. I asked what the prognosis is if nothing is done. Hausman said there will be an eventual stoppage. Today, the operation is relatively simple and minor, but it will be more complicated if an infection should occur. The kidneys would be affected. Also, it could happen suddenly during travels or in some place without medical facilities and at a time when Krishnaji would not only be older but not be in his present excellent overall health. This decided Krishnaji, and also me, that it must be seen to here and soon.The date for the surgery was put for May second, and Krishnaji agreed to convalesce in Malibu for the month of May.

April second, Krishnaji gave his first public talk in the Oak Grove, and spoke of the need for security, that the only security is intelligence. The Grove was the best organized ever. Ted put slat fencing all the way around, so people do not wander in from behind Krishnaji while he is speaking. We are recording in color on video, done by Santa Barbara TV station for the Foundation. We estimate 3,000 people came.

‘Krishnaji: “There are other forces. You may use the word evil. There are people in the world who are evil.”’
‘David: “Would you say that force penetrated beyond the ordinary communication?”’
‘Krishnaji: “They penetrate only when that”’—“that” is special underlined—‘“when that interest is not in charge.”’
‘Bohm: “What is not clear to me is, suppose there is an evil person, making evil through his words and actions. But suppose I don’t see him. He is somewhere, far away.”’
‘Krishnaji: “But there is a very well-known phenomenon. I can 'think about you happily'', with affection, care, or I can 'hate' you.”’
‘Bohm: “Does that hate affect you when you are far away?”’
‘Krishnaji: “Yes, that’s what I mean.”’
‘David: “Then, there is transmission of thought?”’
‘Krishnaji: “Oh, obviously, obviously.”’
‘David: “Yes. Well, it is important to get it clear, because it contradicts what people usually accept, but you are quite clear on that? Quite sure of it?”’
‘Krishnaji: “I’m quite sure. Personally, when I go to a place which I’m not familiar with, where I haven’t lived, say when I first came here after ten years, I came through that door. I felt appalling, I said to her. I ran out.”’
‘David: “But, how is it now?”’
‘Krishnaji: “Nothing. It’s all gone.”’
‘David: “But what happened?”’
‘Krishnaji: “Because the 'other' thing is stronger, it cannot be touched. That’s why whenever a doctor said to me, ‘Do you want it?’”’—meaning a general anesthesia—‘“by injection, a total anesthesia…
‘David: “It occurred to me, you say these people are caught in confused thought; nevertheless, there is a transformation possible whereby they get out of it. Would you say, suppose you took an anesthetic and were caught with an evil thought, could an evil thought take hold of you?”’
‘Krishnaji: ‘Oh, but I don’t want to go through all that. Of course.”’
‘Mary: “Is it relevant to ask what is the difference between the unconsciousness of anesthesiology and sleep?”’
‘Krishnaji: “Oh, that’s entirely different. There, it is natural. This is unnatural.”
‘Mary: “Because it is imposed?”’
‘Krishnaji: “You are forced, you’re driven out.”’
‘David: “Now, with sleep, would you say there is still a kind of attention?”’
‘Krishnaji: “Oh, yes. That intelligence is watching.”’

On April sixth, ‘Krishnaji dictated a letter to Rajagopal, saying he would go to the archives on the fifteenth, that he was concerned by reports of trustees who visited the archives, that none of his manuscripts were there, and said he would be coming to see them, plus Mrs. Besant’s, Leadbeater’s, and Huxley’s letters.’
In the evening, he told me with great seriousness that I must be watchful of him after the operation, that the line between life and death is very thin with him, and that I must remind him to be watchful.’, Krishnaji spoke to me about not letting him slip away in the hospital. I must talk to him, remind him, be watchful after the operation. He said that the body for the last three days has been resisting the operation, and that the danger is that he, Krishnaji, might suddenly say, “That is enough,” and slip out. The line between life and death is always there; it has happened to him in the past; it happened here in Ojai when he was walking in the mountains; it has happened in India when he “goes off” and “wanders away,” as he put it, and that could happen. He said I must be watchful. I asked what I could do, and he said to talk, to talk to him. It wouldn’t happen with strangers about, but after he comes back to his room after the operation, I must talk to him. I must remind him, too, in the morning before he goes down to surgery. I must also remind him before he gives blood. I must be watchful. Sometime later, I asked if he didn’t want to have the operation. Should we cancel it? And he said, “No. If one neglects it and there is a stoppage, it would be much worse.” But, I must remind him.

April twelfth. We lunched at Arya Vihara. Abdullah El Hussain and Ms. Habibe were there. They asked Krishnaji about thought being matter, etcetera. Thought as matter dies with the body, which is matter, but Krishnaji implies 'thought' in some form enters a stream of consciousness and continues. ‘Abdullah asked about reincarnation, and Krishnaji said the body and mind die, but thought is like an energy put out by the mind, and it is matter and continues as evil exists, as good exists, the good put out by man, etcetera..

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Tue, 11 Jul 2017 #339
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

(continuing with selected excerpts from MZ's Memoirs )

April fourteenth. ‘Krishnaji held the fourth public discussions in the Grove on thought, intelligence
etcetera. He was marvelously clear. The audience contributed nothing. Cynthia Wood was at lunch at Arya Vihara. Krishnaji gave her a treatment. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji gave a taped interview to Donald Ingram Smith for Australian Radio.
The next day, Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, Ruth, Alan, and I went to see the things in the archives about which Krishnaji had written to Rajagopal: manuscripts, letters, etcetera. Austin Bee admitted us. Rajagopal quickly appeared. He said that he didn’t know where Krishnamurti’s manuscripts are and all the other material is his personal property. Krishnaji left. The rest of us stayed and talked to Rajagopal. Before Krishnaji walked out, I asked him if I could look again at the two first photographs I had found in an album apparently put together by Nitya, as the writing underneath is his. These were photographs of “Krishna aged about 5,” ‘And then, “Krishna’s mother,” a separate photo. Krishnaji looked at them, and then left. This drew Rajagopal’s interest, who peered at them, and said that he hadn’t seen them in a long time. I said it was a pity, that they were beginning to fade, and would eventually disappear, that they really should be re-photographed as quickly as possible. Rajagopal said yes, maybe they should, but wouldn’t it be very expensive. I said I, or we, would be glad to pay for them. What about our sending a photographer? Alan Hooker’s brother-in-law is a professional and can do the job. Rajagopal said alright. With nothing to lose, I asked Rajagopal what he planned to do with all the material he claimed was his after his death? I didn’t expect him to tell me, but wanted to hear what he would say. “You’ll find out after I’m gone.” Alan could see the Bourdelle head of Krishnaji done in 1927 to 1928. As we admired it, Rajagopal said, “I suppose that ought to be in your school.” I said, “It should indeed.” And he said we could take it, surprisingly. We went back to the cottage, and in the evening, Krishnaji dictated a very pointed and strong letter to Rajagopal.’

April sixteenth. ‘Krishnaji gave the fifth talk in the Oak Grove, a profoundly moving one on the meaning of death. There was a huge crowd. Ravi Shankar was there and greeted Krishnaji.Alan Kishbaugh and Mark went to get the Bourdelle statue before Rajagopal changed his mind.’
And the seventeenth. ‘Krishnaji gave the sixth talk in Oak Grove, completing the season’s series. Again, there was a huge crowd, including Rajagopal who stared intently and malevolently at Krishnaji, especially as the crowds swarmed around him after the talk. later.’
April eighteenth, ‘I typed Krishnaji’s letter to Rajagopal and one to Pupul. She has resigned from government service.
I spoke to Erna. She went with a photographer to the K & R office; and with Rajagopal standing by, the old photographs of Krishnaji as a little boy and his mother were copied for preservation. Krishnaji says he feels no effect of the blood donation.’
April twenty-eighth. ‘Narasimhan came at 9 a.m. to see Krishnaji. He has just returned from India. He saw Mrs. Gandhi who thinks her son Sanjay is innocent and being framed. Civil rights and a free press are now restored in India.
Krishnaji “had an idea,” which turned out to be another letter he dictated to Rajagopal. He said, “I woke up with a strong feeling I should write to Rajagopal because I have not told him directly that he is totally dishonest and corrupt, and the impact might do something to him. That is the reason I am writing.

Krishnaji questioning me about my learning of Sam’s death, how I had heard, etcetera. What interested him is the question of whether everything in his own life is foreseen and planned, or is it all chance. “I don’t think it is chance.” He said also, “property always brings corruption. Look at Rajagopal.”…“But we need property. I want to talk quietly to the Lilliefelts on how to prevent this in the future. I’ve been thinking about it.”
Erna asked how she could judge the credibility of people? I pointed out that there is really only one witness who can now talk about it, Krishnaji himself. He said he didn’t really accept his own youthful testimony of seeing Masters, etcetera, as reliable. He doesn’t remember it. But apart from that, at that age, he was very young, impressionable, etcetera

Krishnaji had said this morning, “the body resists this,” meaning the operation. And I asked how it showed this, and he laughed and said, “I don’t want to go.”’ ‘But at hospital in the evening, he said, “It is alright. Can you feel the atmosphere?” I could. Something is strongly around him. I spoke with him, as he had told me weeks ago to be attentive. He said it was not necessary. He had 'talked to the body'. I am only to remind him tomorrow morning to “Be careful while I am in their hands.”
There was a Rodin reproduction in the hall of the hospital, which Krishnaji liked and stopped to examine, and he recognized a Van Gogh sunflower as we passed by. By 9:30 p.m., he was ready to sleep, had seen the up and down buttons of the hospital bed, and seemed to think everything was well-handled. “It wouldn’t be like this in India,” he said. So, he is ready and feels “All is taken care of.”’
The ninth. Neither of us slept too well, but each got up at 5 a.m. Krishnaji did his breathing exercises and some asanas. I spoke to him, “Be attentive. Remember. Be careful.” He said he knew the body was ready and all was alright. He had shaved but not had time for a shower. A boy attendant came with the gurney, and Krishnaji climbed onto it on his own, smiled at me, and I said, “Stia attenta, non dimenticare”’—be attentive, don’t forget. ‘He replied, “Non abbia paura”’—don’t be afraid. ‘I said, “Sto con lei”’—I am with you—‘as he was wheeled off down the hall. I followed to the door of the surgery, saw him raise his head to look at what was ahead as the door closed.’
Dr. Hausman appeared and told Erna, Theo, and me that the operation was a complete success. Krishnaji came through it perfectly, but said that Krishnaji should have had the operation long ago. It will take some time for the bladder to relax and readjust, and Hausman will give him medication for it later. Various testing went on, and Krishnaji kept saying, “They wouldn’t do all this in India, or in England!”’ ‘The thoroughness impressed him. He drank fruit juice all day, was thirsty, said he had some pain and was given Tylenol and codeine. Krishnaji is inclined to go too long without something for pain. Dr. Hausman came in just after noon, and repeated that if he himself were having this operation, he could not want it to go better.’ The operation actually took fifty-five minutes. The time in recovery was not long. He told me that after quieting the body, he was 'without thought' until he was back in his room. For tomorrow he wanted spinach and cheesecake.

When the nurse was out of the room, he told me, “I felt the body floating and there was a dialogue between 'Death' and the 'body' and ‘the Other,’ and death was winning.” And he said there was nothing I could do, not to interfere. I pointed out that the nurse’s presence had brought him round. But he said, “It will come again tonight until it is settled.” Soon, he lapsed again into the “off” state and said that since five this morning, so many people have touched the body, and he began to count them, and said, “About ten have touched me.” There was a sense of irritation in all that had been done to him and soon he began to look about as though seeing things, making random gestures, raising his right arm. Then, “Where am I?” Pause. “I have been wounded,” looking about. Then, “Where’s my brother Nitya?” The voice was light, higher, almost that of a boy. Then “I want to join you, Nitya.” And then, “I’m going away.

After a few seconds, he made a deep-sounding cough, his normal cough, and his voice dropped to its normal level, and he said, “That’s better.” And then, “I’m not going. I’ll join you later, Nitya, much later, another ten years.” Later, he said, “One mustn’t be burdened with the past.” And later, he said, “You and I mustn’t be in an automobile accident, so drive carefully.” And later, “I’m not a philosopher.”’
‘Finally, after about an hour, he seemed to come out of it and spoke directly to me. “I’m all right now.” After telling me he was alright, he fell asleep, and I felt the assurance that he was through it.

May tenth. ‘Krishnaji was reading when I came in at 6 a.m. He is much better. No pain. Lailee came in early and so did Hausman. Krishnaji didn’t want solid breakfast, but I made a little muesli and some of his usual food, and he ate it saying “L’appétit vient en mangeant.”’

Krishnaji dictated to me a dialogue with death as follows:’

‘“It was a minor operation and not worth talking about, though there was considerable pain. While the pain continued, I saw or discovered that the body was almost floating in the air. It may have been an illusion, some kind of hallucination, but a few minutes later, there was the personification—not a person—but the personification of death. Watching this peculiar phenomenon between the body and death, there seemed to be a sort of dialogue between them. Death seemed to be talking to the body with great insistence, and the body reluctantly, not admitting what death wanted. Though there were people in the room, this phenomenon went on, death inviting, the body refusing. It was not a fear of death why the body was denying the demands of death, but it realized it was not responsible for itself, there was another entity that was dominating, much stronger, more vital than death itself. Death was more and more demanding and insisting and so ‘the Other’ interfered. Then there was a conversation or a dialogue between not only the body, but ‘the Other’ and death. So, there were three entities in conversation. He had warned before he went to the hospital that there might be a disassociation with the body and so death might interfere. Though the person was sitting there, and a nurse, it was not a self-deception or kind of hallucination. Lying in the bed he saw the clouds full of rain and the town below stretching for miles. There was spattering of rain on the window pane and he saw clearly the saline solution dripping drop by drop into the organism. One felt very distinctly and clearly that if ‘the Other’ had not interfered, death would have won. This dialogue was expressed in words with thought operating very clearly. There was thunder and lightning and the conversation went on. Since there was no fear at all, neither on the part of the body or ‘the Other’—absolutely no fear—one could converse freely and profoundly. It is always difficult to put a conversation of that kind into words. Strangely, as there was no fear, death was not enchaining the mind to things of the past. What came out of the conversation was very clear. The body in considerable pain and was not apprehensive or anxious and ‘the Other’ was discernibly beyond both. It was as though ‘the Other’ were acting as an umpire, a dangerous game of which the body was not at all aware. Even if it was, there would be no withdrawal from the scene.”’
‘“Death seemed to be always present, like one’s shadow. Being concerned with the whole movement of life, death cannot be invited. That would be suicide, which is utterly foolish. But, death and life, or rather the living, in this peculiar phenomenon that was going on, the three, would never be separate. During this 'conversation' there was no sense of time. Probably the whole dialogue lasted about an hour but the time by the watch did not exist. There were no words used but an 'immediate insight' into what each was saying. Of course, if one is attached to anything—ideas, beliefs, property or person, death would not come to have a conversation with you. Death in the sense of ''ending' is absolute freedom.”’
‘“The quality of conversation was 'urbane'. There was nothing whatsoever of sentiment, emotional extravagance to distort the absolute fact of time coming to an end and the vastness without any border when death is taking part in your daily life. There was the feeling that the body would go on for many years but death and ‘the Other’ would always be together till the organism could no longer be active. There was a great sense of humour among the three of them and one could almost hear the laughter. And the beauty of it was with the clouds and the rain.”’

May eleventh. ‘Krishnaji looked well in the morning and thought a 'cheese enchilada' from the farmer’s market might be nice.’ ‘So, needing exercise and thinking it was closer than it is, I walked there and back with three lunches, one for the nurse, and some grapes and cherries.
May twelfth. ‘Krishnaji’s eighty-second birthday. It began with misery at around 12:30 a.m. with pain, and I couldn’t mention birthdays or indeed anything. Dr. Hausman finally appeared at 12:30 p.m. and signed Krishnaji out. He went in his dressing gown by wheelchair to the car, and so we came blessedly home to Malibu. He is now in his own bed and room, and the sight makes me want to kiss the earth with gratitude. On the drive, he observed everything as though for the first time, missing nothing. We had a late-ish lunch. All is now quiet. Instead of air conditioning, there is a gentle freshness from the sea, the garden smells of flowers and moist leaves; quail call in the canyon.’
Krishnaji walked a little in the garden. It is quiet and beautiful, and we played Mozart. The sea makes a sleepy summer sound. Hospitals are anti-life, walls, plastic, food, and air. The grass, sun, and air are healthy, and Krishnaji feels quite “washed out,” but it is, I think, the lassitude of relaxation after all that happened.
“I wish I could talk to you without words,” he said. “Words distort. There is something I want to convey. I’ve told you about this other 'face' that is sometimes there—there is that and that boy’s face and this…” pointing to his own face. Then, he changed the subject.’ In the evening we watched the fourth Nixon/Frost interview on TV.’

May thirty-first. In the morning, Krishnaji finished dictating the “dialogue with death” which he began the morning after the operation. He did not reread what he has said three weeks ago. He remembered where he had stopped and he said “I would only rewrite it.”’ I could only ask, “Did you mean this word was that word?”—that’s all I could ask. I couldn’t read him the text. Talk about somebody 'living in the moment'…the moment five minutes ago is long-gone. So, anyway, he dictated:

‘“Of course, it wasn’t 'death', 'K', and the 'body', three separate activities on their own, but it was a 'humorous whole', moving together without distinction from each other.”
When in the evening, he did have me reread the whole piece, I pointed that he’d been speaking of death, “the Other,” and the body, and now he referred to death, K, and the body—so he changed that sentence, putting “the Other” in place of “K.” “You know what I mean by ‘the Other,’” he said, “The Mind that is inhabited by K.”

‘Then he continued the dictation. “Words cannot describe this strange movement that is essentially timeless. Putting this down on paper is the expression of thought, is the expression through words and so the movement of thought and time. But the 'movement of death' is not of time, so the description is not the described. However cunning thought may try to capture it, death is beyond measure. It was a conversation without word, without thought, and so not of time. The 'sound' of this conversation was expanding endlessly, and the sound was the same at the beginning and was without end. It was a song without a beginning or an end. Death and life are very close together, like love and death. As love is not remembrance, death has no past. Fear never entered this conversation, for fear is darkness and death is light. “This dialogue was not illusory or fanciful. It was like a whisper in the wind, but the whisper was very clear and if you listened you could hear it; you would then be part of it. Then we would share it together. But you won’t listen to it as you are too identified with your own body, your own thoughts, your own direction. One must abandon all this to enter the 'light and love' of death.”’

We talked about the atmosphere in houses, and surprisingly, Krishnaji spoke of what he does to make a certain atmosphere when he stays in a new or strange room. He told of things done in India that are mysterious—the story of the raving woman, the priest bringing a branch of a certain tree, carrying it around the woman, she quieted a little, then the branch was nailed to a tree and the woman was cured—i.e., the bad was captured out of her into the branch and nailed to a tree; then the holding up the cross in Christian practice—“Only, it doesn’t always work because the priest is not really religious.”
“You’ve heard of all these?—Well, what I do is none of these.
” Then, he smiled and said nothing more.

‘In the evening, we tried to watch a TV of a gala for the Queen of England at Covent Garden. During the ballet, Krishnaji, not a fan at all, kept saying, “Get on with it!” And when Nureyev and Fontaine did a special ballet by Ashton for the occasion, Hamlet and Ophelia, it looked rather dreary and Krishnaji gave up.

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Wed, 12 Jul 2017 #340
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

( More of MZ's K Story time)

On June ninth 1977 we were persuaded by one of the Dunne girls and a friend of hers to see the Star Wars movie at 2:30 p.m. Both Krishnaji and I went.’ These people who persuaded us were so thrilled about Star Wars, and they stood in line for god knows how long to get us tickets. And so we got there just in time to go in, and we sat there like owls looking at the screen, glancing at each other. We found it boring. ‘Not Krishnaji’s or my style.’

June sixteenth. ‘Krishnaji proposed we both go in the green Mercedes to Ojai on awakening—no breakfast, just dress and go. So, we did, leaving at 6:30 a.m. The mist along the ocean was beautiful. He said, “Be without thought,” We picked up the car key at the Shell station and went on to the cottage. Theo was waiting there to invite us to breakfast, but we came right back home. Krishnaji driving the green, starting it perfectly with his own key. He followed the gray and drove through whatever there was of traffic.’

June twenty-second. ‘No sleep on the airplane, and breakfast was inedible for Krishnaji, but we both felt better than we might have on landing at Heathrow at 7:15 a.m. We arrived at 9:30 a.m. at Brockwood. It was green and beautiful. Everyone keeps saying, “This is the first day of summer.”

June twenty-eighth. ‘We had a pleasant, leisurely lunch with Mary L. While I went to the lavatory, Krishnaji started one of his 'questionings' with Mary—how is it, chance or otherwise, that someone turns up to look after him? Example: me. And he repeated again that the only thing he regretted in his life was the association with DR and RR’—that means Rajagopal and Rosalind. ‘He said what an extraordinary life he has had. This remark came up after my return when we were talking of the difficulties facing the young, Mary’s grandchildren, for instance, on how to find jobs, etcetera. He said he had been so fortunate, looked after always, cared for. Did 'something' arrange it all? Did “they” therefore see to it that someone (me) would come along, interested, able to care for him? I asked him if he knew more about this. He said he did, but “It is not my job to go into that.” Yet, he does raise this (rhetorical) question frequently. It seems as if there is 'mystery' in some part of it for him too, as there is about “that boy”—his younger self.

June twenty-ninth, We watched a Wimbledon match, Virginia Wade defeating Chris Evert. Krishnaji was for Evert, “Come on, Chris, I have fifty pounds on you,” he said. “What’s the matter, Chris?”’
We left Brockwood at 11 a.m. with Dorothy, and had a picnic lunch in the car near Heathrow. Our 2 p.m. flight was delayed until 4:30 p.m., so we sat in the first class passenger lounge and read. On the flight, an obnoxious man, an "I-am-the-center-of-the-universe type", sitting across the aisle from Krishnaji, refused to stop smoking though we were in nonsmoking seats. I bore down on the steward to enforce it. He seemed to be servile to the man, and apologetic to me; suggesting we move seats. I spoke freely, which upset Krishnaji. The steward said to Krishnaji, “It doesn’t matter; it doesn’t matter. If someone is boorish, what can you do?” We landed at Charles de Gaulle, that horrid airport, got our luggage, changed traveler’s checks, and then went by taxi to the Plaza Athénée. We walked around the block, had supper in our rooms, and soon went to bed.’
July first. ‘ Nadia Kossiakof came for coffee. She and her husband Nicolas enthused over their visit to the U.S.—there’s such freedom there, they feel. “Tout est politique en France,” she said. She spoke of Madame Duchet and her quiet death.’

‘We took an Air France 11 a.m. flight and landed in Geneva an hour later. It was a clear, warm day. Cointrin Airport in Geneva is much nicer than De Gaulle. There were no porters, but finally, some sort of baggage official helped us load two carts with our luggage and helped push them to the Hertz counter. Fortunately, he accepted a tip. We set off in an Opel Rekord, large enough for the five bags and two camera cases, but with horridly stiff gears, and found the Intercontinental Hotel where Narasimhan met us and guided us to his apartment building. He provided lunch, vanishing into the kitchen, and refusing all help from Krishnaji or me. A South Indian friend had provided the curries. The conversation never quite got off the ground, but he was pleased to entertain Krishnaji, ‘I bought some other small things, and at 3:30 p.m., we set off for Gstaad, along the lake, up through le centre ville of Lausanne at Krishnaji’s suggestion, so we could come down into Oron by the long road.’ If you remember, there’s a long straight road—you go up the hill, then you go zooming down.
He liked that, and I did too. ‘Like a toboggan run,’ it says here.
‘We arrived at Tannegg at 6:20 p.m. Vanda and Fosca were there. Krishnaji’s room has lost its view of the valley to two cupboards and a dressing table and a horrible red carpet. It looks hot and Wagnerian in the hall. I was too tired to unpack. Krishnaji went to bed. I took a shower and had supper with Vanda. We talked at some length. I told her more fully of Krishnaji’s night after surgery. I was staggered by her telling me that some years ago “before you were there,” he had been examined in Geneva, and the doctor told her that Krishnaji had a tumor in his bladder that might be cancer. She never told Krishnaji, and nothing further was done.’ I was absolutely aghast. She believed what she wanted to believe, and it didn’t matter what implications or facts there were or anything.

The Siddoos came at 4 p.m. to have Krishnaji sign a lease from them at $1 for three years for the school and adult center buildings for the KF Canada. They own the two buildings.
Vanda ate a little more at lunch, but nothing at supper. Krishnaji has scolded her. she would sit at the table and just pick at her salad and not eat anything. ‘Krishnaji and I walked in the rain to the river. A policeman stopped us, asking if we had picked wildflowers or mushrooms. They must be trying to protect them. We felt very approving. Before retiring to bed, Krishnaji had me pick out his clothes for tomorrow’s talk. He said goodnight with a thinking-of-something air, and then said, “Tomorrow I have to talk,” and stretched his eyebrows. He is wearing the orange silk kimono dressing gown that stays here all year for the summer, sannyasi-color and very becoming.’
July tenth. Krishnaji and I got to the tent just before 10:30 a.m. Despite the rain and it being the first talk, the tent was nearly full. Krishnaji looked well, fully of energy, and gave a strong opening talk, laying the basis of there being no security in thought and finally coming to the fact that the real seeing of this is the action of change and intelligence, and in this, is real security. Krishnaji said on the way back, “I had no idea what I was going to talk about when I began.” Saanen about shoes.’
July twelfth, ‘Krishnaji gave an intense, very strong talk on authority, its falseness. When I picked him up at the road, he wanted to go to the Saanen shoe store. It was cool there. Mr. Kohli found him light shoes he liked.
July fourteenth. ‘Krishnaji gave Saanen talk number three on skill, clarity, and compassion. It was all new. Later, he said it is like a triangle: the base is compassion.
Krishnaji is so full of hopes for Narayan making Rishi Valley what it was meant to be. He exhorts him, encourages him, and calls him “old man.” We all three walked to the river. “This operation has done me good. I have more energy,” said Krishnaji. Narayan stayed to supper and Donald Dennis came to fetch him.’

July nineteenth. ‘Krishnaji gave Saanen talk number five. He spoke with great intensity on discontent, the necessity for it, leading to compassion which is intelligence, and on suffering and what it has to do with love—nothing. He ended with his story of the teacher addressing the pupils, and a bird comes to the window and sings. The teacher listens and when the bird is finished and flies away, he tells the pupils, “You have heard the lesson for today.”
July twenty-first. ‘Krishnaji gave Saanen talk number six, an extraordinary one on death and love.
Jean-Michel Maroger and his mother came for lunch, and Krishnaji joined us in the dining room. Jean-Michel is now doing translations of the talks on audio cassette; He invited Krishnaji to where he and his wife and children live near Blois and Chenonceau. Krishnaji later said it would be nice to go there. At 3:45 p.m., Graf brought a Mme. Geiser of Swiss journal Fémina to interview Krishnaji. Krishnaji was sleepy at first, rather vague, and then gave her an absorbing lesson in the basics of his teachings, leading her step by step into what he thought of conditioning, religion, belief, the future being a projection of the past, the observer and observed. He said, “To see the whole is to see more than the parts.” And when she said, “You have taught for fifty years. Are you tired of it?” he said, “I am not tired because I don’t expect anything.”

July twenty-fourth, 1977, we’re in Switzerland for the Saanen talks. Krishnaji feels better today; he has slept well. He went to his seventh talk, the final one of this series in Saanen. It was on meditation, really, but he began on decisions, went on to what it is to be without ambition, goals, will, and spoke of space, and the space of the conditioned mind which is limited, but where there is no self, no center, space is limitless. As he spoke, I saw him living in that infinite space, the rest of us tied in our pens; but in such a talk, I felt he lifted one high above the mountains into the sky. At the end, he put his hands together, and said to the audience, “May I go now?” and left.

The next day, ‘Krishnaji held the first Saanen public discussion. The Reg Bennetts and Simmonses came to lunch. Krishnaji talked at length with them afterward.

August twenty-seventh. ‘Krishnaji gave the first Brockwood talk in the 'marquis'. There was rain and confusion. After the talk, Krishnaji and I had fruit and salad upstairs in our kitchen and then returned to the tent for hot food.
August twenty-ninth, ‘I worked at the desk. In the afternoon, Krishnaji held a taped discussion with David Bohm, Asit Chandmal, and P. Krishna, professor of physics at Benares Hindu University

So, now we go to the thirtieth. ‘Krishnaji had wondered how to hold a public discussion in the tent with so many people. Should he appoint a few, and let the others listen? Or appoint a few and let those who wish to join, join? He spoke of this in the tent, and then suddenly he said, he thought he would have 'a dialogue with himself', and so he did, most marvelously.’ ‘People were very moved by it. At last, he had someone worthy to discuss with, said so many’
August thirty-first. ‘In the afternoon, Krishnaji talked to Reg and Mavis Bennett on the future of the work in Australia.

September fourth. ‘Krishnaji’s fourth Brockwood talk. I made an appeal for funds. The tent was overflowing with people, even though we have added a smaller one extending the center of the big one in which Krishnaji speaks.’

The twenty-second, ‘Krishnaji talked to the staff on how to tell students that pleasure is an isolating thing.’ A sort of 'vaccination' talk.
The twenty-fourth. ‘There was a school meeting at 9 a.m., and then Krishnaji talked to the school at noon on the isolation of pleasure.
September twenty-fifth, ‘Krishnaji had a meeting alone with the students. After lunch, David Bohm talked to Krishnaji on behalf of David Shainberg, who was having difficulties with his wife; she’s interested in Kabbalah.’

September twenty-seventh, ‘We left with Dorothy at 7:45 a.m. for Heathrow. Krishnaji and I took a Lufthansa flight to Cologne/Bonn, but were late leaving because of the continuing air traffic control strike. I telephoned Dr. Scheef to confirm our appointment for tomorrow morning. We lunched in a largely empty dining room, where the head waiter turned out to be from Delhi—Namaste, etcetera.’
‘We had our suppers in our rooms. Then, very suddenly, in the middle of the soup, Krishnaji’s face changed. He looked about with that listening expression, “Do you feel it?” I hadn’t till then. But the room suddenly seemed vibrant and charged. He closed his eyes, and I wondered if he would faint, but he didn’t. He came out of it. Said his head was beginning to hurt, but finished his supper. He didn’t want to talk about it, as always.’ During lunch, he said, “It isn’t superstition, but I think I know what it was last night. Nobody knows this person here, except a few nuts, and it’s like the jewels (in the foundation of house), it is to bring about an atmosphere.” I asked if he meant that this something and his presence would have the effect, and he nodded.’
He spoke of going to France, somewhere in the country, for a week or two. He can’t rest at Brockwood—too many people.

October twenty-first. ‘Krishnaji and I took the 10:20 a.m. train to London. On the train, he said, “The day you were in town, Wednesday, there were hardly any people”’—at lunch—‘“about twenty. And I was sitting there looking out of the window. A couple of the students were watching me, but I was looking out the window. I suddenly had the feeling that the body was very holy. It has continued since. I never felt that before.”

‘At lunch, Krishnaji and David Bohm fell to further talk about the brain registering, and a gleam came into Krishnaji’s eyes and he said “I shall have a discussion on it tomorrow.” It will be at 11:30 a.m., just when I will be at Heathrow. I said, “Rest.” He looked mischievous and said he would do it.’ Later, Krishnaji said, “I want to fix it in my mind, or I will forget it. “Register lightly, that’s the thing.”
October thirtieth. ‘I was up at 6 a.m., and made a little fire in my fireplace with the last of the basket of wood we have gathered on walks. Krishnaji gave me the back massage he has given since we went to the Bonn clinic, morning and night, to stimulate circulation in the lower back, where the blood supply goes to the leg. It has helped very much. I was packed, and dressed by 7:30 a.m. I made our breakfast and his for Monday and Tuesday of muesli. Then, I said goodbye to most of the staff. I was in tears, with Krishnaji. He said, “Sia benedetta”—be blessed. “An angel goes with you” and more. He came down to see me off, and so did most of the staff. I went in a taxi, seeing Krishnaji in his white dressing gown, his arm in what seemed a blessing. From Heathrow, I took TWA noon flight to New York.
The next day, ‘I left early in the green Mercedes for Ojai. The cottage is astonishingly advanced. I met Max Falk, the builder, and Bart Phelps, the architect.
November twelfth. ‘In the morning, I found a letter from Krishnaji in a pile written at Brockwood on November first. His Air India flight was postponed for nine hours, so he returned to Brockwood from the airport, went back to bed, had an oil bath, lunch, and a nap. He wrote to me just before leaving again for Heathrow.
On November fourteenth. ‘There was a cable from Krishnaji sent on the eleventh, saying he was leaving that day for Rishi Valley. His program is changed. He’s to speak in Bombay later. I got a letter from Sunanda saying the heat in Madras made Krishnaji go on to Rishi Valley.
On November twenty-first, ‘I received the first letter of the year from Krishnaji written in India from November third to the ninth, and sent from Bombay. The heat it was now normal.
January twelfth. ‘I got a cable from Krishnaji saying he will fly from London to Los Angeles on February fifth. I booked his ticket. Later, letter number five came, written before, and then after he had the flu and through December twenty-seventh. He said Rajagopal had telephoned him on the twenty-seventh.’

January thirty-first, ‘Krishnaji left Bombay early this morning and flew to London. At 11 a.m. here, I telephoned Brockwood and spoke to him. His voice was strong, eager, and full of energy. It was so extraordinary to be talking to him, I forgot to ask him more than “Are you alright? Are you well?” He was and he is. I reminded him that he is now a U.S. resident with his “green card,” so he must fill out a customs declaration. He asked me to find the porter who last year said he could go into the customs area and help him with the luggage.’
‘Krishnaji’s TWA flight was on time at 4:15 p.m. I saw him through the glass as he went into customs, smiling and bright. I had found a porter and tipped him $10 to find and help Krishnaji.’ ‘It is Krishnaji’s first arrival on his own with the green card, and all went well. He came out smiling and hugged me in the lift going down to where we had a long wait for his bag. The highly tipped porter never reappeared.’ ‘We drove home through the rain, Krishnaji talking a streak all the way. We had supper on trays in his room. He was full of energy and wanted to tell me everything that had happened since he left for India in November. We talked for hours, until quite late, about everything, including ourselves. I have the immeasurable happiness of having him here.’ Even though he was tired, whenever he came back, even though he’d been up for twenty hours or more he wanted to talk.
February sixth. ‘I woke up filled with happiness. It had rained all through the night, 1.60 inches. Krishnaji stayed in bed all day, alternately sleeping and talking. There is a stream of energy in him. He says it began in Rishi Valley as if something had opened in his head. One feels it strongly being with him.’

The twelfth. ‘I cooked all morning. The Lilliefelts and Mark Lee drove down for lunch. Krishnaji asked us if the schools “are worth it.” Mark gave a firm yes, and so did Theo. Erna didn’t demur. Krishnaji said they had asked him in India to whom he talked. He said 'nobody' and because he is speaking to nobody, not seeking a result, there is greater energy. It is also evident that if one is nobody, one hears.

February fourteenth. ‘The weather is clear and beautiful. Krishnaji and I drove to Ojai in his green Mercedes, himself at the wheel, smiling. The skies smiled too; it was a perfect day for his first trip to Ojai, and his first glimpse of the new house. Krishnaji looked at everything. “It is stupendous,” he said. We lunched at Arya Vihara. Everyone was there to greet Krishnaji. After lunch, he talked alone with Fritz Wilhelm. Then, he came back to the cottage and asked for the removal of the trellis outside his bedroom window.’
The sixteenth of February. ‘Krishnaji spoke of the necessity for young people to carry on. This has become urgent to him. He wonders if Fritz can do the adult center and is doubtful. He spoke of the Buddha having two disciples who really understood his teachings, and both of them died before the Buddha. “That is sad,” said Krishnaji.’ It made me cry when I first heard that.
February twenty-first. ‘Another warm, beautiful day. We stayed home, and relaxed after a busy week. Krishnaji said, “The last two or three days in my sleep, in the brain, there is a quality of dreadful seriousness.” In the morning, Krishnaji dictated letters, including one signed by me to Rajagopal saying that Krishnaji had asked me to write to ask what is his intention with regard to the exchange of telegrams with Krishnaji in Madras about a meeting between them. I suggested that we have it in Malibu or at Arya Vihara.’ I’d forgotten that. ‘Krishnaji and I walked around the garden. Krishnaji talked to me about what to do for the adult center, and the need for the right people. While we walked around the lawn, he spoke about giving me the necessary understanding. Can he give it to me? There is nothing I can “do” to enhance that. It seems foremost in his mind to transmit something, an understanding of his teachings.’
Krishnaji says there is already an atmosphere in the house. This especially pleases Theo, who put the jewels in the foundation when the cement was poured. In the evening, Radha Burnier telephoned to report her meeting with Rajagopal. She said at first there was chitchat about her family. Then, he had questions on how she got from Krotona to his house. He pretended not to know of the gate at the back of his property. Then, Radha asked, “What are you doing?”
Rajagopal: “I’m very busy.”’
‘Radha: “Are you writing?”’
‘Rajagopal: “I’m busy with the teachings.”’
‘Radha: “What do you mean?”’
‘Rajagopal: “Busy distributing the books.”’
‘Radha: “Are you going to see Krishnaji?”’
‘Rajagopal “Is he here?”’
‘Radha: “Haven’t you received Mrs. Zimbalist’s invitation to Malibu?”’
‘Rajagopal: “Oh yes.”’
‘Radha: “I was in Madras when you telephoned Krishnaji. Are you going to see him?”
‘Rajagopal: “That is a personal business between him and me. I don’t want to talk about it.”’
‘Radha: “I want to talk about the archives. I was here last year when you wouldn’t show them. I have proof that letters were sent from Adyar and they were sent to Krishnaji, not to you.”’
‘Rajagopal: “I don’t want to talk about this with you. You don’t know about it. It’s personal between Krishnaji and me.”’
‘Krishnaji listened to all this on an extension telephone. Radha then said to both of us that she thought he might flare up, but he didn’t. He was just like a stone wall that she couldn’t penetrate. He had little subterfuges in the conversation, like pretending that he didn’t know about the gate. She also said to Rajagopal that she had seen his recent letter to Krishnaji. What was he quoting in it? Rajagopal wouldn’t say. Krishnaji asked her if she felt his mind was losing ground, becoming demented. Radha said, “He was clear, and sharp enough, but demented in some way. He is off the tracks.” She said that he was nervous when the telephone rang twice. She was there an hour, from 5 p.m. to 6 p.m. She said he is without 'conscience', there is something evil about him. She is glad she went, though, because she can now tell the others in India that she had had a certain hope she could talk to him, that she could reach him, and she knows now that it is impossible. They have always had the feeling that we don’t know how to deal with him, and that has led to all the difficulties.

March thirteenth. ‘Krishnaji held the fifth group discussionb when he spoke of insight—different from understanding, which is arrived at slowly, by degrees. Insight is nothing to do with thought. It is instantaneous, the perception of intelligence. When he spoke of this, it was as if he had taken off into the sky, a hawk soaring, free of where earth people trudge along, and it pierced something in my mind. Insight is never partial, it is whole.
At supper, Krishnaji questioned the qualities of the teachers in the school. Where do we find people? What is happening to Americans?
Krishnaji asked me to leave him alone for a few minutes in my room, to do whatever it is to bring a certain wordless something to that room: protection, blessing. He asked, “Do you feel the atmosphere?” I did, and I felt it even more in his room. So, we sleep in this house, blessed by Krishnaji, his life here and his presence.’ The next day, Krishnaji returned Rajagopal’s telephone call with Erna and I in the room. Rajagopal said he wanted to see him. Krishnaji asked what he wanted to talk about. Rajagopal said, “For your own good and mine” he wanted a two-hour talk alone. Krishnaji said that unless it was about Rajagopal’s returning everything to Krishnaji, as he had said in his cable from Madras, there was nothing for them to discuss. Rajagopal hung up. He had stressed “for your good,” which sounded like a threat. Krishnaji asked him if he were taping the conversation.’
The first of April. ‘Krishnaji gave his first Ojai talk in Nordhoff High School Gymnasium. Not a bad place, but “not as nice as under the trees,” said Krishnaji, a little wistfully. “I don’t know what to talk about,” he said on the way over. Then, as usual, it came to him and he spoke of the pressure of language. “It uses us, not we using it,” and the pressure of ideals. We came back and had our first meal in the cottage dining room. Krishnaji, Shainberg, and I walked on Thacher Road.
April second. ‘A clear day, but Krishnaji’s second Ojai talk also needs to be in the Nordhoff Gym. A stupendous one. An intense key talk. Krishnaji making razor-subtle points of thought being always old, knowledge being the past, thought being able to see its limitations without making it a thought product. It seemed that stop of thought lets insight and intelligence in. So, seeing is where insight and intelligence take over.’ This is the razor edge of transition out of thought, when insight takes over.’ I don’t know why people don’t see that.
“Observer is the observed” is the way to put it, Krishnaji’s own, but perhaps harder for most to grasp. Krishnaji said, “I must’ve been born this way, able to see directly. I have never been through all that.” ‘“What makes me see all this?” I suggested that he never thinks about all these matters except when he’s talking seriously. He nodded.’
The next day. ‘Krishnaji’s second public discussion was held at Libbey Park. It was cold, but the rain held off till later. It was not a good discussion. Pressure was the main subject, but contentious people kept it from going well. In the afternoon, at 4 p.m., Nathan and Dorothy Shainberg (David Shainberg’s parents) and David Shainberg came for tea with Krishnaji.’

April sixteenth. ‘It was clear in the morning. Krishnaji’s sixth Ojai talk was again in Nordhoff Gymnasium, an extraordinary one. The audience sat silent and transfixed at the end, many in tears, as was I. There was a sense of something overwhelming, sacred; of his having spoken from the depth of truth. When we reached McAndrew Road, hail fell and then a downpour of rain. We had to change our clothes after just going from the garage to the house.

This post was last updated by John Raica Wed, 12 Jul 2017.

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Thu, 13 Jul 2017 #341
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

(continuing MZ memos)

April eighteenth, 1978. Krishnaji said that this morning, in Ojai, meditation came when he woke up early at 3:00 a.m.’
April nineteenth. Krishnaji said, “I’m glad they chose you to look after me. It might’ve been someone else.”’ [Both chuckle.]: ‘He said, “This room must’ve had many happy and unhappy times for you.”
Krishnaji and I flew at noon to Seattle. We arrived at 2 p.m., and had a two-hour wait before taking Pacific Air West to Victoria. The vegetarian lunch was so poor that we had a salad in the airport, some ice cream, and a Danish. Krishnaji had never heard of that’—a Danish —‘but it was what came when he wanted a sweet biscuit.

‘We reached Victoria at 5 p.m., and both Siddoo sisters met us. We drove to their school by the sea. Krishnaji met only a few of the teachers and students and went right to bed. I brought his supper on a tray, and now I must sleep.’
The next day. ‘Jackie and Sarjit gave me a tour of the place. It has well-kept gardens, lovely places above the shore, and the lapping sound of water is dear to my island blood. They have two cows, and a newborn heifer; and the school has more milk and its own butter than it can use. The milk tastes like milk.’
‘At 11 a.m., Krishnaji spoke to students and staff on what a school is all about: learning, freedom, and what they mean. The ten students are nice-seeming children, seem at home, and pleasantly say good morning to you. There is a please-ing and thank-you-ing, and they listened to Krishnaji.

I think that the Sudoo's father was in the lumber business. So, they owned that, and then they also owned the place where the school is, which was separate, on the ocean, which is beautiful. Anyway, ‘Wolf Lake is several miles into a thick forest, logged thirty years ago, and now thickly wooded with Douglas firs and alder. We had to walk in to see the lake, which is about a mile long, and we walked to the end, a two-mile walk each way for Krishnaji, which he stood very well; and he chided me for suggesting to the Siddoos that it was a bit much for him. I feel, rather, enclosed in the woods without space: the trees crowding in. It would not be my choice, but Krishnaji tends to like large pieces of land. This one is 5,000 acres. He speaks of not only a school, but a college, anenormous outlay when it would probably cost half a million just to bring in the electricity before the cost of the road, clearing, building, etcetera. “One mustn’t think of the money, but whether it is right.”’
‘The two sisters Siddoo listened willingly. Jackie seemed prepared to go to any length. Sarjit looks more to the practical side. It would be a tremendous undertaking. I wonder if they’re up to it and have the energy to do it. They are not young, but Krishnaji’s visions are undaunted.’
April twenty-first. ‘It’s a gray day. Krishnaji spoke to the staff in the morning. After lunch, Saral and David arrived. He has been lecturing in Vancouver. The plan was to go to the Butchart Gardens, but it rained. So, Krishnaji talked all afternoon with Jackie and Sarjit about the school, the rules for it, etcetera. A Mr. and Mrs. Eric Smith—he is on the board of the Krishnaji educational center of Canada and is the Siddoo’s financial adviser, came with the Bohms.

April twenty-second. ‘Krishnaji spoke to the children alone. I did letters. In the afternoon, there was a little sun, so, with the Siddoos, we walked around the grounds while Michael Mendizza filmed Krishnaji in 16mm with a Beaulieu movie camera for his film project. Down along the gray pebble beach, there were beautiful driftwood logs and again that gentle lapping sound at the edge of the sea. Krishnaji said to me, “One should only come here in summer.” He feels the cold here, which must be because he is tired. In the evening, a tooth hurt him. He put oil of cloves on it and tried pressure on it with the first joint of his index finger, suggested to relieve tooth aches by Terry, the handyman here, a believer in such.’ [

That brings us to the twenty-fourth, and we left Wolf Lake School at 9 a.m. Jackie and Sarjit drove us to Victoria Airport, where Krishnaji and I took the 10:15 a.m. Pacific Air West flight to Seattle, changed to Western Airline, and flew to Los Angeles, where Alan K. met us and drove us to Malibu. We put our bags in the green Mercedes and Krishnaji and I drove to Ojai, arriving about 5 p.m.’ Krishnaji feels the Siddoos don’t really know what it is all about. ‘He doesn’t intend going back there. He did a thorough job there, but neither of the 'sisters' really understand what is needed, nor has a clue of what it's all abot
In the evening, we watched TV, and something came up that made me ask Krishnaji if mankind’s impulse toward religion is a plea to make things better, or something deeply inherent. He replied, “I think it is inherent.”’

May fifth. ‘No sleep at all on the airplane, not even a doze. Krishnaji slept a little across the aisle, and when he woke up, he watched the sun rise and chanted to himself ‘in Sanskrit, quietly. We landed at 7 a.m. Dorothy and Doris in the Cortina We drove through a light rain to Brockwood. Spring is young. Leaves are just beginning on the beeches and oaks, and the daffodils are still out. Everyone came out on the driveway to greet Krishnaji. We walked around a little, and then Krishnaji went to bed and slept most of the day.

The sixth of May. ‘Krishnaji and I rested. Krishnaji says he feels “washed out.” So do I. We took a gentle walk with Dorothy and the dogs up and down the driveway.’

Well, anyway, ‘the theater workshop was done up as a restaurant, tables for four, candlelight, excellent menu, service good, live music, i.e., harpsichord and a recorder playing, two students; the food was very good. We dressed for the occasion, i.e., skirts for women and jackets for men.’ ‘Krishnaji said afterward, “I watched their faces. It is a hard world for the young. Exams, A-levels, O-levels, then what to do in life. Thank god I’m not young.”’

The next day, Fortnum’s and its smell of very expensive groceries.’ ‘And so to our window table for three, the invariable lunch of fruit salad, cheese flan, grilled mushrooms, fresh spinach for Krishnaji, and then his gâterie ice cream. We talked about the uncertainties of people; who will be responsible when he is not there to hold all the work together as he now does. And Mary raised again the need for him to clarify his will, so that his letters will not be under the jurisdiction of the publications committee.

In the evening, Vanda has brought with her her record of the times in 1961 in Gstaad, and 1962, when Krishnaji fainted, and another entity seemed to speak to her through him. Mary L. comes here tomorrow, and Vanda is wondering whether to tell her about it. They have met only once at a Tannegg lunch a few years ago. They should know each other, and perhaps tomorrow will bring this about. I said to Vanda that I had hoped she would wish to tell Mary. She came across her notebook when moving out of her Rome flat at Via Barnaba Oriani. When I visited her, she had all of Krishnaji’s letters to her in a plastic shopping bag in her hall closet downstairs. I tactfully suggested other ways of preserving them and all kinds of things, but she, I don’t know, just didn’t react. ‘I told her I hoped she would wish to tell Mary Links. She came across her notebook when moving out of her Rome flat on Via Barnaba Oriani. She feels as though it is private, and she has kept it to herself, but that she has not the right to do this indefinitely. “It is not mine.” But, as she doesn’t know Mary, she said, “With you, I feel like a sister. I can tell you.”’

May fourteenth. Vanda began to tell Mary about the events that began in July ’61 at Tannegg, the period at the start of Krishnamurti’s Notebook, when Krishnaji was staying with her. Krishnaji, in his room, suddenly fainted, and then as Vanda described it, his eyes became enormous and another being spoke to her through Krishnaji’s body. An extraordinary change came over the face. It happened on July 18, 1961. The voice said, “Don’t leave me until he comes back.” And then, “He must love you if he lets you touch me, as he is very particular in this.” And “Don’t let anyone come near me until he comes back.” On the following day, it happened again. Krishnaji fainted. After trembling, the eyes became larger and deeper, and the voice said, “I feel very strange. Where am I? Don’t leave me. Will you kindly stay with me until he returns? Are you comfortable? Take a chair. Do you know him well? Will you look after him?” It was this last question that Vanda said “Is why I am here.” She feels she gave her word on this; she said that for a whole month Krishnaji’s face continued to change. There was not a return of the other being but a “different look” would come over his face. She describes these looks, and the feeling around Krishnaji at that time, in language that seems to copy Krishnaji’s own in Krishnamurti’s Notebook, which she was reading as he wrote it. Coming from her, not him, it sounds a little overdrawn, but she read most of it to Mary and me, from her own handwritten account. Part of it described a time, a year later, the twenty-first of May, 1962, in Rome when Krishnaji was ill with fever, and became delirious. “It has been told to you to look after him. He should not have gone out. You should’ve told him.” And, “Do you know him? You cannot know him. How can you know the running water?”…“We repeat and never question. Tell him, take a pencil, tell him ‘Death is always there very close to you, to protect you.’…‘When you take shelter, you will die.’ Mary and I guessed there were four entities in all this. The one who goes away (presumably Krishnaji); the one who tells what should be done; the 'one with the great eyes'; and probably the 'childlike one' who also spoke to me in Gstaad when Krishnaji was delirious.

The 'little child' is very distinctive, because I had an experience with the little child, and it’s the little, little voice that talks like a child. I don’t know why we got the fourth one with the big eyes. The one with the “great eyes” it says. I didn’t see great eyes when I had the same experience. Well, I don’t know what she interprets, because when—I’m now judging from my own experience with him, which is that he was looking around the room and didn’t recognize or even know who I was. . And he spoke to me as though I were a stranger, “Did you ask him any questions?” and I said, “No.” And he said, “He doesn’t like to be asked questions.” But his eyes could’ve been described more as…they were unseeing.
’ And then on the following day, it happened again. Krishnaji fainted after trembling. ‘The eyes became larger and deeper and the voice said, “I feel very strange. Where am I? Don’t leave me. Will you kindly stay with me until he returns.”’ That’s still the one who’s left, but, you see, that has the big eyes. I think it’s the same one who’s looking around bewildered.

Vanda is staying on here till Thursday. Half the school went on a two-day camping trip. In the afternoon, Krishnaji put his hands on the Maroger child. “She’s an extraordinary child. She sat absolutely still with her eyes closed,” said Krishnaji afterward. He both did and didn’t want to talk about it. “One mustn’t talk about it,” he said.’ He didn’t like talking about healing at all.

 May seventeenth: ‘Another quiet day. In the afternoon, for half an hour, Krishnaji put his hands on the head, arms, legs, and various bones of Diane Maroger, something he’s never done at such length.’

May nineteenth, ‘Krishnaji has tooth pain, but the swelling is gone. He got up for lunch, treated Diane, “an extraordinary child,” he says each time. And again, it was a long treatment. He walked with Narayan, and I went to a staff meeting. A letter came from a man who wrote in December to Krishnaji about Padre Pio.’ I read the letter to Krishnaji. And asked him how he considers the record of mystical experiences as described in so many religious writings. He is skeptical of most, he said. “I question that it is a 'total vision'. It is a partial vision, like a little harbor. The waters are of the sea, but it is without the width.”’
Vanda knew about Padre Pio, and apparently, once when Krishnaji was ill in India, before my time, and she was worried that something awful would happened to him, she somehow asked Padre Pio and he said, “Do not worry, he will be alright.”

May twentieth.  Krishnaji gave another long treatment to Diane, who wept afterward because she felt so happy with Krishnaji. We have moved the Marogers into the West Wing guestroom. The house is filled with weekend guests.’
Pupul writes she will arrive here on the ninth of June and stay till the eighteenth. Krishnaji treated little Diane Maroger, as he has each day.’

May twenty-sixth,1978 there’s nothing of note on that day. And the next day ‘Krishnaji spent the day in bed resting, but getting up in a dressing gown to treat the little Maroger child. “I’ve never done it so intensely,” he said. Jean-Michel and Marie-Bertrande say Diane has more energy and more strength since this healing started.’

May twenty-eighth. ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school. A very moving, far-off talk. At the end, it was on the
religious life is to be free of the self. He felt later that
it had
not been understood, and said,
“They are not able to see it.”

“All this way in the taxi, coming from the station, there has been nothing in my head. It’s getting more and more this way.” Then, he said that when he put his hands on people to heal, sometimes it is as though there were a flame, a little flame in the middle of his hand, and that when he started treating Diane Maroger, there was none, for a number of times, and then slowly, it began to happen. And then, he felt, he was able to help her. He said that, for instance, when he put his hand on Sacha de Manziarly when he was in the hospital and dying’—this was in Paris—‘there was no flame, and from that he could tell that he could do nothing.’

June fourth. ‘A man named Geoffrey Nicoletti in Philadelphia has been writing urgent letters to Krishnaji, to me, to David Bohm, and one came here for Alain Naudé, which I forwarded. He is hung up on resolving Krishnaji’s teachings and life, to the implications of the life of Padre Pio, whom he greatly reveres. He speaks of the physical signs: the stigmata, healings, being in two places, etcetera, which he regards as evidence of 'something', all involved with faith, a belief in Jesus, etcetera; but then there’s Krishnaji’s denial of faith, etcetera. I read the latest letter to Krishnaji, and he suggested that he and I have a taped conversation in which I put forth the questions in Nicoletti’s letters, and see what happens. We did this today, taping it on the Uher. Krishnaji said that the phenomena of so-called “sainthood” are familiar in various religions, and they can come about without the person having truly perceived truth. He spoke of 'waters in the harbor and the waters of the sea'. They are the same waters, but those in the harbor are contained (i.e., still within a framework); whereas those of the sea are boundless. He questions any perception that doesn’t discard all religious dogma. It is partial, and therefore not the ultimate. Nicoletti had mentioned kundalini, assuming Krishnaji to have had it, and that Padre Pio’s experience could be so described. Krishnaji objected to the term, and said he questions most descriptions of kundalini as not being the real thing. Nicoletti also asked if Padre Pio would consider Krishnaji as a profound thinker, but incomplete in not having perceived the meaning of Jesus; and if Krishnaji would consider Padre Pio as one who had helped people through healing, etcetera, but who had fundamentally done them harm through using faith, belief, etcetera. Krishnaji said this was a question he didn’t want to answer: to assess someone, “to say he is or is not.” And he questioned comparing Krishnaji and Padre Pio.

‘In the afternoon, Krishnaji talked privately to Ingrid as part of the five staff members from Brockwood to whom he looks for commitment to the place. The Marogers left for home after supper, little Diane with large eyes close to tears.

June eighth. ‘Krishnaji and I went to London. Huntsman was our first stop, of course. Then, during lunch at Fortnum’s, Krishnaji said, “There’s something in the head that is absolutely still, and that 'center of energy' looks and sees. And when that is happening, the rest of the body is quiet, as though it were nonexistent.”’ ‘I asked him, “When that silence looks, does it record?”’ ‘He said, “No, and that is the point of it.”’
‘I then asked, “If I were to ask you what you see, do you know what you see?”’
‘He said, “Yes. The center of energy doesn’t record. The memory records, but not the 'center of energy'.”
‘I asked him if there is an action in this, and he said, “Yes. There is an action but I don’t know what it is. In the center of the head there is a sense of great space, stillness, and energy.” He said, “I discovered when I was putting my hands on little Diane—usually when I do that, I just put my hands on the person and look at the sky or the trees. But I discovered when I was doing it with her, that 'energy' was not doing it, but that energy was there and is still continuing.”’
‘I asked him if this is something new, something different. And he said, “Entirely. I am just watching it go on. It is an extraordinary kind of stillness, quietness, I haven’t had before. I mustn’t talk too much about it.” And as he said this, he gestured with his hand across his forehead. “I shouldn’t talk about it. I talk about it to you, but it is something totally new. I haven’t had it before.”’

 June ninth, ‘Dorothy met Pupul on an early flight from Bombay. She’s staying in the West Wing spare room. She is pleasant, and more relaxed than in the past.’

The next day, ‘I talked all morning with Pupul. In the afternoon, she and Krishnaji did a taped dialogue in which she asked him if there had been changes in his teachings. He said, “no.”
There was a cable from Mavis Bennett to me saying Reg died very suddenly.’ Oh, he died. He was a nice man.

Thursday, the twenty-second. Dr. Rahula, a Ceylonese Buddhist scholar, and Dr. Schloegl, a German woman, a sociologist who went to Japan and stayed twelve years in a Zen monastery, and who is also a Buddhist scholar, came for lunch. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji, the two Buddhist scholars, Narayan, and David Bohm had a discussion, Rahula talked about fifteen minutes without stopping at the beginning. He is hard to understand and pedantic.

‘What wants to survive? I spoke of it to Krishnaji. He said he had never asked that, and would consider it. He began to speak of pleasure, the always turning to it, life being seen as pleasure or the possibility of it. I said that it was part, but was it the root? Krishnaji said, “I am not in it now. It’s too big a question now.”

Did he directly remember Nitya? Yes, but as with other faces, it is hard to evoke his face. “I can recognize a photo and say ‘Yes, that is him.’ He seems to remember more the feeling, the relationship. I asked him if he remembered Rosalind Rajagopal, and he said he remembered her beating him, hitting him “in the groin.” I felt sick.’ ‘“Those two must have set it all up.” “I was made to feel guilty all the time of something. I wondered if it were my fault.” “I don’t want to have those two in my consciousness.”

 I would go and buy toothpaste and pencils and I don’t know what, and he wanted to see it all. He wanted me to put it out on the kitchen table. ‘Even a tube of toothpaste is like a present.’ ‘Krishnaji saw Silvius Russu briefly.

His opening Saanen talk on the sense of self. It was very fine. The tent was full in spite of cold, rain. Coming back, Krishnaji said, “I had no idea what I was going to say when I sat down.”

July eleventh.. Krishnaji said it is possible some sort of disaster may occur in the next year and we must plan where we should be. Ojai, we both felt, would be best. We could live there as simply as elsewhere. We could even live and sleep in the kitchen if necessary. We must plan it a little, try to be prepared. Talk to the Lilliefelts. “Where I am, this body is, will be safe.”’

The eighteenth. Krishnaji gave his fifth Saanen talk. The Marogers, Jean-Michel, Diane, and her sister Daphne came to Tannegg right after the talk, and Krishnaji put his hands on Diane, while Daphne helped me with some French in a letter. Then, Krishnaji steadying her, holding one arm and her father the other, little Diane walked’—I have it underlined—‘from Krishnaji’s sitting room, across the hall, into the living room, and climbed into the arm chair. It stopped the heart to see. I think, how can I know, but I think that Krishnaji has put a greater healing power into this child than any other since I have been around. Certainly, at Brockwood, he was intent on doing it. And now for the first time in her life, she has walked, carrying her own weight

Krishnaji asked Brandes for archeology’s view of our present civilization. He gave a pessimistic reply.’ ‘Civilizations tend to destroy or be destroyed. Krishnaji said, “If you or some people see what is happening—the enormous technological advances and the lack of religious perception, what do you do? What will you do?”’—and I underline the you; he said it very emphatically. Talk about it? Make people see?”

July twenty-sixth. ‘Krishnaji gave the first public discussion. There was extraordinary rudeness and aggression from both Lulu Ani and Christian’—that terrible Norwegian—‘and a loud complaint from Edward Ani that he has listened for forty years without any change in himself; Mrs. Ani harangued Krishnaji that it was because he hadn’t explained it properly.

August seventeenth, 1978 Krishnaji questioned school money being spent, and the energy expended for that and not on the teachings.’ Brockwood has reached a fairly firm footing, but he now wonders if we should go ahead with the Oak Grove School in Ojai, so late in the day. “I could be wrong,” he said. Everyone is so busy making all these outward things happen that there is no time or energy for the inner.

August nineteenth. ‘Krishnaji said upstairs after lunch, “I woke up this morning saying, ‘What am I doing here?’…‘These are children. I need someone to talk to, someone who will mine it out of me. I feel there is much more to be got out. Someone who can discuss these things—but they can’t.’”’ I said, “Has there ever been anyone?”’ Krishnaji replied, “No. Aldous was Christian in his upbringing. Then he went off into Buddhism, Vedanta, and all that. He couldn’t.”’
‘I asked, “Anyone else?”’
‘Krishnaji: “Rajagopal hadn’t got the brains for this.” He shrugged as he said that.’
‘I asked about India, and Krishnaji said, “ Achyut has gone into this, but he is too old now. He says that he has failed me.”’
‘And then, “Perhaps I will go away. Leave all this. I must be careful or I will do that.”…  “I will do whatever is decided. Don’t you worry about this, or I can’t talk to you.” He said, “I will write to Achyut to get some pundits and we will have a discussion.”…

August twenty-sixth ‘A clear fine day. The larger tent with 2,000 chairs was full. Everything was very orderly. People entered in groups of fifty; our attempt to prevent people racing for seats seems to be working. Krishnaji’s platform is on the north side this year, and there’s a little enclosed curtain space just by his entrance where he can tidy his hair.’

August twenty-seventh, ‘Krishnaji gave the second Brockwood talk of the year. The weather was fine, and the tent was full.

The thirty-first. ‘Krishnaji held the second public discussion in the tent.
Then there’s really nothing until September second. ‘The weather is still fine. Krishnaji gave his third talk, a very fine one. Jean-Michel Maroger is here for the day. Krishnaji set dates for our visit to their place in France for October second to eleventh.

September twelfth, ‘Krishnaji held the first of daily seminars at 11:30 a.m. About seventy people came, and it started on the subject of “What does it mean to be a light to oneself?” but it veered off.

The next day, he conducted the second day of the seminar, and it went well. He got into the subject of fear. After lunch, Krishnaji called Dorothy for a talk on organization drowning the teachings, how to prevent it, etcetera. This seminar is too much for the staff after the gatherings. Jean-Michel Maroger joined it after an hour, and Krishnaji also said his time is underused during the European part of his year. He wants to talk less to students and more to the public and people capable of going with him.’
‘In the evening, Maurice Wilkins, David Bohm, and David Shainberg discussed science and Krishnaji’s teachings.’

October first. ‘The school term began at Brockwood. Krishnaji talked to the school very movingly at 11:30 a.m.
October second, Dorothy drove Krishnaji and me to Heathrow. Dorothy is feeling pleased with the shape of the school on the second day of the term. Relations seem straightened out and good. At Heathrow we waited for our flight.

At 2:30 p.m., Krishnaji and I took off for Paris and Roissy airport. Jean-Michel met us and we drove around Paris and south to the Maroger’s place near Blois. Krishnaji sang one of his Sanskrit chants as we sped across the flat plains of France. The wind sound gave him semi-privacy and so he sang, feeling at ease. A sparrow hawk fluttered over a field and there were contrails of a very high-flying aircraft, pleasing as always to Krishnaji. “Maria,” he touched my shoulder and pointed.’bIt was dark as we arrived at the house. For centuries it was part of an abbey and the walls are thick. There is an ancient silence in them. Marie-Bertrande and Diane and Jean-Michel’s mother were waiting. Krishnaji has a large room, an apartment on the ground floor, and I am next to it. We ate at the table, fruit and vegetables from their garden, brown bread, and cheese. Krishnaji stuck to the tofu that I brought from Brockwood, wrapped in wet paper foil. It leaked in my handbag but seemed alright. To bed quite soon, both of us tired, but not too.’

October third. ‘Krishnaji slept very well, unusual in a new place. It is utterly quiet, and his room is apart from the rest of the house. The Marogers have thought of everything for his ease and comfort. Krishnaji brought his tracksuit with him so he can be warm while he exercises. And bouillottes… hot water bottle. were provided to warm each bed. Autumn is here. There is early snow in the Pyrenees, and any night there will be frost here. Krishnaji dictated Letters to the Schools number ten for January fifteenth distribution. It went well. He was filled with it, and wants to keep doing it. He walked around with Jean-Michel a little before lunch, rested only a short time afterward, and put his hands on Diane. She seems better, stronger, sits at the table, following all that is said, and smiles beamingly and shyly at Krishnaji. Krishnaji walked later with Jean-Michel, Marie-Bertrande, Madame Maroger, and me through the woods; Ikra, the nice German shepherd, coming enthusiastically with us. There were allées in the woods.’ the French have these rather formal woods…
with what they call allées. The open land is very flat and wide. Farms are being abandoned. Old farm buildings, beautiful in stone with rough plaster, are more expensive to repair than replace. So they’re replaced with prefabricated bungalows. Corruption of the French countryside slowly is happening. The Marogers, who started farming here with much enthusiasm, cannot get more than one paid helper and are overwhelmed by the amount that needs to be done, and it is never caught up with. Krishnaji ate at the table, promising to go back to his normal regime of supper by himself tomorrow. We watched the news on TV at 8 p.m., and he turned out his light at 9:15 p.m. I read nonsense, The Holcroft Covenant, a thriller, until 10:15 p.m.’ ‘Then, sleep. There is something about being here, in the middle of France, remote and quiet.’
October fourth. ‘Krishnaji slept nine hours, feels well and entirely relaxed, away from the pressures at Brockwood, India, and Ojai. “How can we come back here?” he asked. There should be no difficulties. The Marogers are warmly welcoming, appreciating fully his presence, and wanting it to be a relaxed, quiet time for him. After breakfast, he dictated Letters to the Schools number eleven, which I won’t send until February first. It was on corruption of the mind, and making an image away from the fact. “We work well together,” he said at the completion of the letter. His head began toward the end.’ You know, his headache began.‘In the afternoon, he put hands on Diane. Then, Jean-Michel and Marie-Bertrande drove Krishnaji and me to Amboise, where Jean-Michel lived as a boy during the war years. We visited the pagoda built by the duc de Choiseul, and walked in the woods along the Loire for a bit, and came back via Montrichard and Pontlevoy. Krishnaji had supper on a tray in front of the TV in his little sitting room. We watched the 8 o’clock news, including the funeral in Saint Peter’s Square of John Paul, rather a reprise of the previous Pope’s funeral in August. And so to bed. For me, reading.’
The next day. ‘It was a gray, cold morning. Krishnaji dictated the twelfth Letters to the Schools, mostly on energy, limitless energy, and our using energy in the psychological realm in service of the me. Jean-Michel and his brother Alain and his wife Claude, who live with their daughters, Anne and Natalie, were at lunch. They live in the other half of the house.’ It’s a funny house, which was part of an old abbey; and they split it in half, each family having a half. ‘Later, Krishnaji, Jean-Michel, Marie-Bertrande, Alain, and mother and I walked in the Forêt de Chaumont; and we brought the German shepherd dog, Ikra, along. Krishnaji treated Diane.’
October sixth. ‘It was a lovely, clear, and warmer morning. In the morning, Krishnaji dictated Letter to the Schools number thirteen on habit and tradition. “One can do the same thing at the same hour every day without it becoming a habit when there is an awareness of what is being done.” He spoke of the vain repetition of ritual as utterly meaningless. I asked about his Sanskrit chanting. He said, “I chant for the noise of it.” Krishnaji talked to Marie-Bertrande alone before lunch and later treated Diane. Lunch was out on the terrace under a parasol in a warm, indolent sun, precious and rare for October sixth. We had delicious, fresh flageolet beans and courgettes from the garden. At 3 p.m., we went to Chambord.’ Krishnaji didn’t like going into chateaus, you know, sightseeing. He wouldn’t go into Amboise when we went there. ‘Marie-Bertrand, I, and Ikra were in one car, and Jean-Michel and Madame Maroger in the other with Krishnaji. I went in to see the famous staircase and was surprised to see Krishnaji coming in with Jean-Michel. He was curious to see the staircase, too. He examined the chateau carefully, and thought the top too ornate. Marie-Bertrande and Madame Maroger went to Blois to fetch Diane from school. Jean-Michel, Krishnaji, and I walked with Ikra in the woods and then drove back along the Loire River. The light was beautiful. It flows across the landscape and through memories of French paintings, as Tuscany evokes Florentine paintings of the Renaissance. Krishnaji treated Diane when we got back.’

The seventh. ‘Another gentle, sunny day. Ariane Maroger, the oldest daughter, arrived last night. She is studying at the Louvre. Krishnaji dictated the fourteenth Letters to the Schools, mostly on thought, a very fine one. Lunch was again on the terrace, and later we walked around the place and in the woods. Krishnaji, of course, treated Diane; she is walking a little by herself.’
The eighth. ‘Another warm, lovely day. After lunch, we sat talking till almost 4 p.m., with questions to Krishnaji on what he meant by insight. It came across as a perception uninfluenced by thought, conditioning, or memory—an instantaneous seeing of the whole of something.’ ‘Everyone afterward walked about three kilometers along the road.’ A Greek or Romanian man, who has to do with Jean-Michel’s shipping business, came for dinner.’

All the Marogers were at lunch, including Alain and Claude and their daughters Anne and Natalie. Krishnaji sat on the lawn till 4 o’clock talking, urged on by Jean-Michel’s questions of the early days, Theosophy, theosophical notions, a little about the “process,” etcetera. It seemed to amuse him. He reminded me of the photos taken many years ago when he sat in a field. He looked so young, talking with ease, entertaining his audience, fascinating them, telling it all lightly with humor, never indicating whether he believed it or not. He then “treated” Diane. And at 5 p.m., he, Jean-Michel, Marie-Bertrande, Alain Maroger, the mother, and I drove to a wood where we saw boars being raised, and walked a long road through the forest, with heather and the smell of autumn leaves. It was so beautiful, it was the breath of this season filling the senses. When we came back, Jean-Michel showed Krishnaji films he made at Brockwood, Saanen, and…Greece’…? Jean-Michel and Marie-Bertrande were both, oddly enough, half-Greek.

There was an interminable queue at passport control at Heathrow, but it was quick with the luggage. Dorothy met us and gave us all the Brockwood news on the way back. Cardinal Wojtyla of Poland, who has taken the name of John Paul II. We saw him greet the enormous crowd outside Saint Peter’s in excellent Italian. “I’m bored with the Pope,” said Krishnaji.’

The twenty-fourth. ‘Krishnaji said he had had a “marvelous night, an extraordinary meditation,” he said, and said he had it less when he is talking, i.e., during the public meetings and seminars, etcetera. Now, it is beginning again. After breakfast, in the kitchen, he said, “It must have been extraordinary. I feel like going away and disappearing. I shouldn’t talk about it. It isn’t put in words.” Then, “Someday I shall.”

Thursday, the twenty-sixth of October, 1978. A few students were up to see Krishnaji off. The loveliness of autumn seemed to line the lanes we passed. We stopped for a picnic breakfast at the usual place near the airport. Our Air India flight scheduled for 9:15 a.m. actually took off a little before 11. We were laden with hand parcels a seven-pound Cheshire cheese, a sun umbrella, plus my usual load. At the airport, Krishnaji said, “Let’s buy some chocolates!” He wanted them as presents for people in India, so we bought some. We had the desired two farthest forward seats on the left side in the first class. But idiotically, Air India divides its smoking and nonsmoking section down the aisle, and we were afflicted with a pipe smoker only a few feet away on the other side of the aisle. We landed in Rome, went into the transit lounge, and there were Vanda, Krishnaji thought Vanda “looked old. Must be from all that yoga,” he said.’ ‘All the talk was tiring. So we flew on through the night over Turkey, Afghanistan, and Pakistan. No sleep at all for me, and very little for Krishnaji.’
The first of November. ‘We landed in Delhi about 4 a.m. Sunanda and Pama met us with a car at the aircraft itself, and drove us to a VIP lounge where Krishnaji, Sunanda, and I sat while Pama and Mr. Mourli took our passports through immigration and fetched the luggage. The latter took quite a while as one bag didn’t turn up for about an hour. We then went upstairs to a transit passengers’ hotel where they had a room and bath for each of us to rest in until the Benares flight. Krishnaji wanted to change to Indian clothes, which they had brought.’ The Indians always felt he must wear his Indian clothes the minute he gets to India, and he rather liked his Indian clothes.

The land is very green from the recent floods, the air much moister and warm, the children, wandering cows and buffaloes, dark faces, brilliant colors, potholes everywhere. Almost all faces turning to watch the car pass. The eternal presence of poverty. Life lived here against odds that would probably destroy me. So we came to Rajghat. The school is on holiday but there was nevertheless a crowd to greet Krishnaji. A young, shy girl gave me two bunches of tightly tied flowers. Ahalya, intent on making up to me for my lodgings here in 1965 ‘had prepared two rooms for me to choose between, both in Krishnaji’s house. I took one just under his, which I realized only later is normally Ahalya’s own room. The usual high ceiling, plaster-walled room, cement floor with fresh-smelling matting, a bed with mosquito netting, dressing table, writing table, and a metal cupboard with a lock. The bathroom has a geyser . So, I can heat my own water and fill the bucket, which is a great luxury here. There is also a low stool to sit on while soaping and pouring water over oneself, which then flows across the floor into a drain.’ I remember it well. I learned, in India, to do everything with one bucket of hot water, which meant not only bathing, but doing my laundry, too.When I first went to India, I got only one bucket every morning, so I had to use it judiciously. Pupul is in her cottage, not far away. The others are in various guest cottages. Parameshwaram (who cooks for Krishnaji everywhere in India) is here. Before going to bed at night, I gave him the recipe and nagari for making the tofu. We had a late lunch. Krishnaji slept, but I unpacked and by suppertime was falling asleep at the table. I hadn’t had more than three to four hours sleep since Sunday night.’ This was on Wednesday. ‘They say the river rose to almost the rim of the cliff here in the September floods, but now the Ganges is quiet, sleeping mildly, returned to its ancient ways.’

November second. ‘It was a quiet day. I helped Parameshwaram with his first making of tofu. Dr. Parchure brought his wife to meet me, a charming, shy, nice woman. I also met the young woman principal of Vasanta College, Ms. Schuetaschgal?

The third of November. ‘At 9:30 a.m., Krishnaji held a small group discussion on the self. Krishnaji asked what we had all done with the gift of something true.’
Krishnaji rested in the morning but was at the lunch table. Achyut and he have been discussing religious centers, apart from the schools, perhaps in the cities where books, tapes, etcetera would be available, and where people who are serious could be found to come to other small centers for a sort of retreat. Krishnaji wants to go into this. At 4 p.m., Dr. Parchure came and walked with me to his house where his wife gave me tea. After tea, Dr. Parchure left us alone to talk. She seems so nice, shy, and unsure of her ability in English, but she’s actually quite proficient. I’m inclined to talk more than I want to, to help over the bumps, and was touched by her wanting to talk to me. She walked back with me. Krishnaji had been for a walk.’
November fifth, ‘There was another small group discussion at 9:30 a.m. with the same cast as last Friday. Krishnaji used the analogy, “You have been given a baby. What have you done with it? Have you cared for it? Is it the most important thing in your life?” Pupul spoke of “clouding over”; one has clarity, then it 'clouds over'. Krishnaji in effect said, “You let this 'cloud over' because you are not serious. You have not accepted the baby’s responsibility. You have not given it your being, your total energy. This is not the whole of your life.” It hit hard at most of them. He spoke with great force. At lunch, he lingered at the table until 3 o’clock discussing whether Nagarjuna and Shankara’—these are great teachers in Buddhist and Hindu traditions—whether they ‘had the insight of the Buddha, or whether intellect brought saints to see the limitations and the futility of intellect, until out of that and an ensuing search, there came an insight. Krishnaji felt that a Buddha and possibly Nagarjuna had insight born of compassion. Krishnaji used to say to us, when you see the limitations of what you’re doing, an insight can come into that. And he used to say that thought can see its own limitations, and by seeing its own limitations insight comes in like a light.
In the afternoon, Nandini and her older sister Amru arrived from Bombay. Nandini looks quite a bit older, but her manner is always gentle, friendly, and graceful. Krishnaji was rather hoarse on the walk. He did only two laps, said he was tired, came back, and started to talk to Nandini, but gave it up. I sent Dr. Parchure to see him, suspecting fever. It was—100-degree. Parchure mobilized things, spent the night in a room nearby, and prepared to fight the fever if it rose.’
The sixth. ‘Krishnaji’s fever is now sub-normal. He says he slept well. His voice was very hoarse, and he has a sore throat. He was mostly interested in the tailor who was coming to fit a kurta ‘and underclothes. The meeting with Buddhists tomorrow has been postponed. Elections are going on, and the county is fascinated by whether Mrs. Gandhi will win the election to Parliament. If she does, she will apparently become the leader of the opposition.’

November seventh. Benares is a nightmare of people, dust, dirt, crowding, noise, a torrent of life that would be my destruction if I were ever dropped into it. It is like the edge of a volcano, watching beings who are in it—surviving barely. The clouds of dust and refuse, every vehicle has a horn screaming at every other vehicle, carts with porters, carts with shrill deafening music advertising movies, wandering about the streets pulled by tiny horses or a human being, donkeys carrying rubble herded by thin little boys, bicycles, streams of people. It is an ordeal just to drive through the streets. We stopped at the Theosophical Headquarters building in Benares to pick up Radha Burnier. It is called Shanti Kunj, and it is where Krishnaji and Mrs. Besant used to live. The garden there, in its age, had a luxuriance and quiet, astounding after the terrible streets. Radha, calm and clean, in a white sari, didn’t mind as the dust poured in the car coming back. I had to wash eyes, nose, throat, and everything once we got back. Krishnaji had slept all morning, no fever. He approved the three cottons I bought for kurtas. Mrs. Gandhi had won the election for a seat in Parliament.’

The eighth. ‘Krishnaji is much better. He rested in bed except for attending a trustee meeting of the KF India, to which I was invited. I explained the state of finances in Ojai, and also the point of view of the U.S. and English Foundations that Krishnaji and his teachings are one, and our responsibility is to that. In the afternoon, I drove with Pupul, Nandini, Amru, and Sunanda to tea at the Agricultural College. Pama stayed to dissuade her from being here, except at the public talks. We drove through villages of rubble, dust, swarms of people, and wandering animals, past camels slowly pulling their large flat feet down the dirty roads. Then, suddenly, there were fields of green with only an occasional buffalo, and the beauty of the land was a wave. We were on the road the Buddha once walked to Sarnath, and I thought how beautiful India must have been then, with very few people and the land in its pristine freshness. I walked back in the twilight in a pair of what Krishnaji calls “sand shoes,” sneakers in my childhood.’ ‘Krishnaji had supper on his veranda.’

The next day. ‘Krishnaji is well. At 9:30 a.m., he held a discussion with all the students in the Assembly Hall. It was preceded by the children chanting as Krishnaji sat cross-legged on the small dais facing them. The rising beauty of the chant, and the extraordinary grace and majesty of Krishnaji brought tears—there are times when his presence is that of a god. The children were good at speaking up in spite of their shyness, but their sing-song English and the heavy consonants tripping over each other made Krishnaji use Rajesh as an interpreter.’ He couldn’t understand their English. ‘In the afternoon, a motorboat ride up the river past the Ghats was laid on with Nandini, Amru, Padma Santhanam, Frances McCann, Chris Jones, Krishnakutti, Rajesh, Mrs. Drassinower, and a difficult couple, the Levittons. Mrs. Levitton was a victim of polio and has to be carried or wheeled everywhere. She was very affable, and was an instant first-name user to me, though I didn’t know hers. Her husband does acupressure and there was something unpleasant and unclean about him.’

‘The great and sacred river is filthy and brown; the city sewer gushes into it just upstream from where the Rajghat school is, downstream from the city ghats and where the clothes are washed by the dhobis.’ The laundry people, all male…‘where the dobhis wash the laundry. Just the bathing, teeth brushing, plunging in that goes on along the ghats makes me feel green.’ ‘Bodies are neatly queued on the burning ghats, waiting their turn, wrapped in bright cloth. Seven fires were going as we passed; the air was heavy with smog from all of it. Buffalos were being scrubbed by their owners, half-submerged in the river. Goats picked at invisible weeds on the cement. We came back in mid-channel. I have no further impulse to visit Benares.’

The eleventh. ‘At 9 a.m., Krishnaji gave the first Rajghat public talk in the assembly hall. It was filmed in part by the Indian TV crew. It was on disorder. He lunched at the table, but went quickly to rest and got up later only to greet the governor of Bengal. He did exercises in his room only.
November twelfth. ‘Krishnaji gave the second public talk at 9 a.m. The hall was overflowing with all kinds of people, but it seemed a superficial audience, easily inclined to laugh. At times, the questions are in such a heavily accented English that Krishnaji cannot understand them. I sat near the Tibetan Rinpoche, a young man in a dark red robe and yellow shawl. He crossed his legs and seemed not too comfortable, shifting on the hard bench. Krishnaji spoke further on disorder, on the seeing of it, which then brings about order. A man asked about dying, and Krishnaji shot back, “Have you ever tried it?” and spoke of dying to the self.

After supper, Pupul, Nandini, and Sunanda reminisced about Krishnaji in the late ’40s: Krishnaji’s gaiety in those days, how Rajagopal came to hear of Krishnaji’s strange events at Ootacamund, and Pupul’s and Nandini’s report of that; how Rajagopal came to hear of Krishnaji’s strange events at Ootacamund through grilling the servants, then made Pupul swear never to speak of it; of the nastiness of Rosalind to Krishnaji when she came to India in 1956, her berating him, yelling at him, and of her convincing Krishnaji that the CID was opening his mail, of her speaking ill of Krishnaji to Pupul when Pupul visited Ojai, of the case between Nandini and her husband in which Nandini’s charges of cruelty were answered in a brief which quoted pages of Krishnaji’s public talks in which he said Indian women were considered chattels and that this, not the husband’s behavior, caused her to leave him. The husband won the case and custody of their three children; she could see them only in the summer outside of Bombay, and only with his mother present. Devi’—that’s her daughter—‘was nine years old when this happened, and she became a little mother to her two brothers.

A year later Pupul had to take Nandini to London for a cancer operation and later a removal of a kidney. Pupul spoke of papers she has, notes of meetings between Krishnaji and Jawaharlal Nehru, the Prime Minister of India, and with Indira Gandhi, of marvelous things Krishnaji used to say in discussions, which were not recorded.’
The thirteenth. ‘At 9 a.m. in the assembly hall, Krishnaji held a discussion with a Tibetan Rinpoche and three other Buddhist scholars. Achyut translated the Hindi when necessary, helped by Pupul, Radha, Sunanda, and Deshpande. The Rinpoche began with a quiet, almost whispered, question about the observer and the ending of thought. Then another Buddhist held forth in Hindi and it took forty-five minutes before the basis of a question was accepted by all. Krishnaji kept having to ask what actually happens in daily life in relationship, and the Hindi-speaking Buddhists kept going off into theory. More and more, Krishnaji is emphasizing the actual, dismissing the theories, the ideas. This seems the point where people balk. They escape into the idea of something and away from the thing itself. In the afternoon,

November fourteenth. ‘A day of rest for Krishnaji. Evelyne, Michael, and Dunigan went into Benares. Evelyne came back in time for lunch. Radha and Professor Krishna of Benares Hindu University and his wife were at lunch. He told Krishnaji of the present university condition where threats with knives and guns are made by students to the teaching staff for grades, and when cheating for examines are denied.’ I remember that, I was there. They’d come in with a gun and say, “What’s my grade?” ‘I walked with Krishnaji and Upasini around the playing fields.’

November fifteenth. ‘Krishnaji called me before breakfast. He had a feeling in the night that I was upset about something. I assured him that I wasn’t. At 9:30 a.m., he held a student discussion in the assembly hall. It was way over their heads. One Muslim girl asked, “Sir, what is religion?” Krishnaji replied it was what it is when you know what it is not.’ That must’ve baffled her. ‘They had trouble, too, with comparison, and understanding that there cannot be love when there is fear. He had difficulty understanding their questions. It may be not only the heavy Indian accent, but also a bit of deafness on Krishnaji’s part. I spoke to Parchure about it, and he will suggest hearing tests in Madras. There is a certain critical stance toward the school here. “This is all too difficult for you; you are not used to this,” he keeps saying, which of cou
The next day. ‘Nandini and I visited the art department of the school. Krishnaji saw a sannyasi. In the afternoon, Michael filmed him walking along the path by the houses with the Ganga in the background. Then, Krishnaji, Nandini, and I walked along the perimeter road. A village man came up the cliff from the river, suddenly saw Krishnaji, and prostrated himself, touching his head to Krishnaji’s feet.’ He came up and he looked at Krishnaji as though he was seeing a god or something…and threw himself on the ground at his feet. It was very touching. He was taken totally by surprise. ‘Krishnaji raised him up, greeted him silently, and walked on. A look of wild wonder and emotion was in the little man’s eyes as he watched Krishnaji, as though he had seen God. It wasn’t adulation, nor the see-a-famous-person look; it was wonder and adoration.

We left at 2:30 p.m. for Madras. The country was green flying over it. Madras was warm and humid, but green and cleaner-looking than Benares. The air was soft and pleasant, not dusty and polluted. Vasanta Vihar is now painted white, which gives it a stately beauty instead of the dingy stained yellow of 1965. Krishnaji’s rooms are above his old ones, charmingly done, a sitting room with blue and white cushions ‘the bedroom beyond with a small porch, and large, handsome bath. I have been given his old rooms on the ground floor just underneath, with a small sitting room, large bedroom; both clean and comfortable, attractive. Then I took a luxurious bath with ample hot water. In this heat, bathing becomes almost a rebirth.
The twentieth of November. ‘It was hot and humid. Krishnaji wanted to talk to Achyut, Sunanda, Pama, and me about the Foundations’ schools predominating over the teachings, and Rajghat problems.‘Krishnaji feels the schools have overshadowed the Foundations and the teachings, and taken all the energy, etcetera. He wants to change all that. He discussed Rajghat, the north splitting from the south someday, and how to prevent it. He questioned if the Foundation should run the hospital at Rajghat, the rural schools, etcetera. Achyut gave the pros on this. Later, Krishnaji came down and talked to me alone: “Do they know what I’m talking about?” At Rajghat, he felt “like going away.” Also, he felt one night in meditation a tremendous force descend on him.’ Dick Clarke and his daughter Heather Thornblod came to call.’ Krishnaji wonders about all the older ones here. Pupul in particular. There was a discussion at supper with Achyut, Sunanda, Pama, Vatsala, and me on what is tradition. Krishnaji spoke about tradition, and said that all religion is based on tradition and is therefore meaningless. I asked if he was against tradition because it is second-hand, a pattern, a formula, etcetera; or did he also deny the original perception of the first teacher, the Buddha, etcetera? Did he deny that there had been truth for them, which may subsequently have been corrupted into tradition by the ones who didn’t understand it, but passed it along? “Truth cannot be given to another,” he said. I asked about a person who reads in one of his books, say, the observer is the observed, and instantly sees the truth of it, not intellectually, but truly sees it? Tradition is not there. Achyut spoke of a conversation with Krishnaji years ago in which Krishnaji had showed him the falseness of something that was weighing on him, and it had totally ended then, and it had never relapsed. “But I have other blindness,” he said.

Krishnaji then said insight in one thing shows us the totality of things. This seemed to upset Sunanda. “It is not one thing at a time,” said Krishnaji. He asked, “What happens when I say that conflict harms the brain?”

Krishnaji’s statement that truth cannot be given to another is clear—the person must come to it, but truth about the factual, psychological impediments are communicable by him, or his writings, I said. Only one who has understood can communicate this, he said. And he further said that the understanding, and therefore, the wiping out of one impediment, makes one see the whole field of impediments, and they cease to exist.

We left at 4:10 a.m., going westward along roads where trucks were coming from Bangalore with produce, and bullock carts, mountainous with hay, moved slowly toward us. The bullocks’ eyes shown in the dark like cats’ eyes. As it became lighter, the village huts of mud and thatch, though very poor, don’t have the squalor of the north. Krishnaji took pleasure in the large tamarind trees along the road, telling me that the villagers do not cut them as they give valuable fruit, and each tree belongs to someone. Pale green rice fields appeared, and the soft mauve bloom of the sugar cane. We stopped once for petrol. Little thin-legged boys were carrying on their shoulders pots of water to the huts across the main road; some were brightly polished old brass pots, but too often they were a plastic copy. As we came near Chittoor, the land was like parts of California: low rocky hills, but there was water here. The monsoons have left river water and there are small lakes. Krishnaji pointed to a shrine on a fairly steep hilltop and said, “He used to climb up there alone, they have told me.”’ That meant himself when he was a boy. ‘In Madanapalle, where he was born, there was all the comings and goings of a market, all the way through the town.

Achyut explained to us, as Krishnaji had no idea, how Rishi Valley came to be. Mrs. Besant had a Theosophical college in Madanapalle, and had offered it to Krishnaji for a school, but Krishnaji didn’t want a school in the city. So they searched and found land in the valley, nearer to the Rishi Konda mountain. The valley then had no name, but the choice to Krishnaji was obvious. The school grounds were green with very many new trees. The part around the old guest house where Krishnaji stays is nicely planted and a stream runs through a stone channel. The school was waiting to greet him. Frances McCann is already here. Narayan has given me the room across from Krishnaji’s on his floor. It is cool, clean, quiet, and good to be in the country after cities. I felt very glad to be here. I unpacked, and washed my hair. Parameshwaran, with two helpers, provides our meals in the kitchen and dining room next to my bedroom.’ ‘Krishnaji was a bit hoarse on leaving Madras, and this was worse at lunch. He went to bed, admitting reluctantly that his throat became sore on the flight.’

‘Dr. Parchure arrived in the afternoon, and says that Krishnaji’s vocal chords are inflamed. He ran a fever of 99 degrees in the afternoon, but that dropped to 98.8 in the evening. Earlier in the afternoon, I had walked around and met Indira, Narayan’s sister. Then, Narayan showed me the new guest house.’

November twenty-fourth. ‘In the morning, I went with Narayan to Madanapalle to buy kadhi cotton.’ It’s a hand-woven cotton, and very nice. ‘But the shops had closed. We walked past the house where Krishnaji was born, a narrow street with narrow houses and open drains outside. They appeared very small. A tailor lives and works in it on the ground floor, and a family lives upstairs is what a small sign said was “Sadhana Tutorial School.” The house must be deeper front to back than wide for it seemed tiny. We didn’t get a good look inside, as Narayan didn’t want to show much interest.’ The Indian Foundation were thinking of buying it,  ‘If the buyer was known to be KFI, the price would inflate. It is hard to imagine that little baby being born there over eighty-three years ago. It seemed infinitely mysterious. Perhaps it was a nicer street then. The smallness of everything made it seem part of another time; and so it is, really. Krishnaji showed no interest at all in it when I told him where we had been.

November twenty-fifth, 1978. Krishnaji bore down very hard on what the Foundation is actually doing, and questioned what he is doing here. After more than forty years of talking, there is not one person “who will work at it, who will carry the flame through India.” Narayan suggested an order, such as a monastic order, but Krishnaji said, “He has said no disciples.”…“Don’t call it that.”…“Call it a group of people.” He questioned whether he himself had been “irresponsible” in not meeting with just half a dozen people and seeing that they have this thing.
The twenty-sixth. ‘Krishnaji was sick to his stomach from midnight till 6 a.m. Others were similarly ill, Frances, Michael, Julie, etcetera.

At 4 p.m., there was a KFI trustee meeting. Krishnaji, Pupul, Nandini, Achyut, Sunanda, Pama, Narayan, and Rajesh. Krishnakutti and I were non-members invited to attend. Krishnaji asked whether he should become president of the KFI. Pupul had told him that she wishes to resign in his favor. She said she once opposed his being president, but now is for it with all her heart. Krishnaji said as things now stand, he is holding everything together, and there isn’t a spirit of cooperation. Why not? He said again that the schools have swamped the teachings. And he asked why was there division in the Foundation? Pupul made an attempt to bring her differences with Narayan into the open, but she did it in such a challenging manner that he flared up. There were questions on how differences are handled in the English and American Foundations, and I said they were discussed and never became issues.’ Well, I was being optimistic. I said that Krishnaji is president in both the U.S. and the United Kingdom because, after Rajagopal, we were intent on his having as complete power as was legally possible. Beyond that, we feel totally responsible to him. Krishnaji spoke of cooperation, the feeling of cooperation coming first, and from that, everything must flow. In the afternoon, Krishnaji held another KFI meeting at which he again wondered if he was not being responsible in seeing that a few came to total understanding, and again spoke of the Buddha, who had only two disciples who understood him and they both died before he did.
‘In the afternoon at 4 p.m., Krishnaji held another KFI meeting, which got so heavily psychological, it got nowhere. Narayan spoke of an area of loneliness, which resists all awareness, while simultaneously insisting that nothing was wrong in his relationships. Pupul before breakfast told me of nightmares and fears that affect her. There seems to be a tendency to make things into abstractions, fill herself with concepts, and not look into the personal problems. In many ways, they seem remarkably unaware of themselves.

The next day, ‘Krishnaji held another teachers’ discussion with the same group at 9:45 a.m. Much frustration. He said, “There is no distraction.” And, “Distraction is thought.” He seemed to me to take for granted one knew what he meant, and with, for instance, the subject of knowledge, which he discussed scathingly as “a means to livelihood and status” with teachers who have in part never heard him before and may not know he has a more nuanced view of it, this could be bewildering. He kept putting the question, “With ten students in front of you, how will you see that they have no distraction?” And at one point, he asked them how they will make the ten students understand the whole existence of man.’ ‘He is also intimidating in dismissing almost any reply they make with, “You’re not answering my question.” He made me feel at the end of one-and-a-half hours thankful that I’m not a teacher.

The next day, ‘Krishnaji gave his second students’ talk and discussion. Krishnaji again had a little boy named Sanjay sit beside him and a little girl on the other side. Very bright children. Krishnaji asked what causes fear, and Sanjay replied, “It is all in the mind, sir.”’ ‘The older children don’t speak, but the young ones were quick and were really listening. At the end, Krishnaji asked everyone to sit quietly and asked if they understood why he suggested it. A little girl piped up, “Sir, it is to build up our energy.”’

Krishnaji held a meeting at 4 p.m. for some of the teachers. He spoke of seven things to give the studentS: 1. protection in freedom, 2. a sense of religious, righteous behavior, 3. an expectation of the highest excellence, 4. love and affection, which is security. Then, he added last year’s list, which was 1. a global outlook, 2. a concern for man, 3. a religious feeling. He kept asking what we can do as a group to give this to the children, how one is to have unyielding rectitude? He said that other groups have a belief, an authority to hold them together, to give them energy. But, he said, the very denial of authority and belief gives energy.’
‘Narayan spoke of a brotherhood of teachers and absence of fear.’
‘Krishnaji asked, “How will you bring this about? By working, you will not get it. You must get it, and then work at it.”’
‘Pupul brought up compassion as a central thing, and Narayan said, “If I see I am the world, there is a root of compassion.”’
‘Krishnaji asked, how will they prevent the children from being swallowed up by society? “Do you have a deep religious feeling? That is the rock, and from there you live.”…“Compassion means love, intelligence, an end to sorrow. Have you intelligence? You can’t give something you haven’t got. You have to have this quality of creation, newness, not innovation, or invention, but as an endless source, a river with no beginning and no end.”’
December eleventh. ‘Pupul recorded a question-and-answer session with Krishnaji. Present were Ahalya, Upasini, Rajesh, Pama, Scott, and me. Toward the end, he said that there must be: 1. No comparison; 2. Problems must be solved instantly; 3. No sorrow. He said if someone were to ask why should one keep listening to K? He would tell them to listen to him constantly, as often as he could, because “The flower is always new.”

Krishnaji spoke to the students, after which we returned to the guest house, where he spoke to teachers. The children were under twelve years of age, but spoke right up.’
Krishnaji: “Do you like your school?”’
‘Children: “Yes!”’
‘Krishnaji: “Are you afraid of your teachers?”’
‘Children: ‘No!”’
‘Krishnaji: “What would you like?”’
‘Children: “To have a hostel.”’
‘Krishnaji: “Don’t you want to go home to your parents?”’
‘Children: “No!”’
Dick Clarke lunched here and presented his book to Krishnaji. I asked him what he meant at the end when he said that Theosophy takes in Krishnaji and the Krishnamurti Foundations. He replied that the Theosophists believe Theosophy takes in everything.’

‘I went for a walk with Krishnaji and Pama, driving to the beach past the TS and Damodar Gardens, which KFI is thinking of leasing.’ That’s part of the TS compound and indeed they did lease it for Mrs. Santhanam’s Krishnamurti School. The School, they called it. ‘We walked along the beach toward the river, the wind blowing in from the Bay of Bengal was clean and so was the sound of the sea, but the wide beach is not. The fisher folk live in hovels on the beach and relieve themselves along the edge of the tide. So one can’t walk on the sand,

This post was last updated by John Raica Fri, 14 Jul 2017.

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Fri, 14 Jul 2017 #342
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

(...° but has to walk along an old disused road leading to the bridge across the river. Krishnaji strode along, vital, indomitable-looking, past the TS, past the part of the beach where he and his brother were noticed as boys and this strange story began. Krishnaji does not set foot on TS property and hasn’t since the 1930s when he was made to feel unwelcome. The road we took to the beach goes around the TS property. Coming back, we met Achyut, who is staying in Radha Burnier’s house. Back at Vasanta Vihar, Pupul had arrived from Bombay after a crowded time at the airport. Everyone, including Krishnaji, had supper at table in a coco-palm hut put up outside the dining room in the back garden.’

December twenty-third. ‘I attended the KF of India trustee meeting. There was a discussion of Krishnaji’s becoming president of the Foundation instead of Pupul. Krishnaji spoke of the need for new good people. Rajesh said that the full sense of responsibility people start with seems to fade. Perhaps the enormity of the teachings causes this. Krishnaji said if he saw the truth of the teachings, he would start in a small way. “After all, it took (himself) fifty years.”’ If I had heard the Buddha, and his mind is too big for me, I would take what I can understand and keep moving.”…“He says, no time—I would work on that. I don’t know what he means. I would ask him.”…“He says I will do this, I say, "no time". If I am angry, I end it now, not tomorrow. I won’t let anything enter into the field of time. I would ask, have I understood that—the word meaning, the inwardness of it? I can’t capture the immensity (of it all), but I can begin with that.”’ Now, I put “of it all” in parentheses, which I think are mine, but the rest is a quote.

December twenty-fourth. ‘Krishnaji accepted the presidency but wishes that Pupul and Achyut as vice presidents should act as “buffers” with regard to legal and other matters in his absence, or during any period in which he delegates his powers to them. Achyut demurred because he has accepted to start religious centers all over India, and therefore feels he should not take on an official position. Pupul made a plea to Achyut to accept nevertheless as he is uniquely able to protect KFI in the country today.[1] Achyut wants to do the religious work on his own so that if he makes mistakes, they’re all his personally. Pupul refused to be a vice president without him. Krishnaji said that was blackmail.’  ‘Krishnaji asked about his own responsibilities as president. He said the schools exist to carry out the teachings; the Foundations are totally responsible for the schools and so for the teachings. Under those circumstances, he asked Achyut to join. Achyut said he would do what Krishnaji wishes. Krishnaji said that was not enough. Then, Achyut accepted. Krishnaji then asked what we can do to make all the Foundations more responsible and active, creative, alive, and living the teachings. Are there too many members too casually involved? He is concerned with a separation if he dies. I asked about Krishnaji’s powers as president, and if he had their agreement that he can, at any time, whether he is in India or elsewhere, overrule the vice presidents. Krishnaji asked at length, what is the responsibility of the Foundation members and what do they do? “Am I spilling my blood on a rock? It is not worth it?” Krishnaji said "our trust is in the teachings, and that trust is your life.” It is the responsibility to see to each other and to keep in contact, not only verbally, but inwardly.
Christmas day. ‘Between 8 a.m. and 8 p.m., the monsoon poured over five inches of rain.’ That is a real downpour. ‘At 9:30 a.m., Krishnaji held the first of the combined Foundations meetings, the only non-Indian members being Nelly, Evelyne, and myself. We went into the responsibilities of the Foundations. Krishnaji said, “The religious mind is without illusion,” and later, “sorrow is illusion.”

 December twenty-sixth. ‘The rain continues. It was heavy in the night and all day. There is flooding. Krishnaji wanted to have others come to the 9:30 a.m. meeting, the second combined Foundations meetings, but I pointed out that Krishnamurti trustees had come all the way from England and America for meetings on Foundation matters, and so the meeting was with them only. “Would you be more responsible if I went away?” he asked. He told them how he had often told me that he wanted to disappear.’

December twenty-seventh. ‘The rain is continuing. At 9:30 a.m., there was the third and final combined Foundations meeting. The subject was the subtleties of interpretation and what it means to spread the teachings. We must speak out of what we understand. It may not be the totality of the teachings, but what we have seen we can communicate.

At 5 p.m., Krishnaji held this year’s first Madras public talk in the gardens of Vasanta Vihar. End of 1978.’
M: January first, 1979. ‘Krishnaji came down early as he does each morning to wish me a good morning, but today he wished me a Happy New Year. He picked a little white blossom from the vine off the veranda and gave it to me. These have an intense, sweet smell. It was another clear, sunny day and a quiet one as Krishnaji rested until his second Madras talk in the garden at 5 p.m.’
The second. ‘At 9:30 a.m., Krishnaji held a discussion in the Vasanta Vihar hall with a small group who actually did the discussing sitting in a circle while a large group sat around as observers. The subject was: What is a religious life?

The fourth of January. ‘At 9:30 a.m., there was again a small group discussing with Krishnaji in the hall with a large group listening. I joined the small group. The theme was still what is a religious life, but a professor from Madras University slowed it down with questions on technique. In the afternoon, Krishnaji and two cars of us drove with Padma Santhanam to a beach south of Madras where there is land to build an enlargement of The School.’ . Krishnaji didn’t like it at all: a flat expanse of sand, no trees or vegetation, too far to bring children, etcetera. We came back past the TS Damodar Gardens, which is for sale, and Krishnaji is now keen for that.

January sixth, 1979, we’re in Madras. Krishnaji gave his third talk, a very great one[1], which seemed to fill the mind and dissolve it. I feel silent, disembodied after such a talk.’
The eighth. ‘Mrs. Gandhi came to Madras to see Krishnaji. She arrived here with Pupul at 10:45 a.m. and spent an hour with Krishnaji, after which she rested in Pupul’s cottage. Pupul then brought her to Krishnaji’s upstairs dining room, and left her with me while she went to speak to Krishnaji.’ i asked her about the jail she was recently in for a week. What was it like? She answered quite readily, a cell for six but she had it to herself, beds are raised, stone shelves. Hers had no mattress but a quilt to lie on and one over her. “I am used to a hard bed so it was alright.”’ ‘Food was brought from her home, newspapers were allowed, and she brought books. The bars on the window bothered her, which was a little surprising to me as all houses in India seem to have barred windows.‘But she hung blankets over the ones in her cell. It was the cell in which she had put George Fernandez when she was Prime Minister.’ Fernandez was critical or something, so she jailed him.‘On Christmas Day, she invited an Australian girl in an adjoining cell to have lunch with her, thinking she must be a Christian. The Australian turned out to have been converted to Islam.’ ‘She was in on a drug smuggling charge.’‘

Krishnaji, Mrs. Gandhi, Pupul, and I were at the lunch table. Krishnaji went out of his way to be the host; to entertain her, he told her some of his best funny stories. She listened expressionless until the joke at the end, then smiled.’ ‘It was as if she were barely listening until the cue came to smile. Krishnaji tells these stories with such charm and enjoyment that it is always a pleasure listen to him, but there was no relaxation with her. Mrs. Gandhi is a smallish, very held-in woman. She wore a black and white sari, not the taste of Pupul’s, but she has nice neat feet and cared-for toenails.’ ‘She was uncertain about removing her sandals outside the dining room and followed what Pupul did. After lunch, she went off in her car accompanied by an enormous, tough-looking bodyguard. She reappeared in the big hall shortly after 5 p.m. when M.S. Subbulakshmi had begun to sing. Pupul went to sit by her. She listened without expression. One felt a woman in whom there was little enjoyment or affection. After about forty minutes, she left quietly and Krishnaji got up to see her to her car. In the morning, she had spent an hour with him, and he said that they talked for only about ten minutes of that time; the rest was sitting silently. I had the impression that if she gave up politics, she would be left with nothing, without inner resources.

January thirteenth. ‘There was a discussion at breakfast with Krishnaji, Achyut, Sunanda, Radha, and I on what Krishnaji means by no recording. I asked if he meant no recall. He said, “In insight, there is no recording.” I asked him about The Notebook that he wrote, in which he describes what happened earlier. He said, it was not written using memory. The words "happened" at the moment of writing. At lunch were Krishnaji, Mr. and Mrs. John Coats, Joy Mills, Radha, Achyut, Pama, and me. Mr. Coats was amiably chatty, and his wife was the same. Only at the end of lunch did Krishnaji bring up interest in getting the land. Coats and Joy Mills said they thought it a good idea. It was agreed that some of us should look at the land tomorrow. On leaving, Joy Mills asked Krishnaji, rather archly, if he would like to live in his old rooms at the TS.’ The TS people were always trying to net him, as it were, or catch him again. ‘He looked startled and a little suspicious.

At 5 p.m., Krishnaji gave his sixth and final talk of the series, a long, deep one[4] on many things. His voice was deep and from far off. He put tremendous energy into it, and at the end sat in silence while the large crowd seemed not to breathe. As he moved toward the house, people flowed in a tide around him, touching him in worship. He went upstairs alone, and some impulse made me follow. He stood in the dark, and held onto me for a moment when I came to him, and felt he would faint. He sat on the floor, and said, “Don’t touch me now.”’
‘I sat near him and in a few seconds he fainted slowly toward me. He lay there several minutes, then came to and said he was alright. He went into the bathroom, washed, changed from a dhoti to pajamas and said he wanted to walk. The crowd had streamed away, so he went out and walked with Jayalakshmi. At supper, he ate with everyone as usual, and afterwards stayed far too long talking to the Bangalore school people

The fifteenth. At 10 a.m., Achyut, Pama, Sunanda, and I met Radha and John Coats and went to look at Damodar Gardens then Besant Gardens as possible school sites. I think the TS needs money and wants to sell. Present market prices are two lakhs an acre, which would make buying prohibitive. Damodar Gardens’ houses and thirteen acres are suitable but there is presently an inactive plan by the city to enlarge the road, which would ruin it. Besant Gardens is larger, about forty to fifty acres we could use. I have a feeling that their price and demands will be stiff.

The sixteenth. ‘At breakfast, Krishnaji, Radha, Sunanda, Pama, and I had a discussion on reincarnation of which this is a rough summary: There is a "stream", which is thought, attachments, etcetera. Thought is a material process. If when the body dies, attachment, etcetera, has not been understood and ended, that attachment, that thought continues as part of the stream. It can manifest in another but it is not reincarnation of a total person. Ego is an illusion.’ The desire for reincarnation—the wanting another chance is part of attachment, thought, the stream. Karma—cause and effect, is meaningless if one sees this.

January seventeenth. Sunanda and I went with Padma Santhanam to visit The School KFI. It’s a nice building, plaster half the way up, then lattice sides and palm leaf thatch on the roof. Children are two-and-a-half to ten years of age. It seems an excellent school. The children sang, danced, and did a little play—most endearing children. One little boy with enormous black eyes was as beautiful a child as I’ve ever seen. A little French girl was looking at pictures by herself, not understanding English, and it was touching as she was so pleased when I talked to her in French. She came and sat with me when the other children danced. Padma is responsible for this school, and it is a fine job.

At 4 p.m., I went to tea with Mr. and Mrs. Rex Henry at the Olcott Bungalow in the TS. We sat on the porch outside and were joined by Dick Clarke. He was more than willing to discuss Esoteric Section meetings when I said I knew nothing about it. It seems they meet weekly, members only, and they must be punctual at 8 a.m. and give a password to get in, sign an attendance book, then facing the pictures of the Masters, they recite together some sort of salute, sit, and then the one conducting the meeting (usually Radha) addresses them, speaking on something for forty-five minutes, after which there is some sort of pledge, and it is promptly over.’ ‘He went on to say that Radha would speak on something like probation and the Masters, and he once asked her how she reconciles such things with her interest in Krishnaji, but got an inconclusive reply.’

‘Krishnaji said he would like to ask the only surviving person who “knew the boy” [meaning himseslf] when he was found, Dick Clarke, about what happened. So, it was arranged that Jayalakshmi would invite him for lunch. I counted over nineteen separate things, vegetables, etcetera, without counting sweets or drinks.’ ‘Toward the end of lunch, Krishnaji began to ask Dick Clarke about what Krishnaji was like when they found him. Clarke seemed to remember it all clearly. Krishnaji kept at him with questions, holding Clarke’s left hand and ticking off the questions on his fingers.’ ‘ Krishnaji seemed to feel that what “the boy” was like and whatever went on in his mind—as he kept asking—eluded him.’ In other words, he seemed to feel that it eluded him.‘But for me, the picture was a true line throughout; the dreamy child who when punished by the school master would stand on the veranda until told to leave, who often had to be fetched home by his little brother was a gentle, compliant boy who replied to his TS elders, “Whatever you say” when asked about doing something. He was polite and accepting, but not really touched by their world; it went in one ear and out the other. He learned outward things: manners, speech, witnessed the TS goings-on, but it left little mark; he was elsewhere. He remembers vaguely standing by the Adyar River for hours, staring at it, vacant. This vacancy was some otherness that protected him, let whatever he is grow, mature very slowly. It protected him from most of the pulls of life later on, from the brutalities of Rajagopal and Rosalind. In the Rajagopal and Rosalind times, he said he was sometimes physically beaten, but he didn’t resist their violence as he hadn’t fought against the wretched schoolmaster as a child. It all left no scars, just as the Theosophical beliefs did not condition his mind.

January nineteenth. Thinking of yesterday, I told Krishnaji that though he doesn’t talk definitively about what happened to him as a boy, what the concept of Masters really is, etcetera, unless he makes some statement, his own words written as a boy recounting the initiations, going to visit Masters, etcetera, will stand as his testimony. I asked to read that statement to him and let him consider if he wishes to comment. He thought for an instant only and then said, “Alright. Remind me about all this when we get to Ojai, and I’ll make a statement.” We leave early tomorrow.’

The twentieth. left for the airport at 6 a.m. We landed in Bombay and coolness; a marvelous life-giving cool. There to meet us were Nandini, Pupul, and Asit, at whose apartment we are staying. We drove in his fifteen-year-old 190-D Mercedes, air-conditioned, etcetera, into the city. It seems already in the West, with twenty-story buildings everywhere, traffic that could be in Los Angeles—the feel of a Western city. Asit and his wife Minakshi, the daughters Clea, who’s at Rishi Valley School, and Sonali, live in a very modern apartment on the sixth floor. Krishnaji has one bedroom; I have the other; Pupul and Nandini’s mother’s servants, who have cooked for Krishnaji for years, are here—Vimabhai, a thin, ancient, smiling woman in a sari that swaddles her and is often around the head, too, and a toothless man. All is very comfortable here, and one feels halfway to the West, too. The extravagance of being cool again plus an excellent simple tasting lunch began the climb up to normality again for me. Nandini’s sons, Gansham and Vikram, came to see Krishnaji. I had letters from Amanda.’

January twenty-first. ‘There was a conversation at breakfast between Krishnaji, Pupul, Nandini, Achyut, Pama, Asit, and me on whether the “flame” of the teachings can be handed on. Is insight total, or can it be confined to a particular area or subject?

Krishnaji’s first talk was at 6:15 p.m. I went ahead at 5 p.m. with Pupul. There was a huge crowd. The usual familiar faces were in the foreground, Rajneesh’s U.S. followers smoking pot, all kinds and ages of people. I sat with Nandini and family members behind and to the side of Krishnaji on a small platform in order to get quickly to the car parked just behind.’ In the talks, he answered his own question, “What is the cause of the degeneration in this country, in the world?” It is the intellect, its overuse? Everything is reduced to a theory or a concept. We do not see things as they are, holistically, but as theories. When Krishnaji stopped speaking, he sat silently for a few moments, and Nandini and I went straight to the car, only yards away. But as Krishnaji rose, so did a wave of people pressing forward to touch him for darshan’—you know, people think they get a blessing if they can touch a holy man. ‘He was caught against the wall by people kissing his hands, his feet, touching him, and in a hysteria of reverence. Asit fought to keep the door of the car open and let him get in. It took minutes. And when he managed it, hands came through the window to touch him. Krishnaji was a figure of compassion, touching as many hands as he could, saying, “Be careful. Be careful.” Nandini called out, “You will be hurt.” And the answer came back in Marathi, “It doesn’t matter.” The chauffeur edged the car forward, but the crowd ahead obliterated the road. It took about ten minutes to drive the 100 or so feet to the street.

January twenty-fifth. Krishnaji talked to Pupul, Nandini, Asit, Dr. Parchure, Radha, Achyut, Pama, Sunanda, and me about the events in Madras, and Ootacamund in 1948, in Gstaad and Malibu, etcetera’— He said he remembers none of it. Pupul described her and Nandini’s witness to the 1948 events, and I described similar things that had happened to Krishnaji in my presence. The conversation was taped on cassette by Asit. It will probably be kept as a confidential record for a while but no clear answer emerged. The subject needs further talk, and Krishnaji seemed disposed to continue it while here.

At 6:15 p.m., Krishnaji gave his second Bombay talk to a huge crowd. It was on: “Fear is based on thought and time.” Again, he was engulfed by a crowd afterward. A man rubbed Krishnaji’s hand over his face; another put Krishnaji’s fingers in his mouth, so that Krishnaji sat in the car when he finally reached it with his hands palm up, unclean. Nandini, sitting between us, had to get his handkerchief and rub something off his nose. Hands, hundreds of hands, were thrust through the partly opened window, and Krishnaji touched them all as the car crept forward. People marched behind, their hands on the car, as though in that way they kept a contact with him. One man before the talk demanded to be allowed to come and live on the landing outside the door of the flat. When Nandini said it was not possible, he said, “You are keeping me from my god.”’
The next day. ‘All morning there was a meeting of KFI trustees in which I was included. Krishnaji had a letter from Jean-Michel Maroger that Marie-Bertrande and Diane fell down stone stairs at Diane’s school in Blois. Marie-Bertrande was unhurt, but Diane broke a left thighbone, a clean fracture. Marie-Bertrand was carrying Diane when she fell. It is extraordinary that no other bones were broken in such a fall. One wonders if Krishnaji’s healing has made the child stronger. We walked again around the race course.’

Krishnaji gave his fourth Bombay talk. Very fine. Again the crowd was immense and surrounded the car afterward. With some, it was a delicacy of reverence and touching, not grabbing his hands but touching quickly and lightly.

February first. ‘I packed, and had a long talk with Dr. Parchure, who reported his conversation of this morning with Krishnaji. As his doctor, who has been given responsibility of Krishnaji’s health, he needed Krishnaji to tell him whether he wished to do everything as fully as he wants and then “disappear,” or did he wish to live a long time and conserve the body in strength. Krishnaji said he wanted to live a long time. In that case, said Dr. Parchure, the intelligence of the body was either not functioning or not being listened to. “Your body is giving you signs,” but Krishnaji pays no attention. The falling sick here in India with minor infections is a sign of the bodily resistance lowering. Krishnaji doesn’t give it the necessary rest to build his strength. His feet have been constantly swollen in India, another sign of lessened function. Krishnaji was somewhat impatient with all this, but listened. Dr. Parchure said he must have two days of total rest after each talk, with no two-hour discussions at the breakfast table; he must have at least one meal a day in bed, feet up and not hanging down. And he must rest before traveling to a new place and also on arrival. Krishnaji’s voice was hoarse, a sign he is overusing it. Today, he should’ve rested but tides of people came to pay respects and say goodbye, bringing useless presents of huge boxes of dried fruit that we can’t take Krishnaji went to bed afterward, and so did I. We managed to sleep intermittently until midnight. Then, we had to go to the airport.’ A mass were waiting to see Krishnaji off.

the British Airways plane was loaded and ready to go, a signal came and Krishnaji, Pama, and I drove in a chauffeured car out onto the runway to the foot of the steps of the aircraft. Very VIP. We didn’t have the first row in the first class, but the second. ‘The flight took off at 3:20 a.m., and was to have been nonstop to London, 9:30 a.m. when we reached Heathrow. We had to wrestle our own bags; not a porter in sight. I went looking for one or a trolley, and of course, Krishnaji in my absence lifted six of the bags off the turntable. He then found a trolley, and was irritable when I wouldn’t let him load it and push it alone. Doris was waiting inside, and Dorothy and Ingrid were at the cars. They had brought overcoats for us. The cold air and wintry beauty of the countryside made my spirits soar. So we saw only patches of snow and Brockwood welcomed Krishnaji. The house is warm and comfortable. We both felt dazed from travel. Everything looks so clean. It is a luxury to take a drink of water from the tap, to read news of the world, to eat simple food. It is a delight to be here. I slept in the afternoon after Krishnaji had lunch downstairs and then gone to bed.

The next day. ‘It was lovely to wake up here, to light a fire in the grate, exercise a little, and then make a delicious breakfast of buttered toast, porridge, etcetera, and eat it slowly at the table in our own little kitchen. The tall trees are bare and beautiful, and the sun came to spend the day, wiping away the silver frost that covered the fields at daylight. My whole organism feels different here, somehow back to normal. The swelling and pain going out of my lower leg and foot, the constant heat was a constant attack on the body in India. This is the climate where I feel best. How narrow is the margin of health in these matters. Obviously different for each body. Krishnaji’s swelling is leaving his feet. He thinks it is the carrot juice he now drinks.’ ‘I think it is the absence of heat. He got up for lunch, took a long nap, We watched TV, The Two Ronnies’— Mary and Joe drove down in mid-morning and we talked at length. Krishnaji joined us at 12:30 p.m. Mary is pleased with the six shirts he had made for her, and Joe liked the two Indian scarves. After lunch we all sat in our little kitchen over coffee and biscuits and talked. They left at 4 p.m., and Krishnaji took a nap. He wasn’t feeling like going out, nor was I. Jean-Michel and Marie-Bertrande Maroger are coming on Tuesday.’

February fifth, 1979. Krishnaji and I are at Brockwood for a few days for Krishnaji’s usual stopover on his way from India to California. ‘At Heathrow, after checking in, we learned our 1 p.m. flight was delayed by fog, which prevented our incoming flight from landing. We sat in the TWA lounge, read, surviving on two cheese sandwiches till our flight, which got in at 3:30 so we could take off at 4:30. We had the two single forward seats in the nose that Krishnaji likes, and he took the one on the left, which he prefers. We read papers, magazines, and thrillers all the ten-and-a-half-hour flight but also slept fitfully. Landed in Los Angeles at 9:30 p.m.

The house was beautiful, filled with flowers, in exquisite readiness by Elfriede. The greeting committee soon left, and Krishnaji, quite wide awake, walked from room to room saying, “Do you feel the atmosphere?” and then “I’m glad you have a beautiful house to live in. It is more beautiful than Malibu, and you have a beautiful room in…what’s that place we just came from? Brockwood!”’ Krishnaji said he had felt the full atmosphere of this house almost to the point of fainting in bed yesterday. He said when he goes into the living room, it is so strong, “it is like a temple, one goes very quietly.” It is interesting that it is the living room—a new construction, unlike his bedroom and sitting room in the old cottage where he lived so long. The living room is where the jewels were placed in the foundation by Theo at Krishnaji’s suggestion. Theo has given me a map of where “it” is in the foundation of the school main building—always to the northeast.

We got on to the subject of the Theosophical Society, the Esoteric Section, what the young Krishnaji thought, Masters or not, etcetera. Krishnaji said of his memory that he chiefly didn’t remember things about himself. He did remember, and corrected Erna, on where people were living in the TS headquarters. He said that that wasn’t about himself. He repeated the vague memory he described in India of standing as a boy by the Adyar River utterly empty, and “having a good time.” I asked if he could remember directly Dr. Besant, and he said he could a little, but only in her latter years.’

February twenty-sixth. ‘The last eclipse of the sun in this century was around 8 this morning. The garden was in a strange twilight. From the kitchen window I saw Krishnaji in bare feet and only in his nightshirt out on the path. “I wanted to see the eclipse,” he said.’ ‘I rushed him into warmth and a denatured but closer view on television.’
March twenty-fourth. ‘At 11:30 a.m., there was the start of a discussion with Krishnaji: David and a group from San Francisco selected by Fritz from the class he gave at JFK University. Krishnaji thinks the discussion group is unintelligent.’

Krishnaji had discussed with the Lilliefelts and the Bohms the Fritz situation. Fritz was not turning out well - he was being a guru, and he was doing sort of psychological meetings with people. And he was the boss and knew it all. He was wrong for the job.

April seventh, at 11:30 a.m., for the first time in two years, Krishnaji was able to speak in his Oak Grove. The first talk was very moving. He looked extraordinarily beautiful. He began his talk differently, speaking of goodness, what it is not, why man doesn’t have it; how no system, belief, etcetera will bring it about; how only in understanding oneself can a different dimension come about and man can go beyond it. He spoke quietly, with that depth of voice that usually comes for the deepest meditation of his talks, but today it was there from the start. A large audience, in spite of the gas shortage, listened intently. I sat on the ground where I must’ve sat years ago when I first heard him speak there. His presence, his voice, the atmosphere of the Grove make me feel my life had begun there all those thirty-five years ago. It happened, and I have been blessed beyond all other life. On the way back in the car, he said, “I was so filled with that, that I was trembling.” And coming back through the village, he said, “Drive slowly. I want to faint.” He bent slowly forward, but didn’t quite faint, and was alright when he reached the house.

April eighth. ‘It was a clear, beautiful day, and it was beautiful in the Oak Grove where Krishnaji gave his second talk. He stopped neatly after an hour, and we were the first car to leave. We came back on the winding, quieter road, and Krishna
The tenth, ‘It was windy and clear. Krishnaji held public discussion number one in the Oak Grove.

April fourteenth. ‘Another warm, beautiful day for Krishnaji’s third talk in the Oak Grove. There was a large crowd. The beauty of the trees, the fresh grass, the air alive with ripening summer, and something blessed in that grove seemed the surrounding of his voice and words. We drove back slowly as usual.

April seventeenth. ‘Krishnaji gave the third public talk in the Oak Grove. Michael Mendizza filmed parts of it and had David Moody ask for the film, “What is the relation between love and freedom?” To this Krishnaji added, “Responsibility.” Walking out after the talk, Krishnaji passed Austin Bee, who was standing behind the cassette stand. Krishnaji stopped and asked, “Who are you, sir?” Bee gave his name, and Krishnaji shook hands with him.’ When I reached the car, a figure was standing there in the shade behind it. At first glance, I didn’t see who it was, but then as I was opening the car door, I saw it was Rajagopal, rather shrunken, face more wizened and monkey-like.’ He stared at me and I said, “How do you do, Rajagopal,” but didn’t go to him. Krishnaji then went toward his side of the car, saw Rajagopal, but didn’t recognize him, either. He asked, “Who are you?”’
‘“I’m Rajagopal.” He gave Krishnaji a package and said, “This is for you.” Krishnaji took his hand and held it, and then Rajagopal said he must go, people were watching. He walked up the road and Krishnaji stood looking shocked and distrait as he sometimes does after a talk. He was very often disoriented after a talk, somehow.
After lunch, Krishnaji dictated a letter to Rajagopal suggesting they talk things over. The package turned out to be a quartz wristwatch. Krishnaji said, “He knows I don’t ever wear a wristwatch. I will give it to Narayan.”

April twenty-first, ‘Krishnaji says I still move my hands and mouth unnecessarily, and is determined to help me stop it.’ ‘He now sits opposite me on the floor and I’m absolutely still for some minutes. He says Brahmin boys used to be taught this.’ ‘I find it very easy. At 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji gave his fifth Ojai talk in the Oak Grove after which we had lunch alone at home.
‘At 4 p.m., Krishnaji had an hour’s talk with Fritz. I went to the first meeting to be held in the main house at the school, where parents and staff talked to Brockwood people: Stephen, Wendy, Verna, Matthew Mitchell, Denise, and Francisco.’

During lunch, Rajagopal telephoned me to ask what Krishnaji was doing during the next days. When was he leaving? I told him that Krishnaji was leaving on the fifteenth. Rajagopal said, “I hope I will see you,” and hung up. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji held a discussion mostly with David Bohm, but trustees and the Oak Grove School staff were present and some joined in. “Is separateness caused by desire?” was the question.’

Later Krishnaji was full of doubts about Fritz and Margrete . He doesn’t think Fritz understands the teachings; that it is all intellectual. ‘Krishnaji asked Erna and Theo over after breakfast to speak of the Fritz business. He feels strongly that it is not going to work out, that Fritz hasn’t a feeling for all this, has no communication with him, and that it is all talk. David Bohm told Krishnaji in confidence that Fritz is quite upset, and though Fritz didn’t say so, Dave feels they want to leave. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji held a discussion with Dave, the rest of us, and Oak Grove School teachers. A continuation of Thursday’s meeting. “Is thought based on desire? Is there an action not based on this?”
The first of May. ‘Each morning, Krishnaji sits quietly opposite of me on the floor to teach me to be still,’ ‘not move my hands, face, etcetera, unnecessarily.
Then, he does a vigorous massage of neck and back to help circulation in my leg and keep away headaches. Sometimes he jokes when I thank him, “I must help my benefactress.”’ ‘This morning, I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t like you. Remember that. Well, I guess I would, but you know what I mean.”’ ‘Balasundaram came and talked to Krishnaji for an hour yesterday. He had seen Rajagopal, and said that he had urged him to return the archives and be friendly before he dies. He said Rajagopal refused to discuss the archives, and was keeping things to defend himself, “in case they attack me,” and said, “They are hoping for my demise.” Balasundaram himself headed off Krishnaji’s asking him to return the Rishi Valley tapes he had made off with when he left Rishi Valley by weeping and saying that Krishnaji and his teachings meant everything to him. Devious fellows,’
May third. ‘Krishnaji talked with Fritz at 10:30 a.m. Krishnaji “really worked, at getting through to Fritz, and things seemed better.

May fourth. ‘In the British election, Margaret Thatcher becomes prime minister. Krishnaji cannot watch her on TV. “That awful bourgeois woman. He now has two bête noire in England, Thatcher and the Queen.

Then, we lunched at The Tea House, after which we drove pleasantly back along the beach and then through the mountains, which pleased Krishnaji. Lake Casitas was beautiful. At lunch, Krishnaji asked what each would do if we had a lot of money; “something extravagant” he was asking for. None of us could come up with a sufficiently frivolous answer.’ ‘Krishnaji, laughing, said, “I’d probably keep getting the newest Mercedes, not going anywhere, just washing it every week.”’ ‘I thought I might keep Rajagopal tied up in law courts until he handed over everything to Krishnaji and did penance.’ ‘We queued up for gas in Ojai with about ten other cars ahead of us.

Krishnaji again at the wheel for the usual part. “May I talk seriously? Because of our relationship, I’d never leave you. That will never change. There is something sacred in it. People don’t understand this.” He’s thinking about what he will say tomorrow in the discussion with the staff on the business of relationships, and in particular, the not sharing of rooms by unmarried couples.

May twelfth is ‘Krishnaji’s eighty-fourth birthday, though, as always, he waved away any mention of it. It was a very hot day, but the adobe walls keep that wing cool and comfortable.

We got to LAX by 4 p.m., and checked in. I sat with the hand luggage, while Krishnaji and Mark stood looking at the aircraft.’ Krishnaji used to wander around in airports, and I was afraid to leave the hand luggage in case it’d be stolen. Krishnaji noticed a crack near one of the doors. Pretty soon some ground crew noticed it too, and instead of boarding and taking off at 5:30 p.m., we sat till 9 p.m., and left in a substitute plane, which stopped to refuel in New York at 5 a.m. where Krishnaji and I walked around for exercise for forty-five minutes. It was too early to telephone my brother. So, on we flew and landed at Heathrow at 6 p.m., a relatively quiet time there. So, a porter and luggage were quickly had. Dorothy, in her Cortina, took Krishnaji and me, and Ingrid and Stephen took the luggage. It was 9 p.m. when we reached Brockwood, but still light. The students and staff were on the driveway to greet Krishnaji. He and I had supper quickly, alone in our little kitchen. “How quiet it is,” said Krishnaji. I made our travel reservations for London to Geneva for July first.

‘Krishnaji spoke to the whole school at noon. In the afternoon, he treated Diane, and then had a long talk with Jean-Michel, Marie-Bertrande, and me about Diane. Her bones are getting stronger, but she has not grown in length. She is now twelve-and-a-half and her classmates in school are shooting up. Her parents are obviously very concerned. Krishnaji was very intense. He said, “I would give my life to her if I could.” I had been silently thinking the same. Krishnaji talked at first as if he were telling the parents what Diane faces, something they live with every day, worry over, and have faced all these years. He told them about Isabelle Mallet, who was disabled and fell in love with him, and asked to be loved, etcetera. This is when he was young. He said, “I was too young to understand what she really wanted. I liked her, went to see her every day, but was too innocent to understand.” He told about the woman in Madras with a broken hip whom he saw and she was cured, and Fresia, whose cardio X-rays changed overnight. “What we need is a miracle,” he said.’

June fourth, ‘Mary Links and Amanda came at 11 a.m. We sat in Krishnaji’s room and he talked about the biography. What had kept him “vacant” as a boy? Either some power that wished to manifest—like the Maitreya theory. Or was there an innate something in the boy, an evolution through incarnations, which Krishnaji said is superstition. Or was there a power of goodness, which entered the boy. “I’ve always felt protected,” he said. And then, “If I enter an airplane, it will not fall.” But he kept asking and asking the question of how was the boy vacant and what kept him that way? Toward the end of the discussion, he said that perhaps he could not answer the question, but perhaps Mary or I could, and if we did, then he would know if it was right.’ He said the Maitreya or reincarnated body prepared over a number of lives theories were “suspect.” It would mean that it was restricted to him, and the teachings say that all can achieve it or “It is not worth it otherwise.”
Krishnaji feels he has lost touch with Alain. “He has left us.” I think he means the teachings, as well as us, though on the surface we are friendly and have much to laugh and chat about.
Krishnaji saw Diane and asked the Marogers to stay on another three days. He told me that when he treats her, the room becomes filled with something.

June 20, 1979, Krishnaji did a videotaped discussion with Brockwood teachers. June twenty-fifth, ‘I met Mary Links at the Petersfield station. We talked with Krishnaji before and after lunch on things for the second volume of the biography. I made notes as I did last time.’

Ingrid drove Krishnaji and me to Heathrow, where at 3:55 p.m. we went by Swiss Air to Geneva and the Hôtel des Bergues. After arriving, I rang Vanda at Tannegg, where she and Fosca had just arrived. We dined in the Amphitryon pleasantly.’ July second. ‘We got up late and, after breakfast, went to Jacquet.’ That was where he had ties made. ‘We lunched at the Amphitryon, then went to Patek,
The fourth. ‘I went with Dr. Parchure and Ulrich Brugger to see Chalet Rehbock, where Dr. Parchure and others from Brockwood are staying.

July eighth. he giave his first Saanen talk in the tent at 10:30. It was on thinking together. He spoke for exactly one hour.

July twelfth. ‘Krishnaji has no fever but his voice is very hoarse. He wouldn’t cancel the talk, and as he spoke, his voice cleared somewhat. He came back and went to bed but got up to see Diane in the afternoon. In late afternoon, in Saanen, Diane fell from her tricycle and fractured her upper right leg.’ After lunch, the van came with Diane in her bed and about ten Brockwood young men carried the bed carefully in.’ ‘It just fit in the doorway. Krishnaji came down and saw Diane. In the evening, he had a lot of coughing.’
July fifteenth. ‘Krishnaji gave the fourth Saanen talk.
The next day. ‘Both Siddoo sisters came at 4 p.m. to see Krishnaji. He settled Sarjit Siddoo’s monastic notions of the school; celibacy is not required.’

The nineteenth. ‘Krishnaji gave Saanen talk number six. The topic was, “Can we discover a central fact that will answer all  problems?”’ ‘He said, “Knowledge is part of ignorance because it is always incomplete” and “Observation, action, and intelligence, from this comes love, compassion. When there is compassion, there is no pain, conflict, or suffering.”

The twenty-second, when Krishnaji gave the seventh talk. ‘On the way to the tent Krishnaji said, “What will I speak about?” He began with, “Why are you so quiet?” and he went on to speak of that. What is one searching for, etcetera. The mind is a still mind. He finished in an hour, as he has each talk this summer. He rested and I made a fruit dish for lunch. Krishnaji visited Diane, as he does twice every day.
July twenty-seventh. ‘Krishnaji held the third public discussion.
On the twenty-eighth, ‘Krishnaji held the fourth public discussion, after which we lunched alone.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji held the fifth and final public discussion of this summer.
Christian was loud and insulting, demanding that Krishnaji reveal “his secret,” something he withholds. Krishnaji held the meeting together and went on. Dorothy and Montague lunched with Krishnaji and me. Siddoo came by to say goodbye to Krishnaji, and he told her not to hesitate to close the school if it didn’t work out. He also told her that he knew about her husband’s talk against Brockwood and himself. Krishnaji and I lunched downstairs with Marie-Bertrande, Jean-Michel, Daphne, and Diane.

Dr. Parchure went to talk to U.G. Krishnamurti.’ He was a ratty little man, who was very antagonistic to Krishnaji, and all the time he would get people to come and criticize Krishnaji, and have his little group over which he would preside.

Krishnaji “did” my foot and said it was less swollen. He ascribed it to my exercise yesterday going up the Wassengrat and said I should walk more. I said yes. He then said, “You say, ‘yes.’ When?”’ ‘So now, at his urging, at 7 a.m., I went up the hill and then through the woods where it was so cold my hands were numb. When I was finally in the sun, I held them out and handfuls of sunlight warmed them. How beautiful is the world in the early morning. I had a long talk at breakfast with Dr. Parchure about Krishnaji’s health. Krishnaji has low blood pressure, a slow pulse and, with age, his metabolism slows, so Parchure tries to keep the body fit and stimulated through exercise without tiring Krishnaji. Krishnaji inclines to overdo things; he pushes his body, and is no longer a good judge of its capacities. Krishnaji will seldom stop an exercise on his own. Parchure watches his face. He spoke of the likely manner of Krishnaji’s death. He doesn’t feel it will be a disease, cancer, etcetera Or of a heart attack in a sudden seizure way, but a slowing down of the body. He said that if Krishnaji becomes unconscious with cold hands and feet, I should rub them to stimulate circulation lest he 'slip away'. But he thinks Krishnaji will know the time of his death and will tell me and then there should be no interference. Parchure talked to Krishnaji during the massage about some of these things, and Krishnaji brought it up at lunch. Parchure was able to get him to see the problem of getting Krishnaji to realize his own physical capabilities, to harbor his strength and energies. We brought up the subject of the public discussions. Krishnaji now thinks it was the unpleasantness in the tent Sunday that has left him so tired all week, and agreed that we should try the old way of having written questions from the audience and he answering them rather than these “dialogues” that don’t work with a thousand people. He also brought up the “interpretation” problem, and his telling trustees to speak, which has the danger of starting interpretations. Krishnaji said, “It doesn’t work.” I told him of my conversation with a man named Weeks, who seemed pleased when I cautioned him that I was speaking without any spiritual authority, and that I could see him going off and saying, “The people around Krishnaji don’t know what Krishnaji is talking about either.”’ ‘Krishnaji laughed and said, “You can’t win.”’ ‘He went back to the health question and said he has always felt protected. Something, a “they” is looking after him for the purpose of the teachings. He feels that “they” will decide the time and manner of his death and he will know it. He asked Dr. Parchure how the Buddha died; apparently of eating bad food, but who knows, really. Krishnaji slept in the afternoon and so did I. Then, we went for the same walk to the river. I spoke to Filomena in Rome about my arrival Friday, and then I spoke to Vanda in Florence about her arrival here Thursday. After supper, I read to Krishnaji excerpts from Mar de Manziarly’s diary, which she has given me for the archives. It contains parts of letters from Nitya. One, when Nitya spoke of tiring things “and the most tiring thing of all is Theosophy.”’ ‘And his description of CWL’s boys in Australia: “They were all kings and saints in former lives, but now, unhappily, Australians.”’ ‘Krishnaji’s face lit up with laughter and youth. And then a quotation from Krishnaji, “It’s strange; I can’t remember him,” he said. But his laughter had a bright flash of recognition in it. “I wonder what he would have done if he had lived, but that is speculation and we mustn’t speculate.” I still get that feeling of sadness when I read or think of Nitya, a sense of loss.’

August sixth. ‘Pupul wrote in June asking me to ask Krishnaji about “the missing years” of 1939 to 1947, the war years, when he stayed in Ojai. What did he do? Whom did he see, etcetera. She says he reappeared in India in 1947 differently. I asked Krishnaji Pupul’s questions, and taped his answers

arriving at 4:45 p.m. to find Krishnaji looking out his bathroom window. He said, “I knew you were coming. The deva told me.”’
He said, “I want to talk to you seriously. Please listen. You must outlive me. I’m going to live a long time and you must be well. I can’t have another person look after me, so you must take care of yourself.”… “I am looked after,” he pointed up at the clouds.’ ‘“You understand?”…“You need to rest, to be alone. I see that is good for you. So when you go back to Ojai, you must arrange it and not the everlasting letters, typing, and Foundation things. I will write to you, but you mustn’t have all those nonsensical letters. In India I will give them to Sunanda.”’
‘I asked him, apart from looking after him, if he had another reason I should survive him.’
‘“I have no one else but you. I’m not being selfish.”’
‘I said, apart from that, was there something I must do when he is no longer alive.’
‘“Could be.”…“Someone must see to it that it doesn’t go to pieces”’
 ‘We talked about the responsibility of Foundation members to talk or not to talk, but he didn’t make it any clearer. There should not be a ban on talking, but they mustn’t interpret. Others will, but Foundation members mustn’t. But where is the line? Right now he is critical of Pama having spoken on a tour that he and Sunanda have just made with the videos in South India, because he thinks that Pama doesn’t understand the teachings. It’s okay for Sunanda to have talked. Pupul won’t talk, he said, but she is about to write a book. It will inevitably be seen as a book written by someone close to Krishnaji and the Foundation. Where is the line in all this? He says he will go into it, and it has changed his mind about urging people to talk. But he seems presently to duck the question. Talking of Ojai, he said he wished he could find a little place where he could get away where no one would know where he is, somewhere near the beach, near Santa Barbara perhaps.’ He had this feeling often, of wanting to get away where nobody knew where he was. And one reason he seemed to enjoy the driving to Saanen from Brockwood was that really nobody knew where he was, expect that he was somewhere in France.
He felt a pressure, and he felt it particularly strongly in Gstaad when all the people were there and the talks were going on. He said it was like a psychic pressure, everybody intent on him.bThe next day we went for the last of this summer’s walks to the end of the wood. He paused by the edge of the field, stared at the mountains a few moments and said, “A l’année prochaine.”

August fifteenth. ‘Krishnaji, Dr. Parchure, and I left at 10 a.m. for Geneva via Les Mosses, Aigle, and the autoroute. We arrived at the airport in one hour and ten minutes, 160 kilometers.’ [Both chuckle.] ‘I dropped the car with Hertz,  and we took the 1:30 p.m. Swiss Air to London.

Digbys, Mary Cadogan, Dr. Parchure, and me about what Krishnaji wants us to do about speaking on the teachings. The decision was to speak only out of our own understanding, making clear to others that it is only that.’ That was the good of all that. He said you can say whatever you want to say, but you must label it as your understanding and not what Krishnamurti means. ‘Krishnaji emphasized that, “The Foundations are not”—underlined—“spiritual organizations and have no”—underlined—“spiritual authority.”

joined Mary for lunch at Fortnum’s. Talked of the second volume of the biography. The question was of how he got the way he is. He said the choices were, “a biologic freak, a medium, or three, a late maturing mind.” He, Krishnaji, discards the freak, and the medium. He said he did mature very late, really when he was sixty-five.’ ‘Today he would never put up with what Rajagopal and Rosalind did. He would throw them out. Mary said that Rajagopal doesn’t realize how Krishnaji has changed, and so attributes it all to “wicked influences”’—that’s me.

The eleventh: ‘Krishnaji said earlier in the morning that he had been sitting very straight in bed, mind empty, and there came a feeling as if something “were pouring into my head. It lasted ten to fifteen seconds to a minute. It was not imagination.”

The next day. ‘At 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji held a seminar on “The world is becoming increasingly violent and disordered. What can we do as human beings to change it?” About eighty people in all are taking part.’ ‘In the afternoon, Krishnaji talked to David Bohm and me about Erna’s suggestion that Krishnaji reconsider the Templeton Award. Krishnaji still feels it would be wrong to accept an award for teaching.’ He didn’t want to accept it, I think, because he didn’t think it was right to be paid for what he did.’

September fourteenth, ‘Krishnaji held the second session of seminar. The fifteenth. ‘Krishnaji held the third seminar session at 11:30 a.m. ’
September sixteenth, ‘Krishnaji held the fourth seminar. The seventeenth. ‘Krishnaji held the fifth seminar on “What happens when there’s no sense of individuality?” and  “What is action without the actors?”

In the morning Krishnaji had said that a curious feeling came on him. He said, “I felt like a young boy.”’
September eighteenth. ‘Krishnaji held the sixth seminar, completing it. Most people left.

September twenty-seventh. ‘I fetched the Marogers with Daphne. Daphne is here to attend school, he is here for the video interview with Krishnaji and Jean-Louis Dewez. Jean-Michel is in the West Wing. Krishnaji’s voice is still hoarse, so he spent the day in bed. I worked most of the day at the desk. New students arrived, thirty-seven of them. Krishnaji placed his hands on Jean-Michel to cure his eye and ear trouble.’ Krishnaji did a videotaped one-hour discussion with Jean-Louis Dewez. Jean-Louis put his questions in French, and Krishnaji answered mostly in English. Jean-Michel will later add the French translation for showing the videotape in France. In the afternoon, they did a second hour videotaped interview on education. All this was done in color. Krishnaji insisted on a walk, so he, Dorothy, and I went across the fields to the west on a still, perfect afternoon. There was no wind. It was so beautiful. Krishnaji put his hands on Jean-Michel.’ That was to try to help his eyes.

October ninth. ‘Krishnaji talked to the staff from noon until 2 p.m. Some of them are very resistant to David Sharma and his plans to build at Brockwood.
We had the usual walk, and then there was a meeting between Krishnaji, David Sharma, Dorothy, and me.’

This post was last updated by John Raica Fri, 14 Jul 2017.

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Sat, 15 Jul 2017 #343
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

(FAST FORWARD through the 80's )

In Mary’s view, Rajagopal and Rosalind didn’t care if Krishnaji lived or died, which she thought even though she still had remnants of her early remembrances that Rosalind was pleasant. Krishnaji told a new anecdote I had not heard before, that Rosalind knocked him down the concrete steps of the patio at Arya Vihara and he was knocked out.

Mary Links reiterating what she had said about Radha Burnier, strongly putting her questioning of Radha Burnier being a trustee of KFI when she is head of the Esoteric Section. Krishnaji is reluctant to have to do something about this, but sees the implications, especially now that KFI is using Damodar Gardens for The School. He likes Radha and she is an excellent KFI member, but the Theosophical Society connection is wrong, and he feels it is.’ But because she’s so nice and we like her, and she tries to do everything properly, nothing has been done about it.

Theo, had received the text of a book of Krishnaji’s poems that Rajagopal is bringing out.’ He had the right to republish anything that had been published before -’68 material. He could republish, as it was already done, but—and this was in the judge’s decision—it had to be done as originally published. ‘Erna received the text of Krishnaji’s poems that Rajagopal was bringing out, and was disturbed to find that The Path, from 1924, was included, in spite of the settlement statement that Krishnaji didn’t want anything pre-1926 included in future editions. ‘Krishnaji dictated a letter to Rajagopal refusing permission to make any changes. He and I both talked to Mary Lutyens about this, and also about her letter to Krishnaji about Radha Burnier’s trusteeship in KFI.

Krishnaji this morning said the resting he has done these three weeks has been remarkable.’ He had taken three weeks to rest, more or less. “Something extraordinary has been happening. I can’t describe it.”

Mary Links suggested that The Path might be acceptable to Krishnaji as it was written in Ojai after his experiences began there. I got a copy from an archive, showed it to Krishnaji. He thumbed a few pages and listened to my reading a letter in the biography that he had written to Lady Emily while he was writing the piece in 1922, which was later published as The Path. Later I read it all. A strange outpouring of that strange mind; very beautiful. Krishnaji agreed, and so did I, that it could be republished providing Rajagopal makes no changes’—underlined—‘in any text.
October thirtieth.1979 ‘In the morning, Krishnaji had make a note for when he returns. “When attention is profound it includes everything.” ‘At breakfast, he said, “Give fifteen minutes a day to sitting quietly, finding out what is attention. Go into it deeply.” He gave me a letter last night to read on the plane. His flight to Delhi on British Air was to go at 13:45, and Dorothy would bring him for his British Air flight to Delhi. He is due there nonstop at 3:30 tomorrow morning, to be met by Pama and Pupul.

‘My TWA flight left forty-five minutes late. Once airborne, I could read Krishnaji’s letter as he instructed me. It was short and said everything I care about: “Partir, c’est mourir un peu.” “Be exceedingly watchful. Be very attentive driving. This attention must flow from the inner to the outer.” Stia bene e sempre sia benedetta.”’

December twenty-third, he mentions this about his talk the previous day. “Pupul & the others said that what one said was totally new and Pupul bent down to touch the feet; after the talk etc. people were touching with their forehead to the ground where one had walked! … It’s too long & too complicated to report what the talk was about; it passed out of one, words cascading.”  

February fifth 1980 saw him debark through a window and there was Asit with him. He looked well and less tired than he should’ve been. Radha Burnier has resigned from the KFI to run for president of the Theosophical Society after John Coats’ death. Krishnaji covered all the Indian news. Finally, he went back to bed, and had supper on a tray while I gave Asit dinner in the kitchen. After Asit had gone, Krishnaji told me of the something new that is going on inside him. It began in Rishi Valley. He said, “It could be the "committee"—or some other. What "other"? I asked. He didn’t know. “We will write about it”…“I am further away”…“Pupul and Nandini noticed it, and said, ‘We have lost you, you are not with us.’”
He told me again that he wrote to me everyday or I “would fade from my consciousness.”’ He said the reason he wrote so often was so he wouldn’t forget me.
The seventh. ‘Krishnaji talked at length to me till almost 8 a.m. There’s something that began in Rishi Valley that has given him tremendous energy. The brain is charged. “I have changed my idea of how long I will live, maybe much longer.”

February eleventh. ‘Asit at breakfast discussed photography and checked all my equipment. He has taken constant photographs of Krishnaji here and in India.

The twelfth. ‘Krishnaji slept nine-and-a-half hours in the night, stayed in bed all day and slept on and off another three hours. “This is luxury,” he said.’ ‘He dreamt I said, “I must write a book!’”
‘He read some poetry. He asked for the Oxford book of poetry, for some Keats, Shakespeare, Swinburne, Hopkins, O’Shaughnessy. When I said that Hopkins was a Jesuit, Krishnaji said, “Oh, that rather spoils it.”’

February thirteenth. ‘Krishnaji wished me a happy birthday.’ ‘He said, “We’ve had a marvelous relationship. It must be that way always. I am speaking as the world teacher. You are blessed.

We sat by the fire and he put to us the question of his not being “used” enough here. “Am I just going to talk to the teachers who understand nothing for two months? It is a waste.”’ ‘He needs the challenge of someone who can push him deeper, someone who has gone into all this. How can we find such a person? He dismisses scientists as not really interested, artists, musicians, journalists, and religiously oriented people as already committed to their own beliefs, etcetera. The 'ordinary' individual is hard to find. Where are the serious, intelligent ones who go in his direction? “Maybe there aren’t any. Maybe this is the way it is supposed to be. I’m not frustrated, but it is a waste.” There is a danger, too, that he will get further and further away. He feels this. It is a 'lack' that confronts him everywhere.

This morning he had not gotten up by 6:30, as usual, so I went into his room. He had the covers up to his chin, lying, as he does so neatly, in a straight line, but he was not asleep. He spoke but was vague, disinclined to get up, and when he did, he said he was “elsewhere” and “not quite here.” I asked nothing but felt his “absence,” which seemed to last until he later came into the kitchen where his breakfast tray was ready. He did no exercise.’ Krishnaji dictated a description, which Mary L. had requested, of the change in Krishnaji’s meditation which began in Rishi Valley in November and continues here. He said it is completely different and new, a movement that reached the source of all energy, a sense of the absolute; the whole universe is in it. There is the perception that there is nothing beyond this. “This is ultimate, the beginning and the ending, the absolute. There is only a sense of incredible vastness and immense beauty.”’ When asked how one knows it is the source of all energy, he said, “One can only reply, with complete humility, that it is so.”’

he had me read what he had dictated in the morning on meditation. He said that during the war years here in Ojai, he had no meditation. “Only when away from those two.”’ (‘Rosalind and Rajagopal.)’
And today he said, “The body feels very young. Meditation has done something to the brain. I am not tired. On the contrary. Something has happened to the body, something I cannot put my finger on has happened to the whole mind. It is not what it was. What it was, was alright, but it is something entirely different. You have no idea how I worked in India at Rishi valley—the teachers and school, but I wasn’t tired. I was like a flame.”’

I spoke to David Bohm in London about discussions he wants to have with Krishnaji when he is here. He and Saral arrive on the twenty-seventh.’
We walked in the afternoon. And he asked me why haven’t I “this thing.” ‘“What’s the point if someone so close to me doesn’t have it?” He then asked me if I thought like a woman - he meant did I think beyond the reactions and the nature of a woman. “Is that you? Is it that you do not see instantly the whole of a problem? I want to change you.”


March thirteenth. ‘Max is working in Malibu. Sidney Field came to lunch at Arya Vihara He said he hadn’t ever spoken to Rajagopal since a telephone conversation in which Rajagopal was complaining of his health and having a hernia. Sidney had told him, “Well, that’s what comes with lifting other people’s property.”’

After lunch, Krishnaji and I drove to the Biltmore Hotel in Montecito, where Krishnaji had a good haircut. Krishnaji drove along the ocean, looking pleased and very young. He hoped for a train, and one came by, keeping us company as far as Ventura.’ He told me that years ago, when he used to drive by himself, when a train would be parallel with the road, he would drive fast. And the train engineer would shake his finger out the window at him, and he would stop racing.’

March twenty-eighth. Saral and Dave Bohm arrived from London for about three weeks. The Siddoos leave.’
‘Krishnaji’s “day off.” No exercise. Krishnaji says Theo told him that he and Erna eat sandwiches and salad at night. He thinks we should, too. The yam we had last night disagreed with him and it came up. But only it. “My stomach is very clever. It rejects only what it doesn’t like.” He is interested in going over the archive photos collected by Mendizza in Adyar and in identifying people in them, which I write down. The Bohms were at lunch. The appalling state of the world was talked of at table, seemingly insoluble problems and the drift toward war or starvation. “The world is mad,” said Krishnaji to me as we walked back through the orange trees on this beautiful day. Later, he wanted to finish the photographs, and then we walked with Erna and Theo through Topa Topa. The valley is beginning to fill with the scent of orange blossoms.

April first, The first dialogue with David Bohm Eventually he described his own meditation, which is not deliberate. He wakes up meditating. In Rishi Valley it happened that he touched what he described as the source of energy. Toward the end, he spoke of a destruction (of all self-conscious thought, etcetera, as we know it) and that is a beginning. “Is it creation?”

April second, At 4 p.m., Krishnaji had a one-and-a-half-hour taped discussion again with David, a continuation from yesterday on: Did man take a wrong turn? And what lies beyond emptiness and silence? “There is something.” It was an extraordinary conversation, as if Krishnaji was seeing beyond human perception. It is too difficult to report here. He ended it (off record) with his funny story about the man who died and met Saint Peter, was accepted in heaven but given a chance to visit “down there,” which he did and was received by marvelous girls, etcetera; so he chose that, went down again, but was beaten up on his arrival. Why?, he asks, when that wasn’t his first experience. “Oh, you were a tourist then.”

The sixth, Easter Sunday. ‘It was a beautiful day. Krishnaji watched TV all morning (zapping) from the Pope in Rome to the Reverend Schuller, whom he watches with incredulous amazement that people are so taken in.’ Reverend Schuller was a fascination for Krishnaji because he was so awful; he was one of those television evangelist preachers. He built the Crystal Cathedral and it went on and on. Krishnaji would stare at this in fascinated horror.

on the eighth Krishnaji held a taped discussion with Bohm and Fritz.

April tenth. ‘Malibu is cut off by a slide, breaking the telephone lines. It was a warm day. I worked at the desk all morning. I spoke to Lorna at the Vineyard. Louisa has had a telephone call from Mike at the embassy in Tehran. On TV, militants threatened to kill hostages if [there was] any military action, including by Iraq, which they consider to be a U.S. puppet. There was much discussion about this at lunch. Krishnaji jokingly but vehemently said he would blockade the Gulf unless the hostages were freed or if they are harmed. He would seize the Iranian oil fields and warn Russia not to interfere.’ ‘“Then, I’d say ‘I’m a pacifist.’”’ Laughing, he said this. ‘At 4 p.m., there was a discussion with Krishnaji and David Bohm, with Fritz and David Moody joining in. What will make man change? was the topic.’

April eleventh. ‘We talked in the car about this first attempt to start an adult center in Ojai. Krishnaji feels acutely that it is wrong, is not developing, mustn’t go on. He is intense and disturbed about it. We got back in time for lunch. “Why are we both tired?” he asked. After lunch, he talked with Erna and Theo and me until 4:30 about the Fritz and Mark problems. David Bohm came in for part of the Fritz discussion. It seems that Fritz has thought of doing something else; teaching philosophy somewhere. Bohm will sound out Fritz on this. It would detach Fritz from our work and undo what has turned out wrongly. That left us with the Mark problem and the question of why some staff are leaving. Is it Mark’s fault? Krishnaji feels strongly that Asha is part of Mark’s apparent weakness and is an irritant in the school. We have to get at the reasons some staff are leaving. Is it something in Mark?

Krishnaji said again, “I am wasted here.” And later to me, “Why am I doing all this?” I asked why he gets involved in all these schools everywhere. Is that his job? He said, “The Committee may say that’s enough.”’

Erna had talked to Darcey and others’—Darcey was a teacher in the school—‘on why they were leaving the school. One fact is Asha’s meddling. This confirmed Krishnaji’s opinion, and that she has no business in the school, etcetera. He was very drastic, but it  ended up that I am to talk to Mark and tell him Asha must not be part of the school. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji held another discussion particularly with David Bohm, but Fritz and David Moody were in it partially. Krishnaji had chided me for not joining in, so I did, minimally. It began with Dave asking about “the ground” and what is the relationship of a person to that. Krishnaji led one through this subject brilliantly. The 'total destroyer', a sword cutting away the delusions of the mind. He looked tired at the end. He expended much energy people he feels are destructive to the work, and he was scathing.’
I saw Mark alone and told him we felt Asha must not interfere in school matters. He listened with remarkable openness. Krishnaji got up for lunch. In the afternoon he had another discussion with David Bohm. His voice was a little thick, but his energy had returned.’

‘After breakfast, Krishnaji said that he wanted a serious talk with me. We sat in the living room. He said he’s wasting his time here with school problems and talking to teachers who don’t understand. He’s been here three months, and what? He has woken up with intimations three times that he is being wasted. Ojai, he feels, is a sacred place, and he likes this house, but it is a waste for him. He could write, but he should be having living discussions; someone to talk to who can help him to go deeper. Bohm helps, but he can talk to him at Brockwood. More is happening there. If he doesn’t do something, something else will take a hand, something will make it impossible for him to be here. He wants to prevent that. What to do? He said sometimes it is as if something very far were calling him. “Something beyond the stars.” He said I am the closest person to him, but that doesn’t make a difference. then he picked it up and said, “I have been sent.” He held another discussion with David Bohm from 4 p.m. to 5:40 p.m. It was an absorbing one.

April twentieth, 1980. ‘Krishnaji saw Fritz and Margrete in a rigorous discussion of their role in all that is wrong at Arya Vihara and the Oak Grove School.
someone did something nasty, and I said, “But Krishnaji, didn’t you know that he was that sort of person?” And he replied, “I don’t look into people unless they ask me to.”

I said that to him: “How could you stand these two people? Now that you tell me what they were like?” And as he said more than once in latter years, “The only thing I regret in my life is having anything to do with those R&R two.” He used to tell me sometimes that in his early days, when he was traveling around and he’d have to stay in someone’s house that was dirty and where the food was awful, that he never complained and he never rejected and he never…So he would put up with things.

At 4 p.m., Krishnaji met with teachers and trustees and explained Mark now being simply the administrative director of the school, David now being the educational director, and Erna handling  all the school finances.’
We saw Fritz and Margrete; they have decided to move north to around San Francisco where Fritz will perhaps be part of the academic circle. This solves the problem. Krishnaji called in Erna and me to hear their decision. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji had his second meeting with teachers about the new arrangements with David Moody and his job.

May sixth. ‘At 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji held a public question-and-answer meeting in the Oak Grove instead of a discussion. He read and then answered three questions chosen by him from those that had been handed in. The Bohms and David Shainberg arrived from Vancouver to spend the weekend.’
May tenth. ‘There had been rain in the night, but it was clear by the time of Krishnaji’s third Ojai talk in the Oak Grove at 11:30 a.m. We lunched at Arya Vihara. David Shainberg came in as we were finishing and he and Krishnaji talked.

Then, on impulse, we went for a drive up Maricopa Highway. Krishnaji was delighted, and declared it “a place to worship” and “house of the gods.”

May twentieth. Krishnaji telephoned Rajagopal to say that he had heard about the Huntington Library getting the archives, and it must not be done. Rajagopal said he understood’—which, of course, meant nothing.

May twenty-secondn Krishnaji and I left Ojai in the school van with Mark driving, and went on to the LA airport. Asit met us there. He was coming from San Francisco, and he, Krishnaji, and I took TWA flight at 5:30 p.m. for London.’ ‘We had little sleep on the plane’ and arrived at Heathrow at 11:40 a.m. Dorothy and Ingrid met us, and we got to Brockwood a little after 2 p.m. Everyone was out to meet Krishnaji. We had lunch in the West Wing kitchen and slept most of the afternoon.

June first. ‘Krishnaji talked to the school at noon, and then at 4 p.m. did a videotaped discussion with David Bohm and Narayan. We had only a short walk. In the morning, I had a talk with Narayan, and then another with Marie-Bertrande before she, Jean-Michel, and Diane left after supper for the ferry to France.

George Digby argued with Krishnaji about some of his statements. Example: God is total disorder.’ George couldn’t stomach that.
June twenty-third. ‘There were rain showers most of the day. On the early news on the radio I heard that Sanjay Gandhi had been killed in a small plane crash. I went and told Krishnaji, who was doing pranayama with Dr. Parchure. Krishnaji nodded gravely and went on with his breathing exercise. I also told Sunanda, who was very shocked,  and Pama. Later, Krishnaji sent a cable to Pupul saying, “Please give Mrs. Gandhi my profound sympathy and affection.”

The twenty-sixth. ‘Krishnaji slept “so-so.” He said, “It’s an odd thing, I meditate more easily here than at Brockwood. I woke up around 4 a.m., meditated, read, meditated. There, I think it’s because there are too many boys and girls with their problems.”’ ‘I said, “But this is a hotel full of people.”’

‘Krishnaji replied, “Yes, but it’s impersonal. I cleansed the room and it’s alright. I watched the trains go by. I should have cleaned your room.”’xertions, it was a very pleasant dinner. Krishnaji says I must not worry when traveling with him. All will turn out all right.

There was a note waiting for us when we got to the Hôtel des Bergues from Gisèle Balleys that Mr. Rusu died yesterday’ At supper, Krishnaji spoke of the Rosalind and Rajagopal days from 1935 to 1947: the quarrels, Rajagopal’s angers, both trying to humiliate him in public, ordering him around. She knocked Krishnaji down the stairs at Arya Vihara and luckily Weideman caught him’—that was a man that used to live around here. ‘“They must’ve thought I was an idiot to put up with it,” he said. “If my mind worked then as it does now, I would have said, ‘Enough. Go, both of you.’ I could have then. I still had the power. Amma”’—that’s Mrs. Besant—‘“had told me, ‘You are the ultimate head.’ It was before Rajagopal got control.”’
‘I asked, “Why didn’t you?”’
‘Krishnaji replied, “I just didn’t care. That was the way it was. I accepted it. Once Rajagopal had been angry, [and] I told him he was a bully and he piped down. The next day it was the same thing all over again.”’

July third. ‘I ran errands in the morning, then brought Sunanda and Pama up to lunch. It was Vanda’s first meeting with the Patwardhans, and Krishnaji came in before and after, but lunched alone on a tray in his room. Krishnaji had put his hands on Sunanda and will do so every day to help her arthritis. Vanda immediately set to stretching her knee where the pain is located.’ You were in terrible peril of Vanda attacking you with her yoga. I finally cured her of it by just relentless resistance. At least for me. ‘In the evening, Radha Burnier arrived at the Patwardhans’ chalet where she is staying, and telephoned Krishnaji. He came into the living room to take the call and, of course, it was to tell him that she had been elected president of the Theosophical Society. She won with 9,300 votes to Rukmini’s 5,400. Krishnaji said, “Good,”’ ‘and when he hung up, he said, “Now I can walk through the TS instead of on that filthy road.”’ He would never walk through it because they’d thrown him out or wouldn’t let him live there
He is pleased. He also had a gleam in his eye denoting something. We will see.’

Radha, Pama, and Sunanda came to lunch. Krishnaji congratulated the president with much teasing and laughter. Radha said she won clearly in India and Europe, but only by four votes in the U.S.’ He asked her what she wanted to do with the TS and then answered for her: to call in the heads of it and end divisions, beliefs, etc. and rapidly the subject turned to what it is that has made mankind get caught in conflict, knowledge, etc. There was the usual references to what tradition has said, etc. and, as always, they were found wanting. Krishnaji tentatively brought up man’s struggle for survival in which knowledge was necessary and this invaded the psychological field. ’Krishnaji inquired what sort of persons Radha thought the early TS people were. Olcott was a good organizer, she said. I asked if Blavatsky had something original or only put together various beliefs. Radha said she thought, “She had something.”

July eleventh, 1980, we’re in Gstaad for the Saanen talks.

‘At 4:30, both Siddoo sisters came for two hours. They asked Krishnaji if he had lost interest in their school. He said they must keep in closer contact with him. Sarjit tried to get him to make a tour of Canada. I reminded her that here, at Tannegg, it was agreed when they first spoke of their school that they undertook it knowing that Krishnaji couldn’t be there. Krishnaji said that he wants to live another ten or fifteen years, and if he travels more than now, that will not be possible. So no question of speaking across Canada. Sarjit, full of “yes, buts,” pointed to his going to Ceylon this year. Krishnaji said he last spoke there in the early ’50s. They have asked him back ever since, and so this year he will go. Sarjit then denied she had said Krishnaji should speak across Canada—only in Vancouver. Krishnaji left it open, but with no commitment.

July twentieth. ‘It was clear early, then the clouds regrouped. Krishnaji gave his seventh Saanen talk to a packed tent on meditation, but it was an odd talk; a bit disconnected, pausing into three anecdotes and more, saying that what must be done before meditation can be done. “Don’t meditate,” he said referring to what most people do. Only when the mind has seen all its habits, shortcomings, etcetera, and is free, can meditation really begin. Rain began as he came out of the tent.
The twenty-third. ‘It was a beautiful day. Krishnaji held the first of five question-and-answer sessions. He’s taking only written questions, and he answered three today, most marvelously. At lunch, Krishnaji asked Dr. Parchure and me what is the right thing to do with those, as in India, who make sacrifices, give up jobs, etcetera and come to him. The conversation lasted three hours. Krishnaji rejected all practical considerations and said I was not going with his thought.

‘There was a letter from Sunanda saying that Radha gave a press conference in Madras on her becoming president and said the future of the Theosophical Society is to follow the teachings of Krishnamurti.’

September eighth. ‘The Gathering is over, so the house is beginning to empty. I did desk work, laundry, etcetera. Dorothy, who was stung in the mouth by a wasp, didn’t come on the walk, so Krishnaji and I, with the dog Whisper, went across the fields. It was a wonder of beauty.’

The fourteenth. ‘Krishnaji and David Bohm held a videotaped conversation with committee members; the Brockwood staff were present, but not participating. In the afternoon, there was a tea for everyone. Krishnaji came in for a little while and then we walked.’
September sixteenth. ‘

Krishnaji and David held another videotaped conversation with others listening. In the afternoon, Krishnaji talked to the staff only about a kindergarten for Harsh’s and Claire’s son Anand. Krishnaji is disgusted at the staff’s reactions.’ [Both chuckle.]
The seventeenth. ‘Krishnaji spent all day in bed resting, with lunch on a tray.

The next day, ‘Krishnaji held another videotaped conversation with Dave Bohm. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji talked to the staff. He said he would talk to them every day, or as often as they wished. There was a discussion on “thinking together.

The twenty-first. ‘Krishnaji talked to staff in the morning, and was deeply exasperated. He talked to me about it after lunch.
After supper, Dr. Parchure and I talked at length in the kitchen. Krishnaji came in and asked what we were discussing. Out of this came a long talk between the three of us on Krishnaji’s feelings about Brockwood, a need for people he can explore with, etcetera.

October first. ‘Thames Television came to do an interview with Krishnaji. They also interviewed some students and two staff in the morning, and Krishnaji answering questions in the afternoon. The interviewer’s name was Elaine Grand.’
The second. ‘At 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji talked to staff. Dorothy was not well before lunch, and went to lie down. I went to talk to her afterward at Krishnaji’s suggestion. She is deeply discouraged and upset, feeling that she has lost Krishnaji’s confidence.

Krishnaji and I went together to talk to her, and out of it came a largely new direction for Brockwood: no younger students; more older ones; and the inclusion of any-age serious people. The primary purpose of Brockwood must be the exploration of Krishnaji’s teachings. Dorothy changed visibly and came on the walk. Krishnaji is enthused, and me too. He wanted to talk to the staff immediately, but will wait until Saturday.’

October third: ‘I met Mary Links at the Petersfield train station. She came to talk to Krishnaji about the second volume of the biography, and to spend the night. Krishnaji told her of the new plan for Brockwood. We talked all afternoon, and with Dorothy we walked. I called Mary Cadogan about the new plan, and she is enthused, too.’

The seventh. ‘It is cold and the wind is continuing. Krishnaji rested in the morning, but dictated letters. In the afternoon, he did another videotaped discussion for France with Jean-Louis Dewez, and also included Jean-Michel and Daphne Maroger, Stephen Smith’—Brockwood’s French teacher—’and Didier Bertrande’—a French student.

‘Krishnaji got up for lunch with the school. There was a conversation at the table after reading a newspaper article on the effects of the A-bomb. “Dreadful,” said Krishnaji. The Bohms, Dorothy, and me were half-joking as there seems to be no adequate serious response to such horror. Krishnaji said if he discussed it with a head of government, they would say, “But our neighbor has it.” He would say, “Get together and agree.” October thirty-first. ‘Krishnaji woke me at 5 a.m. I made our nettle tea, but neither of us felt like food. The bags were all ready by 7 a.m., and the school had formed a circle in the West Wing hall to see Krishnaji off. We left shortly after 7 a.m. with Dorothy; Ingrid and Doris took our seven bags in another car. Krishnaji said, “I got up at 4:30 a.m. and I’m still not ready.”’

‘ Our Qantas flight left at 12:30 p.m. instead of 9:30 a.m. We had the forward seats and lots of room with the new “sleeper” seats that pull out. Krishnaji said he woke up at 12:30 a.m., couldn’t sleep, got up, looked around, and picked up flies (we’ve had swarms), got back in bed, and was awake till 2:30 a.m. He had the most extraordinary feelings of “great clarity and don’t measure with words.” I write this page in the aircraft in Bahrain, where we have had to land. The flight was supposed to be nonstop, but because the flying space is congested due to the Iran-Iraq war, extra fuel was used so we had to stop in Bahrain for fuel. We are due in Bombay at 11:30 p.m., but will be hours late.’

November first. ‘We landed at 4:30 a.m. Asit and Pama had a car right up to the plane. A government man was there to expedite us through the formalities, but only two of our seven bags appeared. There is a strike of luggage handlers, so the other five bags, with everything we need, were not unloaded and went on to Perth, Australia.’ ‘Asit tried to take Krishnaji to the nearby Centaur Hotel where we had rooms, but Krishnaji insisted on returning to the airport until I was through with the luggage formalities. It took two hours to find someone, fill out forms, etc. We all finally went to the hotel. The one bag of mine had an old pajama suit so I showered and put that on.’ ‘Krishnaji’s only bag had a Water Pik, cheese, and herbs in it,’n‘but Pama had brought Krishnaji’s Indian clothes. Nandini came at 7 a.m., bringing breakfast. Balasundaram turned up unexpectedly. All had breakfast and sat about until 9:30 a.m., when the Indian Airline left at 10:30 a.m. for Madras.
at Vasanta Vihar. I have my old room, but enter it from the back, as the sitting room is now a separate room and has a bath addition.

Krishnaji and I had been up for thirty-one hours straight by the end of lunch. But Krishnaji in his Indian clothes, looked young and radiant.’ ‘He said to me on the plane that when he closes his eyes, the thing he spoke of yesterday, the clarity, is still going on. I bathed then slept in the afternoon. It is hot and moist. The crows and the koels were noisy.’
Sunday the second. ‘Everyone breakfasted in the dining room at 8 a.m. Krishnaji put the question: Has the religious mind of India, which is centered in doubt, as different from that of the West, which is founded on faith, been influenced and taken over by the West and hence is disappearing? He strongly said that if it is dead, then something new can be born. In death there is beginning. The evidence of decay is the rising preoccupation with astrology, magic, gurus, etcetera. This went on for two-and-a-half hours.

Radha Burnier and her aunt, Dr. Sivakamu, came in the afternoon, and Krishnaji asked when he should make his walk through the Theosophical Society grounds. Radha said whenever he chose. Krishnaji said tomorrow afternoon and jokingly crossed himself several times.’ ‘It was almost put off, but Pupul wants to be present and she goes back to Delhi after Colombo. Asit rang that it has been found in Perth, but it may not get back to Bombay till Tuesday, Krishnaji has said all along they would be returned. He had sent an angel.’ ‘The angel must’ve worked closely with Asit.’ ‘Pupul talked with Sunanda, Nandini, Ahalya, and me about the book she is doing on Krishnaji in India, and told of an incident when Shiva Rao was declared dying by doctors some years ago while Krishnaji was staying in their house. Pupul and others were concerned that Krishnaji should be there, but Krishnaji told her, ‘Death will not come while I am in the house.’

‘Krishnaji and Radha strode off at a good clip for this walk through the grounds that he had said he would make if she became president. Dick Clarke, in his nineties, peddled his bicycle behind them with the studious walkers following. Radha pointed out various places as we went along. At her house by the beach, Achyut, Sunanda, Pupul, and Nandini, who went by car, all had fruit juice, and Krishnaji, Radha, Pama, and I walked back to the gate going along the river. Krishnaji told me he recognized nothing, but thought he might recognize the river path where he used to walk as a boy. But when he came to it, he didn’t. We stopped by the place where Mrs. Besant was cremated, and then came to what used to be a water tank and has since been embellished. This he remembered a little bit. As we walked by the elephant heads on the main building, he remembered they impressed him when he was very young.’
‘Looking up at his old rooms he said he didn’t really remember them. We went into the main hall and he looked about without saying anything. We walked on to the gate. By now it was dark and we waited on a bench for the car to come and take us back to Vasanta Vihar. Krishnaji told me he remembers virtually nothing of it. “It is a dead place,” he said.

This post was last updated by John Raica Sat, 15 Jul 2017.

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Sun, 16 Jul 2017 #344
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

( continuing with MZ's 'K Story Time' )

on November fourth, 1980, we’re in Madras where, at 9:30 a.m., Krishnaji and the rest who were going to Colombo were waiting to board. Dr. Parchure, who forgot he had currency in his luggage, was stopped, fined, and couldn’t go on his flight, He will follow with Achyut, Ahalya, and Rajesh on Friday. There was a mob scene getting off. 

‘We, at last, got onto the plane, and in not much over an hour we landed in Colombo. Krishnaji is again a guest of the state. Officials met him; and a minister, Dr. Adikaram, and he were driven into Colombo.’ Dr. Adikaram was a nice old man who was the head of the Krishnamurti Center in Sri Lanka, chancellor of the university, and had known Krishnaji forever. ‘Pupul, Nandini, and I were in a second car. We are staying at Acland House, a government guest house built by the British. It has large rooms with a dining room sixty feet long’ ‘Parameshwaram oversees the food cooking and three young Navy bearers serve. Krishnaji has the largest and best bedroom with hot water and air conditioning. Pupul and Nandini share another room, but have only cold water. I have a small but adequate room, but it has an air conditioner. The weather is very hot and very damp (just as I feared). We are very near the equator, because it is a government naval place, there are difficulties about others visiting, like the Patwardhans, Asit, and Devi. Devi was told that her mother, Nandini, would have to come downstairs to see her; she can’t go up to Nandini’s room. Dr. Adikaram is caught in the middle.’ I can still see our arrival, because here I was not properly dressed, and of course all the other women were in beautiful saris.
And the most elegant one of all was Krishnaji in his Indian clothes, and there I was in the slacks that I’d left Brockwood in. But I was flanked by beautifully dressed Pupul and Nandini into this government limousine Nandini had a little bit of trouble leaving India. She had absolutely beautiful, heavy gold bracelets and because they were so large, it was suggested that she was getting gold out of India. And that was a problem in Madras. She said, “These have been on my arm for the last…”—I forget how many years, she’d worn them all her life—she never took them off. And in the end, they looked the other way.

‘Some bureaucratic knot has occurred as there are many rooms empty here but only four of us can stay. There is a government car for Krishnaji’s use, and we drove to a park and walked. I am at last in proper clothes and have the luxury of my toilet article box. Today is Election Day in the U.S.’ . ‘Some TV technician said that Reagan has won by a landslide. All our people were at lunch, and there was a long conversation. Krishnaji later said to me, “You can’t have this sort of conversation except in India.” I went with Pupul and Nandini, the Patwardhans, Devi, and a Ceylonese lady for a little shopping. Kleenex was the prize’ ‘I walked with Krishnaji and Dr. Adikaram in the park. It was very hot. Krishnaji picks up a trail of admirers who march behind him, which he dislikes’ ‘The heat bothered me. A cold bath seemed like a life-saving thing. Asit and Devi sat with Krishnaji and me at dinner, and later went out.’

At 9:30 a.m., Krishnaji went with Dr. Adikaram to see Prime Minister R. Premadasa. In India, the prime minister calls on Krishnaji, a religious leader being second to no one.’ But we were in another country.
Krishnaji doesn’t consider this, but he felt somewhat uncomfortable there. Meanwhile, Devi, Nandini, Sunanda, Pama, and I went with a friend of Dr. Adikaram to see the Kalema Buddhist temple. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji was interviewed by Minister of State de Alwis for television.’

Asit took Krishnaji and me for a walk by the sea. Krishnaji liked it better than the park, which he thinks irritated his eyes. The sea air is better. The air seemed un-refreshing to me; sticky and heavy.’

November seventh. ‘At 11 a.m., Krishnaji held a press conference with about thirty journalists. Asit took photographs and then left for Bombay after talking briefly to me about Narayan in lieu of being able to talk to Krishnaji. After the press conference, Krishnaji talked individually for forty-five minutes to a Dutch journalist, Paul Marynis of NRC Handelsblad. Dr. Parchure, Ahalya, Achyut, and Rajesh arrived from Madras, and are all staying at the Ramakrishna Mission. I walked with Krishnaji by the sea. He told me that he’d had a good meditation in the night.’

The eighth. ‘Dr. Parchure came at 6:30 a.m. and resumed exercises, massage, etcetera for Krishnaji. After breakfast, he also massaged my still swollen foot. I went shopping with Devi, Ahalya, Pupul, and Nandini. Newspapers all carry articles on Krishnaji’s press conference. At 5:30 p.m., Krishnaji gave his first Colombo talk in John De Silva Memorial Hall. The audience was over 3,000 and overflowed the hall. They appeared stunned by the presence of Krishnaji. He came in slowly, resplendent, wearing a dhoti as he does for talks. Quietly climbed onto a settee, sitting cross-legged, putting his watch beside him. He made the namaste hands together greeting to the audience, which had risen in greeting to him. And then he sat for a while in silence. Majestic. Beautiful. Dr. Adikaram said the audience felt overwhelmed as if in the presence of the Buddha. He began to speak very simply, as to an audience that knew nothing of his teaching. There were several interruptions. A man near where Pupul, Nandini, and I sat had an epileptic fit, and Dr. Parchure, also nearby, saw to him. Two men in the audience interrupted to ask what was being done for the sick, and a Buddhist monk wanted to say something. Krishnaji quietly suggested he come to the public discussion on Wednesday, and then continued his talk. Later, he said the lack of light in the hall made him unable to see the audience, except a man in the very front row who kept looking around, not listening. “I was in despair,” said Krishnaji at the dinner table.’ He liked to connect with the audience visually.

November ninth. ‘Krishnaji was disturbed about Rishi Valley and what he is told of Narayan’s shortcomings. Pupul irritated him at the lunch table discussing this. Her aggressive voice and manner and wagging finger.’ She was a great finger-wagger.

She repeats things over and over, and Krishnaji wants to find a solution. He came in later to talk to me about it. I suggested a less heavy-handed approach to Narayan to give him help and not tear him apart. At 5:30 p.m., Krishnaji gave a second Colombo talk on “reading the book which is you.”

November tenth. ‘At 11 a.m., Krishnaji held a discussion with about sixty invited people. And at 4 p.m., another one with thirty Buddhist monks. The latter were dull and immature in Krishnaji’s view, though he was very patient with them. Afterward, he and I walked by the sea and were able to get TIME andNewsweek at Galle Face Hotel.’

The eleventh. ‘Pupul, Ahalya, and I left at 7:30 a.m. in an air-conditioned car that I hired’ ‘and drove to Kandy about three hours away. We visited the Peradeniya Gardens. There were marvelous orchids and trees from all over Asia, one of which was a 100-year-old great, spreading tent of a tree like a geodesic dome as big as an aircraft hangar in the middle of a field. I wanted to go under and inside it and found, to my  amazement, it was a Ficus benjamina, the houseplant of California.’
S: Right, just a little houseplant [laughs].

Driving there and back I saw five elephants. One was being scrubbed by four men in a muddy river and two were obviously walking home after their bath.’ The air conditioning made the trip possible for me. For the first time here, I was cool most of the day. At 5 p.m., Krishnaji went with Dr. Adikaram to meet the president of Sri Lanka, a Mr. Jayawardene, who had invited him. He spent one-and-a-half hours talking to him. In the evening, Pupul, Nandini, and I watched the television broadcast of the interview between Krishnaji and the minister of state done here last Thursday.’

November twelfth. ‘After breakfast, Krishnaji talked to KFI people including Narayan, Rajesh, and a new doctor couple who are at Rajghat about the responsibility to people like them who have come for the teachings and not to work at schools, etcetera.
At 4 p.m., Krishnaji held a public discussion at the university of which Dr. Adikaram is the chancellor. The hall was jammed with over 4,000 people. Krishnaji took spoken questions from an audience for one-and-a-half hours. Then, he and I left and drove to Galle Face Hotel, where we walked in the dark and rain along the sea walls.

In the evening, Pupul asked Krishnaji how much his early life had influenced him. He replied, “Scarcely at all,” and went on to say that most change in him came about after he had left Rajagopal. Pupul talked about the book she is writing on Krishnaji in India. Krishnaji suggested she share chronology dates with Mary Links. At first, Pupul was reluctant, but later, when she realized she needed Western dates, she said they could exchange.’ ‘She said she was not going to answer so many of Mary’s questions about Rajagopal having taken all the contents, including silver, at Vasanta Vihar. I was able to get her to look up whether Rajagopal was in India in November 1957 when, if I remember correctly, Krishnaji was bullied into signing over his copyright to KWINC. Mary Lutyens has no record of Rajagopal in India then. But Pupul says he was, and left Delhi in January 1958. He has not been back since.’

November thirteenth. ‘Krishnaji was to rest, but talked much of the morning. I went shopping with Nandini, Devi, and Ahalya. It was very hot. Pupul left for Delhi. Nandini, Mr. Ranganathan, and I walked with Krishnaji by the sea.’
The fourteenth. ‘I had a long talk with Dr. Parchure about Krishnaji’s disregard for his bodily health. His brain is full of energy but his body is tired. The swelling in his feet has not gone down. Parchure feels he should have adjusted to the heat by now, and wants him to have a cardiogram in Madras. He asked Krishnaji where is his “intelligence of the body'' that he speaks of? Either it doesn’t exist or Krishnaji is ignoring it. The body is dragging with fatigue, though the mind is very alert.” I asked how I can constructively back up Parchure’s suggestions to Krishnaji. Krishnaji feels I get emotional, and so discounts what I say. This makes for only partial frankness. If this is so, as it apparently is, I must quietly be rational in talking to him, no matter what I feel. Krishnaji is presently irrational about his own health and capabilities. It is as if his mind is given greater energy, which he regards as given for the purpose of his work, and he expects his body to do more than it should. I have to learn to act differently with him, offer only what will effectively reach his mind, watch carefully my reactions, and how I express things to him. It will take great care.’
‘Instead of resting this morning, he talked to Narayan, Sunanda, Pama, Achyut, Dr. Parchure, and me about Rishi Valley, the need for new teachers with a “global outlook.” Out of this came an idea for a center, but not at any of the schools, for people who come only for the teachings. And Krishnaji spoke of this leading to a “Renaissance.” He asked what I thought, and I said I doubted that people once said, “Let us make a Renaissance.” They simply did what they saw needed doing and then later it was called that. We must see what is needed now and do it. “Let’s do it,” he said.

At 4 p.m., there was a tea for all members and helpers of the Krishnamurti Center in Sri Lanka who have done so much to arrange for Krishnaji’s visit. Krishnaji attended for an hour. Then he briefly saw the minister of education. Krishnaji, Nandini, and I, taking along Mr. Weeraperuna, went for a walk by the sea on the Galle Face green.’
November fifteenth. ‘Sunanda and Pama flew back to Madras. For most of the day, I stayed in my room doing letters and working on the chronology for Mary L. Krishnaji gave his third Colombo talk at 5:30. A very fine oneon pleasure, desire, life, death. Dr. Adikaram, who was bitten by a dog several days ago, didn’t come to fetch Krishnaji. Another talkative man escorted Krishnaji and bothered him with questions. After supper with Nandini and me, he watched a TV English drama and looked very tired.’

At 5:30 p.m., Krishnaji gave a fourth and last Colombo talk. I came back with him and Dr. Adikaram. Krishnaji and I dined alone as Nandini went somewhere with Devi and others. After a talk the Buddha only might have made, Krishnaji watched an old Perry Mason episode on TV, which relaxed him and he went to bed at nine.’
The next day, ‘several government ministers came to lunch. Krishnaji, Nandini, Devi, and I walked at the Galle Face Green in the late afternoon. I packed.’
The eighteenth of November: ‘After an early lunch at Acland House and a formal distribution of envelopes with tips to the staff of nine, we left. Krishnaji was driven to the airport by the minister of state, while another government car followed with Nandini, Devi, Mrs. Nataraj, and me.’ ‘We then all sat in a special lounge, with various ministers making conversation with Krishnaji, and all the Sri Lanka Krishnamurti group sitting silently, staring at him. We were driven from the lounge to the aircraft stairs in the car of the Indian high commissioner, who was on the same flight. At last we left, and my spirits rose with the plane.

Sri Lanka has much good, but not for me The ringing wet heat is such that I’m physically struggling with it all the time, and there is little beauty to be seen except in the vegetation. I was delighted to leave the whole place. Dr. Adikaram is a rather touching little old man with some sense of what Krishnaji is about and says. But others in his group, though helpful, and endlessly kind to all of us, are nevertheless a very ordinary group. In Madras, it was arranged for Krishnaji to sail through immigration and customs, but he insisted on standing with me until all our four bags appeared. One was almost lost, but when it was recovered, we then went swiftly in Mrs. Santhanam’s car and were away. Krishnaji stared at the crowds of people on the roads. “India, I’m afraid, is hopeless,” he said. At Vasanta Vihar, there was Jayalakshmi with two large, black granite nandis she has had sculpted for the Ojai house. They are plump and quite engaging. Krishnaji is delighted with them. He petted them. She said she could have priests come and do something traditional to consecrate them. They are to guard the house.’ ‘How they will get from the veranda here to the patio in Ojai is an interesting problem; presumably, it will be done. Theo and Alan Hooker, who were due to arrive here, have not turned up. It was slightly cooler at Vasanta Vihar, and I feel better being here.’

The nineteenth: ‘Theo and Alan Hooker turned up in a taxi as we were finishing breakfast. I went with Krishnaji and Radha to her house in the TS and from there walked on the beach.
The next day, ‘Radha came and sat with us at breakfast. She says her aunt Rukmini Arundale is afraid of Krishnaji.’ ‘Krishnaji said, “She is? Good. I will exploit that,” with a look of glee on his face.’

Dr. Parchure was concerned about the swelling in Krishnaji’s feet not going down. To rule out causes like heart, kidneys, etcetera another doctor came and gave a cardiogram and relevant samples have been sent to a lab. As his heart is fine, the new doctor could not account for the swelling. So Dr. P. did simple remedies. In the afternoon, his legs were packed in cold mud and then his feet were put in cold water. Then pressure bandages were wound round and he went for his walk. The swelling subsided.

November twenty-third. ‘Krishnaji said he woke at 1 a.m. with something happening in the top of his head. It had to do with Rishi Konda.’ After breakfast, Krishnaji talked to Asit a bit and then called me to join in. Then he spoke with Narayan about Usha and their relationship. Did they wish to marry? No. Then it was a private matter between them but they must undo the gossip that has sprung up. It is up to them to figure out how. They both seemed happy that Krishnaji had not been drastic. All this took the morning. After 5 p.m., Krishnaji, Naidu, Narayan, Nandini, and I walked all over the westernmost thirty acres, where Naidu has just planted a thousand more mango trees.

The twenty-fourth. ‘Krishnaji held a long talk over the breakfast table over the structure of the school. Asit was pointing out errors and Narayan was being defensive. As a result, Narayan, Asit, and Mr. Vethakan (now an administrator here) met the accountant and revised the system so that monthly accounts are presented.

November twenty-fifth: Pupul telephoned Sunanda that Mrs. Gandhi is coming here to see Krishnaji on December twentieth. Nandini and I visited the art department of the junior school in the morning. Nari Gandhi’—that’s the architect—‘Theo, and Alan Hooker were at lunch. Nandini and I called on Mrs. Parchure. Asit reported his conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Thomas to Krishnaji, and Krishnaji sent for me. Krishnaji is disturbed by the reported lack of discipline in the school, and the cynicism said to exist among the older boys, one of whom was heard to say’—I was the one who heard it—‘“Heil Hitler” when Krishnaji arrived. Krishnaji was shocked by this, feels great blame is attached to Narayan, and is going to call him to account tomorrow, but feels sad for him and wants him to succeed. The tension over all this has upset Krishnaji’s stomach. Though it was almost dark, Krishnaji, Asit, Nandini, and I walked down to the gate.’
The twenty-sixth: ‘After breakfast, Krishnaji had Narayan, Asit, and me in for a two-and-a-half hour discussion. Asit, who had cross-checked all his facts, laid them out without emotion for Narayan to answer. Narayan accepted all suggestions. Krishnaji slept two hours in the afternoon and went for only a very short walk.’

The next day: Krishnaji talked alone with the two senior classes of students, and in the afternoon held discussions with trustees and some of the teachers. We walked to the bridge as it was getting dark. I finished the chronology of 1967 for Mary L. and posted it to her.’
November twenty-eighth: ‘Krishnaji talked at breakfast about vision, what it is, and the need for it in the school. Then he rested for most of the day.

November thirtieth. ‘There was a meeting in the morning where Krishnaji set forth the new structure of the school. Mrs. Thomas is headmistress, Venkatraman heads the senior school, Rajesh heads the junior school. Narayan remains principal and is part of the group that runs the school. The group is Narayan, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas, Venkatraman, Rajesh, and a financial administrator to be found by Asit. Krishnaji enlarged on Narayan’s special responsibilities beyond principalship, which are to see that Krishnaji’s teachings are understood in the school and are a part of it.

After the meeting, Theo read to Krishnaji and me a letter brought by Mark from Erna. It said that at Stanley Cohen’s office, she had signed legal papers starting legal actions against Rajagopal. We are now committed to another legal fray. Theo was in tears toward the end of Erna’s letter because of her being alone to face all this. He wants to leave immediately and go back to Ojai. Krishnaji asked if I should go, too. It was decided to wait two days, and then Theo would decide about his own leaving to support Erna. When Theo left, Krishnaji asked me if this is going to lead to a serious battle. I said it could and it should be realized that he may be subpoenaed, etcetera. “I’ll go at it,” he said. “I am much stronger and more able than I was ten years ago.” The compelling factor, according to our lawyer Cohen, is that if we do not act now, we will let go by default what we won in the earlier case.

At 4 p.m., Krishnaji held a private discussion with trustees and a few teachers on the topic : What is intelligence? How does a human brain differ from a computer? Toward the end, Krishnaji spoke of the perception of beauty that is beyond and not related to taste, aesthetics, etcetera. In the evening, Pupul and Achyut arrived. Pupul is full of plans for Mrs. Gandhi’s visit here on the twentieth. This evening, I went with Nandini, Asit, Sunanda, and Pama to dine at Usha’s. She lives in the old Moorhead house. Radha Burnier is in Rishi Valley, too.’

Pupul spoke of gurus, and said that Krishnaji was essentially a guru. Krishnaji spoke of 'light', and he   disagreed. “There is only light. You don’t say, "‘I have come to light. I am that light."’ just ''There is light'. This has deeper significance; that other is too childish,” he said. “After all, goodness is that: to have total light. I think that is logical, sense. But gurus in the usual sense is leading you to light.”…“Light is compassion. See the difference. Jesus is supposed to have said, ‘I am the light.’”…“I shrink from that,” said Krishnaji.

He then went on to ask how Rishi Valley can be made beautiful. "Ugliness is darkness, and here they don’t see that".

I had supper upstairs with him. He told me “that face” has been with him for four days. Whenever he closes his eyes, it is there; and with his eyes open, he sees it in his room. On the walk, he wanted to stop, close his eyes and look at it. During the music, it was not there.’ ‘He also showed me a small gold locket with JK engraved on it and a photograph of him when he was very young. He had me open it very carefully, and inside there were tiny jewels, the jewels that are in Pine Cottage. He had told Radha about the bad atmosphere in Adyar. She got the jewels and gave them in the locket to him, and when he returns them in their locket to her, they will go into the northeast corner of the main hall at Adyar.’

‘Parchure came afterward to do my foot and said that Krishnaji is now too tired to do any exercise in the mornings, but will not hear of cutting down his activities. He is forcing his body to keep up with his mind, but at what cost? At 4 p.m., Krishnaji talked again, this time to the Bangalore school people, shaking them up, and taking the arrogance out of some.
December fifth: ‘At 9:30 a.m., there was a teachers’ discussion on beauty, taste, etcetera. Krishnaji’s voice toward the end was deep, quiet, and filled with otherness.

The next day: ‘At breakfast were Krishnaji, Pupul, Nandini, Achyut, Sunanda, Asit, and me. Krishnaji talked of the need for a sense of sacredness, which he feels in Rishi Valley is being nurtured. Narayan came in and sat during the whole discussion, which lasted till 12:40 p.m. Krishnaji told of the jewels put in the Ojai house and the atmosphere there. He told too of his having worn them for Radha this week so that she can place them in Adyar. Pupul said similarly they had been placed in the assembly hall here. “Then why are they not working?” Krishnaji asked. He felt it has been spoiled by 'activities'—by playing drums, etcetera, and that Balasundaram’s wife—‘had practiced black arts there. Something sacred must be respected, not begged for help. Then it can act.
‘Asit then asked if this sacredness, which can be given to stones, could be given to a living thing, a tree. And if a tree, why not a person? “I think so,” said Krishnaji. He said he was not 'positive', but it might. There was much discussion of this. Pupul recorded part of it on a cassette and Sunanda made shorthand notes and will give the transcription to each of us present.’
‘Krishnaji described the time he had pain and had me place my hands on his head while he placed his hand on mine. He also spoke of liking to stay here in Rishi Valley, that he couldn’t, but would like to. All of them were for this. I listened without reaction, though my own feelings are very different. Krishnaji spoke of energy which, at one level, is in both the good and the bad, but beyond is the "unlimited energy'', which is the source of everything—the universal energy and beyond good and bad.’

December seventh: ‘Krishnaji says he thought over in the night what he had said yesterday and it is not possible: A human being is different from a jewel. He said this briefly en passant. When I asked him later what had made him change his mind, he said, “It is obvious: Human beings are too corrupt to receive it. And if they are not, then they have no need of blessing. They have it already.”

The eighth: ‘Nandini and Asit left early for Bombay. Krishnaji spent all day resting in bed and had meals on a tray. I ate in the dining hall. Sunanda and Pama left for Madras. Around 6:30 p.m., a message came that Mrs. Simmons was telephoning  Krishnaji, and would he telephone Brockwood Park? This surprised and worried him, as Dorothy knows Krishnaji never takes calls. Narayan took me to his house and at 6:45 p.m., put the call into the operator to make the call to England. It took so long to get a connection to England that I joined Krishnaji and everyone there for part of the dance performance. There were extraordinary costumes and makeup. I used the Nikon F3 to photograph it, then went back and waited, but the call couldn’t go through. Krishnaji came there and waited with me until 11:45 p.m., but finally we gave up. He must have been upset by it, for he was awake all night.’
December ninth: ‘ The call to Brockwood was put in again in the morning. It was after 3 p.m. when the connection was finally made and I spoke to Dorothy. It was a very poor connection. I could barely make out what she was saying, but she was asking Krishnaji to cable Frances McCann the following: “Please leave Brockwood immediately until everyone feels you are fully recovered. Be guided by Mrs. Simmons.” Krishnaji okayed the cable, and it was sent immediately, double express. Krishnaji spent the whole day in bed resting and catching up on sleep.’ Frances had had a mental breakdown.

 December tenth. ‘Krishnaji slept well. In the morning, he called Narayan and me and began by telling Narayan of his affection for him. “I have known you for thirty years. You are not my relative, I have no relatives, but I have affection for you.” Narayan seemed moved by this and was able to talk to Krishnaji without the nervousness he said he has always had in the past in talking to Krishnaji. After lunch, Krishnaji told me of the curious occurrence when he lay down to rest: “There was a sudden sense of power.” I asked if it were different from the energy that he had felt so strongly here last year. “That was energy, this was power; and I said, ‘Be careful, watch it—it can be dangerous.’ I looked at it very carefully.”

December eleventh. I asked Krishnaji if the sense of power was still there. He said it was, but he is very careful about it.’ In the evening, Krishnaji said to me, “Love has no death,” and that he 'must go into that'.’

December eighteenth, 1980 when Krishnaji and I are in Rishi Valley. ‘Krishnaji called Achyut, Sunanda, Pama, Asit, Dr. Parchure, and me to his room after breakfast. We sat on the floor and discussed Narayan’s position and role here. Krishnaji wants Narayan to devote himself to the teachings and nothing else. The committee must be responsible for everything else.

. Dr. Parchure is asking whether Krishnaji is awake to his dissipation of energy, his irritability at times, and an inattention. Krishnaji says it is not irritability; it is urgency. In the afternoon, he said he asked Narayan, if an angel appeared and asked him what he most wanted, what would be his reply?’ ‘“Enlightenment,” said Narayan. Krishnaji was pleased. Then Krishnaji asked, “More than that lady?”’

The school grounds were noisy with helicopters casing the football field where landing sites have been made, but they seemed overly cautious and afraid to land.
‘There are immense preparations going on for the prime minister’s visit, and the school grounds are filled up with soldiers and officials; plans are changed and amended with each new word from Delhi on who, how, and when the prime minister’s group will come

The twentieth. ‘News of Mrs. Gandhi’s arrival kept changing. We were given badges with our names, and copies of the minute-to-minute program. She finally arrived at 1:40 p.m. by car with her son Rajiv, his wife Sonia, and their two children (a boy and a girl), plus a secretary, a doctor, ministers, and unknown others. Students and villagers met her at the gate. I used the Nikon there and at the planting of a ficus benjamina, then, in the assembly hall, where first Krishnaji spoke and then Mrs. Gandhi. She spoke spontaneously and conventionally. Some of the brighter students with whom I talked later ‘said she obviously didn’t know what Krishnaji teaches. I spent about two hours at the hostel having tea and talking to keep out of the old guest house, where Krishnaji and Pupul gave tea to Mrs. Gandhi and family. Then, she and Krishnaji talked privately for about an hour, after which Krishnaji took her for the walk along the new path, photographed by Asit and guarded by 450 security people!’ ‘Separately, she toured the school grounds by car, inspecting some of the hostels and the rural center. At 7 p.m., under the banyan tree, there was mridangam playing and a ballet. Supper was under moonlight, opposite the dining hall, a long table was set in the middle. Krishnaji had Mrs. Gandhi on his right and son Rajiv on his left. Her family were there, but otherwise, there was only the foreign guests, Dorothy, Mary Cadogan, Theo, Hooker, the Siddoos, Mark, Merali, Scott, and me. We at the head table got waited on, whereas everyone else ate buffet-style. I sat opposite Mrs. Gandhi and granddaughter, a quite Western-looking little girl in pigtails with a lilting, precise voice. Asit’s youngest daughter Sonali, who had been one of the students delegated to be with the grandchildren, told her father that she and her brother talk to each other in children’s pidgin English.’ You know, you have to insert something in everything you say. ‘Sonali understood this, and said Rajiv’s children were superciliously critical of everything. It was 9 p.m. when Krishnaji, very tired, finally got to bed.’

December twenty-first. Mrs. Gandhi, her family, and Pupul came for breakfast with Krishnaji before leaving, with the cars lined up outside. She is precise in ignoring no one. There was the farewell gesture to the little bent old sweeper woman, who daily whisks the earthen driveway, and she waved to me.’ I was standing up in the building. I didn’t go down to see her off as I felt it would be an intrusion. Anyway, ‘she caught sight of me in the doorway and waved to me, taking a step forward to do so. The cavalcade swept away, and the place seemed to exhale. The electricity promptly failed. Krishnaji and I went upstairs for our own breakfast.
It is said that Rajiv would like to send his children to the school, but his wife doesn’t want to be separated from them. In my eye, Mrs. Gandhi is more of what she seemed two years ago: concentrated, controlled, imprisoned in her life and its power, and lack of affection; at once in the center of possibilities, and cut off from freedom, enjoyment, trust. The death of her son, Sanjay, may have increased all this. The determination remains, but it is without focus, and it is hardening, stalling. Krishnaji, from sitting out last night, has begun to have a cold.

The next day. ‘We left Rishi Valley at 6 a.m. ‘In the car, Krishnaji, for Asit, gave a chart of the Theosophic hierarchy: initiates, disciples, arhats, bodhisattvas. Krishnaji, according to Theosophy, is an 'arhat', i.e., beyond the opposites, beyond ego, a master. He said that an arhat, or bodhisattva, supposedly can live on in his body or give it up. He said that if he did not travel about so much and consequently wear out his body, he probably might live much longer,

‘I said, what about settling down in one place right now and keeping the body as it is. “No, it’s too late,” he said. All this was said in an amused way, not seriously.

December twenty-sixth: I went with Krishnaji and others by car to Radha Burnier’s house and walked on the beach. The sea air was the best cure for me. The annual Theosophical Society Convention is on, so there were many people wandering around. I had no fever today.’
The twenty-seventh. Krishnaji’s first Madras talk at 5:30 p.m. in the garden. There was a very large crowd. Krishnaji had me sit apart to not be in the crowd with germs. He spoke on corruption in this country, and in mankind. The root is "attachment". He felt after the talk, that there had been no communication with the audience; but Asit and others said the contrary. The crowds closed in on him at the end, touching his feet, his hands. It makes him squeamish.’
December twenty-eighth. Krishnaji gave his second talk in the garden. He was engulfed afterward by devotional crowds.’
The twenty-ninth. Radha joined us, and said the TS convention members wanted to greet Krishnaji if he would walk through the grounds. So, even though he had been tired earlier, he set off at a military pace with Radha, Scott, and I behind. As the march progressed, it became quite a parade. It was getting dark by then, and hands in namaste greetings and faces flickered along the road. A few times, Radha paused to introduce someone to Krishnaji; smiles, the greeting, and off we went again.

January first 1981. ‘I woke up early and began the year in the best of ways: by going upstairs to greet Krishnaji before I saw anyone else. He came down and brought me a white fragrant blossom he finds in the garden. So, the year began with his blessing. At 9:30 a.m., in the big hall, he held what was to be a continuation of Tuesday’s discussion of the human brain versus computers. Is there something the brain can do that is beyond the computer? Unfortunately, too many people were there. In this one, Krishnaji spoke of something beyond the brain, which he called “mind.” Krishnaji kept the “mind” apart, and it was only at the end, with time running out, that he spoke of “mind” as something outside and beyond human thought, something timeless, boundless.’

January third, getting our tickets back to London from Bombay g of Mary Cadogan, Dorothy, Pama, Merali, Scott, and me about video funds. Krishnaji gave his fourth Madras talk at 5:30 p.m.’
The next day, At 4 p.m., I met Radha Burnier in her TS office at Adyar, and with her went through files for material about the transfer of Krishnaji’s archives to him in the 1950s, to support our case that the archives were not sent to Rajagopal. At 3:30 p.m., I went to Radha’s office in the TS and composed the text of her statement on the archives being sent by Jinarajadasa to Krishnaji, not to Rajagopal.’ It was important for the case to have this statement that the archives were sent to Krishnaji, and not to Rajagopal, because he claimed that everything was his.

At 9:30, Krishnaji held the first seminar discussion with invited scholars. A Rinpoche from Benares, and Professor Khare’— an Indian who taught in this country. ‘I was a participant. Krishnaji, with Dr. Parchure, thinks I should leave India for my health.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji withdraws on my leaving. At 9:30 a.m., a second seminar meeting was held with Krishnaji, Rinpoche Sandher, Pandit Jagannath Upadhyaya, Professor Brij Khare, a Ceylon lawyer, Pupul, Sunanda, Achyut, and some others. There was too much rain to walk in the afternoon. Pupul and I dined with Radha Burnier, her aunt, Dr. Sivakamu, Achyut, Rinpoche Sandher, and Pandit Jagannath Upadhyaya.’

January sixteenth. ‘Today was the third and last of the seminar discussions here. The next day. ‘At 7:30 a.m., Krishnaji held a question-and-answer meeting. Afterward, I did desk work. Pupul left in the afternoon. The beach walk with Krishnaji, included Radha, and Murli Rao.’ He was a nice man who lived in Delhi.

The next day. ‘I packed. Krishnaji talked most of the morning with Pandit Jagannath Upadhyaya. In the afternoon, Krishnaji saw Malini again, and she has finally decided to go to a U.S. university for a degree in education. Krishnaji, Pama, Radha, and I walked on the beach.’
The twentieth. ‘After doing some errands in town, Krishnaji, Achyut, Sunanda, Pama, and I went to lunch with Radha and her aunt Dr. Sivakamu. Krishnaji reminisced and teased Sivakamu about her brother-in-law, Arundale, and all the sins of those days!’ On Radha’s and my suggestion, Krishnaji visited some of the rooms in the TS headquarter Dr. Besant’s, his own, and Leadbeater’s. He remembered almost nothing of them.’ I think that’s when he said that he didn’t remember the big room that he and Nitya had, but he remembered Mrs. Besant’s small office room next to it, and he remembered her sitting on the chowki- a sort of big, shapeless settee sort of thing. He remembered her sitting there, writing letters, and he would sit somewhere else in the room and doze.

At 6 p.m., Krishnaji went back for his walk on the beach with Radha and saw the full moon rise out of the sea.’

The next day, ‘I copied biography notes for Mary Links all morning, then lunched with Krishnaji, Asit, and Radha Burnier. We talked at length about the brain and the mind. I read and rested in the afternoon, then walked after 6 p.m. on the race course, Krishnaji, Asit, Devi, Nandini, and me. Krishnaji and I had supper alone.’

January twenty-fourth. 6:15 p.m., Krishnaji gave his first Bombay talk of the year. People were prevented from mobbing him as he got into the car to leave, but were outside waiting to touch his hands through the car window. Nandini returned with us.’ That was really sort of horrible. They stuck their hands in and tried to grab him.

January twenty-seventh. ‘At 9:30 a.m., Krishnaji held a discussion with about twenty-eight people on the effects of computers. All thought is mechanical, therefore, it’s the same as the computer, and if that is all there is, there is a deterioration of mind.

January thirty-first, Krishnaji gave his third talk, which was in the evening. He said on the way home that ‘he almost stopped talking and left as he just couldn’t feel communication with the audience.’

At 5:50 p.m., Krishnaji, Nandini, and I went to Krishnaji’s fourth Bombay talk, which was at 6:15 p.m., on beauty, listening, fear. Fear is time and thought. The audience was no different, but it sat utterly still, as the fullness of Krishnaji’s talk rose out of him,’ and they felt something happen. ‘Frenzied hands again reaching to touch him through the car window.’

The third. ‘There was an interview of Krishnaji by Pupul, filmed for Indian television.’ Then just the usual lunch with people and walk.

For February fifth, there was a KF India trustee meeting to which I was invited. Merali was made a member.’ Then for some reason I have these four points:
‘1. Radhika Herzberger and her husband are coming to Rishi Valley in July 1982.’ That is Pupul’s daughter, and her husband Hans. ‘Radhika will be on the executive committee for Rishi Valley.’
‘2. The three Patwardhans’ home is Vasanta Vihar, permanently.’ That would be Sunanda, Pama, and Achyut. ‘KFI members will have the right to live at schools in their old age, if KFI agrees.’
‘3. Teachers will be expected to transfer to other KFI schools for periods of one year from time to time.
4. Narayan is to create, at Rishi Valley, a place where the catalyst that changed Krishnaji as a boy can again take place. “The door is waiting to be opened.” At Madras, too, someone must be there to provide the atmosphere, and it must be for students who are there for Krishnaji’s teachings, and nothing else. There will be no education to become engineers, etcetera, but only a total involvement with Krishnaji’s teachings. “If you do this, the door will open, something will take place. I say this with scientific clarity. This has not happened because I have not stayed in one place.”…“If I stayed in one place, I would do it, but it is not my dharma. My job is different.” There is no goal in this. “Either you are inviting something tremendous, or you invite the devil, like any little ashram.”…“That is the devil, the real dangers—the Rajneesh, the Mahesh Yogi, etcetera.” …“If you ask heaven to bless you, it will bless this. The Foundation is nothing without this, and the Foundation has not done it. The door is there to be opened. It is not me. The "thing" is waiting, hoping. It needs a global brain. Don’t say, ‘I haven’t got it.’ It is a child waiting to be born.” He said to Narayan, to Sunanda, to Upasani, and to Krishnakutti, “You have said you would do it, and there is no going back. You must have a vital brain, global and dynamic. If you are a woman, you are not a woman anymore, even if you wear a woman’s body. You may have been egotistic in the school, but not here. And if you are not here, you will not do all that there.”’ I think that means that if you are not here, like that, you will not do all that there, you will not do what you’re supposed to be doing".

February eighth. At 6:15 p.m., Krishnaji gave his sixth Bombay talk, a very fine one. The audience sat hardly breathing. “Religion is skeptical inquiry.”…“Meditation is the understanding and ending of knowledge.” There was a frenzy of hands trying to touch him through the car window afterward.’ Krishnaji asked me if yesterday’s talk was special, and he said, “It has done something to me.”’

February thirteenth, my birthday. At supper, Pupul described going to see the Nizams’ Jewels for the Indian government.’ The Nizams were, I don’t know what, like maharajahs or something, and the Indian government forced them to sell their collection of jewels to the government at a much reduced price.
‘I had flowers and a chocolate birthday cake from Asit.’

The fourteenth. We were taking one of those middle-of-the-night flights up at 2:30 a.m. and we drove to the new Bombay Airport. Almost everyone was there to see Krishnaji off. We flew on Qantas at 4:50 a.m., nonstop to London. First class was almost empty, and it was a smooth ten-hour flight. I remember in the airport at Bombay, they gave us a special sitting room, and all the enthusiasts crammed in and sat, staring at Krishnaji. Unknown people who came to see him off and sat and stared at him; and he said to me something about he felt like a monkey being stared at.

Anyway, so we’re back at Brockwood.
February sixteenth. ‘Frost is all beauty to me. I feel the delight of cold weather. In the morning, Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I discussed what should be done about Frances, who is quiet here now, but unsound. Krishnaji talked to her, with Dorothy and me present, and offered to help her. He will put his hands on her, starting today, and will see her every day in Ojai for the same. But she must stop all yoga, meditation, and whatever else she was doing. She agreed to his conditions, and so Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I went for a walk. I went to the school meeting.

February twenty-second, We’re in Ojai. Krishnaji and I left Brockwood Friday, the twentieth, and flew to Los Angeles. In the long emptiness over Greenland and Northern Canada, while I slept, Krishnaji told me later that a “good meditation” came to him. We had the two seats he like  the two forward ones in the nose of the 747, where one feels least in contact with the other passengers. Krishnaji said there weren’t people drinking and smoking, which made a difference.

Rajagopal telephoned Arya Vihara again at 1 p.m. Michael answered and said that Krishnaji wasn’t there, Then, in the middle of lunch, a wire came from Rajagopal to Krishnaji saying that “court orders would reveal all your letters to Rosalind and to me if the case is pursued.”’ That’s the blackmail.
Krishnaji was not upset by this. He says he is stronger now than in the other case.

After a rest, I prepared dinner. Krishnaji and I walked down to the Lilliefelts’ to have tea with them and the Marogers. The Marogers’ friend, Hertha  Melas, who lives and works at a school in Idyllwild, joined us for dinner. Krishnaji ate at the table, too.’
The next day. ‘The Marogers left with their friend for the LA Airport to return to France. Krishnaji rested most of the day.’

This post was last updated by John Raica Sun, 16 Jul 2017.

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Mon, 17 Jul 2017 #345
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

( fast forward through the early 80's )

March 1981, and Krishnaji and I are in Ojai.
‘Krishnaji received a threatening letter from Mima Porter.’ ‘Cohen advises no reply. Krishnaji saw the Siddoos for an hour. They decided to close their Wolf Lake School for at least a year. Krishnaji was gardening. “I felt you coming,” he said. And then he said, “Gardening agrees with me.  I must do it at Brockwood.” Then later he said, “You must outlive me.”
‘Me: “Why?”’
‘Krishnaji: “To look after this person.”’
‘Me: “Others would line up to do that.”’
‘Krishnaji: “I don’t want them.”’

 April third, ‘At 11 a.m., there was a discussion between Krishnaji and invited guests D. Bohm, Dr. Ovenden, Rabbi Singer, Dr. Sarkar, Dr. van Groenou, somebody Rexroth, and Dr. Patricia Hunt-Perry. David Shainberg arrived in the afternoon.

Erna says that Rajagopal claims he is in bed with cataracts and a hernia and hasn’t been able to sort out his papers, so next week’s examination by Erna and me of the materials Rajagopal claims are his is impossible.’ We wanted to visit the archives. We had the court agreement which determined that we could go to the archives anytime we wanted, and he always tried to abort it, or postpone it.

The eleventh. ‘Krishnaji held another discussion with parents and teachers of the Oak Grove School.
April eighteenth, The Bohms left for Canada in the afternoon. Sidney Field brought Krishnaji the manuscript he has written about Krishnaji, a memoir.’ Krishnaji had said on returning for lunch, “I feel very young.”’
The twenty-first, ‘A letter came from Mary Lutyens saying that her sister Barbie had committed suicide.

Krishnaji raked the garden with Alasdair. He wore the Mexican straw hat that Alan Kishbaugh brought him.’ It’s in the closet in there. Is it known to everybody that Krishnaji once had sunstroke, before my time, in India, and that’s why he always walked in the late afternoon, when the sun wasn’t as strong And he also would wear a hat because of the sun when he worked in the garden.

The twenty-second. ‘We drove up Maricopa Highway. , about the Maricopa drive, said he wished we could have a cabin away from everything. And later he said, “I felt like disappearing.”’

The twenty-ninth. ‘It was a hot day again, ninety-five degrees. We went out to look at the nandis, and gave them flowers, pink ones, this time, as a crown. “This is real worship,” said Krishnaji gaily. In the evening, we watched a film on Oppenheimer. Krishnaji was appalled by scenes of Hiroshima. “Mankind must be mad,” he said. The obsession with pleasure may be because people know this is there, said Krishnaji.’

May sixth. Krishnaji said he awoke with an extraordinary feeling, unlike anything he’d ever had before. It was a feeling of tremendous power, not to do anything, just power.’

May tenth. ‘Krishnaji gave his fourth Ojai talk. At the Arya Vihara lunch, there were Pupul, Merali, and Professor Khare. There was talk of Pupul’s book, The Earthen Drum, and what she felt in writing it. Krishnaji gave his sixth Ojai talk, a deeply moving one. There was a huge crowd ‘Afterward, Richard Chamberlain asked to meet Krishnaji.’ He’s that actor. t

We left on TWA at 5 o’clock for London.’
May twenty-first. ‘I slept little on the flight. Heathrow was taking only eight landings an hour due to a strike, but we were lucky and came in around noon. Dorothy and Ingrid met us. Krishnaji exclaimed at the beauty of the greenness of the trees all the way back to Brockwood. The school was out to greet him. Frances arrived from Ojai yesterday. Dr. Parchure and his wife, Vatsala, and Rajesh are also here. Neither Krishnaji nor I could eat, so we rested a little and then Krishnaji wanted to walk. We went with Dorothy to look at where Krishnaji might start a rose garden.

Pupul rang from Oxford. She and Radhika’—that’s her daughter—‘Hans, and Maya’—that’s their daughter—‘will come here tomorrow. Krishnaji again spoke of “you must outlive me.” Hence, I must not go to India this year; it is too hard on me physically.’

May twenty-fifth. ‘A BBC television crew arrived in the morning to set up for the afternoon recording. At 3:30 p.m., Bernard Levin came, and he and Krishnaji did a discussion that was videotaped for Levin’s series on eight conversations with interesting people for BBC2. It was done in the drawing room and went exceedingly well, a good interview.’ Levin had done no homework, so he didn’t know what questions to ask and he was a little bit baffled by Krishnaji,

At 11 a.m., Krishnaji held an audiotaped discussion on “What is god? Can one discuss it?” with Pupul “When there is a meditator, there is no meditation.”’ That was what Krishnaji said. ‘

June second, ‘I worked at the desk. Krishnaji was awakened by thunder at 2 a.m. and stayed awake. So, he slept after breakfast, but talked to students only at noon
At 5 p.m., Krishnaji spoke to the staff on knowledge, and that it has never transformed man. Krishnaji spoke on the telephone to Anneke. He is very pleased at going to Holland. Then, he spoke to David Bohm, who isn’t well enough to come tomorrow.’
June twelfth. ‘I talked to Saral and David Bohm on the telephone. He has been in the hospital for an angiogram and needs a triple heart bypass operation as soon as possible. ‘After our lunch at Fortnum’s with Mary, Krishnaji and I went to visit David Bohm at his office at Birkbeck College. Krishnaji then talked privately with Dave, while Saral and I waited outside in the garden. We have not seen them since Ojai. Dave has lost weight and looked pale and vulnerable. Dave goes into hospital tomorrow for open heart surgery and a triple bypass.’ David was obviously frightened to have the operation. ‘Saral is frightened but strong. I sat there and talked very factually about it on the lawn behind the college while Krishnaji was alone with David for almost an hour, trying to reassure him. Krishnaji put his hands on him in healing. He said later that Dave clung to him

The twenty-fifth. ‘David Bohm was operated on for a triple bypass today. He was in surgery from 8:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. They found arteries in worse shape than expected and there was some damage to his heart. The actual surgery went well, but afterward his blood pressure dropped critically. He was eventually able to be moved into intensive care and only late onto his own support system. On Saral’s behalf, Maurice Wilkins telephoned and reported at length to us. The next forty-eight hours are critical. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I talked. It was a strong physical feeling of holding David with our combined strength—curious feeling of immovable strength, felt in the solar plexus, as if we were holding with total firmness something that could otherwise float out with the tide. It persisted all conscious hours. When we were alone, Krishnaji said that Dave is weak, is frightened. He described again how Dave clung to him. I went to sleep feeling this and must have slept deeply, for I heard none of the following: Around midnight, Krishnaji woke up and saw a man standing at the foot of his bed. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “I want to see you,” the man said. Krishnaji took him out into the hall and sat with him a few minutes on the stairs. By this time, Dorothy was there. The man, with an Irish name, had written saying he wanted a job, but was put off when his letters became a bit unbalanced. He turned up at Brockwood during the day and was difficult, so he was asked to leave. He made a show of going, but apparently hid in the library, and turned up in the Cloisters around 10:30 p.m. Brian Nicholson spotted him, and rang Dorothy when he became insistent on seeing Krishnaji. Dorothy felt the police were needed, and told Brian to watch him, but the man ran off. Soon, four detectives appeared, perhaps because of the Irish name. Krishnaji went back to bed but couldn’t sleep for two hours. I felt uneasy at having known nothing of all this. There should be some way for me to hear if Krishnaji needs me. Krishnaji says we must lock the West Wing doors at night.’

June twenty-six, 1981: ‘Krishnaji had insufficient sleep, as he couldn’t get back to sleep after last night’s intruder.’ ‘I telephoned to Saral. Dave is a little better. Krishnaji spoke to her twice during the conversation. Dorothy drove Krishnaji, Jean-Michel, and me to Heathrow, where we flew on British Air, a 2:30 p.m. flight to Paris. Krishnaji and I shopped for a little food, and other things we thought we might need, then walked across the Seine to the back of Notre Dame. When we got back to the flat, we had soup sent down from La Tour. I telephoned Dorothy, who had just heard that Dave was holding his own. Dave was briefly taken off the heart machine but had to be put right back on it.’

July first, 1981. ‘A most extraordinary event. At supper, Krishnaji told me I must write about him, and that I will do it very well. That neither Mary nor Pupul can do what I can, because I am with him, know what he says, what he feels, and what it is like to be with him day by day. He said I should write about being in Notre Dame today. ‘You will start a book and it will be published. Start now. Start with more than notes. Start the book.’ He got excited about it, and stopped only for a coal barge, as long as a football field, coming around on the Seine near Notre Dame.’ ‘We rushed to the windows. The tug skipper ruled the seas. Then Krishnaji came back to the table and urged me on, saying, “I am excited about it.” I put up my strong inhibitions of the past about writing: the sense of the subject being too vast, and my being too close to him to be able to be the one to write it, and I said I had never intended to write about him. “You will,” he said, “I want you to.” An odd thing in this is that I woke up early this morning and decided to restart these writings, going back to begin with ten days ago, June twenty-second, and catching up. So here is today: I’d begun in my brother’s flat in the Tour d’Argent, where Krishnaji did his breathing exercise for an hour while I went for the Herald Tribune and croissants at the bakery across the street. Later, I went marketing on the Île Saint Louis and puttered back, the shopping bag heavy with artichokes, haricots verts like wisps’ ‘a lettuce head like a bride’s bouquet, cresson’—that’s watercress—‘and…fraises des bois.’ Wild strawberries.
I was inspired to write down everything…‘And a melting brie and a demi-baguette. Then, I ran clothes’ [laughs] ‘through Bud and Lisa’s washing washer and dryer, in the flat. Krishnaji and I walked through the side streets, and then we walked along the quay, to lunch at the Marogers’, Krishnaji lagging behind because he looks at everything.’

‘A pleasant lunch again by Marie-Bertrand. Genevieve Gerard, the young woman who was starting her own school in Neuilly, came to talk about it to Krishnaji and made a good impression. Then both Marogers drove us to see the new Krishnaji Information Center over beyond the Boulevard de Grenelle. Pascaline Mallet and Gisela Elmenhorst, who has retired from her job and will devote herself to the center and the French committee, showed us around. It is a nicely small, but not too small, shop. We left and headed for the Etoile, and where Krishnaji suggested going to Vuitton, as he had thought of a shoulder bag for traveling, and we found one. This gave me much satisfaction.’
‘We then drove down the Champs-Élysées, past Beauburg, which we hadn’t seen and found ugly.’ ‘The Marogers dropped us off by Notre Dame to walk home. “Let’s go in,” said Krishnaji. We walked around the left to look first at the western rose window, Krishnaji noticing the curve of the arches. He was disturbed by tourists turning away restlessly from a priest in satin vestments and dark glasses intoning a mass.’ . ‘We stopped at the blue east rose window, and Krishnaji was alive and eager at the fluted columns, massively holding up the huge cathedral. “They must’ve felt something to build all that,” he said. “But it loses its sacredness in the stream of tourists.” He noticed the crushed cigarettes at the door and was bothered by the empty faces. He would like to send them all away and let the cathedral be cleaned of them and be itself again. He talked impatiently, intently, and we walked along the little park; and he added that Indians, though it means nothing to them, would have lit candles with the rest.’

Dave is now in the normal ward and is up and walking. It has been a week of surgeries. Here in Paris, it was another gray day, turning to rain by lunchtime, and very quiet for us. Except for going to get croissants and the newspaper, I stayed in. I did our laundry in Bud’s machine. Marie-Bertrand and Diane lunched with us in the Tour. Diane walked holding tightly to her mother’s and my hand. She was delighted to come, and looked at everything sagely, as did Krishnaji. He was wearing, for the first time, a gray worsted suit he had made in 1973, and his gleaming shoes looked like antique lacquer. They were made, of course, by Lobbs, in the 1920s. As almost always, he pays me the compliment of asking me which tie to wear. He watched a table of Japanese tourists, knew how many there were, and observed the coarseness of some of the lunchers. These 'sorties' out into the world impress him with their degeneration. He sees with impatience the ugliness. He talked a little about his early days in Paris and couldn’t remember at all when I asked how he managed living alone on the Rue des Colonels-Renard.’ That’s up near the Etoile. ‘Who saw to things? Who cooked, cleaned, did the laundry? He laughs and says he has no idea. His shyness seems to have protected him from advancing women.’ ‘He thinks it’s funny. We had again the splendid dessert of fraises des bois and raspberries surrounding pistachio ice cream, with strawberry sauce over the berries. Krishnaji “treated” Diane downstairs while I went to pay our Tour bill. Krishnaji had said, “Let’s go back to Notre Dame,” but by 4 p.m., when Marie-Bertrand and Diane left, it was raining and very bleak, so he went to bed instead. He spoke again of this book I am to write, saying I must say who I am, how I came into all this, the story of Hirschfeldbmy doctor, and everybody’s doctor in California,

Krishnaji spoke of the book I am to write, saying that I must say who I am, how I came into all this, the story of Hirschfeld, and how I went to hear a talk out of curiosity. ‘I told Krishnaji at supper of buying a booklet and being unable to finish a page because of arguing with it, then going to the next talk where it dawned on me not to argue, but simply to listen. “You must write that,” he said. “It shows you’re not a disciple, but understand something.” I also described to him my vivid memory of first meeting him alone on the path heading into the Grove just before a talk. The vivid cross of looks and that that is what I think of when he has said to me, “We should have met many years before.” He said we probably would have not been very passionate about the look, “but there would have been something continuing to this. We should have met.” Then he stopped. “No, it is right as it has happened. It is exactly right as it is.”’

Yes, I remember that first glance at each other…I had my dog with me, a big German shepherd dog, whom I had to leave in the car, obviously. And I went out to check that the window was open enough and it was still shady. I put the car in the shade, but I was uneasy, and I walked out just before the talk to check on the dog, and that’s when I ran into Krishnaji coming down the hill through the Grove. That was the first direct glimpse of him person-to-person.

July third, off to Orly Airport, and the Swiss Air flight. Krishnaji and I reached Geneva and the Hotel des Bergues at 1:15 p.m., in time for a pleasant late lunch in the Amphitryon, soigneusement, provided by familiar staff.’ ‘Both admitted we were relieved to have left Paris, and to be in Switzerland. This old-fashioned, orderly, immaculately, Swiss-ly clean hotel, with its boring décor, is a comfort in which to find ourselves. Why was Paris all wrong for both of us? Krishnaji confessed the apartment upset him. He had done the mysterious exorcising, that thing that he does in strange rooms, to both the bedroom he used and the one I was in, but it failed to have its effect. ‘Krishnaji couldn’t say, but something kept him from sleeping there and upset his stomach, too. “Have we become too sensitive?” he asked. I too was not comfortable, but that could have been concern over Krishnaji, seeing to the logistics of his meals, etcetera. I also had, and continue to have, the odd feeling that I have not been in Paris.

And I was glad to leave and move onto Switzerland, where coping with daily life is easier, more familiar, and, therefore, one lives on a deeper level. Anyway, Paris remains a bit of a mystery to us both. At supper, Krishnaji wondered if the atmosphere of the flat reflects intensely self-centered people. He also said that he was very vacant there; and, therefore, did not dominate the surroundings. He said he had felt especially close to me, had I noticed it? I had, from the time we left Brockwood. He seemed to need my presence and a protection. After lunch, we walked to Patek, where both watches were left for oiling and servicing; then to Jacquet, where the younger man was absent, but an older man waited on Krishnaji. He was not as helpful as the younger man, and so the choice of ties to be made for Joe and Krishnaji went less easily, which tired Krishnaji, and he got vague.
‘We lunched in the Amphitryon. Krishnaji asked me what I would feel if he died suddenly. He said he felt rather as if he already had. He didn’t explain what he meant by this, but went on to describe what death usually means to most people, the average person, the state of shock that endures at being bereft, left, let down. He thought of all this last week when it was touch-and-go with David Bohm. I asked him what had gone through his mind then, and he said, “I said to myself, he mustn’t die because, first of all, he is a nice man, interested. There are very few of them like that. I said, if he lives, I am going to ask him to leave all that nonsense about the third dimension, the implicate order, wholeness, etcetera. You see, I think basically there must be a conflict in him of which he may be unaware. I would say to him, let’s gather a group of serious people. Come and settle at Brockwood, don’t travel. You can’t travel anymore. Let’s work together and create a nucleus of people who are intellectually tops and spiritually geniuses. I said I would tell him that.”

‘We reached Gstaad just after 6 p.m. Vanda and Fosca had come earlier, and have everything in order. They are as always, and it was a smiling feeling to see them. A new wooden, of course ugly, door has been put at the entrance, but otherwise all is, again, as it was. The mountains are silent, familiar, inscrutable. I got everything unpacked before disappearing to sleep.’
The next day was ‘a resting day for all. I spoke to Saral Bohm. Dave had his stitches out and goes to a convalescent place in four days.’

Krishnaji and I walked in a light rain to the edge of the wood and Krishnaji asked, “Why did Dr. Bohm care so much that I came to see him?”’
‘Me: “Because your affection, your regard, probably in a human sense, means more than anything to him.”’
‘K: “You mean he depends on me?”’
‘M: “I think there’s too much emphasis on dependence. Affection, friendship doesn’t have to be just dependence. You have known him a long time, and a few years ago I think he became quite depressed because you seemed to lose interest in talking to him. Then he cheered up when you renewed your talks. And two things have just happened: After knowing him for twenty years, when we were just in Ojai, for the first time you used his first name. And just now you went to see him. Something you would normally never do before his operation.”’
‘K: “When he is well I wonder if he can get some really serious people to talk about these things. More than always talking to the teachers.”’
‘M: “You do that over and over at each school you go to.”’
‘K: “Yes, but it should be more.” Later on the walk, Krishnaji said, “Let me ask you something: You have heard me talk so many times. Do you think this person learned it or is it totally new?”’
‘M: “He couldn’t have learned it, because it has not been said. Buddhist teachings have certain similarities, but fundamentally what you say has not been said before. Why do you ask that?”’
‘K: “Oh, I just thought of it.”’
‘A little bit later, Krishnaji said, “I’ve been thinking about consciousness for the talk.”’
‘M: “I’ve been reading in the book about computers and toward the end, he tries to define thinking and intelligence, answering all the criticisms people make of computers. He says that, in reply to most criticisms, humans and animals are equally programmed. Making a distinction between a program the baby is born with—breathing, moving, seeing, grasping, digesting, etcetera—and what is acquired.”’
‘M: “He is saying that they can do certain things laboriously, going through all the possibilities before choosing the answer, but man can see enough of the whole to choose without examining each option.”’
‘K: “But it is the same. Knowledge is operating and the computer does it very quickly.”’
‘M: “He seems to be saying that machines will be able to outthink man.”’
‘K: “Then what is man? What can he do that machines cannot?”’
‘M: “It seems to me the machine must always function in the field of knowledge. Man can go beyond, to another dimension.”’
‘K: “That is right. That is what I have said.”’
 “If ( Sheldrake's) 'rat theory' is correct it is as if a man can come along’—you, for instance—‘who can pierce limitations, see onto another plane, and that once it is seen, it is possible for others of the human species to see. In answer to your earlier question, you have perceived something not derived from knowledge. It is as if mankind sometimes, rarely, produces a human being with this ability to go beyond, and this becomes an opening in the total human consciousness. It really doesn’t matter if those people in the tent tomorrow understand what you will say or not. You see something, and you utter it.”’
‘K: “CWL,”’—that’s Leadbeater—‘“used to say it doesn’t matter if anyone understands.”’
‘M: “The TS believed an entity manifested.”’
‘K: “The bodhisattva came when the world was in a terrible trouble, every 2000 years or so.”’
‘M: “What I am saying is a little different, not that existing beings incarnate, but that the human species casts up one of its kind with this power to see beyond its limitation of consciousness. The TS wouldn’t have accepted it as intelligence manifesting, would they?”’
‘K: “No, they wouldn’t.”’
‘M: “They made it into personalities with names and lives outside of time. Even when I was very young, four or so, I had difficulty with the notion of God in the image of man. It seems somehow so petty. It had to be something much vaster than that.”’
‘K: “Yes, petty. Much vaster.”’
‘M: “Also, with you, I am not really interested in a bodhisattva who incarnates in the body of Krishnaji. You are bodhisattva. It comes from you, not from some other being.” On the return to the chalet, Krishnaji said, “Are you writing these things down? Will you write this?”’
‘M: “Yes.”’

July twelfth, ‘At 10:30 a.m., Krishnaji began his first Saanen talk on consciousness: how we are programmed, what is man. There was a large crowd. On his return to the chalet after the talk, he slept, but kept waking himself up by what he calls “shouting.” He came to lunch at the table with Vanda, Dr. Parchure, and me; and then slept again until about 5 p.m. As we started on a walk, he said he didn’t feel like walking, but that we should go a little ways. He felt no energy, but as he walked, and I told him more about the computer book, which I finished today, his interest and energy rose, and before we knew it we reached the Turbach Road. He is struck by the fact that as soon as Asit began to talk about computers, he’—meaning himself—‘grasped the whole implication of it. Most people seemed to recoil, react with, “But…” Krishnaji instantly saw the whole meaning, and so did I. In the evening, Saral telephoned that Dave is doing very well in the convalescent place in Frimley, Surrey. As soon as he is home, he wants to talk to Krishnaji, and to come to Brockwood once Krishnaji is there. In the evening, Krishnaji watched an old Fernandel movie in the Don Camillo series, which highly amused him: the gestures, the talking to God, the very French and very humanness of the character actor.’

The next day ‘Krishnaji didn’t feel like a walk in the rain. He had me ring Saral to tell Dave not to meditate until he is stronger.’

July fourteenth, ‘The fog lifted by 10:30 a.m. when Krishnaji gave his second Saanen talk, which continued on consciousness: not individual, but human consciousness; the perilous world and how the divisions are dangerous. In the car returning, he said that his stomach again was not right in the night, and he felt so weak he wondered if he could give his talk today. But a tremendous energy came while he spoke, and there was no stomach pain. He was plainly tired, though, and slept deeply “without shouting” for an hour before lunch. I talked to Dr. Parchure. Each day we have tried to adjust Krishnaji’s diet: reduced oil, and omitted whatever he says disagrees with him; but he tends to blame the food, the medicines, etcetera, at random. And those cannot be the sole causes. Krishnaji wanted “something spicy” to stimulate his digestion yesterday, so Dr. Parchure made a soup of tomato, ginger, herbs, etcetera. Krishnaji drank it, but said later it disagreed with him. Parchure and I discussed the worrisome possibility of something organically wrong. Last year in Bonn, his upper tract was checked by Dr. Scheef, but I now think that the lower gastrointestinal should be X-rayed. It would upset Krishnaji too much during the talks, so Parchure thinks we must proceed day-to-day, get him through the talks, and then see what to do. Krishnaji came to the table and ate a normal lunch. At 4:30 p.m., he saw Nadia Kossiakof, and then we went for a walk to the Turbach Road. More and more, life becomes edged with perils and now illness, the perils of age. At lunch, Krishnaji said to me with an amusement in his voice, “One wonders how long he can keep this up.”’ Meaning the talking.

July fifteenth, I met S. Weeraperuma and Dr. Parchure on the hill and gave them a lift. Weeraperuma spoke of meeting U.G. Krishnamurti, who asked, “Are you here to listen to that clown in the tent?”’ Krishnaji shrugged when told this, but then the subject came up at lunch with Krishnaji, Vanda, Topazia, Frances, Marjolaine van der Straten, and Dr. Parchure. I told the story. Topazia, followed immediately by Vanda, defended U.G. Krishnamurti. Krishnaji said to Vanda, “You know nothing about it, so don’t discuss it.”

, Krishnaji said I shouldn’t have reacted to Topazia and Vanda’s defense of U.G. Krishnamurti. He said Vanda has her mind made up about people like Rosalind and Rajagopal, and won’t say anything against them. I asked what that had to do with U.G. Krishnamurti. Surely, U.G.K is no old friend of hers like Rajagopal and Rosalind. Krishnaji used the word “insult” in describing U.G.K.’s remark, and I asked how can two women supposedly devoted to him for years instantly defend his insulter. Krishnaji replied, “Why do you react?”’ I said, “Of course I react, it appalls me.”
Krishnaji gave up.’ ‘I feel something is intrinsically wrong in this, something false. Later, Krishnaji mentioned it again, and I asked what if it were reversed, and an insult to me had been given? What would he do?’ I clearly wasn’t going to leave this alone. ‘Krishnaji said, “I would say you are quite mistaken, you don’t know the facts.”’
‘I said I could understand if the discussion made him uncomfortable, but Vanda and Topazia’s attitude remains ugly, and to me very questionable.

A circular is also being passed around Saanen by the German Rajesh follower with a pseudonym Premmander, announcing, “Jokes by Bhagwan Shree Rajesh on Krishnamurti, his followers, other ‘saints’ and himself.”’ ‘Dorothy in the car, about all this, said that she has felt for some time, something she called “subversive” in Vanda’s influence on the Brockwood young who have visited her in Florence.’

July sixteenth, ‘Krishnaji said he woke up at 2 a.m., bothered by yesterday. At 10:30 a.m., he gave his third Saanen talk. Vanda left at 9 a.m. for Florence. At 11 a.m., there was the annual meeting of the foreign committees at Tannegg. Krishnaji, feeling all right, attended and talked of their responsibilities when he is gone: the spreading of the teachings without 'interpretation', and what constitutes 'interpretation'. Mary Cadogan and Jane Hammond stayed to lunch. Jane had some pain in her back and Krishnaji put his hands, which eased it very much. Krishnaji had lunch in his room, and the new sequence was started–cooked food first, then salad, then fruit. At 3 p.m., Mary, Dr. Parchure, and I drove to Saanenmöser where, at the Sport Hotel, there was a further meeting of all the committees. It went well. Jean-Michel and van der Straten were there. Video and publications were discussed and each committee gave an account of its activities. On our return, Krishnaji had walked to the Turbach Road and has had no pain. The new food sequence continues. In the early evening, there was rain and wind, and a marvelous rainbow over the Wasserngrat, and there was peace in the house.’

July eighteenth, ‘It rained at night. Krishnaji feels well, and slept well. I did the marketing. Jean-Michel brought a copy of All One, the first edition of the magazine that Alain Naudé is doing. Jean-Michel didn’t know where it came from until I told him. Krishnaji picked it up and read parts of it, and said, “What has happened to Naudé? Oh no, he’s become a guru.” There are the bits about God that I looked at askance at Ojai in the sample he brought there, and the style is somewhat pontifical, but I will read it later. Krishnaji seemed saddened. “He was intelligent once. What happened to him?” It was too wet to go for a walk, so we each read detective novels.’

‘Krishnaji is feeling well. Parchure rations his food.’
The nineteenth, ‘There is thick fog. It lifted slowly and slightly to reveal snow on the open spaces of the Wispille and Wasserngrat, and on the dark pines there was a sugar ring of white, two-thirds of the way down. Krishnaji saw flakes falling there, but I missed them. It was very cold. When I drove Dr. Parchure to the tent at 9:15, there were cars come down from the mountains with four inches of snow on their roofs. In spite of it all, the tent was crammed, and Krishnaji gave a marvelous and moving talk.“I put a lot into that,” he said. . I drove up to Tannegg with Mr. Weeraperuma with Dr. Parchure for lunch. Krishnaji was at the table. Weeraperuma again recounted the animosity of U.G. Krishnamurti, and his saying of Krishnaji, “I am going to destroy him.” In the afternoon, Krishnaji saw the Siddoo sisters. They have found an Indian woman they think could be the principal if they reopened the Wolf Lake school in a year. By the time they left, it was too late, cold, and wet for a walk. So we both sank into our respective detective novels.’

For his fifth Saanen talk, Krishnaji wore a nice Navy-made pullover we bought yesterday at Loertscher-Graa. It was very 'becoming'. The talk was very fine.[3] Afterward, he said that he said something new today, and “I had no idea what I would talk about when I began.” At 3 p.m., I took a little plant to Madame Banzet, who, at eighty-eight, was again at the talks, but is now in the Saanen hospital with a badly broken ankle. She was looking pinkly orange with health, sitting up in a wheelchair in a ward for old ladies, and taking the attitude 'that if it had to happen',’ She was a lovely old lady.

Dorothy came on the walk with Krishnaji and me to the river. The weather is warm again. An Alsatian dog jumped at Krishnaji and bit his arm, but he did not puncture the skin through the jacket.’

At 10:30 a.m., Krishnaji’s gave his sixth Saanen talk. It was very fine.

The twenty-seventh. The copyright of Education and the Significance of Life is expiring in November, and if the author is living, it must be reassigned. Krishnaji has therefore removed it from Rajagopal, and today assigned it to KFA as part of the assets of KWINC, which, in the settlement agreement, came to KFA. As other copyrights expire in Krishnaji’s lifetime, he can regain control of them.

The next day, ‘Dr. Parchure and I went to Saanen hospital to arrange a lower gastrointestinal X-ray for Krishnaji next week. Then I did errands such as getting an extra suitcase for Krishnaji. He, Parchure, and I lunched at the table. Some Buddhists with a monk’ ‘dropped in before Krishnaji finished his nap.’ ‘He saw them briefly. Then we went for a walk to the river. I worked on assembling questions for tomorrow’s question-and-answer meeting.’

July twenty-ninth. 10:30 a.m. for his first of the question-and-answer meetings of this year in Saanen. Krishnaji had done most of the choosing of the questions, and I had typed ten for him, of which he answered five. On coming back to Tannegg, I put on the TV, which was broadcasting the wedding of Prince Charles and Diana in London. Krishnaji was scornful, “What nonsense.” we watched a bit of the royal wedding until Krishnaji came in and said, “Aren’t you going to turn that thing off?” Royal doings always get a rise out of Krishnaji.’

The thirty-first. ‘It was a hot day. Krishnaji held his third question-and-answer meeting, which winds up Saanen for this summer. It was a larger meeting and Krishnaji was a fire of energy. In the afternoon, Krishnaji saw the Fouéres, very briefly.’

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Tue, 18 Jul 2017 #346
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

More of the 'same old story'

I don’t know whether this could be linked with the episode in Ootacamund with Pupul and Nandini, when he went “off,” and then when he came to, he said, “Did you see the face?” …well, the implication was that it was the Buddha. And when they said they had, he said, “You are blessed.” They had seen “His” face.

After a talk, he would sometimes ask, “Did the face change?”—meaning his face during a talk. I’ve seen…well, it’s hard to describe. I’ve also seen him change shape. I mean, I’ve seen him, though sitting, suddenly become a tall man. Anyway, these things are so nebulous that I don’t like to take a position of what I know and don’t know or noticed, I mean… there’s a vast ocean of things I don’t know about, categories of things with regard to Krishnaji, which I have wisps of them in my mind, and I’m aware of them, but I don’t try and build a foundation of saying, “This is what was happening,” because I don’t know.

When he was in the hospital dying, and we took turns being with him…And one early, morning the light was just coming up over the hills and he turned his face and looked at the hills and it was the face of a young, not a boy, but a very, very young man. I don’t know what to say. It was transformed or, it was like light changing on something.

It’s just a…a wonderful uncertainty that always, somehow, relations with Krishnaji never had boundaries. Never had statistics to what you could point to and say, “This is what he was like” or “This is how he behaved” or “This is what he was doing.” It was all this wonderful…there was the Unknown in a very simple way. I always felt that the extraordinary eloquence of the man, and the teaching genius that he had, was that it was "new" to him at that moment. He was…his voice, his mind, his perception was seeing something that wasn’t associated with anything else, and yet he was talking about the same things, in a way—it was the same area. He was talking about dimensions of the human consciousness that most people don’t have. But it was new to him. He was not repeating what he’d seen twenty years ago or even last week.…and somehow this has, for me, has to do with his teachings. I mean, this was the way he lived and we should all live, in that things don’t repeat themselves. They are—they exist, "then". And they’re true, "then". It’s happening, it’s there. He’s seeing, he’s talking about something that is there that moment—alive. And it isn’t repetitious. Even in the talks, I used to feel sometimes I knew what he was going to say, but it wasn’t old—he was not repeating something. And I wasn’t perceiving something I’d seen before. It’s impossible to describe all these things.

So, the first of August, 1981. ‘It was quiet at last. I marketed, then Krishnaji, Parchure, and I lunched alone.
The next day, ‘All is quiet. The tent is gone. The sun shines. Krishnaji, though on a restrictive diet for two days before having X-rays Tuesday, is starting the additions to his  Journal that Mary has asked for to make it long enough for the next publication by Gollancz.

His digestion has been all right since he shifted to not starting meals with fruit and then salad. The order is reversed: cooked food, then salad, then a moderate amount of fruit. No more fruit juices. He is at present drinking Soya Gen’—Swiss drink made of soy—‘at breakfast and Sumbal…’—that’s another Swiss product after lunch. He eats as much as he wants for lunch, but less at supper. A thick vegetable soup or a cooked vegetable, one piece of toast or biscuit, and cheese. Tofu, too.

All felt very cheerful. Krishnaji said, “I told you there would be nothing wrong.”’ ‘After his breakfast he continued writing the first of the two pieces Mary needs for the new book. He wants a new soft pen and a loose-leaf notebook, but there were none suitable in Gstaad.’ ‘At 5 p.m., he had his hair cut, and afterwards he said, “I feel extravagant. I want to buy something for you.”’ [Both chuckle.] ‘We went to Loertscher’ and we bought a nice brown Pringle jersey for Dr. Parchure. Then we walked in the shade of the woods. The stream was cool and its sound ran through me as part of the happiness I felt. Krishnaji laughed at me and took my hand, and I knew the extraordinary gift of being able to say, “Yes. Now, at this very moment, I am totally happy.”’ He thought I was silly to be so happy that he was well.

August fifth. ‘Another warm day. Krishnaji wrote and I typed it for Mary. I also did errands of getting supplies of Soya Gen and Buerlecithin, which Krishnaji suddenly fancies and wants for Brockwood and India. In spite of the heat, we walked in the woods and my happiness continues, and Krishnaji is aware of it.’ Which means he’s laughing at it.

The sixth. ‘It is a hot day. I went to the hospital to fetch Krishnaji’s X-rays and other records. Krishnaji wrote and I typed. Krishnaji and Dr. Parchure like bitter tastes. So I got a small bottle of Fernet-Branca’—you know, it’s the digestive liqueur that’s often used in alcoholic drinks and a large bottle of Cynar’—that’s a French bitter drink that’s made of artichokes—‘which Krishnaji tasted somewhere in the past and pronounces "good" whenever he sees an advertisement for it.’ ‘Lunch is now embellished with either of these. Krishnaji relishes both.’ ‘Dr. Parchure’ keeps asking, “What is the dose, sir?” as if it were medicine. And both seem to have blotted out the fact that they are taking alcoholic drinks.’ ‘It tastes like cough medicine in my childhood, and I abstain. Krishnaji gave an interview to Donald Hoppen at 4:30 p.m., who was working with a Swiss architect on a huge building in the Jungfraujoch.’

August seventh. ‘Krishnaji continued to write. I typed all morning, and in the afternoon sent the first piece that Krishnaji wrote to Mary. We walked in the cool of the woods. We also began a week’s regime of whole rice at every lunch. I telephoned to Mary in the evening, and to Dorothy. Frances got off to Ojai yesterday.’
The eighth, ‘Krishnaji didn’t sleep too well and so didn’t go for a walk. He wrote in the morning and rested in the afternoon.

August eleventh. ‘Krishnaji does not want me to go to Rome. He has been saying this on and off for the last few days. Dr. Parchure pointed out the difficulty that not going puts me in, and at lunch Krishnaji told me today that it is alright.’ I don’t know why he didn’t want me to go to Rome.
We walked in the woods. He said, “I’ve had enough of Gstaad.” Vanda, Dr. Parchure, and I had supper. I’m glad to have seen Filomena and done what I could, but I am glad to be back; and like Krishnaji, glad to be moving on to Brockwood.’

we flew on a 1:55 p.m. Swiss Air flight to London. Dorothy met us. I am happily we are back at Brockwood. We went for a short walk. The country is soft with the fullness of late summer. I spoke to the Bohms. They will come for three days on Sunday. David is better.’

August twenty-third. Saral and David arrived in the afternoon to stay in the West Wing until Wednesday’—this was on a Sunday. ‘Krishnaji talked to David, then we all went for a short walk.’
The next day, ‘I went to Alresford on errands while Krishnaji wrote. Then I spent the rest of the day doing desk work. Krishnaji treated Dave. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked.’

The twenty-ninth. ‘ Krishnaji gave his first Brockwood talk of the year.

September third. ‘At 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji answered written questions in the second question-and-answer meeting.

The next day. went to Krishnaji’s fourth Brockwood talk. It was a warm day, and the crowd was immense. After eating lunch quietly upstairs, Krishnaji went back to the tent briefly. I talked again to Magdalina Jasciuska. Dorothy was stung by a wasp, and had a bad reaction.

September eleventh. ‘Both Marogers arrive for the seminar. I put them in the West Wing. Diane fell and broke her arm last week.

At 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji held the first seminar, mostly on education. Maurice Wilkins is here, and so is Stuart Holroyd, who wrote The Quest of a Quiet Mind. It is the first time he has ever seen Krishnaji.’ He wrote a whole book about Krishnaji, but he never met him before. ‘I slept in the afternoon, then walked with Krishnaji, Dorothy, Jean-Michel, and Marie-Bertrande.’
September twelfth. ‘The second seminar meeting. Rupert Sheldrake (the 'rat man') came.’ Maurice Wilkins gave a talk in the evening on nuclear disarmament.’ In the evening, Rupert Sheldrake gave a talk on his book.’
September fifteenth. ‘The fifth and last meeting of the seminar, after which most people left.

The seventeenth. ‘Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I, took a KLM flight to Amsterdam. Anneke and Dr. Hans Vincent met us at Schiphol airport, and I rented a Hertz Mitsubishi station wagon. With Hans Vincent to show the way, we drove to the Hotel Kastanjehof in Lage Vuursche, near Hilversum. Krishnaji, Dorothy, Mary Links, Mary Cadogan, and I are staying there. It is a nice, small hotel in the woods. We dined in a special room to ourselves in a restaurant next door.’ That was nice.

September nineteenth: Krishnaji and I left at 10:20 a.m. for the RAI.’ That’s the big hall in Amsterdam. There was a huge crowd. I think there were about 3,000 seats, but it spilled out into the outer hall, and they put up a TV in the outer hall.

The twenty-fourth. ‘Krishnaji and I packed and drove to Schiphol. Krishnaji felt weak in the car. “I’m not quite there,” he said. We took the KLM 2 p.m. to Heathrow. Krishnaji had to walk slowly. He felt “washed out.” He ate only some grapes we brought. Dorothy met us, and Krishnaji relaxed in the car on the drive back to Brockwood. I got him into his warm bed, but he shook as if with malaria. He took hot Ribena’—that’s a fruit drink—‘and three teaspoons of brandy, which worked a cure. He is just overtired. Twice he said, “You are a nice person.”’

Krishnaji talked to me at length about his odd memory. He says he has (only) two strong memories ( as a boy ) 1) Standing alone by the river at Adyar, empty of all thought; and 2) Mrs. Besant taking him by the hand, sitting on a chowki and asking him if he accepted as disciples the group present. Then he said he has only one regret, which was not sending away Rosalind and Rajagopal. He spoke of 'remembrance'. “No remembrance of Maria Z. I have fondness for you. It’s not a remembrance. That is why it cannot change.”’
He used to say that he wrote me a lot of letters so that he wouldn’t forget me. When we drove from Gstaad to Paris, he would remember where we had stopped in previous years on the road for a picnic breakfast, which Fosca used to make. And he would say, “Now, we are coming to it, it’s just down the road—it’s here.”

The twenty-ninth. ‘Krishnaji’s temperature was normal in the morning. In the evening, we watched a film on TV, The Birdman of Alcatraz.’
October second. ‘Krishnaji slept well and his temperature was normal in the morning. Krishnaji did breathing exercises and a few light physical ones.
The fifth. Krishnaji shaved off a beard he has grown since Holland.’ He sat up in a chair most of the day, dozing and reading. His temperature at 6 p.m. was 98.6. Normal!’
The eleventh. Krishnaji had a long, serious talk with me on what happened to him at 4 a.m. “The "door" opened and then shut.” He could have “slipped away.” What would I do if that happened in the future?’ That means he would have died. ‘He sees only Pupul and me to carry on the work. We talked for a long time, and he let me tape it.’

October fourteenth. ‘Krishnaji, for the first time since the illness, dressed and came down to the dining room to lunch.

October eighteenth. ‘the Bohms came down to lunch. In the afternoon, Krishnaji and Dave talked a bit together while I talked to Saral. Then we all had coffee.

I spoke on the phone to Mary Cadogan, who has found a suitable hall for Krishnaji to speak in in London, The Barbican Centre. Krishnaji says to get it for June fifth and sixth.

At 3:30 p.m., Krishnaji, Asit, Dorothy, and I left for Heathrow. Rita Zampese met us there and took Krishnaji and Asit onto the Lufthansa plane. ‘It left at 6 p.m. for Frankfurt, where they changed to a Lufthansa nonstop flight to Delhi. Krishnaji was still in pain but said it was better.’

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Tue, 18 Jul 2017 #347
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

Continuing the MZ Story time ( 1982) The thrill is gone

Krishnaji left Bombay on the tenth on Singapore Airlines, the only airline he says is good because it has couchettes where he stretches out and slept six hours before arriving at Heathrow at 8 a.m. He arrived on his new diplomatic passport. The Indian high commission sent a car to meet him, which was unnecessary because Dorothy was there. I spoke to him by telephone when he got to Brockwood, and Dorothy said he was looking very well. On the twelfth, he did an audio-recorded discussion with David Bohm and Maurice Wilkins for French radio. It was organized by Jean-Michel Maroger. He had left at 11:20 a.m. London time and landed here at 2:11 p.m., looking very well. We walked to the parking lot, and then Krishnaji and I drove up the coast and so to Ojai. Krishnaji and I walked about the house, looking at everything. The house is shining and clean. The Georgian desk has been put in perfect shape. Krishnaji approved of the camellia bed on the north terrace, which he had wanted and which I had resisted. He was right. We had supper on trays. “Come talk to me,” he said, and then he told me much of the news of India. He is here and life is blessed. There was trouble with the burglar alarm in the night.’

Monday, the fifteenth: The walls are now painted white, and the new curtains, rug, lamps, and cushions have made quite a change, and Krishnaji approved.

February sixteenth. ‘Krishnaji and I talked and talked and talked. We again lunched at Arya Vihara and again had naps. Krishnaji has a sore tip of his toe, so he wants to go to Dr. Hara.’ That’s the foot man in Santa Paula. ‘He said at one point in India Dr. Parchure told him his body was deteriorating, so Krishnaji  “challenged the body,” and it responded with sudden strength and energy.’ ‘It is in him now.’ The body was always his responsibility, he thought. ‘We felt we have too much TV at supper, so we switched it off.’

Then we went to UCLA hospital at 2 p.m., and Krishnaji was admitted after a deposit of $6,210.’ The two-room suite I had engaged on the ninth floor for Krishnaji in December was only half available, but he has the largest room. Though they have offered me a cot, I preferred the sofa already in the room. The usual tests were made, including a chest X-ray. Krishnaji said, “I feel like crying. I don’t know why.” But he accepted it all cheerfully and said, “Why is there so much fuss over a small affair?” We both went to sleep rather early. The strange surroundings did not make him wakeful. Only once, after supper, when he had dozed off and I tried to pull up his blanket, he awoke too suddenly and shudderingly, not recognizing me right 
February twenty-first. ‘Lailee came by in the morning. She said all of Krishnaji’s tests were excellent, except that his weight is down 3 pounds from his normal 112 pounds. He is 48.9 kilograms now, or 109 pounds. We spent a quiet day, mostly reading. Krishnaji insisted on “doing” my foot. “You must be very healthy. You must outlive me. I’ve been thinking a lot about that. We will talk about it.” Dr. Ronald Tompkins, the surgeon, came to see Krishnaji in the late afternoon. A tall, dignified, pleasant man. He made a good impression on Krishnaji. His surgery is to be early tomorrow at 7:30 a.m. He discussed how much exercise Krishnaji could do during the recuperation. Most of pranayama Krishnaji does involves too much contraction of the muscles near the incision. Simple walking and slow breathing is best. A little later, the anesthesiologist, Dr. Benjamin Ward, came. He is a young, careful, sensitive man; and he also made a good impression. He will have a spinal anesthesia of petrocaine to be used, minus other drugs, with intravenous saline and dextrose. We had a poor supper. It is a struggle here with food. Krishnaji watched an old Kojak on TV. We turned the lights out before 9:30 p.m.’
The twenty-second. ‘I write this in the hospital room. Krishnaji went down to the operating room before 7 a.m. He had showered with special soap as instructed, shaved, and lay in bed looking gleaming, immaculate. “One should dress elegantly before dying,” he said. And then he said, “Wasn’t it Haydn who put on his best clothes to compose?” I replied, “No talk of dying, please.” He responded, “Oh, I’m not going to die.” He said it very firmly. He laughed when I told him the chaplain had come by while he was in the shower to say words of encouragement before surgery. The chaplain, a pale-faced man in rimless glasses, said to tell the patient, “I’ll be rooting for him.”’ ‘Krishnaji laughed at the solemnness of getting on the gurney and went off down the hall on it. I asked the anesthesiologist to talk to Krishnaji during the operation as was done when he was at Cedars-Sinai hospital. Now I must wait.’

‘It is now 1:20 p.m. Dr. Tompkins telephoned me at 8:50 a.m. that Krishnaji was out of surgery and in the recovery room, and said it went well. Krishnaji had talked with Dr. Ward during the surgery. They had not been able to tell if there might be a weakness on the left side, which might give in to pressure now that the right hernia is repaired. At 9:50 a.m., word came that the patient was coming out of the recovery room. But it wasn’t until 10:30 a.m. that Krishnaji came down the hall. He looked pale, a little yellowish, and hardly spoke. An icepack on the wound. Krishnaji was in some pain and the spinal had not gone from his legs entirely. He asked me to hold his feet. Then he wanted to lie on his left side. Sometime after 11 a.m., he asked me, “Maria, talk to me. I could slip away. The door is open. Do you understand?” I kept talking. Then the pain became more severe, seeming to come in waves. Did he want something to stop it? Yes. Demerol had been ordered but I was worried it might be the dose for a normal body and telephoned Lailee. He had a shot at 11:40 a.m., and was in considerable pain until it took effect. Groaning, saying this was much worse than the other operation. He asked me to keep my hand on his diaphragm.
‘At 2:15 p.m., he woke and looked vacantly side to side. I asked him if he was clear in his mind. He had difficulty talking. I said he’d been asleep. Is he all right now? He said it had been very close. When I said he must shut the door, he hadn’t been sure he was strong enough. I said he had been given extra strength in India and he had it to use. He said I mustn’t order it, “If it wants to go, it will go.” I said I was asking, but he could still tell it.’
‘Dr. Tompkins came in and spoke to him. In the hall, I spoke of the difficulty of Demerol for Krishnaji, and Tompkins said he would rather Krishnaji endured some pain and not have too much medication. When I came back, Krishnaji said he had been kept downstairs too long, forty-five minutes after they were ready to have him leave, and there was no attendant. “I think I’m coming to,” he said.’
‘Evening: Lailee has been here cheerily. She had him look at the incision with a mirror to see how small it was. Krishnaji has not needed further Demerol and is reading his detective novel, a Raymond Chandler. His voice is weak but normal.
February twenty-third. ‘Krishnaji slept well, on and off. He says there is no pain. The nurse and I got him sitting up, with his legs dangling. Then standing. Then walking once around the room. He was surprised at his weakness. The intravenous tube has been removed. He’s had no further Demerol since the 120 milligram shot before noon yesterday. Dr. Tompkins came by early, and approved of everything. Lailee came by a little later. She said she thought he would be able to go home tomorrow. Earlier, with a private nurse with him, I had gone out to get a plug for his razor, and some tasty food; good yogurt, buttermilk, Häagen-Dazs ice cream, cheeses, fruit. I also went to Bullock’s for two pillows so he can lie down in the car; and, at his insistence, I went to Gisèle to figure out how to use the lovely material he brought me from India. When I got back, he had walked with the nurse to the end of the hall and back. It tired him but was progress.’

‘The day nurse, left at seven and the night nurse, Mary Forbin, came on. It will be good if we can leave tomorrow. Krishnaji senses here the mark of sickness and suffering in these rooms. He has slept well, is free of pain, and wants to leave.’
February twenty-fourth. ‘Dr. Tompkins came in early, and agreed that Krishnaji should go home. The night nurse had given him a bed bath before going off duty, and at 7 a.m., he wore his warm shirt under his dressing gown. I got everything into the car and Krishnaji came down in a wheelchair. He sat in the back with pillows, painfully getting into the car. “Avoid bumps,” he asked, and I drove with care. When we came to the yellow wildflowers along the beach, he said the beauty of that was worth the surgery. ‘We reached the cottage a little after 12:30 p.m It was very painful for him to lift his legs out of the car, walk slowly up the path, climb the porch steps, and, most of all, to lower himself onto the bed. He sobbed, “It is too much for the body. How did I get into this?” He had seemed to stand the drive fairly well, but this was too much. It was very hard for him to move in the bed, and attempts to fix his condition—the position of his cushions—are unsuccessful. Michael brought a “tasty” lunch, and later at supper, he ate well. But again in the evening, it was painful for him to move. He took my hand, put it on the wound and placed his over it saying, “There, that helps.”’ I used to ask him if he couldn’t heal himself. And he said he only could if my hand was on the thing, and then he did it through my hand. And that way it seemed to work. He did that later on, too, at the end.. So he couldn’t heal himself but he could make someone else heal him. Well, I don’t know what to say about that.

The twenty-fifth. ‘Krishnaji slept nine hours. He ate a good breakfast, but felt weak. He read all morning. I telephoned Mary Links in London to let her know how he is. Krishnaji gave himself a sponge bath standing in his bathroom, then he walked around the house and on the terrace. ‘He doesn’t have much appetite, though Michael brought him tasty, spicy food.
The next day. ‘He still has considerable pain whenever he moves. It is wearing for him, but he walked in and around the house and outside. His digestion is working as it should. I spoke to Dorothy at Brockwood.’
February twenty-seventh. ‘Krishnaji is feeling stronger, but the pain remains. He is learning to move less painfully. He went for a walk around the house in the morning. While I went to market in the afternoon, he walked to the gate and back.’

March first. ‘Krishnaji is feeling much better. Krishnaji walked to the gate and back in the morning, and in the afternoon as well. I painted the western nandi with linseed oil.’ When it came, there were instructions for it to be painted in oil to make it stay black, but I stopped doing that because it looks better gray. I don’t know; it didn’t look right black.
March fourth. ‘Krishnaji took his first real shower. He walked a bit. Rajagopal telephoned me, but I was out.
The fifth. ‘Krishnaji walked in the early morning. I worked at the desk and new plants were planted. Krishnaji read all afternoon. He still feels, “weak,” and likes staying in bed. We omitted cheese at supper, and that seems to have helped him sleep.’

March sixth: ‘At 11 a.m., there was a meeting about the Krishnaji-Bohm-Sheldrake seminar in April. It was decided that Hidley should be the fourth participant and Krause would do the introduction and part of the epilogue. Later, Erna, on behalf of the Krishnaji Foundation, invited Tom Krause to become a trustee. He accepted. Krishnaji walked three times to the gate.’
The seventh. ‘I awoke around 4 a.m., and remained awake. At some point, I heard Krishnaji call me. I went in and sat with him. We had a light talk. His incision is much less painful. It hurts only when he gets up or down into bed or a chair. He astonishes me. Later, I went to make our nettle tea and brought it to him. He said that he had felt like “going off,” and that it was close. It was not “the door opening,” as in the hospital. He thought of calling me, but didn’t want to be melodramatic. It would have been very easy, he said. Later, he spoke of it again. “What would you do if you came in and found me?”’ Then another quote. ‘“It shouldn’t happen now. I still have too much to do.”’
‘In the afternoon, he shaved off the beard he has grown since he was in the hospital.’ I forgot about that. ‘He showered and dressed for the first time since he came back. He put on jeans and a heavy cotton knit we ordered from L.L. Bean a year ago. He is pleased with it, and wants some more to take to India. He looked beautiful and elegant but very thin. He weighs 104.5 pounds. He wanted to walk, so we drove to the corner of Thacher and McNell. The Lilliefelts parked at Grand and McNell, so if he tired, the cars were close.’ It’s level on that part. ‘But Krishnaji set off down McNell at his military clip. And when we reached Grand, he insisted on walking halfway back. Theo followed in the car and picked him up. He was tired after he got back to his room. “My legs are weak.” But it was a good first outing. He fell asleep right after supper, and slept well. I slept on the 'qui vive'.

11 a.m. for the meeting with Rajagopal and some of them. Mima Porter and Austin Bee were already there. The seats were in a U-shape with one in front of the fireplace, presumably for Krishnaji. Krishnaji asked where Rajagopal was. Vigeveno said she would explain in a minute; would we be seated and did we object to taping the meeting? Austin Bee had a large tape recorder. Erna was somewhat taken aback by this abrupt question. I merely thought they are doing it overtly instead of under the sofa.’ ‘Krishnaji then asked again where Rajagopal was, and Vigeveno said he was not coming. No excuse. No reason. Krishnaji was shocked. Why hadn’t she telephoned? She hadn’t known, she said. But this was a palpable lie, as Krishnaji noticed that the way the chairs were arranged, he was clearly not expected’—very observant of Krishnaji. ‘Vigeveno began to ask us what we wanted, and Krishnaji interrupted, and said without Rajagopal there was no point in talking. We immediately left, but not until I said that Krishnaji was out of his sick bed and three weeks from surgery, etcetera. We drove to Oak Grove School and talked in the car. It was a shock to Krishnaji because, once again, he had hoped and thought that Rajagopal would, at last, do something decent; and once again, Rajagopal had insulted him. “I will never go to see him again. If he wishes to see me, he will have to come, and he will have to restore the archives,” he said.

At lunch at Arya Vihara, Krishnaji spoke of goodness as an absolute, unrelated to any other thing; unrelated to evil; without an opposite. But evil projects an opposite: a pseudo-good, not the real. Thinking gets caught in these two, and so is untouched by the real good.’

Krishnaji telephoned Radha Sloss, told her what had happened on Monday, and said he would never go there again. If Rajagopal wanted to see him, he would have to come here and give up the archives, putting them where the settlement agreement says they should be kept.

March eighteenth, 1982. ‘Krishnaji was awake in the night. ‘Dr. Lailee says the results of Krishnaji’s tests yesterday show Krishnaji doesn’t have gout, but he has elevated blood sugar. Krishnaji could take a pill, but she suggests I talk to a dietitian about a diabetic diet, and after he tries it, to retest his blood before he goes to New York. I was unable to reach the Ojai hospital dietitian. Krishnaji is not eating enough and needs to put on weight; and diet restrictions will make this even more difficult. Lailee gave a prescription to lower his blood sugar.

The twenty-fourth. ‘Krishnaji awakened me at 4 a.m. His inner clock, as always, had awakened him at 3:30 a.m. He has no stomach for breakfast at odd hours, but did eat something, and we were ready when Mark and the Lilliefelts arrived at 6 a.m. with the school van. 9 a.m. United flight to New York. Krishnaji and I had the forward two seats in first class, and he was going to speak at Carnegie Hall.

The twenty-fifth. ‘Krishnaji looked well from his ten hours of sleep. There was no sign of fatigue from the trip. My brother sent his car with a driver to take us to the radio station WBAI for a one-hour live interview by a Gary Null starting at noon. Today’s interview was live, in a scruffy studio on Eighth Avenue. Walking back to the hotel, I felt he was a little worn. Life has grayed, and I felt that sadness and the flood of affection that wants to protect someone dear. Krishnaji sensed it, too. We said goodbye, and Krishnaji and I walked on in order to time how long it takes to walk to the stage door of Carnegie Hall from the hotel (two minutes), and then we went around the block for a walk. There was a large photo of Krishnaji in the front of Carnegie Hall with “Sold Out” in big letters across it. We came back to the hotel, rested a little, and then Krishnaji said, “Let’s go.” So we went to the four o’clock showing of the film. His expectation of the Lancaster film was a bit bewildered by this one. “What is happening?” he kept asking. He didn’t like it, but stayed. It is the first film we have seen in years, he said.’ That can’t be true". Then we walked east on 57th Street, and he recognized where he was. We went into Doubleday’s and bought some paperbacks. Erna, Theo, and Evelyne had listened to the WBAI broadcast in the morning, and thought it went very well. Krishnaji said the interviewer was full of himself. Krishnaji is surprised that people recognize and speak to him on the streets, in lifts, and in the bookstore.’

March twenty-sixth. David Shainberg, came and answered Krishnaji’s questions about Rishi Valley, etcetera, which he had recently visited. Krishnaji asked him to think about “joining us” in some way. Not on the board, “that is nothing,” but in some other way. David said he had been thinking of that. Krishnaji and I lunched at Orsini again, rather late to avoid the noise. The food suits Krishnaji, so at least he is getting enough. Just before lunch, he got the shakes, his hands trembling, and I made a blind guess that the pills to lower his blood sugar have overdone it. I put some sugar on a piece of bread as we were waiting for lunch to be served, and in a few minutes the trembling stopped. He ate well. At 4 p.m., a New York Times man, Paul Montgomery, came to interview Krishnaji. A nice man. Krishnaji noticed how clean his hands were.’

The twenty-seventh. ‘Krishnaji said he had awakened several times, but said he had had meditation. It was a cold morning. We had breakfast without haste and, for once, there was no hurrying about before a talk. Krishnaji was in the lobby when I came down, and we walked the short way to the Carnegie Hall stage door. Krishnaji came out to considerable applause. The house was full to the ceiling, many standing. People had been scalping tickets outside at 9 a.m.’
‘Krishnaji began to speak at 10 a.m. There was some microphone trouble at first, but the audience was very sympathetic. Then his voice came on vibrant, strong as a trumpet, and the Krishnaji magic was there, filling the hushed hall. He wore a brown suit, handsome in front of a golden curtain. He held them for one hour and thirty-five minutes. It was a good, intense talk. We came back to the hotel. Philippa and David also came and, while Krishnaji rested for a while, they and I talked. Then, the four of us walked to Orsini’s, and again had a good Italian lunch. We walked back to the hotel, and Krishnaji rested again, while Philippa and David came with me in search of tofu and apricots. The streets were cold and windy. old bookstore, and they’ve always specialized in Krishnaji’s books.
The fact that it was the way it was at Carnegie Hall, for me, as a New Yorker, in my childhood, I used to go and hear Toscanini there, and I felt that the good sounds in that hall were in the wood, in the fabric, in the walls somehow; and to have Krishnaji’s voice added to that, in my imagination, gave me great pleasure.

March twenty-eighth. ‘Tickets for Krishnaji’s second New York talk were being scalped at eight-five dollars outside Carnegie Hall this morning.’

S: Wow. That’s a lot.
M: That is a lot. ‘The New York Times man, Paul Montgomery, had a quite nice article on Krishnaji. He gave a very fine talk. Earlier, he had said to me in a not too serious way, “How long can I keep this up?” After the talk, Krishnaji and I lunched with David Shainberg at his flat. About ten of us were there, and Krishnaji told some of his stories: the ones about heaven and hell, St. Peter’s, and the man in the red Ferrari. After the lunch, we came back to the hotel and rested.’

The twenty-ninth. ‘We were slightly late getting to an 11 a.m. conference put together by David Shainberg and held in the United Nations Plaza building. There were about thirty participants.’ These were supposed to be all psychotherapists, but there were others. ‘Renée Weber, Patricia Hunt-Perry, Jackie Kornfeld, Montague Olman, Evelyne Blau, and Eloise were ones I knew. A Hopi Indian, some musicians, painters, and psychotherapists, too. It didn’t really get off the ground in my view, but seemed valuable to Shainberg. Afterwards, he came with Krishnaji and me to lunch with Narasimhan around the corner from the UN at the Madras Woodlands Restaurant.’

March thirtieth. ‘We were on time to the second Shainberg conference. I felt again that Krishnaji had to pull everyone uphill. David Shainberg lunched with us at Orsini, and it was late, and therefore quiet. Krishnaji ate well and likes it Jackie Kornfeld had located Karsh, the photographer. He is in New York and will photograph Krishnaji tomorrow.’

The thirty-first. ‘It was the third Shainberg conference. Yousuf Karsh, the photographer, was there, studying Krishnaji’s appearance. Shainberg lunched with us at Orsini. Krishnaji and I then went to Karsh’s studio where, from 3:15 p.m. to 5 p.m., he photographed Krishnaji, mostly in black and white, but a few in color. He made Krishnaji have his hands in each pose, which is not characteristic of Krishnaji. I asked him toward the end for some without the hands. After the photo-shoot, we walked back to the hotel, where Krishnaji was interviewed for WBAI again, this time by Lex Hixon. Krishnaji didn’t sleep well. My impatience at not getting a taxi back disturbed him.

a noon flight on United to Los Angeles. We arrived at 3:30 p.m. Mark met us and we drove home along the coast. It is lovely to be back. Krishnaji had fainted briefly sitting on the plane, but was full of energy and enthusiasm on the drive and on arrival. The Bohms, who have been here for a week, greeted us

At 4 p.m., Krishnaji held another discussion here with Oak Grove School teachers. It came to something infinite—seeing the incompleteness of knowledge can free the mind to different perception.

The next day. ‘After lunch at Arya Vihara, I went to the Santa Barbara airport to meet Rupert Sheldrake and bring him back to Arya Vihara, where he will stay for a week.
At 4 p.m., Krishnaji, Bohm, Sheldrake, and John Hidley did a one-hour videotaped discussion on what causes mental disorder. After, there was a short walk with Krishnaji, Bohm, and Sheldrake.’
The seventeenth. ‘At 11 a.m. there was the second videotaped discussion with Krishnaji, Bohm, Sheldrake, and Hidley; and a third discussion was done in the afternoon at 4 p.m.’
The next day. ‘It was a warm, clear day. At 11 a.m., Krishnaji, Bohm, Sheldrake, and Hidley did the fourth videotaped dialogue. In the afternoon, Bohm, Hidley, and Krause did an epilogue to it without Krishnaji. Krause did the introduction. The house is finally empty and quiet by 8:30 in the evening. Krishnaji did some special thing to “clean” the atmosphere in the living room.’

April twenty-third, The Bohms brought Professor Feynman of Caltech to lunch at Arya Vihara. I went to the Oak Grove School horse show. Ulrich Brugger and Magda Sichitiu were also at lunch. She brought her mother and child to Ojai hoping to stay and put the child in the Oak Grove School.

There’s nothing for the twenty-seventh except that the Bohms left. And the following day, ‘We went to the Oak Grove School for a tree planting and a lunch prepared by a parent who runs a restaurant in Santa Monica. Krishnaji sat at a table with the children. Then he and I went to the IRS office in Oxnard for his tax clearance so he could leave the country. We came back, and Krishnaji worked a little bit with Alasdair planting azaleas that we bought.’

May first. 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji gave his first Ojai talk in the Oak Grove. He and I had lunch at Arya Vihara with only Michael present. I looked at video of that day’s talk—well done by Mendizza using two cameras and the equipment of the seminar recordings. Krishnaji and I walked to the Lilliefelts’ and back.’
The second of May. ‘It is a nice sunny day. At 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji gave his second Ojai talk. Afterward, he said, “Where does the energy come from? It can’t be the porridge.”
on May fourth, ‘Krishnaji held the first question-and-answer session in the Grove.
May sixth. ‘Krishnaji’s second question-and-answer meeting in the Oak Grove. on May eighth, ‘There was drizzle, but still, at 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji gave his third Ojai talk.
May ninth. ‘It was a cold day. Krishnaji gave his fourth Ojai talk. Beforehand, he had said in the car, “What will I talk about?” And it turned out to be a very fine one.  When we came back, he went to bed, where he had supper. Krishnaji said he “did something” to protect the house as we leave it at night.

Reeta Sanatani who had been principal of the Canadian school, but the school is now canceled. Krishnaji has resigned from the Educational Center of Canada.’ He did resign, but the Siddoo sisters never said he resigned.

May twelfth. ‘Today is Krishnaji’s eighty-seventh birthday. We went to Beverly Hills, with Krishnaji driving the green Mercedes along the coast road. He said, “Every night meditation wakes me.”
The thirteenth. ‘At 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji held his fourth question-and-answer meeting in the Oak Grove. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji and I went to a tea at Oak Grove School for the helpers and guests.’

May fourteenth. ‘Erna called me to say Rajagopal is trying to reach me. I telephoned him. He wants to send five boxes’—oh, this is the five-box day—‘of material to Krishnaji to be delivered personally in my presence. At around 10 a.m., Austin Bee came with five file boxes. Krishnaji came to the front door and received them. Krishnaji had Erna and Theo come over and the contents of all five boxes were examined. There were manuscripts of Krishnaji’s; letters from Nitya, Annie Besant, and Emily Lutyens; original accounts of the"pepper tree event"; and much else. Erna, Theo, and I made an inventory. Later, Krishnaji had me call Rajagopal and thank him deeply, and say that Krishnaji hoped that more material will come, and we can avoid going to court.
Meralis and the Lilliefelts while I did this.’
May fifteenth. ‘Krishnaji had leg cramps in the night. At 11:30 a.m., he gave the fifth Ojai talk, which moved me to tears.[2] 
The sixteenth. ‘It is a warm day. The crowd for the sixth talk was huge. Austin Bee handed Krishnaji a note from Rajagopal as he arrived. Krishnaji read it only after the talk on his return home. Rajagopal wanted Krishnaji to announce at the talk that they were friends. Later Krishnaji had me telephone and read a message Krishnaji wrote to Rajagopal, thanking him, and asking him if it meant he was turning over the rest of the things. Rajagopal said it has nothing to do with turning anything over or with the lawsuit.

May the seventeenth. ‘It was a hot day. The Meralis left after lunch. Krishnaji was tired and worried about who carries on after he, I, and the Lilliefelts are gone. He talked all morning to us about it, and at 5 p.m., he had a meeting of the Lilliefelts, Evelyne, Hooker, Moody, Mark, Krause, and Booth Harris and talked about it. Are they committed to all this?

May twenty-first:
at 2:30 p.m. left in the school van with Mark and David Moody for the Los Angeles airport, where Krishnaji and I took the 5:55 p.m. TWA to London. We had our usual two forward seats in the nose of the plane. Krishnaji slept fairly well.’
‘We arrived at Heathrow at noon. One of Krishnaji’s two new bags was missing, but was eventually found. The waiting and crowds and uncertainty shocked his body. Dorothy, Doris, and Ingrid met us. We reached Brockwood before 3 p.m. Everyone was out to meet Krishnaji, including Dr. Parchure and Narayan. We had lunch upstairs in the kitchen, and walked in the grove at 5 p.m. Everything is in lovely full bloom. Brockwood is beautiful.

The twenty-fourth. ‘The Links, the Digbys, Jane Hammond, David Bohm, and Mary Cadogan all came to a trustee meeting at noon. It was decided to buy the Woodland cottage. The meeting continued after lunch. Krishnaji was concerned to hold the three Foundations together.

The twenty-ninth. ‘It was a warm and lovely day. Marie-Bertrande and Jean-Michel Maroger arrived with Diane for the weekend. Diane wants to be a Brockwood student next September. I talked all morning with them, and they came on the walk with Krishnaji, Dorothy, and me.

May thirtieth: ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school. Peter Brook and his wife were there, and stayed to lunch. The Bohms came. I talked at length to Marie-Bertrande, and then Krishnaji spoke to her for over an hour. At lunch, Krishnaji talked of what a school could do to bring about a religious person, to help one to see the false from the real. The Marogers left for France after supper.’
June first. ‘I went to Alresford on errands while Krishnaji spoke to the students alone. After lunch, I went to fetch two monks from Chithurst Buddhist monastery. One was Sumedho, who’d written asking to see Krishnaji. I brought them here to see Krishnaji at 4:30 p.m., and drove them back afterward.’

The second of June: ‘I went to pay for our air tickets to Geneva. Krishnaji decided against going to Paris this summer. Erna telephoned that Rajagopal’s lawyer wants the five boxes back that Rajagopal sent to Krishnaji.’ They claimed—it isn’t written here—but, when Austin Bee brought the five boxes, and Krishnaji received them which I was to witness and all that, I think that was on a Friday or Saturday. By Monday, Rajagopal’s lawyer called to say that we had stolen them, and that we must return them immediately, because it was stolen property.

The fifth. ‘It was another hot day. Joe drove Krishnaji and me to the Barbican Center where, at 10:45 a.m., Krishnaji gave his first London talk. The hall was full and overflowed into an adjacent cinema where a large screen showed the talk Krishnaji was giving. Mary and Anna had sold books at the Barbican.
The next day. ‘It is still very hot. Joe again drove us to the Barbican for Krishnaji’s second London talk there. A very fine one.

June twelfth. ‘The Bohms came for the night. Krishnaji took a small walk with Dorothy and me.
At 5 p.m., Krishnaji and Pupul had a videotaped discussion with the school as the audience. Krishnaji spoke on reading the origin of things, and the path of diligence. And then Krishnaji said diligence remains part of action of the self and time, and going directly upon seeing was possible, possible for everyone.’
June twenty-second. ‘Pupul gave a talk to the school at noon on Indian craft, which Krishnaji attended.

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Wed, 19 Jul 2017 #348
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

(more K story in Fast Forward )

June twenty-fourth, 1982, The judge in California is unable to decide between Rajagopal’s and my affidavit about the five boxes of archives that Rajagopal had sent to Krishnaji and then claimed that they were stolen, so he ruled that they should be returned pending the case. I telephoned Rajagopal with Krishnaji beside me. I asked why he was claiming the files he sent should be returned. He said he never gave them, and that he couldn’t discuss it. He was “doing what I think is right”’—that’s Rajagopal. ‘Krishnaji had me say that he and Rajagopal could settle it. Rajagopal said to have Krishnaji write that in a letter. Krishnaji questioned me about whether it is worth going on with all this.’ Krishnaji got fed up with it.

The second of July. ‘We finished packing and had an early lunch at twelve. Ingrid drove us to Heathrow, where Rita Zampese met us and escorted Krishnaji and me onboard our Swiss Air flight, on which we left at 3:20 p.m. for Geneva. We arrived at the Hotel des Bergues just as Mar de Manziarly was also arriving there from Paris. She has come to lunch with Krishnaji tomorrow. It is hot in Geneva. Krishnaji and I dined in the Amphitryon Restaurant, and took a stroll across the river, and so back to bed.

The fuss over the birth of a first baby son to the Prince and Princess of Wales only made Krishnaji spurn all the news as mad. ‘Our own contentions, the unending Rajagopal saga, reignited the week after we left Ojai with the demand by Rajagopal’s lawyer that the five cartons of papers and other material Rajagopal had sent via Austin Bee to Krishnaji on May fourteenth be returned immediately. Otherwise he would start proceedings “for the recovery of stolen property.”’ ‘I had left in Ojai a memorandum of my telephone conversation with Rajagopal, and based on this, Cohen’s office composed an affidavit, which I signed at the U.S. consulate in London and posted back. It arrived in time for a hearing in Ventura courts in which it was opposed by a statement of Rajagopal’s that he never gave the material but merely sent it for Krishnaji’s eyes as “production” of material called for by the court.

Krishnaji was sitting beside me through all this, and wrote on a piece of paper for me to say that he and Rajagopal could settle the whole thing if all the archives material was turned over. Rajagopal said, “have him write that in a letter.” Rajagopal went on to say that he couldn’t do anything. I said his lawyers obviously had to follow his decisions, and it was sad if he could do nothing. He said that was my interpretation, and to tell Krishnaji that he had always done “what I think is the right thing.” He repeated this in a vociferous voice. I later telephoned Erna about this and she was not surprised. She is photocopying as much of the material as she can. She was still to see Cohen on the twenty-ninth to discuss where we are. Krishnaji wondered if all this was worth it, “for a lot of papers.” I reminded him that part of the agreement Rajagopal has broken has to do with republishing Krishnaji’s books incorrectly, as he tried to do with the first collected edition volume of the poems. “We mustn’t let him do that,” said Krishnaji.

Vanda yesterday gave Krishnaji a letter from Rosalind and Rajagopal, which was to be read by Krishnaji in front of Vanda and then destroyed. Krishnaji refused to touch it. He had me open and tell him what it was. It was a six-page handwritten account entitled “A Sad, Sad Story” of Rosalind’s life in relation to Krishnaji, Nitya, and Rajagopal. The point of it—if there was one—was the justification of anything Rajagopal may be “driven in his desperation to do in court.”’ Those are her words. ‘It was defamatory of Krishnaji and utterly self-serving. The clear implication is of her aiding Rajagopal. Krishnaji felt a revulsion at listening to any part of it.’
‘We drove to Gsteig in the rain and spoke of it. Rosalind had called Krishnaji a "congenital liar". And he asked, “Do you consider me that?” He said, “I have lied when they attacked me, brutalized me. I’m not a violent man, and they were. I tried to avoid that.” He appeared shocked by the letter, but more concerned that I might be upset by it.

This morning, he again asked if the letter had upset me. I didn’t tell him that it sickened me, for him, that he should have fallen into the hands of such people. But that is an old feeling of mine, an old question. He said that he had awakened thinking of the meaning of humility, to examine what one is or has done without a center.’

The eighth of July. ‘We have heard nothing yet from Erna. The weather is beautiful. The mountains sleep in their shawls of snow with a summer languor that fills me as well. Krishnaji does breathing exercises with Dr. Parchure in the early mornings, and has a massage before lunch. Dr. Parchure has given both Krishnaji and me some good exercises to strengthen the back muscles, good especially for perennial lower back aches. Krishnaji gave a half hour interview at 4 p.m. to Al Blackburn, who left the text of a book he has written. Krishnaji will not read it and neither, I think, will I. Blackburn is here with his wife, Gaby, but she didn’t come. At 4:30 p.m., Krishnaji also gave a few minutes to a Brockwood student, Jean-Marie Baud. It was too hot to walk up the hill, so Krishnaji and I did twenty laps in the shade on the driveway.’

July tenth. This morning, Krishnaji asked me what actually are we fighting Rajagopal for. I replied, the access to the archives and the prevention of their being given away, and the protection against Rajagopal’s publishing anything hitherto unpublished, and the republication of anything already published only in its original form. Krishnaji asked, “Are we to go on fighting for years?” He says Rajagopal will never give in. “Are we to spend all this energy, time, and money on this? It keeps us in constant contract with these dirty people. They are dirty. That’s why I didn’t want to read or touch that letter from Rosalind. I never want to see or speak to those people ever. They are evil, dirty.” I asked if we then let them do what they want. Krishnaji replied, “No. Rajagopal won’t publish anything. He’s too far gone.” I said we had no protection if he did, unless it is in an agreement. That, to me, the first responsibility is to protect the teachings, their record. Krishnaji asked, “Is it worth all this? Think of it afresh.” He puts aside my pointing to the possible consequences of giving up the legal rein. “Don’t keep looking ahead,” he said.
Late in midmorning, Krishnaji came in to talk to me and to make me see, and therefore feel, as he does, that our going on further in this is to touch dirt. He is revolted by them and wants to have nothing further or ever to do with them. What are we fighting for? Are we to go on and on until Rajagopal dies with this? He said, “I am disgusted. Like that tennis court yesterday.” The Gstaad tennis tournament is on in the village, and was crowded with “meat-eating, vulgar people.”’

‘“I would do anything to get away from them”’—the two Rajagopals. ‘“I cannot be with having anything to do with them, and we are connected through this case. We were right in the beginning. I felt responsible to those who had given money, and it was right that we get the land and all that. But now it goes on and on. Don’t you want to be free of it?” I said I had one motive from the very beginning: to protect him and his teachings. To see that what he wants is done, that it occurs. He said that wasn’t enough. “You are part of me. You must see and feel this in the same way. You must feel it is right.”

July eleventh. ‘Krishnaji again asked me if I’d been upset by Rosalind’s letter. He said he felt I was, and that I had not put things clearly enough to Erna. I told him nothing about the letter surprised me, but it was uglier than he realized. The hate, both large and petty, filled it. He said, “That is why I didn’t want to touch it.”…“I wish I had never met those two people.”

the first Saanen talk of the year, was to start at 10:30 a.m. It was very hot in the tent. Old faces. New faces. Krishnaji spoke strongly. Something new. “Living without a cause.” Toward the end, a tall, drugged-looking young man came into the tent, climbed over people until, grimacing, he reached the edge of the platform. Various people came quietly to prevent his climbing up, but Krishnaji said, “Don’t touch him.” The man echoed those words in a loud voice, and began an incoherent speech in German. A few in the audience yelled, “Be quiet!” but Krishnaji sat quietly. Then he said, “Shall we end the meeting?” But when the man ran out of words, he wandered out, and Krishnaji picked up exactly where he left off and spoke another eight to ten minutes.

July fourteenth. ‘Again, I had an early walk. I purchased and put food and supplies in the Saanen apartment for Pupul, Radhika, and her children. They arrived by car around five. They came first to see Krishnaji, then I guided them to their place.’ It was a rented apartment in the village of Saanen somewhere. ‘I came back to bring them up to supper.

July sixteenth. ‘Eleven international Krishnaji committees met here with Krishnaji in the morning.

The twenty-fourth of July. At 4 p.m., I fetched the Fouérés, the Frenchman and his wife They came every year and lived down in the village. He was tiresome, always writing pompous things about Krishnaji and the teachings. Krishnaji held this year’s first question-and-answer session in the tent. I gave him five written questions, of which he answered only two, but marvelously.’
The next day was the second question-and-answer meeting, then on July twenty-seventh, ‘Krishnaji held his third question-and-answer meeting for the year, and the last event for this summer in Saanen. Krishnaji, Dr. Parchure, and I lunched alone. Krishnaji gave an interview to a former Rajneesh follower, Mrs. Morris ‘Pupul, Radhika, and children came to say goodbye.

July twenty-ninth. ‘I had a long talk with Dr. Parchure about Krishnaji’s health. It worries both of us. I fetched Dorothy and Montague to lunch, and I suggested to them that we cancel the Brockwood seminar this year. They agreed and so did Krishnaji. For his sake, we need to space Krishnaji’s activities better. They leave for Brockwood tomorrow.
‘After naps, Krishnaji and I walked to the river. He said he had felt something threatening in the wood when he walked there alone, but didn’t feel it with me there.’ He said that he would never walk in a wood at night because of 'something threatening'. And he also said how he wouldn’t go out at night alone. And I said, well, if I were with him, “Would you go?” Yes, he would. It was his being alone that… Also on August seventh, ‘at lunch, Krishnaji began to speak of places where adults could come and study the teachings—maybe one at Rajghat and one at Ojai. There was an implication that I should bring about the Ojai one.

The sixteenth. ‘I spent much of the day unpacking, and settling us back into Brockwood. Jean-Michel telephoned about a likely place for Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I to stay near Blois. We will go there on September twentieth. We had a good walk in the afternoon around the fields. We both slept well, and I feel very well here.’
The next few days are quiet—the Bohms come to lunch, on one of our walks we inspected the flourishing vegetable garden and on another, the marquee that was put up for the upcoming Brockwood talks. I’m also, as usual, doing errands and Krishnaji is resting.
The twentieth of August. Krishnaji is readingThe Elder Brother, the biography of Leadbeater, and is appalled at what went on.’

August twenty-eighth. ‘It was a clear, lovely day. Krishnaji gave his first Brockwood talk at 11:30 a.m. in the tent. It was a very fine one.[3] We had fruit and salad in our kitchen, and then finished lunch in the food tent. I sat with Pascaline, and Madrisa Samuel, and Magdalina, the Polish woman who arrived in the night from Poland after getting a permit to come.’

August thirty-first. ‘Krishnaji held the first question-and-answer session, and answered four questions. After lunch, Krishnaji told David Bohm about the study center plan, and I telephoned Erna in Ojai about it.

The fifth of September. ‘The weather stayed good. Krishnaji gave his fourth talk. He spoke in deep, quiet, remote, and immensely moving [5]way. It again gave me the feeling of “listening to the voice of God.” When I told him that afterward in our kitchen where we have fruit and salad before returning to the tent, in answering why I was half in tears, he patted my shoulder and dismissed it.’

The tenth of September. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I were flying to France for a holiday. Krishnaji, in the crowded waiting room, stood apart as much as he could, looking elegant, superb, everything rare and aristocratic. He sat between Dorothy and me, and we ate careful sandwiches from Brockwood. Then, Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I flew on British Air to Paris, arriving at 2:30 p.m. Jean-Michel met us at Charles de Gaulle in his Citroën and drove us to where we were staying near Blois and not far from his home, La Mahaudière. He kindly found and negotiated this place for us after discovering that the Dordogne, our original objective, was booked in all the suggested places.’ He chose this place for us. ‘The proprietor here, a Monsieur Chevigné, normally gives only breakfast with the rooms, but agreed to give us all meals. Tina, who formerly worked for the Marogers, and is used to vegetarians, has come to cook until the fifteenth. Krishnaji and I have rooms on the ground floor done in le style Ancien, and we share a rather dank bathroom. Dorothy is above us in a redone room with a better bath. After initial squeamishness, we decided to keep these rooms. The Marogers have gone to endless effort to arrange everything. Marie-Bertrande and Daphne came over while we were having supper. Marie-Bertrande looks under pressure from the wedding of Ariane, a week from today. Daphne is working in a hospital in Blois and looks blooming. Jean-Michel has kindly lent us his Citroën while we are here. The château looks not unlike a French version of Brockwood. A cedar stands on the lawn. But the parkland is straw-colored from a drought.’
‘We slept well, and Krishnaji rested in bed until lunchtime. It is totally quiet, and the prospect that nothing has to be done is blissful. I hold to the hope that Krishnaji will like it, though it is not the Dordogne, his choice; and that this will give him a deep store of rest from this summer’s talks and before the rigors of India.’ Marie-Bertrande and Jean-Michel came over and we walked in the Forêt de Russy, which adjoins this property. It was hot and dry as there has been a long drought this summer. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I dined in the dining room. And so to bed after watching news on television.’

The twelfth of September. ‘We have struck a dry year here, which has meant, so far, that the forest seems unalive. It was too hot in the sun for Krishnaji to reach the woods, and the shade was only a small improvement. Krishnaji walked ahead and took up a branch to clear spider webs, which were everywhere, but the walking was rather a chore instead of a pleasure. The Marogers are proud of the weather, “so warm and clear” and “good weather for guests and also for Ariane’s wedding next weekend.” Our more northern blood remembers the cool, damp aliveness of Brockwood walking. But Krishnaji is sleeping well here, and relaxes in a way he finds difficult at Brockwood. This place is almost very nice—our shared bathroom is rather dank and needs redoing, but the rooms are comfortable, and, so far, Tina has cooked excellent meals. The proprietors, Monsieur Chevignè and Madame Duflot, have taken on quite a task of running a large place without help. It must be a struggle, but so far, all is well for us. I can clean and launder, and get Krishnaji’s breakfast tray, etcetera—i.e., function, which is my first concern. He said this morning, “What would I do without you? I couldn’t,” which made a warm glow in the middle of my chest, though I know it has small significance. Dorothy must be getting some much-needed rest. Krishnaji had slept well, and Dorothy and I had a leisurely breakfast in the dining room. There is one other table for guests, a young couple who murmur to each other so low that one cannot tell if it is in German or English. We didn’t see the Marogers today as they are in wedding preparation, and it was too warm for more than a walk twice around the drive.’
September thirteenth. ‘We had a quiet, lazy morning. Krishnaji spoke briefly to the paraplegic daughter of Madame Duflot, Valerie Lammouy. Jean-Michel came by in their Opel and I asked him to exchange it for their fine and more complicated Citroën. We drove it to a part of the Forêt de Russy for a walk in a shady allée. It is still very hot, but it cools at night and we sleep well.’
The next day. ‘Krishnaji slept well. Me too. It is another warm day. After lunch, Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I in the Marogers’ Opel went to Blois for Dorothy’s train ticket to Paris and Krishnaji’s and my air reservations to London on October first. Dorothy telephoned Brockwood to see if all was well. I cashed travel checks. We did small errands in the heat, then came back, hot and tired. We didn’t walk. Early to bed.’
The fifteenth. ‘Krishnaji slept very well. Dorothy says she slept ten hours. I sleep and wake and sleep. I seem to have long hours of sleep, but I am not totally relaxed because there is a lurking “on guard” feeling, a sense of responsibility for the way things work out. In the late afternoon, Jean-Michel came and drove us to their home, La Mahaudière, where, with Marie-Bertrande, Daphne, Diane, and Saturday’s bride, Ariane, we had sorbet made from homegrown strawberries, and then went for a walk in the shade of their woods. Dorothy and I saw Ariane’s wedding dress, which is very pretty. Krishnaji had sat on the floor with his sorbet, quietly observing, aware of the characters of the family.
September sixteenth. ‘Krishnaji had indigestion in the night. Also, he had cramps in his feet around 6 a.m., got up, fainted, and somehow hit his left forehead, left shoulder and hip. There is a bump the size of a nickel an inch above his left eyebrow. At first he said he was quite alright and we should go ahead with the plan we had to take Dorothy to see châteaux, and that I mustn’t tell her what had happened. I gave him arnica, but he eventually canceled our plans, and is staying in bed. He later admitted it was a good idea to rest. He is all right now, but what worries me is his fainting when all alone. Why? And the fact that he didn’t call me. “Of course not,” he said—his inevitable comment, which makes me uneasy. I was only about three yards away, but the door was closed and he made no sound. Now the door stays open and I must figure out a way at Brockwood to not be cut off. Anyway, he stayed in bed, reading, and it was just as well that we were not on the road to châteaux anyway, as it was very hot. I drove in to Blois to get him the Herald Tribune, Time, and Newsweek, and to locate the train station so I could get Dorothy there on Sunday morning. When I got back, she and I went over to the farmhouse to talk to Madame Duflot’s paraplegic daughter, Valerie Lammouy. She has read Krishnaji books and would like to come to visit Brockwood. Krishnaji is better and looks all right.’

the seventeenth of September. ‘Krishnaji slept well, and was feeling well. He wanted to go on with our châteaux tour, and as it was a little cooler, we set off in the Maroger’s Opel for Chaumont, which regrettably closed its gates at 11:30 a.m.,’ [both laugh] ‘so we had only a glance at its battlements from the road and went on to Amboise. An old Michelin guide suggested that the Auberge du Mail which has one star, and, though it was nothing remarkable, we lunched pleasantly and at leisure with a bottle of Pouilly-Fumé of which Krishnaji had a little in his Perrier.’

September twentieth, 1982, and we in France on our vacation. ‘It is a little cooler. Krishnaji had foot cramp in the night and was awake quite a time. I went to Blois for newspapers. Jean-Michel and Marie-Bertrande came at 5 p.m., and we walked in the woods. The wedding apparently went beautifully, and they seem happy. After they left, Krishnaji and I talked over our leaving before the first of October. Our earlier discussions about making an annual holiday in France with a group of six or eight faded when Krishnaji realized the costs of travel and hotels yesterday as I paid the bill for our first nine days here. It was not excessive by today’s standards, but he now thinks we can do what he wanted at Brockwood instead.

September twenty-first. ‘We made the decision to advance our departure from October first to next Monday, the twenty-seventh. So, I went to Blois to change the tickets to the twenty-seventh. I telephoned Brockwood with a message about the change for Dorothy, and then rang the Marogers about the same. It also simplifies things as we can all go to Paris together on Monday. The Marogers will go from Paris to the ferry for England, as they are taking Diane to Brockwood to become a student, and we will go to the airport. I bought books in French for Krishnaji as he has decided he wants to do some reading in French, and some running shoes for him, which he likes, size thirty-nine.’

September the twenty-second. ‘I gave Krishnaji a flu vaccine.’ ‘We had a quiet day and walked a long way down the dirt road in the forest. There was an odd atmosphere there, which both of us felt. The trees seem aloof, unfriendly. It is silent, without birds or the sounds of moving leaves. We are intruders. Krishnaji said, “I would be nervous to walk here alone.” But the forest affected both of us differently from other landscapes. It is beautiful, but the mood can darken and something of a menace is somewhere there.’

We saw the videotape of Ariane’s wedding, done by Mr. Salzman. Krishnaji’s view that "weddings are a lot of fuss over nothing" was kept low-key.’ ‘He told Brahmin stories at lunch. We left at 4 p.m., both tired from lack of a rest after lunch, and as neither of us wanted to go into the dark woods, we walked around the front of the château. Both are glad to be returning to Brockwood.

‘We walked on the forest road. Krishnaji said, “We mustn’t be afraid of it,” and Krishnaji addressed the trees, saying, “We are friendly people. We mean you no harm. You mustn’t mind our coming.” The trees have an odd air of watching, like the cows and sheep at Brockwood, who stare at us intently.’

September twenty-fifth. ‘Krishnaji says he now thinks he knows how he fell a week ago, that the rug slipped. But, when I asked him at the time if it were the rug, he had said no. At lunch, he reported that he had had threatening dreams every night here. “What kind?” I asked. He said that in the dreams, he has to speak and is late; he is walking and there is a body of water suddenly that gets wider. He wonders what it is. Are the two Rajagopals threatening him? “Those two would be the only ones,” he said. He says he can close it off and not allow the dreams, but doesn’t want to close it off. Krishnaji said, “Rajagopal is playing a dirty game”…“He thinks I’ve done something to him. What have I done to him? I’ve done nothing.” At lunch, I said that Rajagopal responds only to being pushed. Krishnaji said, “We must push him.” I asked what should guide us this winter when he is in India and communication is difficult, and Krishnaji replied, “Whatever you think should be done.”

September twenty-seven. ‘We were packed and ready when the Marogers arrived at 11:30 a.m. Krishnaji and I drove with Jean-Michel, Diane, and Daphne to Paris. Marie-Bertrande went later on a train. We had picnic sandwiches in the Bois de Vincennes. Then they took us to Charles de Gaulle Airport, where Krishnaji and I took the Air France 3:30 p.m. flight to London. Dorothy met us in a car she has acquired from her brother and we came back to beautiful Brockwood a little after 6 p.m. It is good to be back.’
The next day, ‘The Marogers arrive with Diane. Marie-Bertrande and Jean-Michel are in the West Wing, and Diane is in the student room she will have.

October eighth. ‘At noon, Krishnaji spoke to the staff. 'If one goes all the way in seeing one branch of conditioning, then one can see and be free of all the others.’' ' '

October twelfth. ‘Krishnaji talked to the students alone again, while I went to a staff meeting. After lunch, I went to Winchester on errands, but got back in time for a walk in the rain with Krishnaji and Dorothy.’

Yes, he liked to listen to music in the morning. And always I’d ask him, “What would you like to hear?” “You choose,” he would say. Occasionally, he would specify: "singing". He liked Joan Sutherland. He also liked Neapolitan songs sung by Pavarotti. They were exuberant.

The twenty-first of October: ‘The Bohms came to spend the night. Krishnaji packed his clothes and I packed his vitamins and food additives

And now, I don’t see Krishnaji until he returns from India in the new year,

Wednesday, the ninth of February 1983 . I waited at TWA for Krishnaji’s arrival on flight 761 from London. He left there at 11 a.m. English time, and landed here at 2:15 p.m. when I saw him disembark through the glass door, and he had a porter to help them with the luggage. Forty-five minutes later, he came out and we drove back to Ojai along the sea. He looks well.

‘We all lunched at Arya Vihara. Krishnaji slept in the afternoon after looking at the redecorated west bedroom at Arya Vihara and approving. It is the site for the library of the proposed Study Center building. He also went to see the new bath in the guest house.’ This is that funny square bath I put in the guest house because Mary Links said she could only bathe in a tub and not a shower. So in hopes of getting them both here, I had installed the only tub that would fit in the space. ‘In the morning, he had approved the settlement offer, so Cohen sent it today to Rajagopal’s lawyers.’
The eleventh my diary says, ‘Today I am sixty-eight and feeling well.’ That’s because it was my birthday. ‘Krishnaji tried not taking naps to help him sleep more at night.

February twenty-fifth. ‘Krishnaji started recording on a Sony Walkman instead of writing. The result was beautiful. Mary Links had suggested this, and he now wants to get a good cassette recorder so he can do it anywhere. He dictated some letters to me.

‘At Arya Vihara lunch, Krishnaji heard about the movie E.T. and that it was playing in Ventura, so he and I went with Erna and Theo for the 5:30 p.m. showing. Krishnaji liked it very much. “I like when there is something moral,” he said.’ Well, he also liked the little E.T. ‘We got back by 8 p.m., and had supper by 8:30 p.m Erna,

Fifteenth March. after the walk, ‘Krishnaji saw a video cassette made from the Movietown News of a film of himself in 1928 in New York and 1930 in Ojai. He said, “I felt no relationship between that chap and this chap.”’

Rajagopal’s lawyer served papers for Krishnaji to give a deposition next Monday. Cohen expects they will settle first. Krishnaji is prepared to go ahead.’ Afterward, Erna brought the settlement draft just received and we went over it. I couldn’t agree to a sentence about the material that went to the Huntington Library, saying it “Belonged” to Rajagopal. Erna conferred with Stuart Comis, and the sentence is rewritten acceptably to us. We should hear Rajagopal’s reactions on this draft tomorrow. Krishnaji and I had to hurry off to the foot doctor, Hara, in Santa Paula.’ . ‘Rajagopal and his board will not look at the settlement unless we first agree never to sue them again for any reason,’ ‘so we go ahead with the case, which means Krishnaji’s deposition on Monday. I drove to the Santa Barbara airport and met Dr. Jonas Salk at 2 p.m. Krishnaji greeted him when we got back to Ojai, and then they had tea and talked at some length.

March twenty-seven. ‘Krishnaji and Dr. Salk talked for one hour and five minutes and it was videotaped on three color cameras by Mendizza and crew.

March twenty-eight. ‘We had an early breakfast at 7 a.m., then Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, and I went to Mr. Cohen’s office at 10 a.m. He talked with Krishnaji. At 10:30, Rajagopal’s lawyer, Terry Avsham, took Krishnaji’s deposition. It was exhausting. We came back and went for a walk. Krishnaji’s energy will revive.

on the sixth of April, Krishnaji and I went on TWA to New York. The Lilliefelts went on another airline.’ It was thought we shouldn’t all four be on one plane. We had a nice suite—a sitting room and two bedrooms.’ That hotel doesn’t exist anymore. ‘We had our supper in the rooms.’

The ninth of April. ‘We went by limousine to Felt Forum, where at 10 a.m., Krishnaji gave his first New York talk of this year. The audience was late coming in and Krishnaji sat watching them and then gave a fine talk to an attentive audience. The hall was only two-thirds full, but there were over 3,000 people. We lunched at the hotel, walked, and bought some apples. Krishnaji looked at the new IBM building. ‘Pupul arrived from Europe, and came to supper in our rooms with us.’
The tenth. ‘There was heavy rain. We went to Krishnaji’s second New York talk at 10 a.m., at Felt Forum. There was a large, serious, attentive audience. The end of talk was very moving. Krishnaji was almost in tears. Monsoon-like rains began as we came back to the hotel where Erna and Theo joined us. Pupul came, and in her car, we all went to lunch at the Shainbergs’. We had supper again in the rooms. Krishnaji spoke of turning Vasanta Vihar over to the schools.’

April eleventh. ‘We walked to thirty Rockefeller Plaza where, in the Carnegie Endowment conference room, on the fifty-fourth floor, at 11 a.m., Krishnaji held a seminar arranged by Shainberg. It was on seeing that there is only thinking, not a separate thinker, and it was slow going. Shainberg lunched with us at Il Nido restaurant. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji gave an interview to Barbara Seaman about Dr. Besant until 6 p.m., when Pupul came to see him. She left at 7 p.m. Krishnaji talked of Vasanta Vihar becoming part of the schools after his death. Perhaps the same for Pine Cottage? We had supper and I watched the Academy Awards. Phil Dunne presented the writing awards.’

Twelfth April. ‘We went to the second session of the Shainberg seminar. Then Shainberg, Merali, Krishnaji, and I took a taxi. As Krishnaji got in, his right hand was caught in the door. His wool-padded glove saved his finger from severe injury. At Il Nido, we got ice for it, and he said it was alright. All four had lunch and Merali was the host. Krishnaji and I stopped to buy Mary’s second biography for Bud and Lisa. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji gave a half-hour interview for East-West Journal to Catherine Ingram and publisher Leonard Jacobs. Many photos were taken. We went for a walk and had supper and early to bed.’

The next day. ‘There was the third seminar meeting. Krishnaji and I lunched with Bud, Lisa, and Toodie at Bud’s apartment. Lisa interviewed Krishnaji on change for the museum publication. We walked a bit. Pupul came at 6 p.m. for an early supper in the hotel rooms. In conversation about how Krishnaji came to be what he is, a strange 'something' was felt in the room. Krishnaji said it always comes when this subject is discussed seriously. And it always comes from the left.’

The fourteenth of April. ‘Shainberg came and we went to where Krishnaji and he did a video-recorded discussion. There were two cameras that recorded this fifty-eight-minute conversation. Then Shainberg, Philippa, and David lunched with Krishnaji and me at Il Nido. Philippa and David talked with me at the hotel while Krishnaji rested.
April fifteenth. ‘Krishnaji and I took the American Airlines noon flight to Los Angeles.

The sixteenth. Krishnaji spent the day in bed dozing and reading and resting.
April seventeenth ‘Krishnaji was up and full of energy. He exercised, and talked in the morning with the Lilliefelts about Vasanta Vihar becoming part of the Indian schools and what should Pine Cottage be. Krishnaji sat down beside me, and scolded me for being upset because, after ten days of concentrated work in New York and being too tired to get up yesterday, our first day at home, he said he would hold a discussion meeting with the Oak Grove staff tomorrow afternoon. Then he jumped to Mary’s book, the second volume of the biography, The Years of Fulfillment, which has just come out, and which the Indian Foundation members have criticized severely. He said, Mary does not deeply enough know about “all this,” as she had not been around with him in years. He has been thinking about it, and he wants me to write every day so that at some point, and it may be years from now, I will write a biography, which will be right. He said it must start with something about myself, that I am not some devotee. Then he jumped to the subject of memory; of how it had come up in discussions in New York this past week, and how he asked me the question, “Is there something in the brain that is not touched by memory?” He examined it Thursday night, and last night, he saw it—'there is' such a thing. Then he examined it—is it imaginary? Is it a projection, etcetera—rigorously, until he was sure. “From doubt to certainty, there is such a thing, and from that there is energy. When I got up this morning and did my exercises, I could have walked for miles. That is why I want to talk tomorrow. Now do you understand?”’

The eighteenth. ‘Krishnaji said last night he had felt something evil in the front hall that he had never felt in this house before. He stayed behind when I went to my room and “dealt” with it. It is gone, but he is doing whatever it is he does, again. “I understand what it is,” he said, but he does not tell me. He dictated into his Sony this morning, a description of dawn in the valley, then on the mind’s adherence to continuity. He was full of energy at lunch, discussing with David Bohm the 'psyche' as being memory, accumulated thought, and therefore limited, and unable to go beyond. And after lunch, some of us, not Krishnaji, looked at the video done last Thursday in New York of Krishnaji and David Shainberg discussing. It is only fair, the image is in color, but they are slow in getting into things. David Shainberg’s questions are not clear to Krishnaji, and do not arouse a response at first. It is not good enough for TV.

April nineteenth. ‘Krishnaji dictated again into the Sony. At 10:30 a.m., he wanted to discuss a study center with Erna and me. He wanted, and we agreed, that it is to be for study and not a place of programs, events, etcetera, and it must be kept separate from the school. He asked if Erna and I feel it is something important. We do. “Who is responsible for the study center?” He asked me, but obviously I am away six months of the year. Will Erna share it? Erna is overburdened. How do we find new responsible people?’ This is me—just what we talked about. ‘The eternal query. He asked if it would be a good thing if he were to spend most of his time here, holding seminars, and not traveling, but he felt the audience in New York had been very good. He wants to give four talks there next year. I stressed the need for each talk to be complete, not the exposition of problems one day and the resolution of it in the next talk. At lunch, he wore his new Navy fatigue shirt from L.L.Bean.’ ‘Very becoming. He looks very smart and very young.

We lunched at Arya Vihara. “David Bohm is picking my brains,” he said. Krishnaji slept deeply in the afternoon, and when he woke up it was raining, but at 5 p.m., we walked all the same down to the Lilliefelts’. We saw there a just-installed enamel stovetop. He said of the Lilliefelts, “They are very fine people.”’

The twenty-second. ‘Krishnaji did a Sony dictation. A letter came from Mary Links saying that her sister Betty had died suddenly of a heart attack. Krishnaji said, “Thank god. Poor Betty. She had an unhappy life.”’
Earlier, while walking to lunch through the Grove, he said suddenly about Rajagopal, “If we have to speak of ugly things, we must do it outside. That is what was wrong in the house the other day.”’ And later, as we left the kitchen, he had me stop in the hall and look into the living room northeast corner. “You asked what you can do when you are alone here. You must look quietly at that, not hastily.’ It is where the jewels are. ‘It has been neglected. It is a shrine and one must pay attention to it or it will fade.”’

April twenty-eighth. At 11 a.m., Mrs. Justine Toms and her son Robert came and drove us to their place, where her husband interviewed Krishnaji for an hour for their New Dimension radio program, which they send out to fifty similar radio stations across the country. It went very well. Krishnaji was asked about meditation and spoke eloquently, wonderfully.’ They were nice people, and this was, I thought, awfully good.’ They had a little audio studio in their house and it was set up like a recording place. ‘We came back and lunched in The Big Four’—that’s the name of the restaurant in the hotel—‘where the waiter asked if he were Krishnamurti, and said what an honor it was to meet him. He had heard Krishnaji speak in Bombay and Madras and was one of ten of today’s waiters who have PhDs. He quoted Krishnaji as saying that he was Christ. “Did you mean that then?” he asked Krishnaji. “God knows,” said Krishnaji with amusement.’ And then, ‘At 4 p.m., a serious young woman with a direct manner, Patricia Holt, book editor of the San Francisco Chronicle, interviewed Krishnaji. It was quieter and she is more thoughtful. Krishnaji said she was a nice, intelligent woman and we have asked her to lunch with us after the Saturday talk. We went out for a walk and groceries, going down California Street to a large market. Krishnaji pushed the cart with a determined look, and we got the yogurt, fruit, etcetera we need and climbed back up the hill. People recognized him. We stopped at the Masonic Hall, where he will speak, and went in. Krishnaji was shy about looking at it. It is a graceful, handsome hall. The best for his talks of any I’ve seen so far.’ It’s a very, very nice hall, a big hall, with a kind of long, raised platform and the audience is U-shaped around. The acoustics are very good. It is dignified, and has a nice big lobby. Very, very good. It’s the best hall he’s talked in that I’ve seen. ‘He looked around. He remembered little about it.’ He’d talked there before. ‘There were some nice leather and other chairs and he tried one out, climbing up on the stage, and said it would do very well.

April twenty-ninth. ‘During breakfast, a telephone call came from Dorothy almost in tears. At two p.m. English time, sparks from a blowtorch used on the outside of the West Wing somehow got under the floorboards above Krishnaji’s bedroom and destroyed most of his bedroom, but not the closets where his suits hung. The guest room, next to his, and Shakuntala’s nice new room above, and the students’ room next to hers up there were also burned. She said Shakuntala discovered the fire, rang the alarm. Everyone got out. No one was hurt. The fire engines were slow to get there, but ten came. Police helicopters were circling.’

‘There were still no lights on or water yet, but the telephone is working. She was afraid it might reach the U.S. news. She wanted me to know, therefore, but not tell Krishnaji until after his talks. I told her he was sitting right there. She doubts she will come to Ojai on the eleventh as planned. I urged her to wait and think it over. I said I would telephone her after we got back to Ojai. Krishnaji says he had a premonition a couple of days ago that something was going to happen at Brockwood. “I see it was a definite premonition, now.” He thought at first, when Dorothy rang, that it might be about Montague. He said, “I have no reaction.” He says he will sleep on the floor, but my room, which seems to be undamaged’—in other words, it wasn’t burned—‘and he fiercely refused.’
A photographer came from the San Francisco Chronicle. Then we went to a restaurant called Greens at Fort Mason, a vegetarian restaurant run by Tassajara Zen monastery. We had a nice simple lunch, which Krishnaji liked. He was recognized—given books and a cassette. It was raining when we were ready to leave, and there were no taxis. But a man gave us a lift to the hotel. Krishnaji rested and later we took a small walk around the little park.

We had supper in our sitting room, and talked of Brockwood. Krishnaji wants to call Dorothy tomorrow and urge her to come to Ojai as planned. He rejects our staying on at Ojai later than our plans to leave on the twenty-seventh.’

April thirtieth, 1983. Krishnaji was in San Francisco for talks and ‘I rang Dorothy to learn more about Brockwood’s fire. Krishnaji spoke to her and insisted she come to Ojai on the eleventh as planned. His desk in his bedroom is burned and so was the bed, and the hi-fi, etc., but his clothes are safe. At 11 a.m., we walked across the street to the Masonic Hall where Krishnaji gave his first San Francisco talk. The hall was almost full. It was a good talk. After the talk, we came back to the hotel, where Patricia Holt joined us, and we took her to lunch at Green’s. She is nice and bright. We sat in a small room off the main ones, so there was some privacy, and Krishnaji was less on view.’ I remember that when we went there, we stood in line for a table, and the mâitre d’hôtel was turning people away, and I asked him for a table for three and he started to say no, but he looked up, saw Krishnaji behind me, and instantly ushered us in and gave us the best table in the place.

May second. ‘We left the Huntington at 8:30 a.m. by taxi for the airport, and flew to Santa Barbara, which Krishnaji feels is a nice, unhurried, tiny airport with a bookshop that carries Zen and Copernicus,’‘and where David Moody and Max Falk met us. It was shining Southern California weather. The house was beautiful and peaceful. It has “The right atmosphere,” said Krishnaji with a smile.
The Bohms are here again. In the late afternoon, while I was marketing in the village, there was an earthquake centered in Coalinga near Fresno. I didn’t feel it and neither did Krishnaji, who was walking down Thacher Road at that point. I met him with the car. In the morning, at the Huntington, he had come to my room, and later he said he had awakened  “with something different” in his head, pointing to his forehead, “which frightened the body, so I came to you.” The feeling has continued, to a lesser degree, all day, but the fright is gone.’ The 'body', in Krishnaji’s terminology, is almost as though it’s another entity sometimes.
May sixth. ‘Krishnaji dictated more into his Sony. Rupert Sheldrake came to lunch. Sheldrake gave a seminar yesterday and gives another one tomorrow at the Ojai Foundation on the Happy Valley land.’ . ‘He had written, saying he was coming to Ojai, and I replied asking him to lunch. The Bohms are still here, which made for general conversation. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji held a discussion with Oak Grove teachers.’
‘Then we went to look at a guest house that Max is building in Krotona. Krishnaji didn’t come as he said going there tired him. It’s a dead place.

May twelfth. ‘It is Krishnaji’s eighty-eighth birthday, which he again ignored and brushed away with impatience. Everybody looks smilingly, but doesn’t say a word. He is, if possible, more beautiful, more endearing, and has that spring of energy that seems to keep his body going.

May fourteenth, ‘It was a beautiful day. Krishnaji and I left the house at 11:10 a.m. for the Oak Grove and found there an enormous crowd. It took twenty minutes for Krishnaji to get in and then give his first Ojai talk. Mary Cadogan, Dorothy, Alan Kishbaugh, and Stella Resnick were at lunch afterwards at Arya Vihara.
May fifteenth, ‘ Krishnaji gave a very fine second talk.
The sixteenth. ‘At 10 a.m., Krishnaji was tired and didn’t exercise, but rested. His head is paining him; the regular bad of the head pain.’

May seventeenth. ‘Krishnaji held the first question-and-answer meeting of the year in the Grove and as Krishnaji reached the car, Avsham, Rajagopal’s lawyer, appeared and handed him a large envelope. We both guessed what it must be. I asked Alan to find Erna and tell her to come to the cottage. We drove off. I stopped along the road to open the envelope. Rajagopal, the Vigevenos, Porter, and Bee are bringing suit against Krishnaji and the rest of us for '''breach of settlement, slander, interference with their business, etcetera, and they want $9 million''. Krishnaji sought to keep me from being nervous. I wasn’t nervous, only angry, but unsurprised. I read it through thoroughly when we reached the house. Erna and Theo arrived. Together we telephoned Cohen, who said, “I didn’t think they’d be that stupid.”

May eighteenth. Erna and I reviewed the past suits and Krishnaji gave the background to the Rajagopal situation. Mary Cadogan’s reaction was most forthcoming—sympathy and admiration for all we had to contend with. Krishnaji stayed for all discussions of the day, which moved on to complicated publication difficulties with India. After lunch, at Arya Vihara, we continued discussing the agenda for the September international trustees’ meetings of all the Foundations. Krishnaji’s head hurt him all day. He walked with Dorothy and Theo while I fixed supper. The pain, which is in the back of the head, let up when he walked, but returned. At 6:30 p.m., a man came to the door and served me with a summons in the Rajagopal case.’

May nineteenth. ‘Krishnaji said he slept surprisingly well. But the pain resumed in his head. Usually, these pains are not there when the talks are on. “I haven’t had it this bad in a long time…Well, there it is. Grin and bear it,” And in the car coming back, he said, “Even now, if Rajagopal had been there, I would have said to him, “Let’s wipe the slate clean.” Part of the problem is that Krishnaji holds no rancor, and, therefore, he never stood up to Rajagopal and Rosalind. But they never let go of the least crumb of rancor. Krishnaji’s head, of course, was all right as soon as he reached the platform. It began again on his return, but less I felt exhausted at supper, but revived. Krishnaji got the yellow dishwashing gloves’ and said, “The Mahatma is doing the washing up.”’

on the twenty-first, Krishnaji gave a talk that had me in tears  at the end. I wanted to kneel, to make that gesture of deepest gratitude for him. An eighty-one-year-old Dutch woman, who came here for the talks, fell, and broke her hip, and is in hospital; so Krishnaji wanted to stop to see her briefly. ‘The old lady was asleep. I went in first, spoke her name, and said mine, which she recognized. I told her that Krishnaji had come to see her, and her face lit up with surprise.

May twenty-second: ‘Krishnaji was up before me. I warned him the red alarm light was on, but he forgot, and within seconds opened the garden door and the burglar alarm shot me out of bed to turn it off. We went to the west gate of the Grove again to let Krishnaji out, and I drove around to park on Besant Road. There was a larger crowd than ever. His talk was one of those that reached into the deepest core of the mind and, like yesterday, there was in him an embodiment of something sacred.The day was warm and beautiful. The brilliance of the yellow bloom flower along the road seemed to be there to honor him.
Yesterday, Krishnaji went into the west bedroom at Arya Vihara and said, “This is where I last saw my brother. This is where he died.” Krishnaji said he felt no connection with the photos of his young self. It was like watching someone else. ’
Krishnaji and I, in the green Mercedes, went to Santa Paula and had our feet seen to by Dr. Hara. The car curved skillfully along the winding road and Krishnaji was pleased and said, “You are driving like a professional.”’ ‘The movement of the car seemed a physical pleasure to him. For me, there was the beauty of the day and of driving with him, as we have so many miles through the years. Being alone with him, moving through sunlight, on a country road, is a simple happiness and a world still intact. Passing through upper Ojai, he said, “Those two crooks,” of the two Rs, but he was relaxed and the brightness of the yucca in bloom seemed of greater moment than anything else.’

May ninth—‘Krishnaji told me that he had been awake that night on and off, and that Rajagopal had been in communication with him, when he was in Ojai, after the case. And when I asked what was its form, he said, “Oh, you know, when you feel that someone is thinking about you.” He said that two days ago it abruptly stopped. “This could mean,” said he, “that either Rajagopal has done something like sent the rest of the archives to the Huntington Library, or some other thing. Or it means that Rajagopal is dying.” But Krishnaji thinks it’s more likely the former. I asked if this had anything to do with the strange sensation in his head, and he said it had nothing to do with that. As I am writing this today, the twenty-fourth, he just has come in and said that his head began hurting this morning in the kitchen. It has not hurt since Sunday’s talk. It’s another hot day. I had an early walk and then worked all day clearing my desk. Krishnaji made this easier by telling me to throw away most of the unanswered letters.’

The twenty-sixth of May. I began to pack, but after lunch, Krishnaji began to talk about the past and the ordeal he was subjected to by the two Rs. “Why did I put up with it?” he asked over and over. He has a way of asking others these unanswerable questions, the questions we would put to him. It is an ordeal to listen to what he went through. It was time to make supper when he finished, so I packed my bags in the evening, finishing at midnight. Krishnaji went to sleep early. The house was quiet and beautiful. This week has made a luxuriance of flowers. I am glad to be going to Brockwood, but this house is a blessed place.’

The next day. Krishnaji and I left at 2 p.m. with Mark and David, stopping briefly at the school for the children to wave goodbye to Krishnaji, then drove via the valley to the LA airport because of heavy Memorial Day traffic along the coast. Alan Kishbaugh came to the airport to see Krishnaji off. The TWA flight due to leave at 6 p.m. was delayed. We sat in the lounge, and eventually boarded the plane, but it didn’t take off till 8:30. “At last,” said Krishnaji and then, “Rajagopal can’t get us now.”’

May twenty-eighth. ‘We had our preferred two forward seats on either side of the aisle. I slept fitfully, contorted in my seat. Krishnaji sat upright like a statue. His sleeping face in the dim light was austere, majestic; an extraordinary carving. Then he awakened and his face became eager, alive as a child. He said he’d had a good meditation. We landed at 2:30 p.m., went through immigration quickly, found a porter, and our bags were soon out to where Dorothy and Ingrid were waiting with two cars. Krishnaji and I went with Dorothy in her Saab to Brockwood, where everyone was waiting on the driveway. We went into the West Wing hall, which is a charming sitting room now with all the drawing room furniture nicely arranged in it. Upstairs, the dining room is transformed into a bedroom for Krishnaji. The damage to Krishnaji’s room and guest room is ugly, but I’m surprised that it is not worse. It can all be made better than ever. There was only a faint smell of scorch, mostly in the hall outside my room. I slept in what was my office, now my bedroom, to be nearby if Krishnaji was disturbed by the changes in the place.’
May twenty-ninth. ‘Krishnaji slept well, and rested most of the day, except for going to lunch downstairs. I still feel woolly from the flight, but began straightening things. I went to a staff meeting, but could scarcely keep awake. I told Parchure, who is here, the results of Krishnaji’s medical exams.’
The next day. ‘Mary and Joe came in the morning, lunched here, and the four of us sat most of the afternoon in the West Wing kitchen talking at length. Krishnaji recounted his deposition, etc. I felt physically beaten going over all of that again, but Krishnaji, with limitless energy, after that even did a cassette dictation in the evening. It was good to see Mary and Joe.
descriptions, they’re very smart. [S laughs.]

May thirty-first. ‘The sun came out. In Doris’s car I went to Petersfield to get Apex flights for Krishnaji and me to Geneva on first of July. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked; the grove is in full flower. The pink azaleas are blinding, and the handkerchief tree, late this year, is unfurling. I spoke to Betsy in London. There was heavy lightning and thunder and rain in the night, but I was too deep in sleep to be more than faintly aware of it.’

June fourth. ‘The Bohms came to lunch. There was a discussion between Krishnaji and David about doing two videotaped dialogues to be played in August, in Davos at the International Transpersonal Association Conference.’ . Dorothy is disturbed by the apathy and antagonism of some of the students and staff.’

June sixth. Montague had been told that Dorothy had had a heart attack. She will need to stay in the hospital for ten days, then rest at home for six weeks, and then be quiet and without effort for three months. I relayed this to Krishnaji and Dr. Parchure.

June tenth. ‘Years ago, Krishnaji had a letter from Svetlana Peters (Stalin’s daughter) and she was to have come to Malibu to meet him but called it off at the last minute. She now lives in Cambridge with her twelve-year-old daughter, Olga Peters. She read The Years of Fulfillment, wrote to Mary Links and subsequently to Dorothy about coming to Brockwood. A short, smiling, rather round woman with reddish hair and light blue eyes got off. We both smiled in recognition, as if we had met before, and talked easily on the way back. On seeing the Mercedes, she said, “Oh, I haven’t been in a good car in some time. I came back to bring her to meet Krishnaji in the West Wing. He came toward her in his warm, eager, welcoming way, and we immediately went off for a walk through the grove where the azaleas are still blazingly beautiful and the handkerchief tree flutters. We went the long way around the fields and came back by the lanes. She seemed in awe and also very happy to meet Krishnaji, to talk and walk with him. I invited her to tea afterward, but she seemed to need to return to her room. I talked to Dr. Reilly, who said Dorothy had a “severe coronary” and will have to remain in the hospital for some more days.’

This post was last updated by John Raica Wed, 19 Jul 2017.

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Thu, 20 Jul 2017 #349
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

( continuing the MZ & K Story 1983 -Fast Forward )

On June tenth, 1983. The Bohms came to lunch. Svetlana Peters sat next to Krishnaji and Dave was opposite.’ A few people are aware of who she is, though not many, but they give no sign of it, which is as it should be, as one of the burdens of her life is the Stalin’s daughter image. Krishnaji and Dave talked a bit about international relations at lunch, and she kept silent on that subject. Svetlana Peters returns to Cambridge by bus.

The first of July. Krishnaji and I left Brockwood at 8:30 a.m. At Heathrow, Rita Zampese was there to smooth Krishnaji’s departure, and her pull as the head Lufthansa public relations persuaded Swiss Air not to charge us for our excess baggage weight.’ ‘We took the 10:30 a.m. Swiss Air to Geneva, and reached Geneva a bit after 1 p.m.and came to Tannegg by 5:40 p.m. Vanda and Fosca arrived yesterday. Fosca took some persuading to come, says Vanda. She doesn’t like to leave her ailing sister, and Fosca will be ninety next December, though she looks no different. We unpacked before supper. Krishnaji came to the table. Though he is beginning to cough, he says he still feels full of energy.’
July third. Krishnaji said at lunch that he would live to be 100, “To see what it is like.” He later told me, “Rajagopal is getting it. I have sent two angels to tell him.”’

The fifth. ‘Krishnaji remained in bed. His temperature was 99.4 in the afternoon.

The tenth of July. ‘Krishnaji, who got up yesterday with his voice was heavy and was still coughing—his voice was clear this morning, in spite of a bad night and not enough sleep.’ He had this—usually, something was wrong with him, he would have some illness before the talks. And on the morning of the talk, it would be gone. It was remarkable, and it happened over and over. Anyway, ‘Dr. Parchure had me give him, just before leaving for the tent, a spoon of warmed onion juice and honey.’ ‘He gave the talk almost without coughing. The summoning of energy that his body is able to do when needed, that is, for his work, is extraordinary. And it happened again this morning. He spoke one hour and five minutes to an overflowing tent. He slept when he got back to the chalet, and lunched in bed. Though he is tired, he is reading a Graham Greene. He has nothing else. All the shelves of thrillers are out of favor, and there are no nature books at Cadoneau’s store. ‘He doesn’t want novels, least of all, what I have, which is Proust.’

July twelfth. ‘Krishnaji didn’t sleep well. There were too many things done with his body last evening. But he coughed less. He looked tired when he got on the platform, but that extraordinary flow of strength came; his face changing, and a remarkable talk ensued for just over an hour. He spoke of 'zero' containing all the numbers, and then said the 'present' contains all of time. Peace cannot come about through thought. If you see division in relationship, what do you do? To not try to answer with thought is the beginning of intelligence.

The fourteenth of July: ‘I talked to Krishnaji early about the legal situation. He suggested canceling the international trustee meetings to have been held at Brockwood from September seven to fourteen, and that he and I fly to California on the seventh. I agreed, providing we take Parchure along to care for his health. He agreed.

The Japanese have set national goals to cure cancer, to duplicate the human brain.’
‘Krishnaji: “Where will all this lead?”’
‘Asit: “Perhaps to a wider gap between the technical elite and the masses who will have almost no opportunities in the world as it will be.”’
‘I asked what is happening along these lines in Russia, and Asit said they are concentrating on biochemistry, research into parapsychology, especially mind reading and control. Asit asked Krishnaji if this is possible. Krishnaji said, “Of course, mind reading is obviously possible.” Asit asked if Krishnaji could do it, and Krishnaji replied that he could, but that he refuses to. Krishnaji went on to say a person can block someone else reading one’s mind, reaching it. Rajagopal’s aggression is directed at him, but Krishnaji forms a 'wall' it cannot penetrate. On Krishnaji’s side, there is emptiness, which forms the 'wall', and within this, Krishnaji can function.’
Krishnaji went on to say that because Rajagopal’s sendings cannot penetrate, “It is like coming up against a rock,” and it returns to Rajagopal. “I do not want to hurt him. I am not doing anything to him,” but something may change, that stillness may reach him, or perhaps he is too full of hatred, it may not. “It will be interesting to see. That is one reason I want to go to California.” Krishnaji spoke in that way that may be serious or not, of those being high in Masonry, and to whom two angels are given. They watch over the welfare of a person or persons, though he may not ask for himself and may rarely ask an action from them. Krishnaji has never asked his until now. But he has “sent two angels to talk to Rajagopal” to make him turn from this ugliness.’ ‘Asit translated this into a force of goodness and Krishnaji smiled. He spoke of sensing an atmosphere when serious things are being discussed, which is different from the atmosphere when discussing computers.’ Asit asked if Krishnaji could convey to a friendly person instead of Rajagopal in ways that would change them. Krishnaji said that is what is happening in the tent, but the other person must be willing to 'listen'. (I understand this to be listening with emptiness, without the filter and chatter of thought). Krishnaji’s turning away Rajagopal’s aggressive projections seem to be empty and that emptiness creates the wall of privacy, which is impenetrable. His mind cannot be read if this happens. Krishnaji said he thinks the ancient Hindus knew about this. This is part of meditation.’

The nineteenth of July. ‘Krishnaji gave talk number five. Dorothy telephoned. Her checkup and cardiogram went well and she sounded cheerful.’
Shainberg had said previously to Dagmar and Rita that Krishnaji should stop talking as there is nothing new; he was repeating himself. I told Krishnaji that Shainberg said he should stop talking and Krishnaji brought it up with him on the walk. Shainberg replied that he had said that just to see what they would say.’ ‘A not-quite-believable excuse, as he had said this before, and earned the Lilliefelts’ distrust.

July twenty-second. ‘We are starting a new program: We walk early and briskly at 6:45 a.m., Krishnaji, Dr. Parchure, and I stride to the river and back. Then we do our exercises, have breakfast, etcetera. The early morning is clean, new, full of forest smells and mown hay. At 11 a.m., there was the annual International Committees meeting of all the foreign Krishnamurti committees, with Krishnaji attending. He spoke rather indiscreetly about the points of contention between KF India and the English Foundation and the American Foundation, saying no difficulties ever arose between England and the U.S., but India is difficult.’

The twenty-fourth of July. Krishnaji held the first question-and-answer meeting at 10:30 a.m. in the tent. He spent one hour on the first question, and answered only two.
July twenty-fifth. Krishnaji held the second question-and-answer meeting, and he answered three questions. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji saw a swami Yogamudrananda Saraswati, who turned out to be a youngish, rather brash woman who rather called Krishnaji to account for not following traditional guru lines.’ ‘She knew nothing about his teachings, and wasted his time.

The twenty-sixth of July. ‘Early walk. Krishnaji held the third question-and-answer meeting, thereby ending this summer’s series. He covered six questions. It was a very hot day.

July twenty-eighth. In the afternoon, Krishnaji gave an interview to a Swiss German radio network, and a Jeanne Chevalier took photographs. I went to tea with Rita Zampese at the chalet where she stays.’

August first. The weather is breaking at last. In spite of it being a national holiday, the shops were open, In the morning, Krishnaji saw Mr. Grohe, the man who is interested in starting a Swiss school. Nice man, says Krishnaji, who invited him to visit Brockwood.

Pupul telephoned from Madras. They are to have a KFI meeting Saturday about the Shankar and Krishnakutti mess at Bangalore. Krishnaji gave them authority to fire both of them Krishnaji is disturbed that the Foundation has let this situation grow. They should have stopped it in the very beginning.’ Krishnaji talked to me about how when there is something very good, that that which isn’t good tries to attack it; and when it can’t get to that which is very good, it gets to those who are close to that which is good. before.

August fifth. Krishnaji wore a beret, his new long underpants, and wool gloves, but the latter were not enough to keep his hands warm. After breakfast, I told him I was not going to Rome next week, but need to know what I can tell Filomena. Am I never to go? He said for the remainder of this year, I shouldn’t go to Rome. If something happened to me now, “What would I do?” “I care for you. That is the basis of all this. Nothing must happen to you.” Whatever the danger is, it is aimed at him, not me. But if I’m too far from his orbit, it could strike at him through me. Rajagopal is part of the menace, but it does not emanate from him. He is filled with it, but not the source. At present, there is a rise in it.

the sixth of August, 1983, we’re still in Gstaad ‘Krishnaji gave a “treatment” to Robert de Pomereaux, who gave me a donation for Brockwood. He looked fragile today, which twists my heart. But he went on the early walk in his new mittens, and called out to me to “Keep up the pace.”’ . ‘We had raclette at lunch, and a fine ratatouille, and fruit tart. Pupul telephoned from Madras, rather inaudibly, but it seems that the KFI met yesterday and fired Shankar from the principalship of the Bangalore School. Details are to follow in a letter; and Krishnakutti, who had gone to Punjab, is to get a letter asking for his resignation from the Foundation.’
’I walked with Krishnaji to the river in the late afternoon. Krishnaji has a new plan. He is disturbed by the failure of the KFI to deal with the Shankar and Krishnakutti situation. He feels it should have never come about, and that there’s no one there to talk to younger people. He is thinking of Dr. Parchure for this, to have him accompany him to India, and come in May and June to Brockwood and possibly Ojai. But the rest of the time he would be at Vasanta Vihar, partly organizing studies of the teachings there, and meeting people, but also traveling all over the Far East, finding people, spreading interest in Krishnaji’s teachings. Dr. Parchure is fired up by this and eager. My first thought is for Krishnaji’s health. Parchure would still be in charge in India and Brockwood in the spring.
He again said that he wants to go to Ojai. “Why?” I asked. Krishnaji replied, “To solve this Rajagopal thing. He has nothing to do, and has done nothing these past years but plot.

August fifteenth, ‘Krishnaji, Dr. Parchure, and I left Tannegg at 9:45 a.m., drove to Bulle where we got on a new-to-us autoroute to join the lake one near Vevey. We stopped at 11:30 a.m. at Mr. Grohe’s in Buchillon for a slight visit and continued to Cointrin.’ That was the Geneva airport. ‘Krishnaji agreed to a wheelchair, which worked splendidly.’ I had to trick him into that.’ I will digress for a moment to explain this satisfactory effort. I always had, even when there were three of us like now with Parchure, Krishnaji and me, all passports, tickets, etcetera, and on this occasion, I went up to the young woman behind the counter to check us in. I had previously suggested using a wheelchair to Krishnaji, who said, ‘No, no, no, no, everybody will think I’m sick.’ So, I said no more, but when I got up to the check-in counter this time, I asked in French to the lady behind the counter if they had a “chaise roulante pour monsieur?” and “Oh, oui madame,” she said. Krishnaji heard this, but before he could say anything, she was sending for it. And then, it will probably be in here, but what happened was extraordinary: A sort of middle-aged man pushing a wheelchair arrived shortly, and when he looked at Krishnaji, he almost fainted, because it seemed he had been going every week to watch videos of Krishnaji’s talks, I think at Grohe’s place. So, this man was driving from where he lived, presumably in Geneva to Buchillon, where Grohe lived, to watch videos, and here he was to push him. ‘Swissair landed us in Heathrow at 2:30 p.m.’ Part of my wanting a wheelchair was because when we get to Heathrow, there is always a long line for immigration and customs. The wheelchair got Krishnaji, Dr. Parchure, and me past an enormous queue, and we were back at Brockwood soon. The country is in drought. Dorothy and others were there to greet Krishnaji. The Bohms are here.’

The twenty-third. ‘We both went on an early walk across the fields. Krishnaji’s voice is hoarse. He rested most of the day. Pupul telephoned, saying that she is not coming to the U.S. in September. She said Krishnaji must not go to Sri Lanka as it is now too dangerous with the conflict there. Krishnaji told her he would like more time to rest before India, so the Delhi talks must be postponed a little, and he will leave for India at the end of October.’

August twenty-sixth. People arrived all day for the Brockwood Gathering. Krishnaji dictated letters
The next day, ‘It was a warm, clear day. Krishnaji has a bit of laryngitis, but gave a fine first Brockwood talk to a large crowd.

August twenty-eighth. ‘Krishnaji gave the second Brockwood talk. His voice was throaty at first but improved as he spoke. There was a huge crowd.
The next day. ‘I sorted questions for tomorrow.
August thirtieth. ‘Krishnaji held the first question-and-answer meeting. He answered four questions.
The fifth of September. ‘People are leaving. It is a beautiful day. finishing things.’ September seven. ‘Krishnaji, Dr. Parchure, and I left Brockwood; Dorothy looked on the edge of tears. She is disturbed and unhappy. I think I understand, as though I could see into her head, and I want to write her. A special favor. Krishnaji used a wheelchair, and it whizzed us through the formalities. We flew to Los Angeles on TWA 761 at 11 a.m. ‘He has just come by where I am sitting in this airplane, moving with a spring; stopping intensely, and asking, “You are alright?” and going forward to his single seat, the one he always has…’ We were lucky in that TWA had, in first class, two single seats opposite each other in the bulkhead, so you could close off the rest of the world, and put your feet up on the bulkhead. At least I did. He didn’t. we reached Los Angeles at 2 p.m. Again, a wheelchair made it less tiring. Mark Lee and Michael Krohnen were there with a school van, and we drove in the van to Ojai. The garden and house are beautiful. Krishnaji is pleased to be here. In spite of the reason for this trip, I am, too.’

September tenth. ‘I woke up early, and so did Krishnaji said he had a good meditation.

September twentieth. ‘At 8 a.m., Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, and I went to Mr. Cohen’s office in Oxnard. We talked to him from 9 a.m. for an hour, and continued till 2:30 p.m. when Krishnaji was tired, and it was ended for the day.’
September twenty-first. ‘Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, and I went to Cohen’s office for a 10 o’clock continuation of Krishnaji’s deposition
The next day. ‘Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, and I were at Cohen’s office for a 10 a.m.  continuation of Krishnaji’s deposition. Krishnaji met nastiness head-on and dealt with it very well. Questions ended suddenly at 11:20 a.m., and we were out of there.

The twenty-seventh: ‘Krishnaji, Dr. Parchure, and I left at 7 a.m. for Lailee’s office, where Krishnaji had a fasting blood sugar test, 117. Then we breakfasted at Lindberg’s, the health food place. He liked going there. ‘We returned at 11 a.m. for an exam by Lailee, and the postprandial blood sugar test.
September twenty-eighth: ‘I went on the early walk, but spent most of the day being quiet. In the afternoon, Krishnaji and I walked in light rain to the dip and back. Doctors think he must exercise each day.

The next day, . In the afternoon, Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, and I, with Alan Hooker, went to look at the former Zalk house, which is now being offered for sale. It is a mess, and not suitable for a study center.’ It’s above the Oak Grove, up on that ridge.
October ninth. Krishnaji slept poorly last night because last night’s upset in the house put him off, but he slept most of morning.’

The tenth of October: Alan Kishbaugh drove Krishnaji, Dr. Parchure, and me to the Los Angeles airport.We left at six on TWA 760 for London. Krishnaji and I had the good seats, one and nine in first class, and were able to sleep a bit. Krishnaji was quite exhausted when we got on board, but the flight was less tiring than at other times.’
The eleventh: ‘We landed at Heathrow just before noon. Rita Zampese met us, and Krishnaji had a wheelchair, so we went quickly through everything.

October thirteenth: ‘It rained most of the day. Krishnaji talked to the students at 11:45 a.m., and I went to a staff meeting occurring at that time. After lunch, Krishnaji was tired and didn’t feel like a walk.
The fourteenth: ‘Krishnaji slept nine hours after Dr. Parchure gave him a Compoz tablet.
The sixteenth. ‘Krishnaji didn’t sleep well. At 11:45 a.m., Krishnaji spoke to the school and guests. There is a good group of new students. The Bohms were there, and David spoke with Krishnaji after lunch. Mr. Grohe and his son from Switzerland sat with Krishnaji at lunch and discussed their interest in a Swiss school.
Monday, the seventeenth: ‘It is a clear day. Krishnaji slept well on half a tablet of Compoz. He rested all morning. Mr. Grohe left after donating 50,000 Swiss francs to Brockwood. Tungki gave 8,000 pounds sterling.’ After lunch, Krishnaji spoke with me in the little blue room about events in California, what has happened here, and some of his plans and problems in India. He reached out in his imagination to what he wants at Brockwood: the place is in a rut. Now it must grow, change, move, be alive. It is the only center in Europe, and must draw people. His ideas were vivid, but his manner of speech was slow and almost difficult, as though it were an effort.’ His face these past days has looked gaunt. His posture is round-shouldered, older, and unlike his usual, almost boy’s vitality. It turns a knife in me.’
Dr. Parchure said he didn’t know what else to suggest medically. Did Krishnaji know what was making him so tired? Krishnaji thought and said it was Rajagopal’s attack, which he was feeling now. “It wasn’t the trip. I slept on the plane. I liked being in Ojai, I felt well there.” . When the other two left, Krishnaji said he felt better already because he had talked about it. I put a hot pad on his leg
. “I’ll be all right tomorrow, you’ll see, ” he said.’
October twentieth. ‘Krishnaji slept well without pills. “Like a log,” he said, until 7:15 a.m. He looks much better. Before going to sleep, Krishnaji said to me, “They are immature here. This place must become something marvelous. You must be careful. Look after yourself. Do you understand? I might die, and you must see that this place is marvelous. You must live as if I were already dead. Do you understand what I’m telling you? When I leave Ojai, it is out of my mind. The house, the roses, Rajagopal, and all that, and when I leave here, it will be out of my mind, and when I leave India, that too.” I asked him, “Are you telling me something more?” Krishnaji replied, “No, I’m not going to die. I will live a long time more, I hope. But you must understand how to live.”’

The twenty-second. ‘Krishnaji remained in bed all day. He dictated on the future of Brockwood, what it must become. More than a school, a place where people seriously interested in the teachings can come to study. A place for the awakening of intelligence without a leader for, “The teachings themselves are the expression of truth which serious people must find for themselves.” Krishnaji had me read the dictation to him, and he put in additions that put responsibility on me for 'bringing things about' at Brockwood, as if he was out of it, but repeated that 'he would live another ten years'. Krishnaji’s voice was hoarse in the evening. The Bohms were there. I barely had time to lie down before Krishnaji came in to say we should go for a walk. Summertime ended this morning. The clocks are turned back, and it was darkening as we walked around the lanes. Krishnaji’s pulled muscle is healed, and he walked well, firmly, and without apparent fatigue. The air was bracing. I told him of the conversations with Hugues and Mary Cadogan. We need to build up money reserves for the future of Brockwood. He spoke of 'doing more tapes' as they bring income, and we will try to build a reserve financially. “We mustn’t buy any more houses,” he said. But, when we passed the Dell cottages, he said we must get the two we don’t own when they become available. He said India has enough property and funds, and when we someday sell Saanen, the proceeds shouldn’t be divided three ways with India. His will divides anything he owns between KFA, KFT, and KFI. But, he said he might change that. As to anything in the teaching trust, I must give half of it’ to KFT and half to KFA. He earlier spoke of my responsibility to Brockwood. I must act as if he were gone. But he repeated he would live another ten years. He was again beautiful and strong on the walk. My heart beats in response to his. He said to me, “there is no separation between us. I care deeply for you. I’m closer to you than I’ve ever been to anyone, do you understand? You must never feel isolated; that would be terrible. You must be strong here; you must help them here—not the details. You sometimes start with details. It is the whole. You must see to it here and at Ojai, if I die now or in ten years, you must take charge, with others. Something else is looking after me. My health is all right. When you write, be careful. No one knows who opens letters.’ This is all going-to-India advice.

October twenty-seventh. ‘Krishnaji came and woke me up 4:30 a.m. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I left at 7:30 in the Mercedes, and Dr. Parchure went in another car with Scott and Kathy. It was very foggy, but we reached Heathrow before 9 a.m. Rita Zampese met us there, and was able to accompany Krishnaji and Dr. Parchure right onto the British Air airplane to Delhi. Dorothy and I drove back to Brockwood. Krishnaji is due in Delhi tonight, British time, but 4:20 a.m. in India. He stays with Pupul in Delhi.’

On October thirty-first, ‘Krishnaji telephoned me from Delhi, He says he is well, and asked me to send the file of letters about India of the last months. I spoke briefly to Pupul, and posted the file in the afternoon.’

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Fri, 21 Jul 2017 #350
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

 
Fast Forward excepts from K & MZ Story 1984

February fifteenth: ‘Krishnaji arrived from Bombay at Heathrow at 9:10 a.m. Dorothy and I met him as well as Ingrid and Mary C. He looks wonderfully well. When we got back to Brockwood, Krishnaji looked at all the fire reconstruction in the West Wing, then lunched with the school.

February seventeenth. The BBC’s Terry Anderson spoke with Krishnaji at lunch about doing a program on Brockwood, including an interview with Krishnaji for both the BBC television and radio. It’s too short for Krishnaji. The walk with Krishnaji included Mr. Grohe, Dorothy, and me.

February twenty-first: ‘Again, Dorothy drove Krishnaji and me to Heathrow, where we took the 10 a.m. British Air flight to Los Angeles. The wheelchair got us quickly through the formalities. The Bohms, who were on the same flight, went with Mark, while Krishnaji and I went with David, and we arrived at Ojai at 4 p.m. We are both tired.

The next day, ‘Krishnaji saw David Bohm at 10 a.m., after which we lunched at Arya Vihara and talked at table till almost 4 p.m. The table conversation was on "perception", and it was taped.
February twenty-fifth. ‘Krishnaji slept well. He saw Dave again at 10 a.m., and we taped another conversation at lunch, this time about "honesty".’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji again saw Dave at 10 a.m., and there was another taped discussion over lunch at Arya Vihara, this time on “The Ebb and Flow of Life.”

This was the period when David Bohm was having great difficulties, so Krishnaji saw him every morning, and then there was a recorded discussion over lunch. Krishnaji would also occasionally see Saral.

The next day, ‘Dr. Raju and Mrs. Phyllis Barnes came for us in a van and drove us to the auditorium of the Los Alamos National Laboratory, where Krishnaji spoke to an overflowing crowd of 700 scientists from 8:10 a.m. to 9 a.m. Then, he answered questions for thirty-five minutes. We returned to the Inn, where Krishnaji had breakfast in his room. Dr. Raju had brought food. At noon, we went with Mr. Raju to lunch in a restaurant with ten scientists.

March twenty-first: At 8:45 a.m., we went to the discussion hall, where about sixty scientists presented fifteen typed questions to Krishnaji. He read them and chose the first, “What is meditation, what is creativity?” and answered it for over an hour with supreme eloquence. He then took the last one on what he would direct if he were director of the laboratory.’‘He had almost tears in his voice at the end and I wept. Then we walked around Santa Fe, and then from Albuquerque we flew back to Los Angeles.

On the thirty-first, ‘At 3:30 p.m., Senator Claiborne Pell came to see Krishnaji. The senator’s initial question was, “Does individual consciousness survive death?”’
I don’t think it was very…

April first: ‘Asit showed us the dummy of his book of photos of Krishnaji, A Thousand Moons. On the second of April: ‘After breakfast, Krishnaji, Asit, and I discussed on tape Asit’s question,  “What is a worthwhile life?”’

April thirteenth. ‘Pupul arrived from Washington and came to see Krishnaji after breakfast. She is in this country for the Festival of India, which will take place in 1985 ‘She had talked with Mrs. Gandhi, who thanked her copiously for asking Krishnaji to telephone. Later Krishnaji, Pupul, Asit, and I went to lunch with David Shainberg and Cathryn de Segonzac at Il Nido. It was a late lunch. Asit took pictures of Krishnaji with my Minolta. He wants to do a discussion on what prevents people who have begun to see what he’s talking about, but do not follow through in arduous self-awareness.

Because of something Krishnaji had said, I asked him, “What do you mean by a first-class mind?” “One that is free of conditioning, that inquires,” he replied.’
The fourteenth, April. ‘Krishnaji went to Felt Forum for his 11 a.m. first New York talk. The hall was about two-thirds full. Krishnaji spoke for an hour and twenty-five minutes, and put very much into it. Pupul arrived and soon Asit, too. Her book on Krishnaji is running 600 pages. The first draft is almost done. She asked Krishnaji what she called “an impossible question”: What should be done in the Punjab where Sikhs are demanding a separate nation, including the territory in adjoining states? This is a dilemma facing Mrs. Gandhi. Pupul wanted Krishnaji “to put it in his consciousness.” He said it was a question that must be answered. Asit showed Pupul the dummy of his book of photos of Krishnaji. She liked it, but wants to help him choose other photos. ‘We had a discussion of what Krishnaji means by “mutation of mind.” Science says mutation means a change that is carried by inheritance to the next generation. Does he mean that, or does he mean a change in consciousness that affects the total human species not necessarily via genetic change? Krishnaji has said 'not the latter' when this point was raised at Brockwood last fall. Now he seems to go further, and wants to go into it. Pupul and Asit went off to a movie.

The fifteenth. ‘There was lightning and thunder in the night. Krishnaji, at breakfast, saw a flute player on TV. His face lit up and he said, “I wish I had continued playing the flute. I was good at it. But all of those things were 'wiped out' so I could do this.”’ ‘“And that was right.” I asked him, “Did you decide that or did Mrs. Besant point it out?” Krishnaji replied, “They probably said something, but I think I decided it.” He mentioned the length of Pupul’s book and said, “You should write about all this.” Asit came with us in the car to Felt Forum again. The crowd was bigger. Krishnaji plunged right into an intense, marvelous talk, his voice charged with energy. Sparks seemed to fly. He was at his most powerful and vital.

A John White, author and friend of Patricia Hunt-Perry, who is doing a book on enlightenment, saw Krishnaji from 4:30 p.m. until almost 6 p.m. “He asked a lot of questions,” said Krishnaji.’ there was a Krishnaji, Pupul, Asit, David Shainberg, and me discussion on why people 'come to a block' after years of studying the teachings. Pupul left, and we went on into what is the most basic fear, death, or what? We didn’t resolve it. Krishnaji and I had supper in the sitting room.’

Auditorium where, at 1:15 p.m., Krishnaji spoke to delegates and personnel of the UN. The invitation to speak was from Dr. Muller for the Pacem in Terris organization within the UN, and Krishnaji was asked to speak on peace. Dr. Muller had asked Narasimhan, who had come from Houston where he is lecturing, to preside in his absence. It was a small auditorium, perhaps two hundred seats. Krishnaji sat behind a table on the stage and after a rather bureaucratic introduction by Narasimhan, he began to talk in a relaxed, utterly clear way about peace coming about only through a change of consciousness in each human being; and the impossibility of peace among people divided by nationalities, politics, religions, or ideology, and it not coming externally through organizations. Many heads were nodding in agreement, but who knows what it meant to them. “They have probably forgotten it already,” said Krishnaji later. He said, when I asked him, that he didn’t know what he was going to say until he began. “It is better that way.” 3:30 p.m., Krishnaji didn’t want room service. “Let’s go out,” he said. So we walked over to the St. Regis Hotel, but Krishnaji didn’t like it, so we walked on. Finally, in Radio City, we went into something new for Krishnaji, a coffee shop. “I don’t know where I am,” he said.’ Then to the refuge of the hotel and later supper in the rooms.’

Pupul went last night to a dinner party and met Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and she said she would like to meet him. Krishnaji agreed to invite her tomorrow.’
We then went to the Metropolitan Museum, where Krishnaji wanted to see the Egyptian Temple of Dendur.’ It’s a very little temple, and they had the whole thing on exhibit. ‘“You must walk around it from left to right,” said Krishnaji, so we did. “This is what we did with the mother prostrating before the entrance,” said Krishnaji. “Seven times around, and three times a day.” There were too many people at the exhibit for Krishnaji. He would have liked to see it in the empty large hall, but we pressed on with our timing and got back to the hotel by 3:30 p.m., in time for him to have a short rest before the arrival of Asit at 4:15 p.m. with Mrs. Onassis. She wore a long gray coat over a tunic and trousers and boots.’ ‘The large eyes and breathy voice matched all distant remembrances. Krishnaji came and shook hands in his courtly way ‘Small talk was about nil, and Krishnaji soon asked, “Do you want to talk seriously?” A breathless, “Yes.” So, he did until almost six o’clock, giving her a tidal wave of Krishnaji basics.’ ‘He kept asking, “Do you understand?” “I think so,” she kept saying. Then he put her rather on the spot with questions, “What is thought?” Silence, while he waited and she pondered an answer in front of three strangers.’ ‘She said it had something to do with planning. “Yes,” said Krishnaji, and then “And what else?” I found myself wanting to help her, like a child in school, and also would have liked to leave her alone with Krishnaji, as at times he came rather close to personal things, speaking of sorrow, loneliness, etcetera. Pupul’s arrival ended the conversation after Krishnaji had invited Mrs. Onassis to visit if she ever comes to India. Asit escorted her downstairs, and then left for his flight to Paris, which he has twice postponed so he could be present when Mrs. Onassis met Krishnaji.’
‘P.S.: When Krishnaji asked her questions, she said, “I think of myself as a very articulate person. But I don’t know what to say.”’

April twentieth, 1984, Krishnaji had just finished that year’s public talks there. ‘We left our hotel by taxi and went to the airport, and took a noon flight to Los Angeles, arriving at 2:40 p.m. We drove along the beach to Ojai on a lovely afternoon, and Krishnaji saw Topa Topa “more clearly than ever,” he said.’ He had climbed Topa Topa all by himself when he was young.

‘Rajagopal has sent Erna a $30,000 donation from K&R for scholarships.
There is nothing of significance for the next couple of days, but on April twenty-eighth,  ‘Pupul and Mr. Jose, her secretary, arrived by car from Beverly Hills to spend today and tonight. She has been in Los Angeles about the 1985 India Festival. We all lunched at Arya Vihara, and in the afternoon, Krishnaji and Pupul did a taped conversation. I made supper for the three of us. We ate on trays in Krishnaji’s room.’

May second: ‘we flew to San Francisco on United. Huntington Hotel, where we have the same suite as in past years, number 514 and 512. These are the best hotel rooms we have had anywhere so far.’ . We had supper in our rooms.’ The suite had a little kitchen; it was very nice.
May third. ‘ Krishnaji gave an hour’s radio interview to Michael Toms of New Dimension radio. It is taped and will later be broadcast by satellite and picked up by about fifty nonprofit radio stations around the country who send it out on their networks at whatever time they choose. Mrs. Justine Toms came to the hotel and drove us to their recording station, which is in their house.’ They were both very nice people. ‘The subject asked by Mr. Toms was about conflict, its causes, etc. Krishnaji answered thoroughly, occasionally tapping his palms on the table to emphasize his points.’ . In the fruit and health food store, young people who work there said, “It is an honor to have you here, sir.”’ ‘And a young woman on the street said, “How do you do, sir? Welcome to San Francisco. It is an honor to have you come to our city.” Krishnaji looked away from the two very large photos of him outside the Masonic hall. He wanted the Theroux book as he has taken a liking to his writing since Asit gave him Theroux’s book about a trip around the coast of Britain, The Kingdom by the Sea. It is critical of the country as it is today and Krishnaji, surprisingly, read it through. He wants me to read it. “We don’t really know what Britain is like. We only see part of it,” he said, which is true of almost all the countries we visit.

‘A few days ago, in Ojai, Krishnaji spoke again of his not liking to go out in the dark. He had stepped out on the front terrace after supper and came back in. He said it is a feeling he’s always had. It is not fear as such, but he doesn’t like it. It is all right if another person is with him, “or a dog,” he said unexpectedly. I tried to find out what it was. “Something else” is more prevalent in the dark. “Evil?” I asked. It seems to be in a realm he doesn’t want to discuss. It can’t be accurately described. I asked him if the things he does to cleanse or make safe a room, etcetera, are things he was taught something occult by someone when he was young, Leadbeater, or someone? He said no, no one taught it. It is something he learned by himself. I asked would it take away its power or use if he were to tell what it is? He said yes, and that it can’t be put into words.’ Which shut me up.

May fourth. ‘Krishnaji slept well. Naudé came at 12:30 p.m., looking smiling. Somewhat more portly.’ ‘We chatted as of yore until Krishnaji came in and greeted him so nicely, “Hello, sir,” Krishnaji’s face alive and friendly. Alain had first asked if he could bring “a very talented musician” to lunch, and, of course, I said yes. Then he rang to ask if he could also bring a very nice woman interested in Krishnaji, etcetera. I hesitated slightly at two strangers on a day before a talk, but Krishnaji said, “Why not? It doesn’t matter.” The two friends were waiting downstairs in a car that the woman, Anna Silver, had rented. The musician, polite and smiling, was a pupil of Alain’s, Ken Johansson, a pale young Dane with an unmarked face and careful, childlike hands. Greens was busy, but Krishnaji’s presence got us a corner table by the window. The conversation flowed along the surface. Krishnaji told some stories and it all remained sociable. Alain outmaneuvered me and got the check, I think it was the woman who really paid via Alain.’ ‘They drove us back to the Huntington and that was that. Krishnaji seemed pleased to see Alain, but later asked me what is wrong with him? Krishnaji felt Alain doesn’t really want to be with us.

May fifth. ‘On awakening, Krishnaji said he had dreamt of Nitya—that they were walking where there were deep cement canals that had been built. The water hadn’t been let in yet and he was afraid Nitya would fall in and he was shouting at him.

Masonic auditorium was the best arrangement for talks. You just crossed the street and there it was. ‘Krishnaji gave the first San Francisco talk to an almost filled house.
May sixth: ‘Krishnaji gave his second San Francisco talk. A very fine one. Afterward, we took Miranda and John to lunch at Greens, which was very pleasant.
The seventh of May. ‘Krishnaji and I took the 10 a.m. United flight to Santa Barbara where the Moodys met us and drove us to Ojai. It was very hot in the valley, and there was a forest fire towards Santa Paula in May.’

Krishnaji had a letter from David Bohm. His anxiety attacks began again on his return to England. It is a touching, sad letter.’ The tenth Rupert Sheldrake and Jill Purce came to lunch at Arya Vihara. They are part of a seminar at the Ojai Foundation up on the Happy Valley land. It seems to entertain Rupert.’
‘I spoke to Shainberg in New York about David Bohm’s condition. He has been in constant touch with him, and arranged for Dave to see a good therapist in London.’

The twelfth of May: ‘Krishnaji’s eight-ninth birthday. He slept well and looked wonderfully. Birthday greetings as usual are waved away with a note of scorn, but I felt filled with a silent celebration’ ‘at the shine in his face when it lights up looking at his rose bushes, his lightness of movement, and the beauty that is without age and seems to increase with each year. He is well. He is strong in energy. His mind is more alive than ever. And he is dear beyond any human measure. It has been a hot day. I telephoned Dorothy, as it is her birthday, too.
It was too hot to walk, so we just had our usual supper. Television on Saturdays provides only T.J. Hooker, a 'cops and robber'.

on May eighteenth, Krishnaji said that he dreamed that Rajagopal said to him, “Why didn’t you tell me you would turn out like this?” and Krishnaji told him, “Because you behaved like such a bastard.”’ later, we drove over to look at the new school building in the Oak Grove. Krishnaji kept saying,  “What a beautiful place,” and “Don’t those teachers see it? How can they quarrel about 'things'?”’

May nineteenth. ‘At 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji gave Ojai talk number one to a large audience in the Oak Grove. All went well. Grohe, Alan Kishbaugh and Stella R. were at lunch. We had a quiet afternoon.’
The next day Krishnaji gave the second Ojai talk to a large crowd and in perfect weather.

The twenty-second. ‘At 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji held a question-and-answer session in the Oak Grove. At 4:30 p.m., Krishnaji planted a peepul tree for the new school building. The crowd and the sun tired him.’

At supper, on the TV came Tribute to a Bad Man and Krishnaji was touched by my smile when Sam’s name came on the screen. He said, “I’m so glad you smiled. I’m so glad you loved someone.” In the kitchen, as we did the supper dishes, he was smiling, too. When I asked him why, he said, “It made me feel such a rush of emotion toward you. I felt no difference with him. I couldn’t feel anything else, that would be dreadful.” His face, when he said all this, was alight and eager with surprise and discovery. He is that flower of the human spirit.’

May twenty-fourth. ‘Krishnaji laughed suddenly in the kitchen at breakfast. “Why?” I asked. “I’m thinking of your smile. It made me feel very close to you.”’ ‘At 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji held the second question-and-answer session in the Grove. In the car coming back along Grand Avenue, he said, “I may be going to faint,” but he didn’t. He just closed his eyes for a few minutes while I kept driving slowly. Then it passed. It is some time since he last fainted. As we stepped out of the garage, a green car rushed up behind us, and out jumped an aggressive, absurdly dressed German who had followed Krishnaji from the Grove, demanding to talk to him. Krishnaji had said no, and said it again here with the man shouting at him. I tried to stop the man and he turned on me, “Who are you? Mary Zimbalist?” “Yes,” I replied, but Krishnaji stopped me from saying all I wanted to say. He quietly told the man he couldn’t see him, and we went into the house. Later he told me that I mustn’t try to defend him.’
‘“Why not?” I asked.’
‘“Because they won’t attack me but they might take it out on you. I must defend you,” he replied.’
‘Me: “Isn’t it my job to protect you?”’
‘Krishnaji said, “Something else is doing that. And if you react…do you understand?”’
‘Me: “You mean that if I say something that it may jar that other thing?”’
‘Krishnaji: “Yes. I can tell by looking at their eyes how crazy people are. Of course, if they tried to break into the house, we would both act.”’
‘Me: “Am I supposed to just stand there if someone was physically attacking you?”’
‘Krishnaji: “No, that would be different.”’

The twenty-sixth: ‘Krishnaji’s third Ojai talk. A big crowd. Very warm day. May twenty-seventh. ‘At 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji gave his fourth talk to a huge crowd. Both David and Mark handed Erna letters asking for a big hike in salary. Erna was shocked. Krishnaji was shocked. David Moody came and explained the new school plan. Krishnaji expressed shock at the money letters. Moody became very emotional and sat with a bowed head.

May twenty-ninth. ‘On this day, the thermometer reached a 106 in the shade on my back porch… Evelyne brought the actor Richard Chamberlain to lunch, and Rupert Sheldrake and Jill Purce were there as well. She asked me at lunch if Krishnaji would help her sciatica, and so he did afterward.

June first: at 2:10 p.m., Krishnaji and I and Mr. Grohe left in the school van for the Los Angeles airport Krishnaji and I had our usual seats in the bow, and Mr. Grohe got one just behind.’

June second. ‘We arrived at Heathrow at 11:20 a.m. ne of Krishnaji’s bags was missing. The recent story of Brockwood was in Dorothy’s face: tight, repressed, unhappy. Brockwood was physically beautiful. The new enclosed front hall was finished. But the atmosphere in the school struck Krishnaji so forcibly that he felt like turning around and leaving. We reached Brockwood in time for a late lunch. Mr. Grohe is staying two nights in the West Wing.

June fifth. ‘Iris Murdoch came to meet Krishnaji, lunched with us, and she and Krishnaji talked some more until she went back to Oxford at 3 p.m. They plan to do a video dialogue in October.

The tenth. ‘Krishnaji held the third brain seminar discussion. These haven’t gone too well. The scientists are not responsive to Krishnaji. He, Shainberg, and I talked after lunch.
June eleventh. ‘I talked to Shainberg about critical things he has said about Krishnaji. He and Catherine de Segonzac left for Israel. .

After Krishnaji had spoken alone with Mr. Grohe, Mr. Grohe was invited to become a trustee of the Krishnamurti Foundation Trust, and Krishnamurti Educational Center at Brockwood Park.

June sixteenth. ‘Krishnaji talked with students, who are very critical of the state of the school.
‘I talked to the Hammonds about recommending an architect for the study center.’
The seventeenth of June. ‘David and Saral came to lunch with Krishnaji and he put his hands on Dave afterward.’

June twenty-second. ‘At 8:45 a.m., Krishnaji was interviewed by Eric Robson of Border Television for a series on 'revelation' starting in August.

June twenty-ninth: Krishnaji and I took a Swissair flight at 10:35 a.m. to Geneva, and went to the Hotel des Bergues.

July first, 1984, we left Geneva in a Hertz Ford Fiesta, drove along the lake to Mr. Grohe’s house in Buchillon, lunched with him, his son, and secretary, and then we continued on up the mountains to Schönried. Somehow, we found Chalet Horner, rented by Vanda and Gisèle in April when we learned that Chalet Tannegg had been sold. It is rather steeply up a small road and has the Tannegg view, but is higher up and taking in the whole valley. It belongs to an English woman. There are a lot of steep stairs, but all else is adequate. Krishnaji has the main room on the same floor as the living and dining rooms and kitchen. Vanda is looking well.

July sixth. ‘I met Friedrich Grohe at the station and brought him to the chalet. He is giving another large donation to the KFA and wants to buy the Zalk House in Ojai. I helped Grohe fill out bank forms, and we telephoned Erna in Ojai with the news. Krishnaji is moved by Grohe’s generosity, and disturbed by the lack of responsibility at Brockwood. In the afternoon, I drove the car to the tent, walked to Saanen station, took the train back to Schönried, and walked up the hill to the chalet. Then Krishnaji and I walked down the mountain, across the fields where there was too much sun for Krishnaji, but there was nothing to do but keep going. It was too severe a walk for both of us, and the lack of shade for Krishnaji rules it out as well.’

The eighth. ‘Krishnaji gave his first Saanen talk, a strong talk, in the new expanded tent. It is much nicer than previous years. A large crowd filled it. Grohe brought a friend from Austria to lunch, a Mr. Hammerli.

July ninth. ‘Vanda left for Florence, independent as always, refusing to let me drive her to the station.’
July tenth. ‘At 10:30 a.m., Krishnaji gave his second Saanen talk.
. Dorothy is pleased to have driven her Land Rover once again to Saanen after not being able to come last year. To her it is an affirmation that she is well again.

The next day was the meeting of the international committees, and on July fourteenth, ‘Princess Gabrielle of Liechtenstein came to lunch. She was at the committee meeting yesterday, lives in Geneva, but is staying now in Rougement.

the fifteenth of July: ‘It rained.Krishnaji gave his fourth Saanen talk. A strong, clear one. Grohe brought the same man to lunch as last Sunday and they both ran down the mountain to catch the train, faster than if I had driven them.’

July seventeenth. ‘At 10:30 a.m., Krishnaji gave his fifth Saanen talk. Dagmar Lichti and Rita Zampese came to lunch. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji was interviewed by Heinrich Jaenecke of the Stern Magazine.’

The next day, Krishnaji had the first question-and-answer meeting of the Saanen season, ’

July thirtieth. ‘Krishnaji, Asit, and I did a taped conversation on meditation. Krishnaji saw the Siddoo sisters at 4:30 p.m. They want to restart the school again in 1985, but it was understood that it should not use Krishnaji’s name. As we come to the trees, Krishnaji says, “May we come in? You don’t mind?” He is also watching cars for the color of a possible 190 Mercedes he increasingly thinks we should have in place of my old gray diesel in Ojai.’‘He said, “I will live at least another five years,” but next year he wants to come here earlier and rest more before the talks.’

‘F. Grohe came to lunch and he suggested Rougement as a place for us to stay next year.’ And the next day I, indeed, went to look there for a chalet for next year.
August third. ‘I spent most of the day working at my desk. It was a hot day and we lunched alone. Krishnaji made a dictation into the Sony on his responsibility to the schools, and his plans for a “nucleus” to study the teachings with him. We walked in the Tannegg wood.’
There is nothing much the next day, but on August fifth, ‘I worked at the desk all morning, then Mr. Grohe came to lunch.
The next day, ‘I again spent all morning working at the desk. Patricia Hunt-Perry writes that the UN wants Krishnaji to speak again next year. We lunched quietly. I went to look at the Cabana Apartments, which were not suitable. Krishnaji had photos taken by Guido Franco, again. Krishnaji and I walked above Tannegg.’ Krishnaji talked to me about his ideas for a very special “quiet room” in The Study.’

 August eighth. ‘Krishnaji is intent on making Brockwood 'excellent'. ‘I began organizing and packing things we will store during the winter for next summer, and will put them in the Rougement chalet. Friedrich Grohe and his older son Christophe came and took us to lunch at Chlösterli.
August tenth. We lunched quietly watching the LA Olympics on television. On the way to Krishnaji’s haircut, we saw Vanda arriving on foot from the Schönried station.’ ‘We took her up the hill, and then went on to the haircut. We stopped for things ordered at a pharmacy, fetched laundry, then went in the rain for our usual Tannegg walk.’
‘Krishnaji and I walked earlier than usual in the Tannegg wood and then met Radha Burnier at Schönried station. She stays here in the room that Dr. Parchure had until we leave on Tuesday.’
August twelfth. ‘In the morning Krishnaji and Radha did a taped conversation beginning with the question, “What is silence?” In the afternoon, Vanda had a Scandinavian boy to see Krishnaji, and then Krishnaji, Radha, and I walked at Tannegg.’
Krishnaji, Radha, and I walked in the Tannegg wood. “Au revoir. À l’année prochaine,” said Krishnaji to the trees. Krishnaji watched the final Olympics broadcast, and I finished packing.’
August fourteenth. Krishnaji and I said goodbye to her and Vanda, and drove to Geneva airport. Krishnaji allowed me to get a wheelchair, and the Swiss man who brought it and pushed again was one who had been to the Saanen talks and Brockwood, We flew on Swissair 832 to Heathrow. Rita met us, as did Dorothy and Scott. It was a warm day at Brockwood. The country is in drought. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked with Kip.’
At 7 p.m., there was a channel 4 broadcast of the Krishnaji interview done in June by Border Television for a series called 'Revelation.’

August twenty-fifth. ‘At 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji gave the first Brockwood talk. Afterward, we had fruit and salad upstairs, and then returned to the marquee for the other food. Krishnaji was busy all afternoon meeting various people.
The next day. ‘Krishnaji gave his second Brockwood talk. A very fine one. An unbalanced man attacked
August thirtieth. ‘Krishnaji held the second question-and-answer meeting, and it was very fine. Erna got a letter about Rajagopal saying he wants to make peace, settle differences with Krishnaji before he, Rajagopal, dies.
September first. ‘Krishnaji gave his third Brockwood talk.
September second. ‘Krishnaji gave his fourth Brockwood talk, which was very fine. His voice was still hoarse but improved as he went along. Grohe left for Switzerland. Mark Edwards took photos needed by KFA. The Gathering ended, and people began to leave.
September fifth. ‘Mr. Grohe returned. Jean-Michel and the van der Stratens arrived. After lunch, all trustees met with Krishnaji in the assembly room for the first of our meetings. There was a walk with Krishnaji, Dorothy, Erna, Theo, and Alan Kishbaugh. Most met in the evening to talk.’
The sixth. ‘The trustee meetings began at 10 a.m. Krishnaji joined in a bit later. After lunch he talked to Sarjit Siddoo with Erna and me there about their school, if they revive it in 1985. At 3 p.m., the meetings resumed till 5 p.m. On the walk was Krishnaji, Dorothy, Grohe, Erna, Theo, Radhika, and me.
September seventh. ‘Most of the trustees went to lunch with the Digbys at their family castle in Sherborne, Dorset. Krishnaji, Radhika, Sunanda, Dorothy, and I stayed at Brockwood. Pupul arrived from New York in the morning. She chose to share the room with Radhika instead of having the West Wing Bird Room, so Asit will have it and share the bath with Grohe.’ ‘It was a quieter day. I went to Alresford on errands.’
September eighth. ‘Asit arrived from Singapore. At 10 a.m., the trustee meetings resumed, and dealt all day with publications matters. Mary and Joe came down, and Mary presided at the meeting as head of the publication committee. India again wants the copyright shared, this time between the three English-speaking Foundations. At 3 p.m., all the Foundations resumed the meetings, with Krishnaji speaking about the schools, a school journal, and since one of us (himself) had been free of conditioning, what could help other children to be that way?
The next day. ‘The house is quieter. Krishnaji rested all morning but got up for lunch. I worked at the desk. The walk with Krishnaji included Dorothy, Erna, Theo, and me.

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Sat, 22 Jul 2017 #351
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

THE K & MZ STORY ( IN "FAST FORWARD")

September sixteen, 1984, and we’re at Brockwood. The Bohms came down for lunch, and I spoke to them and the Lilliefelts after lunch.
September twenty-ninth: ‘Pupul telephoned from Delhi. Krishnaji and the Dalai Lama are both to speak on the same platform, under no auspices, in Delhi on November fourth. She has invited the Dalai Lama to lunch with him the day before. She has booked a room for me at the Taj Hotel during Krishnaji’s Delhi stay. I went to Petersfield on errands in the afternoon, then walked with Krishnaji and Dorothy. It was a beautiful, clear afternoon with golden light and sharp autumn air. Krishnaji is feeling well.
Back to Brockwood by 2:45 p.m. Krishnaji was waiting for me. He seems to know when one will arrive.’ It’s true, he did that with other people, too. He said, “When you are away, it is much more work for me.”’ I don’t know what he meant.
The fifth of October: ‘At noon we started a project of videotaping Krishnaji’s answers to questions on a single subject, asked by me, and the answer was to last just twenty-eight minutes.’ There was an idea to get them on television. Today I posed the questions, and then the cameras stay on Krishnaji. The first one was on “conditioning.” Afterward, he said we should keep going, so we did a second one on “fear.”

The next day. Krishnaji said, “You must hurry up to understand everything. I may live another ten years, but you must understand.”’
October eighth. ‘I got up early and began sample editing of some pieces Krishnaji dictated into his Sony in Ojai last spring. Krishnaji asked, “Haven’t you got enough to do?” but this is something I would like to do.
The eleventh. ‘Krishnaji spoke to staff at 11:30 a.m. He gave Doris an interview in the afternoon. He had previously told the students about his compact disc player and had said they should hear it, so they took him at his word. His room was stuffy with them when I came back from Alresford
October twelfth. ‘Krishnaji slept well. He said that in the last two nights he had vague dreams of “the brother.” He “couldn’t see his face, but we were going somewhere, a doctor’s. He went to the doctor, then he went somewhere and I didn’t know where, and then there were a bunch of people saying, ‘We’re for Theosophy. Krishnaji felt it was funny.
October fourteenth. ‘Krishnaji recorded on video answers to questions posed by me and Ray McCoy on “What is religion?” and “What is a religious mind?” Each answer was twenty-eight minutes long. It went well.
October eighteenth. ‘Iris Murdoch came from Oxford to do a video dialogue with Krishnaji. Mary and Joe, and their friend, Harold Carlton, came too, and watched the dialogue with the school on a monitor in the dining room. Murdoch and Krishnaji continued the discussion after lunch.’ ‘Murdoch was interesting but never seemed to make the jump to seeing instantly what Krishnaji means. She would say. “Ah yes, I see that. It is like Plato, etcetera,” lining it up or verifying it through intellectual knowledge already stored.
The nineteenth. ‘I met a David Bradshaw, a young Oxford don, at the Winchester bus station. He’s doing a life of Aldous Huxley and Krishnaji said he would talk to him. Krishnaji saw him before and after lunch, then I took him back to Winchester and bought a small Sony shortwave radio in Alresford on the way home to take to India.

On the twenty-eighth, ‘Krishnaji and I got up at 4 a.m., and had only nettle tea, our vitamins, and protein powder drink before leaving at 6:30 a.m. with Dorothy and Ingrid to Heathrow. We sat in Air India after buying a paperback book and the New Yorker at the bookstore. Rita and the protocol man saw us into our front row seats on the 747, and in the comfort, such as it is, we flew from Heathrow at 8:45 a.m. across Russia, Afghanistan, and Pakistan. We read, slept, and were plied with food. Pupul had specified what Air India should provide as food for us. ‘We landed at 11:20 a.m. at Delhi. Pama and Mr. Murli Rao were at the foot of the plane steps with a car to drive us to the VIP lounge, where Pupul, in a white heavy cotton sari, was smiling. Mr. Jose, her secretary, and Murli Rao took our passports and tickets and went off to see to everything. After a short while, we could go, and so Krishnaji and I went with Pupul to her house on Safdarjung Road. Nandini and her daughter, Devi, were there, as was Dr. Parchure. Pupul’s house is very nice, done with her good taste.’ ‘When the others and the baggage came, Devi and Mr. Jose took me to the Taj Hotel, where I have a comfortable room. Driving in the soft warm air, I felt again in India when I saw the calm cows in the road.’ ‘On these trips with Krishnaji, I am borne by the kindness of his friends, sheltered, protected, and instructed by Krishnaji to let it be that way. He is uneasy at my being in a hotel there for a few days, and imagines dangerous food, etcetera.’ ‘They put fruit in the room and he said you mustn’t eat it. I am to eat nothing, he says, but tea, toast ,and maybe a boiled egg for breakfast.’ ‘It is, in fact, a hotel more luxurious than the Dorset in New York, which he likes. The next day, Pupul’s car came for me in the morning. Asit had arrived in the night from Singapore. Krishnaji was beautiful as ever in his Indian clothes, an apricot kurta and buff bandi’—that’s the sleeveless sort of a waistcoat. ‘Devi and I went shopping unsuccessfully and came back to Pupul’s to a late lunch.

Asit asked him why there has always been turmoil around Krishnaji, TS people, Rajagopal, etcetera. Krishnaji said it was not surprising, “In good soil the tree grows and so do the weeds.”’ ‘There was talk too about the “quiet room” in The Study at Brockwood. There was rather a challenge from both Pupul and Asit. Krishnaji said it was “entirely different” from a meditation room or a temple. “It is a place to be quiet, not to bring problems, thoughts,” said Krishnaji. He said he had found it very difficult to live at Brockwood, in a house full of  “a hundred” people where there is turmoil. I went back to the hotel, afraid if I give in to sleep I wouldn’t wake up in time for a walk. So, I read, the archive correspondence I had brought from KFA to KFI, copies of correspondence between Krishnaji and Annie Besant, also with letters to her from Nitya. It was interesting to read in his letters of February seven, 1924 that Krishnaji, during the process, had said, “In one of the messages Krishnaji repeated from the Master, it was said that this house’—Arya Vihara—‘would become a center and that they will watch over it.”’
I came back to Pupul’s and went for a walk in Lodi Gardens with Krishnaji. Supper was en famille. On the walk, Krishnaji told me that the night before we left Brockwood, i.e., early Sunday morning, around 3 a.m., he was awakened with an intense sense of something, a "power" that was with him, and that it had been going on as we flew. “Something happening.”’

We arrived back at Pupul’s at 11:30 a.m. I saw Nandini standing in the hall, very still, as though arrested in something shocking. Behind her, in the living room I saw Krishnaji standing, Nandini, said in a low voice, “Indira Gandhi has been shot.” Pupul had been telephoned earlier, and had had Asit drive her the short distance up Safdarjung Road to the Prime Minister’s residence. It was already blocked, but Pupul said she was a minister, and got through. Asit said, and told him, “The Prime Minister has been shot by two of her guards. It is all over. Go and tell Krishnaji but no one else.” She said it in Gujarati. She turned back to the house, and Asit returned to tell Krishnaji. We stayed in Pupul’s house waiting for news. The television played interminable chants.

Around 3 p.m., Krishnaji, Asit, Nandi, and I were in Pupul’s sitting room, and Krishnaji said quietly, “I don’t know if you believe in ghosts, but I’ve been seeing Mrs. Gandhi standing there.” He indicated a spot about two feet from where I was sitting at the right end of the sofa. He said that she stood there, looking at him, for more than a minute, and then disappeared. As the afternoon continued with no word from Pupul, Asit, Nandini, and Rajiv Sethi went to the PM’s house to look for her. Pupul had gone to the hospital and they waited at the house. Around 6 p.m., the news of the Prime Minister’s death was announced. It had been withheld until her son and senior ministers could be notified and get back. They all happened to be out of Delhi. Also, they waited so that police and military could prepare for whatever came once the news was out. By the time Rajiv Gandhi was appointed Prime Minister and sworn into office. Pupul finally got home about 11 o’clock. She had been with Mrs. Sonia Gandhi all day in the hospital. There were enormous crowds at the hospital. She had helped dress Mrs. Gandhi’s body, and accompanied its return, on a gun carriage, to her house before it will be taken to lie in state. Pupul looked drained and exhausted. I left her with Krishnaji, and Asit accompanied me back to the hotel. The streets in this part of the city are empty. A curfew in other sections has been declared. I have been looking out over the city, and violence against Sikhs has begun. There are fires in the outskirts.’ The guards who shot her were Sikhs.

The first of November: ‘Pupul went out before 5 a.m. to accompany Mrs. Gandhi’s body to where it will lie in state until the funeral on Saturday. A car came and took me to Pupul’s house at 10 a.m. All the taxis have disappeared at the hotel as most have Sikh drivers. There has been burning of houses and attacks on Sikhs throughout the night in Delhi and elsewhere in the country. Krishnaji’s talks with the Dalai Lama have been canceled. There are curfews, but not in Delhi. The streets are almost empty here. It is felt safer for Krishnaji to get out of Delhi, and so our departure for Benares has been moved from Monday to Saturday.’ This was written on Thursday. ‘There were rumors all day of trouble and curfews all over India. Pupul’s house remains a seeming spot of safety. It was a quiet morning, like any other in the garden. Birds wing about. The sunlight is pale and gentle. After lunch, I took a nap on a mat in the living room, and later Krishnaji wanted his walk, so he, Asit, Nandini, Devi, and I drove to an almost empty Lodi Park. We passed only one burned-out and toppled car. Pupul returned from the Prime Minister’s house with news that it appears safe for Krishnaji to go to Benares. A television crew came and interviewed her about Mrs. Gandhi. When I spoke to Krishnaji before dinner, he said that yesterday, before Mrs. Gandhi was killed, he thought of her in the morning while he was brushing his teeth and said to himself, “I’ll probably never see her again.” He was to have seen her at lunch this Saturday at Pupul’s house, a lunch that both Mrs. Gandhi and the Dalai Lama were to attend.’
November second. ‘Our going to Benares is canceled as unsafe. Instead we go south tomorrow to Madras where it is quieter. A car came from Pupul’s and took me to her house at 11 a.m. The disturbed atmosphere is affecting Krishnaji. We lunched and I stayed there until Krishnaji, Asit, and I walked in Lodi Park.
Nothing has been learned since Wednesday’—this is Friday already—‘of the Sikh bodyguard who was captured after shooting Mrs. Gandhi. The one who shot first was killed by other guards, and he is said to have been on her guard duty for over ten years, and to have traveled abroad with her. Twenty-two bullets are said to have hit her, all in the body and lower torso. Only her face shows in the lying in state, untouched. Her son spoke to the nation on television this evening. He was very dignified and well spoken.’

The third of November: Krishnaji, and I flew at 11 a.m. to Madras. Krishnaji and I were in first class, which was almost empty. He and I had a picnic lunch. A steam bath hit us as we stepped out of the plane at Madras. Radha Burnier, Jayalakshmi Amma and others were waiting to greet Krishnaji at Vasanta Vihar. Sunanda has kindly given me her front room on the ground floor, which has a new tiled bath. Krishnaji wanted a walk, and so, with Pama, we went to Radha’s house at the Theosophical Society and walked on the beach. It is quiet here, and there have been few disturbances. Mrs. Gandhi’s funeral and cremation took place in Delhi.’
The fourth of November. ‘It was a quiet day with discussions at the meals. We walked on Radha’s beach again. Krishnaji wants to go to Benares on Friday. In spite of the difficulties and dangers of train travel, over a hundred people have already gone to Benares for the planned gathering, and Krishnaji feels he must go for that as well as Rajghat itself needing his presence. He hasn’t been there in a few years. Achyut and Balasundaram arrived from Bangalore during the evening.’

The next day. ‘At 9:30 a.m., Krishnaji gave a talk to the campers who have been waiting for him, and later all of us lunched with them in the school dining room. The walk was again around the playing fields in late afternoon.’
November twelfth. ‘At 8:30 a.m., Krishnaji gave his second talk to the campers and other visitors. The twelve days of mourning for Mrs. Gandhi have ended. I went with Nandini and Aditi to Benares, where they bought saris at the Kissam Sari Emporium. Benares is its unchanging self: dusty, filthy, crowded, mad, and totally India.
The late afternoon walk with Krishnaji included a group and we walked across the Varuna’—that’s the little river that runs between the Rajghat buildings and the farmland. It’s the road to Sarnath, actually—‘as far as the pump on the east edge of the Rajghat land. Krishnaji has the beginnings of cold symptoms.

November nineteenth, 1984 we’re in Rajghat.
‘Krishnaji spoke to the students in the morning. It was difficult, as they have insufficient English and no notion of his teachings. Last night I asked him where, other than Vasanta Vihar, was there difficulty in working together as between the Patwardhans and Parchure. A religious center, which Krishnaji wants, could be created. ‘So I stayed here, and was at lunch with Krishnaji, Upasani, Sathe, Parchure, Maheshji, and Dr. Hira Lal. He wanted to tell them two things: one, someone should be responsible for Krishnaji’s teachings among the students. Maheshji is to do this. Two, he spoke of a religious center for the north here at Rajghat. Krishnaji spoke at length and with eloquence about this "working together" : If Sathe makes a mistake, it is my mistake because I let him make it.” Afterward he dictated to me, “A 'religious' brain has no shelter. It is not scattered. It is unshackled. It has no schedule. It is non-comparative, utterly free from all ritual, dogma, faith. It is capable of cooperation because it is wholly free in independence.

‘Later there was chanting in the assembly hall. Krishnaji sat on the floor and nine South Indian Brahmin priests chanted.’ It was wonderful. ‘It is a harsh, compelling, ancient sound that seemed to come from deep in the unconscious of centuries. The sound of Sanskrit has some indecipherable depth and meaning to my totally uncomprehending ears. It went on intensely for longer than my bones on a hard seat liked, but Krishnaji was euphoric when we walked back with a flashlight. “That sound, the depth of that sound, It was wonderful.

Now the twentieth. ‘Pupul arrived from Delhi while we were still at the breakfast table. Pupul still has her government car and seems still at the center of things in Delhi. If Rajiv Gandhi wins the elections at the end of December, the Festival of India in the U.S. in 1985 will go ahead. If he loses, “I am on my way out,” said Pupul.’ ‘But she thinks he will win. Krishnaji asked her if she and Rajiv Gandhi were friendly, and Pupul smiled happily, “He is very fond of me.” At 10 a.m. Krishnaji held a KF India meeting and told them the two things he had discussed with the Rajghat group yesterday: his teachings have to be brought to the students in the school, and a religious center should be created here. He read them the paragraph on “A religious mind has no shelter,” etcetera. He said a similar center should come about at Rishi Valley and one at Vasanta Vihar. I dictated letters to Mr. Chandran in the afternoon, and walked with Krishnaji, Sathe, Nandini, and her friend, Bakul, three times around the playing field where boy students were playing cricket.

November twenty-first. ‘Pandit Jagannath Upadhyaya’ came after breakfast. Krishnaji asked him what the Buddha said about time and this led to a discussion in which Krishnaji said, “Change implies time, and so is not change.” I have a cold. I went for a walk with Krishnaji in the afternoon, but had supper in bed. There was noise all night of broadcast music from across the river.’
Krishnaji came downstairs early to see how I was. “You must outlive me, and it is not good for you here. I am used to it: the dirt, the noise, the food, the traveling.” He thought I should come to Rishi Valley and then return to the West. He left it on a “We’ll see” status. His talk this morning was mostly on "time and thought": The past, present, and future are the same. The past creates the present and, slightly modified, becomes the future, so the future is now.

He does not always insert “Unless you change” in the middle of this, and so to the newcomer it can sound rather hopeless. But he is now exploring change as being within time, and therefore not change. The key is attention. That "total attention", at his depth brings an energy, which is not thought. This energy, he said this morning, is "love". It is intelligence and compassion. So, things are not changed into something else or better. If they are seen, they end, and that is instantaneous and not in time.’ This is what nobody seems to understand. These discussions we have go on endlessly. Not seeing, you’ve got to see it and the seeing—his idea of 'seeing' is change. But they just 'see' the words.
Pupul is not feeling too well. The shocks of the past weeks in Delhi are probably affecting her now.’

November the twenty-fifth. ‘At 9:30 a.m. Krishnaji gave his fourth Rajghat talk in the assembly hall. He asked which of the long list of subjects he should talk about. Different ones were called in in heavy accents, and he chose to begin with "desire", and went on to "death" and "meditation". He spoke of "the senses being fully alive", not suppressed. Four red-robed Buddhist monks in the front of me listened impassively. Their smooth Tibetan faces were like wax.
November twenty-sixth: ‘At 9:30 six Benares Brahmin pandits came with Pandit Jagannath Upadhyaya to discuss with Krishnaji. Upadhyaya speaks in Hindi, so there is an interpreter, but Pupul soon took over this job. Everyone sits on the floor in the upstairs room, including about twenty audience members, but Pupul sits in an armchair, cross-legged, looking rather monumental, and the cause of it all. Upadhyaya’s opening question to Krishnaji was on the difference in Krishnaji’s terms between "brain" and "mind". By 11 a.m., it was still on "brain". Tomorrow, perhaps, we will get to "mind". The pandits were mostly middle-aged, wearing doti, kurta, and shawl; one, rather portly, had three rings. Men here tend to wear rings that women would in the West: a stone and band in gold. Upadhyaya has expressive, intelligent hands, the gray hair of a fox terrier, and the most unfortunate upper front teeth I have ever seen.’ They stuck straight out of his mouth and Krishnaji persuaded him to have them fixed. Unfortunately he died about six months after Krishnaji died. Otherwise, he has a nice, intelligent face, which lights up in speaking to Krishnaji. The pandits all stayed to lunch, their attention fastened on Krishnaji.

The twenty-seventh of November. ‘Dr. Parchure left early by train for Madras. At 9:30 a.m. yesterday’s discussion resumed with the addition of Rinpoche Samshong.’ That’s 'our' Tibetan Rinpoche. ‘Krishnaji went into what he means by 'mind', which he says is “totally different” from brain: when the brain is still and the self is not, then there is "mind", which is love, intelligence, compassion. Because of thought and self-centeredness, we live in disorder. Death must be the most marvelous thing because it ends disorder, and so it brings order. I queried this and he said "there is order in the universe" and my perception made the jump from the personal ending by death; so there remains the order of the universe. How far ahead he goes. Rinpoche stayed for lunch and Krishnaji, who had spoken eloquently of the highest use of all the senses during the morning discussion, several times asked why celibacy is insisted upon in various religions. Rinpoche did not respond very much to this, but he did describe the steps of the Tibetan Buddhist monkhood. Seven years of probation and many vows, etcetera. Krishnaji asked him about the Dalai Lama and his view of him. Rinpoche said that the Dalai Lama is in a "guru" position to him, as the Dalai Lama was involved in his ordination. He said he would obey the Dalai Lama, and Krishnaji took this up as "obedience" “is a terrible thing.” “Why should I obey? If I’m wrong, I’m wrong, and I will find out for myself.” He maintained that help is harmful because it weakens people. “Then why do you talk so much?” asked Rinpoche. Krishnaji says he does not want to 'help' people. “But Buddha continued to talk,” said Rinpoche after quoting the Buddha in similar lines to Krishnaji’s. He maintained that there is only "pointing the truth", not "help". The ( perception of the ?) truth is the only authority.

November the thirtieth. ‘ Krishnaji and I drove to the airport through dust and rough road to catch the noon plane. It was two hours late. We reached Delhi at 3:30 p.m. Pupul, who returned there two days ago, was at the airport with Mr. Jose and Murli Rao to meet Krishnaji. Krishnaji had a 4 o’clock lunch at Pupul’s, but I couldn’t look at food. Instead, I took a spoon of brandy in hot water, which quieted the stomach.’
‘Krishnaji kept glancing at me worriedly at the table, so I went and lay down until we had to return at 5 p.m. to the airport where Krishnaji and I took the 6:30 p.m. flight to Madras, due at 9:30 p.m. However, the weather made landing impossible, so the plane went on to Bangalore. I wondered how to look after Krishnaji if we had to get off there. But we were kept onboard for about forty-five minutes until the weather lifted and flew back to Madras. A cyclone is forecast for the coast. We circled before landing, but finally the pilot made a good landing. A car with Pama and others met Krishnaji when we landed, and it was a mercy to go right to bed at Vasanta Vihar; the nice clean bathroom, a welcome sight. The one at Rajghat was pretty bad.

the first of December Krishnaji went in the afternoon to see the storm along the beach.’ I did manage to go with Krishnaji to the beach in the late afternoon and walked partially. Radha has had hepatitis but is up and around.’
December third. With a big wind still blowing from the fringes of a new cyclone, Krishnaji went to see the sea and came back exhilarated, hair flying.’ ‘Huge waves close in the sand, he said. He had walked alone as Pama still has an injured ankle and Radha has come down with hepatitis, though she is now recovering. I had stayed in, weakly reading, but yesterday I went with him and walked a little slowly behind him. It was getting dark but he said he hadn’t minded. At Rajghat he had talked to me about his unease when it begins to darken. He has always felt this way, he said, “I feel like a skeleton wandering.” If someone close to him is there, he feels more protected.’
Next morning we left Vasanta Vihar for Rishi Valley and reached here at 8:40 a.m. In a drizzle with umbrellas, the school, Radhika, Narayan, Mrs. Thomas, etcetera were waiting to greet him outside the old guest house. Parameshwaram had breakfast ready. I settled into the same room I’ve had these latter years, next to the dining room and across from Krishnaji in the old guest house. There is great quiet in the valley; remoteness, and an ancient rhythm. There is also a drought as it is another dry year. The big old well is almost empty, and the streambeds are dry.’

The next day. ‘Krishnaji pursued the question he put yesterday to Uma and others: “How do you regard K? Is he different from you? And if so, why?” He was asking the family members, but they had no answer to it any more than the rest of us. Krishnaji teases Uma about her "sociologist" point of view. She smiles and was restrained in her replies. In the afternoon, Krishnaji, Radhika, and I walked toward Tetu. The simplicity of the earth, the hills, sky, and a sort of stillness. “This would be a good place to die,” said Krishnaji. It was dark when we got back, but he didn’t mind because Radhika and I were with him. The valley is moist from yesterday’s rain.’

The sixth. ‘I worked almost all day at my desk. Krishnaji, Radhika, and I again walked on the Tetu Road as far as the little temple. Krishnaji is moved by the beauty of the country.  “One could die out here.”’ He said it again.
The eleventh. ‘Krishnaji held a second discussion with teachers from the different schools. Several of them were at lunch. Krishnaji walked with Radhika and me.

Again, nothing until December fifteenth. ‘At 9:30 a.m., Krishnaji held the fourth discussion with teachers, after which he saw a Spaniard, Thomas Fernandez, who was unwell, and he treated him. In the afternoon an Indian government film person photographed Krishnaji on the walk. At 6 p.m., there was a dance recital by students in the assembly hall. Heaters were put in Krishnaji’s room and mine.’

The eighteenth of December: ‘On the afternoon walk with Krishnaji were Nandini, Bakul, Radhika, and me. We went on the Tetu Road where days ago Krishnaji had said that he was so moved by the beauty of the country that “One could die out here,” but today, we went as far as the small temple, where the head and torso of a goddess is fashioned in clay on the base of a tree and where the villagers sacrifice goats. One other day we walked there, and Krishnaji asked us if we felt something about the atmosphere. Radhika said she felt nothing. Nandini said she had once walked there with her son, Gansham, and they had not wanted to stop near that temple. There is something unpleasant about it. I have always been drawn toward the country there because it is beautiful, totally country, with fields, orchards, and a red sandy road and Rishi Konda at the end of the valley. But I’ve always tread carefully, feeling alien in the eyes of the land and the dark Telugu faces, even though the children offer a handful of groundnuts as a present, and once some custard apples were offered by an old, bent twig of a man. I would walk there alone, but warily, somehow. Today, Krishnaji and the rest of us stepped into the temple, which is a stone box, not very deep, empty except for a row of lingam-shaped stones, and there, after showing Nandi and Bakul the statue of the goddess at the base of the tree, we turned back on the road toward the school. It was late afternoon. The sun had dropped behind Rishi Konda. The sky was pale gold, but dark was beginning on the path.

About halfway back, Krishnaji asked me if I had felt anything behind us. I said I had felt I wanted to move away from the temple. He said he had felt something following him. He watched what he felt, and then he said to it, “Enough”…“I did something and told it to leave, and instantly it was gone.” He said the school land of Rishi Valley is peaceful, but the land beyond is not. “It is a dark land. There is "danger" in those villages. We must keep them at arm’s length.” Dorothy, Rita Zampese, and Friedrich Grohe arrived last night. Dorothy doesn’t look quite right, but it may be the strain of the trip. She’s going to return with Rita on the January thirteenth instead of later with me. This frees me to leave on my own when it seems best. Also, Friedrich, who leaves earlier, wants to travel with Krishnaji from London to California. This means I could go ahead to Ojai. I will have to think it out.

Leaving India is a desirable thought. Something dogs me on this trip, though everything is done to make my visit pleasant with great thoughtfulness. There is something about the country that is, as Krishnaji said, “ a dark land.”’
December twentieth. ‘At 9:30 a.m. Krishnaji spoke to the school. He had seven children with him on the dais, and came back exhilarated by their interest.’ There are lovely photographs of that. ‘Mr. and Mrs. Thomas and Radhika were at lunch. Krishnaji walked with them and Friedrich Grohe to the mouth of the valley, while I went to see Mrs. Parchure, Mr. Naidu, and Dorothy. Krishnaji, also exhilarated by his long walk, asked me to have supper with him on trays in his room.’
There’s nothing of significance on the next day, but on December twenty-second. ‘Krishnaji had an extra discussion with students, at the students’ urging. As usual, the mid-aged ones were the talkers.’ That means twelve year olds. ‘He had six come to join him one after another on the dais. Unfortunately, the video equipment had gone to Madras and so, the lively, funny, and very good discussion was only on audio recording. Afterward Krishnaji was engulfed in children. “Can we talk again sir?” and “Why don’t you stay here, sir? You should be our principal, sir.”’
‘The older silent students now want a meeting, but they have waited too long, and Krishnaji will rest until he leaves on December twenty-sixth.’ The older students had that sort of adolescent embarrassment in making fools of themselves in their thinking they’re superior to the younger ones who chatted away and were wonderful. But when they finally decided they wanted to get into the act, it was too late. ‘I took photos as I have at other meetings. Krishnaji, later in the morning, saw Mr. Naidu with his three children. . I came back in time to walk with Krishnaji, Narayan, Rita, Grohe, Radhika, and a male teacher, Alo, along the Tetu road, past the temple to the crossroad. Krishnaji strode purposefully around the back of the temple. And when later along the road I asked him if he had felt anything following him, and he said, “No, I went deliberately around the temple, did certain things, and said ‘You stay here. This is your place."
‘Then I asked, “Did you feel a resistance?”’
‘Krishnaji, “It didn’t like it, naturally.”’

The twenty-third. ‘Pupul leaves today, so she, Radhika, and I had supper with Krishnaji last evening. During supper, there was a long talk about his life and some occult matters, and Pupul’s book on Krishnaji. She had given me an article supplied by Radha Burnier that Krishnaji had written sometime in the twenties after Nitya’s death. It describes his concept of Masters, not as remote, strange, beings, but as part of himself and his daily life. He said he had not seen them often and only “as the flash of a passing bird.” We spoke of whether Leadbeater could have made the vague dreaming boy imagine these things. Pupul says there is little direct testimony from Krishnaji in those days. Much of the accounts are by CWL. We even speculated whether Leadbeater might have given the young Krishnaji some drug that made him both sleepy and suggestible on the occasion of the “Initiation.” Radhika and I leaned to feeling that Leadbeater was an absolute charlatan. There was talk about the Ootacamund experience. Pupul and Nandini wanted to call a doctor, but Krishnaji refused. He said, “Both of you have had children. You can’t stop the baby from being born.” Pupul said that when she had returned to Bombay, on three nights running, she had gone to bed and felt death enclosing her as though in birth, and her body had fought back. It never came again.

‘Krishnaji had then gone on about “cleansing” the apartment of a presence. He then spoke of what he had done on the walk in the afternoon. He said he does and says certain things that he never was taught but has come upon it by himself. He spoke of cleansing the room in the hospital at Cedars-Sinai when we went there for his operation. He said someone had died in that room. I and he felt it, and he acted on it. He said he 'does things' to the car before a long trip like Madras to Rishi Valley. He asked Pupul if she knew a “real mantra,” and she and Radhika spoke of a mandala, which means a protected space. Krishnaji spoke of violence in animal sacrifices. What seems to make this killing of animals more dark than the usual widespread killing for food, etcetera is that this is done for "religious" ends. Radhika said that she uses what she calls “alertness” as a protection. Krishnaji said he would have difficulty in walking from here, the old guest house, to her house in the dark.’
‘Once in Ashdown Forest he had a bad time at night. When he had been speaking of his young days, there came into the room that curious atmosphere that so many times has seemed to appear when something innately concerned with him and his origins is discussed. “Do you feel the atmosphere?” he asked. Even Radhika said that she felt it, but when we began to speak of evil, it vanished, and instantly Krishnaji spotted it. He said that to speak of evil invites it. That good attracts evil, that one shouldn’t discuss evil in a room but out of doors, and not at night. He said he has never discussed what he does to dispel evil but asked Radhika if she would want to know, bearing in mind that there is danger in it. She backed away, and said she wouldn’t ask. This morning, I asked him if the same offer was open to me. He thought for a moment and said, “No.” I asked if it was offered to Radhika because she must protect this place. “Yes,” and that I would want it only to protect him, and something larger is protecting him. One cannot protect oneself.

He said also that I am not always sufficiently, deeply attentive, and therefore it would be "dangerous" for me to know these things. He said I must not get mixed up in these things. I said I was not interested in occult things, was not afraid. But he said the danger would be “if it gets into my mind without my realizing it,” so we left it at that. But he said that last night he had gone around and "cleansed" this whole house. The real protection is to be without anger, antagonism, envy, hatred, and self.’

December twenty-fourth. ‘Later yesterday we took what was planned as a long walk. Krishnaji is still exhilarated by having been able to walk to the mouth of the valley the other day, and seems rather pleased, as a child might, with his powers. So Dorothy was invited. “Can you stand a long walk?” she was asked, which arouses her mettle and also her wish not to be regarded by Krishnaji as old and enfeebled. Rita and Grohe, both long-distance walkers, Narayan, Radhika, and I went. The plan was the Tetu Road to where another branches to the right and joins the main road to the valley, if one can call it that. Passing the horrid temple, Krishnaji walked purposely, with a dominating stride around it, and told me later, “I have pulled its sting.” We turned right, where a wide road appears. The school van met us, but Krishnaji wanted to go on, so we walked as far as the village on the main road. He didn’t want to walk through that, so we all came back in the van.

About his meeting with Mr. Naidu and his children, he told me that he had said to them, “Don’t hang onto it,” (the mother’s death) “finish with it.” This afternoon, we walked to look at a site where Grohe is going to build two cottages, one for his own use, and for a study ashram. He is enthusiastic about Rishi Valley. As a detail, he has just bought ten bicycles for the school.

This is Christmas Eve, and I had supper on trays with Krishnaji. Dr. Parchure came and gave his nightly massage to the swelling in my leg. Now, I can hear the students singing carols. “Oh Come All Ye Faithful” is energetically coming through the Indian night.’ ‘The stars are diamond bright and very close.’

Boxing Day, the twenty-sixth. ‘I was up in time to leave at 4 a.m. with Krishnaji, Narayan, and Dr. Parchure in the usual Santhanam car. We arrived at Vasanta Vihar by 8:30 a.m., and I went right to bed. I slept and stayed in the room all day,
December twenty-seventh. In the night, I decided not to stay in India till Krishnaji goes to Bombay but to go with Dorothy and Rita on January thirteen/fourteen. My spirits lightened. I’ve had enough of India. I am weary of the difficult food, the weather, the sights, the sounds, the tastes, and the smells. Nothing seems clean to any of the senses. Even the sea, the rolling surf off the Bay of Bengal, smells polluted to me. There seems no freshness in nature. Everything seems smeared with human insensitivity, soiled. The site of an old woman sweeping in the filthy streets with bare hands sickens me. So does the tolerance of it all. I cannot imagine wanting to stay alive in the conditions of life that millions and millions endure in this part of the world, and I am past the human capacity, if I ever had it, to do anything but shrink from all this. So I will flee to my infinitely cleaner, luckier, safety of life where atomic annihilation is as likely, but meanwhile, clean, sweet smelling fields, bed, house, food, and air is possible. Will I ever not wonder, as I have since childhood, why I have been so lucky, so blessed, really? And the supreme blessing is Krishnaji. How have I been allowed that?’ ever since I was a child, I thought, “Why am I so lucky?” Why have I got a clean bed to sleep in and enough food and beautiful things around me? I always felt that I’d have to 'pay for it' some day, that life would even things out.

The twenty-eighth of December: I changed my ticket to fly out of Bombay early on the fourteenth, leaving here on Indian Airlines on Sunday the thirteenth. I went with Krishnaji, Pama, and Grohe to the beach for our walk, as usual. Krishnaji’s optimism that the showers let up for the walk was correct. In the evening, news began of the counting of the election. Rajiv Gandhi is winning in a landslide.’

December the twenty-ninth. The day was quiet and reasonably sunny, but just before 5:30 p.m., as we all sat in the garden waiting for Krishnaji’s public talk, a heavy shower suddenly plunged down. Krishnaji had not come out, luckily; but when he eventually did, he gave a strong, hard-hitting talk. The first of the Madras four. He came to the supper table later but scared me a bit by going out on the street for a walk by himself right after the talk. Luckily, Narayan saw him and caught up with him.’
The thirtieth of December. ‘Again, the day was quiet for the second talk, which Krishnaji was due to give at 5:30 p.m. The day had been damp as always, but reasonably sunny. Then at 5:30 p.m., this time, just after Krishnaji had sat upon the platform, rain began and then increased and then poured. The sky showed no hope of clearing and everyone was drenched. I had to change completely, and then went up to find Krishnaji in bed with a warm blanket and a hot water bottle. He had been intending to change into dry clothes and go back to give his talk, but Dr. Parchure had pointed out that the audience was soaked and would have had to sit in pools of water on the tarmac. So Krishnaji agreed to a cancellation. Many of us sat in the big hall and talked until supper time, when Krishnaji came down and we went to eat.’

December thirty-first. ‘I asked Krishnaji if his "meditation" has come to him here in India. He shook his head and said, “Too busy. One must be quiet for it to come.” There were showers on and off all day. At 7 p.m., Grohe went off to the airport to fly back to Switzerland. He spent a long time talking to me about building in Rishi Valley and at Brockwood. He thinks it is “bon marché” to build in Rishi Valley, so he is financing two bungalows, one for his own use when he is there and one for Krishnaji, even though Krishnaji says he prefers the old quarters. And the balance needed to build an “ashram” or study. He seems to think I can expedite having all this done by next year. I went with Prema and him Saturday to see a local architect’s work, and also another house. But I had to point out that this is India’s project and I would be intruding. He is curiously impractical.
So this year is ending tonight, with hardly a mark of its passing. I have said goodnight to Krishnaji and say only to myself how extraordinary is the grace and wonder of another year with him.’

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Sat, 22 Jul 2017 #352
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

THE K & MZ Story, Fast Forward through 1985

January first, 1985, and we’re in Madras. ‘I went up early to start the day and the year with Krishnaji. A stubborn and determined rain gave no possibility of having the 7:30 a.m. question-and-answer meeting in the garden as usual, so everything took place in the big hall here at Vasanta Vihar. People kept piling in. Indians can fold themselves down into a few square inches of floor’ [both chuckle]. ‘Krishnaji spoke wonderfully with power, authority, and what was called “a presence.”
January second. ‘Ninety-six-year-old Madahvachari came to lunch. I remember him as a tall man, but he has shrunk. He seems to have outlived his faculties and his villainy.’ ‘Beyond some age, one is no longer accountable (apparently) for one’s sins, but both Achyutji, who sat as far from him at the table as he could, and I remember that he betrayed Krishnaji to Rajagopal. Krishnaji was amiable to him and invited him to come again. But later coming back in the car from the beach walk, Krishnaji said "how dreadful it is to live like that". I asked what choice Madahvachari had, and Krishnaji said he should “take a pill.”’ ‘Krishnaji seems to think that these lethal pills are available, so we muttered about ways of suicide all the way back to Vasanta Vihar. Krishnaji thinks a gun is too messy for the survivors, as is wrist cutting.’

January fourth. To Krishnaji’s discomfort the rain held, so he gave the extra talk he agreed to give tonight, to replace the one that was rained out last Sunday, in the less crummy of the two halls, but crummy it was. It was a wedding place. And though he gave a good talk, it tired him because of the place. It was announced that the talks tomorrow and Sunday will be held at Vasanta Vihar and canceled if it rains. The drive past the slums along the beach disturbed him. These sights make me want to never come to India again.’

The next day. ‘At 5:30 p.m. in clear weather, Krishnaji gave his third Madras talk in the Vasanta Vihar garden.
The sixth. ‘Pupul arrived in the afternoon. At 5:30 p.m. Krishnaji’s fourth Madras talk in Vasanta Vihar garden. Very fine.’
January seventh. ‘At 10 a.m., there was a KFI trustee meeting held upstairs. Asit arrived for it, and Dorothy, I, and Dr. Adikaram were invited.’ He was the head of the Sri Lankan Krishnamurti world, and a nice man. ‘I sat feeling that talk of more schools was mad. The shortage of teachers is constant. So is money. And most of all, the energy of those who do come for Krishnaji’s teachings is siphoned off into academics or supporting academics and the feeling for the teachings, the essential of what should concern us, is spread too thin. I said as much, but Pupul disagreed. She thinks there should be as many schools “as the ground of different human beings.”

It seems to me we are all, for the most part, occupied with simply "progressive", but... usual, schools. On the beach walk, the India film people who were in Rishi Valley and are doing a documentary on Krishnaji were there to record his walk and also photographed him. When we got back, a seventeen-year-old musician, Ravi Kiran, played a rare instrument called gottuvadyam. It is said to be very hard to play. It is veena-like but without struts, and has twenty-one strings. The boy came with his father and younger brother and sister. At the end, when Krishnaji approached to thank them and present the usual garland, which Sunanda had waiting, the father and then the boy and then the younger ones prostrated themselves in the old total way: flat out, whole body and arms outstretched, touching Krishnaji’s feet, at which Krishnaji put his hands on either side of the prostrate head. It was, to me, very moving. The instant and intense fervor of it. Krishnaji was touched by it. “They are real Brahmins,” he said. This was the real, ancient prostration, the way he and Nitya prostrated themselves to their father when they came back after the years in Europe. I think Krishnaji was more impressed by the actions of the children and father then by the playing, but it had lasted one and a half hours, and it was by this time 8 o’clock, and he had had no supper and has been working, i.e., talking, for four straight days, plus a morning of KFI meeting.

The eighth. I took Dorothy to town on errands and sent flowers to people. Krishnaji is tired and spent the whole day resting in his room, reading, and sleeping. At 4:30 p.m. the rest of us went to the school in Damodar Gardens. Pupul spoke to the older students. There was tree planting, tea, and seeing children’s exhibits.’

January ninth. ‘At 9:30 a.m. there was a seminar in the Vasanta Vihar hall with Krishnaji, Pupul, Achyut, Sudarshan, Radha Burnier, and four scientists. The 'scientists' were not versed in Krishnaji’s teachings, so most of the time went into defining terms and concepts, like self-knowledge being limited, brain, mind, time, etcetera. I doubt this sort of discussion is stimulating to Krishnaji, because it doesn’t get beyond his having to sort out and explain basics, and doesn’t go with him to explore new areas. Earlier, Krishnaji had said to me that there is so much division in the KFI that he’s not going to interfere. “Let them run it,” he said. I pointed out that this means a dictatorship by Pupul, and that he is perceived as being afraid of her. He finds her much more assertive these days.

Pupul brought me a letter found among Shiva Rao’s papers The note is possibly in Krishnaji’s handwriting, though Krishnaji is not sure after looking at it. It is dated London, 10 October 1925, and purports to be from "Maha Chohan" to Krishnaji, commending him for his work. Krishnaji has no recollection of it, and has no explanation to offer, though he said at one point that Leadbeater had invented the current concepts of the Masters. Pupul is spending Friday in the Theosophical Society archives with Radha. Pupul says there are some remarkable photographs there. I wondered if I could go with Pupul, but she said Radha is cagey about showing things. Pupul said she would share copies of anything she got.

The tenth: ‘There was the second meeting at 9:30 a.m. of the two-day seminar. It went a little better. In the afternoon Krishnaji met Major Rakesh Sharma, the Indian astronaut who participated in a Russian space mission. He talked with him almost an hour, liked him, and invited him to come on the beach walk along with Radha, Dorothy, Pama, and me. Krishnaji had me walk and talk to Sharma. A very nice, intelligent, and easy-to-talk-to man. ‘Pandit Jagannath Upadhyaya arrived.’

January twelfth. ‘At 9:30 a.m. Krishnaji held a discussion in the hall with Upadhyaya, Pupul, Radha, Achyutji, and most others were onlookers. The long-winded Hindi of Upadhyaya and its translation, which often turned out to be, “The Buddha says etcetera, etcetera, etcetera” makes a fair amount of tedium. Krishnaji kept wordlessly catching my eye, and eventually he told Upadhyaya to "leave aside what the Buddha said and say what he himself thought". Major Sharma was at lunch and Krishnaji put him through quite a questioning. Was he a Brahmin? Yes. With that background, what did he feel about being in the Air Force? Sharma said it troubled him. That he had not killed anyone, and did not intend to, but when he was seventeen years old, all he thought of was flying one of those marvelous machines without measuring the implications he now sees. Krishnaji was cooking him a bit. ‘In late afternoon, Krishnaji, Radhika, who went to Palamaner yesterday and came here afterward, Radha, and I walked on the beach. For me it was the last walk. I am leaving tomorrow, and will put this depressing place away.

January thirteen. ‘Krishnaji has worn my rings and rudraksha on the chain for two nights and gave them back to me this morning after walking to the window with them.’ He did something, "magnetized jewelry". He did it for Mary Lutyens’s ring, and he’d done it for other people in the past, and so he took the things that I wear, which were just listed, to do this mysterious thing to them before I left with them. It was considered 'protective'. Mary Lutyens always swore that afterward the ring had extra luster and shone in a far greater way than before.
Anyway. ‘It is painful to leave Krishnaji as always. He and I spoke briefly, then Dorothy and I left at 9:30 a.m., just before Krishnaji was to hold another discussion with Upadhyaya, and the others. Everyone was on the veranda to say goodbye, Krishnaji folding his hands in what, to me, was a blessing. Pama came with us to the airport, which was a help in the steaming confusion of crowds and luggage. Dorothy and I landed in Bombay at 1 p.m. and were met by a Lufthansa woman who took us and our luggage to the Centaur Hotel in the airport where Lufthansa had provided each of us with a free room in which to rest until our midnight check-in. Dorothy, Rita, and I took a 2 a.m. Lufthansa flight out of India. I was still on first-class tickets and had the best forward seat with no one next to me. I was able to sleep on and off.’

The fourteenth of January. ‘We landed at Frankfurt at 7 a.m. I am out of India, and back in Europe in a huge gray airport. Rita led the way to where we waited for an 8:15 a.m. flight to Heathrow. Lufthansa gave us two breakfasts. Real coffee, croissants, and French confiture seemed tremendous treats.’ ‘Then around 11 a.m. there was England in snow—a charcoal drawing landscape, Northern, utterly un-tropical, and wonderful. With only a silk shirt and cardigan, I welcomed the cold as one might reach toward sunlight.’ [Both chuckle.] ‘Guy and Montague met and then took Dorothy to Brockwood, and Harsh, with my duffel coat and his car, drove me there. All is snow!’

M: ‘The driveway, everything is white. The students have built a huge snowman. My room is warm through two heaters. The melting comfort of a bath, getting completely clean, and then eating salad and finally one’s own linen-sheeted bed was overwhelming.’
January fifteenth: ‘I slept deeply and well, and feel physically back in balance. ’

February first. The most notable thing over the next two days is that Krishnaji’s first two Bombay talks occurred.

February twelfth: ‘At 7 a.m. I telephoned Brockwood, but Krishnaji’s plane was three-and-a-half hours late leaving Bombay, so he wasn’t there yet. Then, on my credit card, I rang Brockwood again and this time spoke to Krishnaji. His voice was clear as the mountain spring.’ ‘There was snow at Brockwood. Asit flew with him. I went to Tassell’—that’s a designer—‘and bought three things and also bought a Sony Walkman

February seventeenth: ‘Krishnaji’s TWA flight 761, arrived at 2:56 p.m. arrived at the airport in time. Krishnaji came out quickly, because of the wheelchair, with Asit and luggage. Krishnaji came with me, and Asit went with David and Jack. Krishnaji wanted to go the quiet way by the sea, so again, we came through Malibu Canyon and along the beach with the yellow flowers in bloom.’ He always liked those yellow flowers that bloomed near that big rock down there. ‘Krishnaji and I had supper alone.’

The next day, ‘Krishnaji was up for lunch. In the afternoon, Erna, Theo, Asit, and I discussed Mary Cadogan’s suggestion to have other Foundations represented on the Krishnamurti Foundation Trust in England.’
The twenty-second of February: ‘Asit left for Singapore. Krishnaji slept a lot but got up for lunch and walked with the Lilliefelts and me in the afternoon.’

The thirteenth of March: ‘Over lunch at Arya Vihara, there was talk of a TV film last night on child prodigies, and we talked of Krishnaji’s childhood. Krishnaji wants to have me, Erna, and Theo question him on tape.’ The fourteenth. I am doing early walks all these days, but not mentioning it. ‘I worked all day on income tax matters. Lunch at Arya Vihara included the Grohes. Krishnaji watched Topaz, an old film on video, in the afternoon. Then he met Theo and walked down Grand Avenue. After returning the video to the store, I picked them up near the bottom of Grand Avenue and drove them back. In the evening we watched a TV show of Sherlock Holmes.’
The fifteenth of March: ‘At 10 a.m. Krishnaji talked with Erna, Theo, and me about his life, which we taped on cassette. Incorporating what he’d learned this winter from Pandit Upadhyaya. It is to be a "private" recording.

March twenty-third: ‘Asit’s book of photographs, A Thousand Moons Krishnamurti 85, arrived. It seemed very well done.

The only thing to report is that on April second, ‘Krishnaji watched a TV program about organized religion and said, “We’ve lost.”’ ‘Krishnaji talked with Moody and again with Rupert Oysler at 4 p.m. He says he is tired and his head is causing it.’

April eighth. ‘Yesterday Krishnaji and I left Ojai early, David and Vivian Moody taking us to Los Angeles Airport . Krishnaji and I took and 8:30 a.m. TWA flight to New York. This time trying business class instead of first, we read and slept and reached New York by 4:30 p.m., taxied into town and to the Dorset Hotel, where we again have Suite 1507, which Krishnaji likes and is used to. Krishnaji, who had had little sleep before leaving yesterday, took half of the half-tablet of Halcion prescribed by our new Dr. Deutsch, and it gave him an excellent night’s sleep with no aftereffect. We were quiet all morning.

Krishnaji talked of his worry that the KFA will wind up, when we older ones are gone, in the hands of the current younger generation, which he does not want, especially as one has a wife becoming a bull in a china shop.’ ‘He has the idea of bringing in someone from outside of the US who would “run things.”’ ‘He had a suggestion of who this person might be and he wanted me to call this person, and have this person come and discuss it. I suggested that Erna should be consulted. I called her and, predictably, she didn’t take to the idea because she doesn’t really like this person. We will talk it over later.’

April eleventh. ‘Bud drove Krishnaji to the U.N. where he was to speak at 1:15 p.m., again at the invitation of the "Pacem in Terris" committee.’ That’s that organization within the UN. ‘The requested topic was “Beyond the Fortieth Anniversary of the U.N.: The Future for Peace.” We have a useful record of his eloquent talk and responses to questions afterward. The questions were dumb and obvious, but his answers had an air of greatness, an absolute authority of vision that made me smile way inside at that extraordinary and totally undimmed power. They gave him a small silver medal, which is their "peace award". And we got out of there swiftly.’ He forgot the "peace award", left it on the table. he left it there. “No more U.N. That’s that,” said Krishnaji. He heard me say on the telephone to Phyllis Lutyens that I was seventy. “Seventy, you’re seventy?” he said.’ ‘“My god.” He began laughing at me, at the two of us at our ages. “I will probably live another ten years and that will be enough, but you must live another fifteen.”’

April twelfth. ‘We went by taxi to LaGuardia for an 11 a.m. TWA flight to Washington. Milton Friedman met us at the national airport and drove us in his 300D Turbo Mercedes, which caught Krishnaji’s eye,’ [S chuckles] ‘to the Watergate Hotel. One room, number 1410, which has a kitchenette and doors dividing the bed area from the sitting room, was ready. So we left the luggage there, and all three went down to lunch. Milton then left, and Krishnaji moved into the second room, 1401, across the hall. It is a spacious one with a bed area and a sitting area, closed-off sink and refrigerator, bath, etcetera. We will take our meals in mine, which has a dining room table, and use it for people who come to see Krishnaji. It is a comfortable and seemingly well-run hotel.’ In the late afternoon, we went over to the Kennedy Center and looked at the concert hall where Krishnaji will speak. We came back to supper in the room.’
The thirteenth of April. ‘Milton Friedman drove us out into Maryland to lunch at a Chinese restaurant. We came back through woods that Krishnaji found beautiful. “I could live here,” he said. Then, back in Washington, we went to the Lincoln Memorial. And Krishnaji and I climbed up the steps of the monument. “Look up as you go. See, it is like the Parthenon. See those corners of the roof. It is just like the Parthenon,” he said looking at the huge statue. People were climbing, shouting there, but not really looking at the statue. “They have no respect,” said Krishnaji. “They don’t have the feeling of respect.” I would have liked to go across to the Vietnam Memorial, but the crowds were too great. Milton drove us past the White House and the surrounding government buildings. I was rather glad to see the White House looked like a house, an American house, and not a palace. We came back to the hotel. Of ( the statue of) Lincoln, Krishnaji said, “I could have cried, and while we were there I did what I do to the room.” This perhaps is related to his doing something to rooms in hotels or the hospitals we’ve been in. Cleansing and protecting.’ Krishnaji was very moved by Lincoln. ‘We had supper in the room, and he took a quarter of a Halcion, which gives him excellent sleep and no side effect.’ And then he told me that I 'must do it' when he wasn’t there. But he didn’t say how.
April fourteenth. We talked about the Lincoln Memorial yesterday, and I asked him what he considered was the human impulse of worship—not necessarily of an image, not part of belief, but simply a feeling of worship. He said respect, devotion, worship were all toward something outer, even if not defined. 'Outer' means division. To see without movement is without division. In that, there is no I, no self. That perception is the action of change because it is without movement. We rested and later walked along the river, then had supper in the room.

April fifteenth. Friedman brought the Washington Post man, Michael Kernan, to do an interview for the paper. "A nice man", Krishnaji thought. The photographer Chevalier, took photos. Krishnaji and I lunched downstairs.’ At 4 p.m., Friedman brought from The Voice of America an Iranian, Miss Feresteh, to record an interview for broadcast. Afterward, Krishnaji asked the man if he could use all that he said, and they replied, “We never censor.” We walked along the river later and then I was able to give Krishnaji a proper supper of fat, fresh asparagus, soup, an omelet, and brie.’

The sixteenth. At 11 a.m. a Robert Aubry Davis came to do a radio interview with Krishnaji for FM 91. He brought his seven-year-old daughter, a delicate, polite little girl who wanted to meet Krishnaji and brought him a poem. He greeted her gravely, smilingly, and she sat listening to it all as her father asked Krishnaji about education in Krishnamurti schools. She said shyly that "she understood most of what he was saying". Krishnaji kissed her hand in saying goodbye, and she reached up and kissed his cheek.’ ‘In the car she told Milton she liked Mr. Krishnamurti very much, and 'Mrs. Krishnamurti' was very nice.’ ‘Her poem was remarkable. The parents teach her at home. Perhaps that is how, in this shocking world, to protect a gifted child.’
At 4:30 Milton Friedman brought a Mr. and Mrs. Paul Temple to tea. She is a friend of his, and he a vastly wealthy man “interested in consciousness and healing,” but rooted in Christianity from some “experience.” Milton Friedman rather hoped Temple would donate to the Krishnamurti Foundation, but Krishnaji doesn’t cater to the Orthodox questions, and I didn’t see any meeting in the one-and-a-half to two hours of the visit. Krishnaji gave out so much. He was tired when they left.

April eighteenth, Krishnaji and I are still in Washington, DC. ‘Michael Kernan, who interviewed Krishnaji on Monday, wrote a very good article which appeared in the Washington Post this morning. He came with Milton Friedman to lunch with us in the hotel dining room at 12:15 p.m. He is a nice man, and Krishnaji likes him. He may come to Ojai. Milton Friedman then drove Krishnaji, me, and Evelyne to the capital, where, in his Senate office, Senator Claiborne Pell gave a tea at 3 p.m. for Krishnaji. He introduced Krishnaji to about forty or fifty people and then asked an opening question on what is the cause of conflict. Krishnaji spoke with relaxed authority, handling mostly rather obvious questions with his accustomed skill. It lasted an hour, and then Milton Friedman guided us to the rotunda where Krishnaji wanted to look up at the dome.

April twentieth. ‘ Krishnaji gave his first talk there in the concert hall. It was a large audience. The sound was not clear, and I was roaming about, as was Theo, trying to do something about it. Erna and Theo came by later to say that the sound problem was due to the lavalier microphone and that tomorrow there will be a standing microphone. The four of us walked along the river. Krishnaji and I ate alone in the room.’ from its
The twenty-first of April. ‘At 11 a.m. Lois Hobson again drove us to the Kennedy Center where, with excellent sound, Krishnaji gave a marvelous talk.] The hall was sold out. All the books, 500 of them, were sold, and 196 copies of Asit’s book, A Thousand Moons, were also sold. We walked back to the hotel. Bud, Lisa, and Laurie’—that is one of Bud’s children—‘lunched with us in the hotel dining room.
April twenty-second. ‘We left the Watergate Hotel at 7 a.m. and took a taxi to Dulles Airport. Krishnaji was delighted by the trees and the countryside, and he liked the quiet airport. The captain saluted him in the traditional namaste way and let him see the cockpit. The American Airline flight 77 left at 8:45 a.m. We had seats 1A and 1B in the forward first class. The bulkhead seats.’ Those are the ones we like because I could put my foot up on the bulkhead. He didn’t. And nobody is next to you. ‘It was a good, smooth flight to Los Angeles.

The twenty-fourth. Krishnaji recorded a cassette addressing Rajagopal. We lunched at Arya Vihara. In the afternoon Erna and Theo heard the tape and we discussed the text of the statement to be made by Krishnaji as part of a settlement in the case.
April twenty-sixth. ‘Krishnaji was tired and didn’t go to Dr. Hara in the afternoon, but I did.’
April twenty-seventh. I am going on early walks every morning, so I won’t keep mentioning it. ‘At 10 a.m. there was a trustee meeting, which lasted all day. After it, Krishnaji, Friedrich, and I discussed the new buildings in Rishi Valley, which Friedrich was financing. Krishnaji is disturbed by the amount of desk work I have and wants me to dictate letters. “You must not wear yourself out. As long as I live, you are with me and you must be able to look after me. You are always busy, never quiet.” That was said not as a compliment, and it was a chastisement, It was always a conundrum for me of how to get things done without appearing to be doing anything. The fact that I was looking out for him was not weighed in the scale.
April twenty-eighth. Ronald Eyre from England came to lunch, after which I did more desk work. Krishnaji is tired, so he rested and had supper in bed as usual.’
The twenty-ninth. Ravi Ravindra came to lunch at Arya Vihara and then interviewed Krishnaji afterward on the subject of death.’
The thirtieth. ‘Another day of mostly desk work for me. Sidney Field came to lunch at Arya Vihara. Krishnaji rested most of the afternoon except for a talk with David Moody. Krishnaji’s stomach is bothering him. He says he has trouble swallowing, and that the food in Washington upset him.’ This is a week later, so I don’t understand.
The first of May. ‘Krishnaji and I drove at 9 a.m. to Beverly Hills. Krishnaji said, “I want to teach you meditation.” ‘We had a picnic in the car on a shady street and then to a luggage store. Krishnaji had me buy a suitcase at Vuitton and then to the health food store, Lindbergh’s. We were home by 6 p.m. Krishnaji’s stomach is alright.’

May third. ‘I got up at 3 a.m. and worked on dictating letters into a cassette recorder. Ravi Ravindra came to lunch and I went marketing.’

May tenth. ‘I was awake very early and worked at my desk. Later in the morning, I drove to Malibu and lunched with Amanda and Phil. I was later than expected in returning, which made Krishnaji think something had happened to me, which made him very nervous. Meanwhile, Pupul and Mr. Jose, her secretary, had arrived from New York. I made supper for Krishnaji and Pupul. I was in bed with lights out at 9 p.m. This was an eighteen-hour day.’
The eleventh of May. ‘Whether today is Krishnaji’s ninetieth birthday or tomorrow depends on whether you count days in the traditional Indian way in which the date changes at 4 a.m., or the Western way, for which the date changes at midnight. Krishnaji was born at 12:30 a.m. on what we would call May twelfth, but which traditional India says is still the eleventh. Either way, ninety has no meaning except as an astounding statistic. I heard him starting his day at 5:45 a.m. He had slept well in spite of the agitation last night when I returned to Ojai later than Krishnaji expected and he thought of motor accidents. He had made tea for Pupul, who had arrived, and Mr. Jose from New York.’ Krishnaji making tea, I can visualize it. Pupul told me she didn’t know how to heat water on the stove.

Anyway, ‘Krishanji made tea for Pupul, who had arrived with Mr. Jose from New York, but was so upset his hands shook so much he could not carry the teacup. I felt sick at upsetting him, especially as his talks begin today. He has lately been hypercritical, saying I’m not totally ordered within. He is bothered by my falling behind at the desk work, being too busy, and not paying attention, but he was calm this morning, having slept well. He now takes a crumb of halcyon, one quarter of a tablet prescribed for sleep by Dr. Deutsch. I wonder if it is good every night. But sleep is necessary through the talks. He gave the first Ojai one in the Grove at 11:30 a.m. It was a bright morning early, but it turned cloudy and very cool for the big crowd. KCET had a crew videotaping it for a program they will broadcast later on.’ KCET were headquartered in San Francisco, and they came down to tape the talk.
We both napped in the afternoon. I made supper for Krishnaji, Pupul, and me on trays as usual. Pupul described finding at Adyar in the Theosophical Society archives, which Radha let her examine, a letter from Nitya to Mrs. Besant describing much more about Krishnaji’s pepper tree events: the "child entity" talking to his mother, describing “they” working on his body, "cleaning his eyes" so that he could “see,” and his telling some entity “beyond the wall” to go away. Krishnaji seemed to understand what this meant, and admonished Pupul and me not to inquire too far into esoteric things because if you 'open the door' to that, you also open the door to “what is beyond the wall.”’
‘After Pupul left he said severely to me, “You must have no disorder because of 'that beyond the wall'.” He found it extraordinary that the guru of Upadhyaya’s guru, Vishudhananat, apparently had told Mrs. Besant that there was to be a "manifestation of the Maitreya", and later told Upadhyayaji’s guru that Krishnaji was that manifestation.’
May twelfth. Krishnaji at ninety is as beautiful as ever, in some ways more so. I drove slowly to the Grove, where he gave his second talk. After lunch at Arya Vihara, he, both Grohes, Pupul, and I went over plans that Pupul brought from Radhika for the new Rishi Valley buildings that Grohe was financing.

Later, after supper, Krishnaji renewed the subject of what was spoken of last night: Upadhyaya’s telling of his guru’s guru’— Kavirath—‘foretelling of a “manifestation.”’
The next day. ‘Krishnaji was awake early. He didn’t have enough sleep, but at 11:30 Krishnaji held the first question-and-answer meeting in the Oak Grove.
May fifteenth. ‘Krishnaji was awake early, and again did not have enough sleep. He dictated letters about the proposed new buildings in Rishi Valley and Grohe’s donations.
The sixteenth. ‘At 11:30 a.m. Krishnaji held the second question-and-answer meeting in the Oak Grove. We lunched afterward with the Hookers at the Ranch House Restaurant. Krishnaji’s stomach ached in the evening. A hot pad and Perrier water helped.’
May seventeenth. Krishnaji is feeling better but he is tired. Krishnaji dictated to me a tentative letter to Rajagopal.
May eighteenth. At 11:30 a.m. Krishnaji gave the third Ojai talk on beauty and love. It was a deeply moving talk] to a large crowd. We lunched at Arya Vihara. His stomach hurt a little in the morning but subsided.’
The nineteenth. ‘Krishnaji gave this fourth talk in the Oak Grove to a huge crowd. Later he told me once again, “You must outlive me so you can look after me. After that you can follow me.”’ Well, his saying that made me wonder what he was telling me. Should I commit suicide? Or should I…
S: Yes, I can understand that.
M: May twentieth. ‘At 10 a.m., we met Stanley Cohen about the “Statement of Intent” brought by Austin Bee. Cohen amended it and Krishnaji signed it. Cohen has had shingles, and Krishnaji put his hands on him. Donald Ingram-Smith was at Arya Vihara for lunch. Krishnaji was tired from the Oxnard trip. He said I must pay more attention to the way I sit, to my health, etcetera. He slept and later walked to the Lilliefelts’ while I made supper.’
The next day. ‘Krishnaji is very tired. He ate breakfast but felt sick to his stomach, so he refused lunch. He fainted in bed, but was better by suppertime and ate lightly. I worked at the desk all day to finish letters. Philippa telephoned. She is coming to Malibu in June.’
The twenty-second. ‘Krishnaji was feeling weak in the morning but got up by lunchtime. Governor Jerry Brown brought a friend, Jacques Barzaghi, to lunch. Krishnaji talked for over an hour with both of them back at the cottage and later went with Theo to the Oak Grove to show where he wanted the fencing to be put.’
.
May twenty fourth. ‘At 2:50 a.m. Krishnaji collided with the table near his bed and fell, hitting his left hip and scraping his leg. I heard it and came rushing in, put a dressing on his leg, and he slept again till 6 a.m. He was alright and we finished packing.’ He only very rarely got confused when he got up in the night. In other words, he walked to the window instead of the bathroom, where he probably wanted to go.
we took TWA 760 at 5:40 p.m. to London. He had one of the front seats, but I didn’t. He slept some on the flight.’
The twenty-fifth. ‘We landed at Heathrow at noon. There was a wheelchair for Krishnaji, which got us out in record time. Dorothy, Mary Cadogan, Scott, Ingrid, and Ray were there to meet us. We drove with Dorothy to Brockwood.Krishnaji feels disturbance still in the house here.’
May twenty-sixth. ‘Krishnaji slept deeply and so did I. Dr. Parchure gave him massage, which did him great good, so he was up for lunch. The Bohms were there.

The next day, ‘Krishnaji dictated letters onto cassettes, and at 4 p.m. Dana (or Diana) Marshall interviewed Krishnaji for the Sunday Times. Ray withdrew from the school day and the long meetings and teaching to concentrate on KFT and archives work.
The eighteenth of June. I’m going for early walks by myself all these days but not mentioning it. ‘I worked at my desk most of the day. Krishnaji got up to do a video-recorded discussion with four students but had lunch in his room and spent the rest of the day there. Pupul rang from New York. She will come to Switzerland July one, two, and three. Harper and Row is publishing her book on Krishnaji.’
There’s nothing of significance the next day, but on the twentieth, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the whole school at noon. Dorothy is beginning to say, when asked, that she and Montague are retiring.

June twenty-third. ‘Krishnaji and I had breakfast at 6:15 a.m., and we left Brockwood at 7:15 a.m. to Heathrow. Krishnaji and I flew on Swissair. Our departure was delayed because everyone had to identify their luggage laid out on the runway before boarding, a security protection.’ They wanted proof that the owners of the bags were really on the flight, to prevent bombs ‘One suitcase was unclaimed and the police took it away.’

‘In Geneva we took a taxi to the Hotel des Bergues and our usual rooms. We rested, then walked across the bridge and had tea at Mövenpick.’
‘We dined in the Amphitryon. Krishnaji’s hands were shaking, and it bothered him. In a window, he had seen a very small electric typewriter with a complete sort of display. It is made by Brother, and there’s something similar from Minolta, and we wondered if it would make letter writing easier for him in India. Once again, the accustomed Swiss orderly rooms were pleasant. There was especially an enjoyment for me because of its associations with all one’s summers coming here. It made me feel quietly very fortunate.’
The twenty-fourth. ‘We went to a Mercedes agency to look at a Mercedes 300E-124 series. Then to Jacquet to order ties—six for Joe, three for Theo, and three for Krishnaji. We lunched in the Amphitryon then walked to Patek for the annual watch inspection and finally to buy Krishnaji a towel bathrobe at the Pharmacie Principale. Hertz delivered a cream Opel Corsa, and we drove slowly along the lake and then up into the mountains. Krishnaji was not relaxed in the car as in the past; he is uneasy that we are driving too fast through the villages. He says to go forty kilometers an hour, so we creep through them.’ ‘Instead of a pleasant drive through the Swiss scenery, it all seemed to tire him.

Krishnaji and I are downstairs in Friedrich Grohe’s flat, which he has lent to Krishnaji. Vanda and I have rented the four-bedroom apartment upstairs where we will all take our meals. Krishnaji saw Grohe’s flat last summer and said it was all right, but he is not pleased with it now.’ . Krishnaji had what was supposed to be the best room in the apartment, but it was just that the land sloped and his room was mostly underground. I had a room next to his, but it was not a 'dungeon'.
June twenty-fifth. ‘Krishnaji slept well. At 5 p.m., Krishnaji and I drove past empty Chalet Tannegg to our old dear familiar walk. Our first of the season. Krishnaji went a little ahead into the wood, “To see if we are welcome,” he said. We were.’ ‘Friedrich came in after supper.’ ‘Mary Cadogan rang. She’d seen Dorothy, who confirmed she is retiring.
June thirtieth. ‘Krishnaji is better. I worked at my desk in the morning. After the nap. Krishnaji, Dr. Parchure, Raman, and I walked near the shooting practice range, and then along the river and the airfield.’ All Swiss adult males are in the army and have to be ready to leap with their guns to 'defend the country', and they have to practice shooting.  So that’s where we walked. We didn’t get fired at, but we were there.
July first. ‘I walked down to the market. Pupul arrived in a government car to stay till Thursday. She has just come from the opening in Washington of the Festival of India and Rajiv Gandhi’s first official visit. Krishnaji started having supper alone in bed or at a table downstairs.’ .
July second: ‘I went to Gstaad for juices for Krishnaji. Krishnaji talked with Pupul about things in her book. When I got back, Krishnaji and I set out for the airfield walk, but hay fever started in the car, so we came back.’
July third. ‘I went for an early walk on the mountain on my own. Krishnaji had tried not taking his one-quarter Halcion tablet, so he slept only one-and-a-half hours. Pupul had breakfast with us downstairs and discussed India’s perennial copyright complaint. She says that there are only two things that are acceptable to India and that they are: 1) Share the copyright, which is unacceptable to England as it is in the KFT’s only asset and giving it up, even in part, would jeopardize our tax-exempt status; or 2) India publish a book every third year in the West, without vetting by England, and with any publisher they choose.’  She always resented the KFT having anything to do with KFI books. ‘Failing either of these, Krishnaji would have to decide, which he doesn’t want to do. I got Mary Cadogan in London on the phone so they could speak directly about all this. I did this in order to make friendly relations with India, but all the concessions to India that have been made so far have not achieved that. Krishnaji slept from 11:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. then came to lunch but slept again all afternoon. His stomach is not right. Friedrich, in Zürich to meet the Lilliefelts, rang to say that there is a huge fire in Ojai. Grand Avenue is being evacuated. I tried to telephone but couldn’t get through. So I rang the Dunnes. Amanda said Miranda, who was a TV news reporter, had covered the Ojai fire yesterday for the TV news but was pulled off to cover another one in Baldwin Hills. While we talked, Phil got Miranda via her beeper, and she said she thought the Ojai fire was better by now. Erna and Theo rang from Zürich on their arrival here.

July fourth. ‘Krishnaji slept nine hours. Pupul left in the morning. Krishnaji had supper alone. He is hypersensitive. He said to me, “You’re not paying attention. It is very serious. The body is under attack.” He was very irritable that summer.

July seventh: I drove Krishnaji to the tent where at 10:30 a.m. he gave his first Saanen talk. The tent is bigger this year and it was full.’ ‘Afterward, it was a quiet lunch with Krishnaji, Vanda, Friedrich, Raman, and me. He slept in the afternoon, and later Krishnaji and I walked along the river by the airfield.’
Krishnaji said he had something to say to Dorothy. It was his intention to speak to her about her retirement. She has told others she is retiring after the Brockwood Gathering, but she has never told Krishnaji. I knew he was undecided how to raise the subject, and part of the stories and gaiety at lunch were to skitter around that touchy subject. But the 'how' of it came to him downstairs.’ This acknowledged  “retirement,” which she had never mentioned to him.. ‘Krishnaji said to Dorothy that, as she is retiring, we had felt that her sitting room with its new door connecting their bedroom should be furnished with whatever she would like as a present from us. The magic word “retirement” was in the open, said, and passed by in chatter about fixing her sitting room. Dorothy looked pleased. Dorothy said it was the nicest time with Krishnamurti that she could remember. Krishnaji felt it went well too.

July tenth. ‘At 10:30 a.m. Krishnaji gave the second talk. Afterward we had a quiet lunch with no guests. At 4 p.m. he saw Nicos Pilavious, a Greek man who does children’s television shows, and his wife. Then we walked between the river and the airfield. Krishnaji talked at the table till after 4 p.m. about the ancient predictions of the manifestation of Maitreya Bodhisattva. There was only a short rest and we went for a walk at 5:40 by the airfield. Scott came too.’
The next day, ‘I worked at the desk. Nicos Pilavious and his wife came to lunch. Krishnaji quite likes them. They are entertaining. At 4 p.m. Krishnaji saw Count Keyserling, the son of the more famous one, but quite ancient himself.’ ‘We walked as usual by the airfield.’
The fourteenth. ‘Krishnaji gave his third Saanen talk, after which we had a quiet lunch with no guests. We walked by the river and airfield. Krishnaji had supper in bed, but at 7:30 p.m., KFT trustees came here to discuss the proposed anthology and the copyright problem with India
July fifteenth. ‘All trustees in Saanen of KFT, KFI, and KFA came here for a meeting. There was a discussion of the copyright matters raised by India. Dr. Parchure and Sathaye are the only Indian trustees present. Dr. Parchure did a good job of putting forward KFI’s position. Krishnaji wonders if only England should edit, a bombshell for India if he puts it to them. Also discussed was the anthology that Weeraperuma has been asked to do by Chetana’—that’s an Indian publisher—‘and looked on with favor by Mary Links. After thinking it over, I am not in favor. Some others were also doubtful. Krishnaji suggested we have one more year at Saanen, and then move the talks to Brockwood. We walked along the river and the airfield. Krishnaji felt very weak on return. He said he wondered, “If my time had come,” but he felt better and normal after eating supper.’
July sixteenth. ‘Dagmar Lichti came at 10 a.m. and discussed Krishnaji’s health with him, Dr. Parchure, and me. She stayed to lunch, and the Lilliefelts were also there. At 3 p.m. the Lilliefelts, Mary Cadogan, Hugues, and Grohe discussed the ownership of the Saanen land and the possibilities of the eventual sale of the land when it was not needed for the talks. Later, Krishnaji and I walked with Scott along the river and the airfield.’

M: The seventeenth of July. ‘At 10:30 a.m. Krishnaji gave his fourth Saanen talk. It began in a remote voice, which deepened and strengthened as he went to greater depth. It was a special talk. “Self-centeredness is corruption,” he said. It was the pure essential Krishnaji teaching to the world, coming through that fragile, gentle, utterly commanding figure as it has all these many, so many, years. There was a stillness of the audience at the end. And he made a gesture that he would get up and go only when they did. I could scarcely speak going to the car where I was set upon by the 'happy Fouérés'…’ The 'happy Fouérés' were a French couple, and he wrote all kinds of elaborate things about Krishnaji’s teachings. ‘I was set upon by the happy Fouérés wanting to come to present his newest book. Not then and there, which would have been simple, but at the chalet—their annual demand. Krishnaji was far up the road when I finally caught up to him with the car. After we had passed through Saanen, driving slowly, his head fell on my shoulder in a faint, which has not happened in some years. I kept driving slowly, and he came to within a minute. David and Saral Bohm, who are here for five days, came to lunch. David is going to conferences that seem to be mixtures of science and philosophy? He goes to one with the Dalai Lama next week. There is a rumor, and Krishnaji raised it at lunch, that there is a rift between Krishnaji and David. Saral feels the rumor may come about through Dorothy’s critical talk to various people these past difficult years. Krishnaji asked that we walk slowly. Slowness is now something he keeps asking for when I drive. Dr. Parchure gave him some back massage before he went to bed, saying his body is sore to any pressure.’ He was sick, and sickening. He wasn’t well. I really look on the Washington talks as the last blaze of his strength, not the talking, but everything about him.
July eighteenth. ‘Fortunately this had been planned as a day of rest, for in the night Krishnaji took a quarter tablet of Halcion, as a new pill given to him by Dr. Lichti had not put him to sleep. There was a cumulative effect of the two pills, and he was unsteady and weaving. Dr. Parchure had Krishnaji take tea for breakfast, which was enough stimulus to clear the pill effect. Krishnaji had lunch in bed after massage. He is enthusiastic about the effect of tea, which he hasn’t drunk for most of his life.
July nineteenth. ‘There was the annual general meeting of all the International Committees held again at the Ermitage Hotel in Schönried. Krishnaji asked their opinion on moving the Saanen talks to Brockwood after next year. Then he spoke of Dorothy, her retirement as principal after this year’s talks at Brockwood, and of all she had done. Juan Colell of the Spanish committee rose and thanked Dorothy. And there was strong applause. There was a lunch at the hotel, but Krishnaji and I came back to Rougemont for a quiet lunch. In the afternoon after rest, he briefly received the old Spanish couple who each summer bring a gift of a thousand francs, and then the Fouérés, who brought their latest book. In the evening, separately, both Hugues and Jean-Michel telephoned to say that many committee people at lunch had said why wait another year, why not move the talks to Brockwood next summer. quite difficult for her.
July twentieth. ‘At 10 a.m. Hugues, Jean-Michel, Mary Cadogan came and urged Krishnaji to begin the new program next year, ending Saanen this year and having one European series of talks at Brockwood. Krishnaji listened, and the decision was made. The rumor had spread through the morning queue outside the tent, so there seemed no surprise from the huge audience. The actor Richard Gere, whom Mary Cadogan had asked to be invited, came to lunch with a girl, Sylvia Martins, also Scott and Friedrich. Krishnaji talked at the table till almost 4 p.m. The stimulus of a new person seemed to carry him on with little rest. He still wanted to walk and we went by the airfield.

July twenty-second. ‘Krishnaji was tired, so rather disturbed. Clearly the small  “dungeon” room is oppressing him. I got Parchure to help persuade him to move into the other flat upstairs where he would have light, a balcony, and a view of the great gray granite look of the mountain that rises above Rougemont. He agreed to move, so he and I are now in the upstairs flat and much more comfortable. Parchure and Raman are down in Grohe’s one. While I worked on the over 100 written questions handed in for the three question-and-answer sessions, Krishnaji talked urgently to Parchure about India. His voice was agitated. It sounded almost crying. He eventually called me in. He said that in India, he trusts Sathaye, Upasani, Maheshji, but not Hiralal. He mentioned Rishi Valley, Radhika “probably,” Mrs. Thomas, and Narayan. But at Vasanta Vihar he doesn’t trust the three Patwardhans.’ He turned against the Patwardhans very strongly. In a lot of his letters to me on his next trip to India, he was very critical. ‘He spoke of future schedules in India being one year at Rajghat and Bombay, alternate years Rishi Valley and Madras. I said it is not healthy to be in Bombay. “Oh, we would only go there for talks. Two weeks.”’ That was his reply. ‘I asked if he planned to cut the total time in India. “No.” I asked did he then want to spend three months in Rajghat? He recoiled and said, “I couldn’t do that.”’ ‘Then as he talked it developed that travel is too tiring, but he cannot stay too long in one place.’ there were all these conflicts in his needs. : ‘He has become hypersensitive. He feels people are impinging upon him, focused on him. If he stays in a place too long, there is a pressure he cannot stand now, and he must talk or the energy will 'go out of him' as he is here to talk. If not, he will weaken and end. “It wants to disappear,” and he needs someone to challenge him. Bohm used to do it and it made Krishnaji go deeper, but Bohm can’t now. Pupul can’t. No one can. No one we know. It is what he needs. The paradox of his needing rest and needing not to let down is the dilemma. The new program of Brockwood as the only European talks, means he will be there for months. And finding a place to take him away from people’s focus will be a puzzle, his physical needs and hypersensitivity increasing as they are. He talked at length, trying to find answers himself. I am learning not to say anything but let him talk in his present way, which is too often to state things well known, as if he were laying a groundwork of a known in order to come upon the new. The present situation, what is now has to be sorted out from what has been. Finally, at almost 1 p.m., he went for a quick bath. With Parchure and Raman, I began moving our things up. By 4 p.m. Krishnaji’s room, sunny and in order, was ready, and he lay down. By now, tonight, we are settled in the upper rooms, and I think it is better. We’ll see in the morning if he thinks so, but he stood a long time on the balcony looking at the mountains. That seemed to do him good.’
The twenty-third of July. ‘Krishnaji slept well in his new room. It is an improvement. At 10:30 a.m. he held the first question-and-answer meeting in the tent and answered three questions in great depth. Then there was a quiet lunch. A letter of invitation came from Mr. and Mrs. Nicos Pilavious, the Greek couple whom he saw and who came to lunch here. It suggests visiting them in June on a Greek island and appeals to Krishnaji. Then we talked about it, looking up the island in the atlas. It is fun to think of it, but is there any shade on a Greek island?’

I spoke on the phone to Cohen, who says a draft of a settlement seems all right and is being sent to me.’
July twenty-fourth. ‘Krishnaji held the second question-and-answer session in the tent. Krishnaji now says we should vacation here next year.
July twenty-fifth. ‘Krishnaji held the third question-and-answer meeting and the last ever of the Gatherings in Saanen. There was no goodbye, just a profound silence as he sat for a few moments and then asked, “May I leave?” I couldn’t speak in the car, and we drove slowly.’ It makes me cry to remember this.

At 1 p.m. Krishnaji, Kathy, Scott, Raman, and I went to the Bon Accueil restaurant in Chateau d’Oex. Not too good. Sathaye walked with us in the Tannegg wood. Later I gave a dinner for Dorothy, Mary Cadogan, and the Lilliefelts at Restaurant Chesery in Gstaad.’ ‘It was a good dinner and cheerful, even though Mary and I were able to tell Dorothy that the Dutch are quoting her as saying twenty-five people have been sent away from Brockwood in the last year and new people don’t care about the teachings.’

July twenty-sixth. ‘There was a long talk with Krishnaji in the morning about all the foundations. “It is watching,” he said. He speaks as if that something is deciding what happens to him. “It” will decide when his work is done and hence, by implication, his life. He is disturbed by the divisions in the Indian foundation and their suspicion of the two Western foundations. He is disturbed generally by everything. He didn’t feel like walking but talked to me about KFA. Only the Lilliefelts and I are there, he said.Krishnaji said to me, “You are responsible for Ojai more than the other two.”’
There was the Tannegg walk with Krishnaji. He asked me,  “What would you do if you were responsible for Vasanta Vihar?”…“There is no religious center.”…“Either I take charge or leave the whole thing.” He upbraided Dr. Parchure and others in Rajghat for not objecting to Pupul about Hiralal.’
August fifth, ‘I walked down to the post office and, after showing my passport, was given an express envelope from Erna of the latest draft of the settlement agreement with the Rajagopal case. It was felt to be acceptable by Stanley Cohen and the Lilliefelts. I read it to Krishnaji. We both objected to the word “amicable” describing the settlement. Rajagopal wants a statement on the settlement printed in the Bulletins, ‘At 11:30 a.m., Catherine and Jean de Maurex came in their Mercedes 190, of interest to Krishnaji, and drove us to an old-fashioned hotel up the mountain behind Vevey, a place where the old, infirm, and rich go for health somethings. Fossils are in the dining room, and a very long ordered-in-advance lunch. But the view from the restaurant was nice, and Krishnaji seemed to like the de Maurexes. He drove expertly, which Krishnaji observed, and so did not become nervous when going faster than he prefers these days. Catherine and Jean also put “serious” questions to Krishnaji at lunch, which he fielded. We came back via Aigle and the Col du Pillon. Rain began by the time we got back. In the evening, Krishnaji said that I should write a book, “even if only a hundred pages, about what it is like being with him, and what he said.” And then he said, “I will teach you meditation before I go to India when you have a completely controlled body.”’ He was irritated by gestures, and I use my hands when I talk and that annoyed him.

August sixth, 1985. ‘I was awake at 2 a.m. I’m not sleeping properly these days. In rain I went at 10 a.m. to the Banque Cantonale for the annual meeting with Mr. Hans Liechti to review the Alzina account investments, the interest from which helps pay for Krishnaji’s needs. While I was out, Michael answered a call from Asit, who is arriving Thursday night or Friday morning and asked if I would get him a room. Friedrich offered one in his place, but probably Asit will be better off at the Hotel Caprice. It was too wet for the usual walk. Cohen telephoned and, with Krishnaji there and at Krishnaji’s instructions, I asked Cohen, as our friend as well as our lawyer, what he felt was the right thing to do. We want to settle this interminable affair, but are we, in the proposed settlement text, leaving Krishnaji, in any way that we could prevent, unprotected against some new nastiness from Rajagopal? Cohen said that if Rajagopal were to slander Krishnaji, for instance, in the future, we could still act legally. I said we objected to the word in the settlement agreement “amicable,” and he said he would try to get it out. Also, he will try to improve the language in the publishing rights clause and also in protecting the original settlement agreement of 1977. I then told him that Krishnaji and I agreed to go along with the settlement if he could work out these things. Krishnaji had me send him his affection and said we look forward to seeing him in the spring for the pleasure of it and not all this legal business.

When Krishnaji and I used to drive on the freeway by the building where Cohen had his office, Krishnaji would salute Mr. Cohen in the building and then say, “Mr. Cohen is an honorable man.” I then telephoned Erna. I reported the Cohen conversation. She still sounded a bit low but says that everything is alright. “So we settled it?” asked Krishnaji. He said he would not show the text of the agreement to the other foundations. “It’s really not their business.” Cohen said Krishnaji could sign for them as no resolution had been demanded and Krishnaji is president of KFT and KFI.. After supper, Krishnaji had me wash and give him my rudraksha and gold chain, and he put it on for the night. Then he said, “Now, every day sit quietly. Don’t lie down but sit upright with a quiet mind. Do it for five minutes, but every day.”  Then, “I’ve never told anybody this.”’

The seventh of August. ‘It was cold in the morning, and when the clouds and fog lifted, there was snow on the mountains above us. It reminds Krishnaji and me of the Maheshamurti in Elephanta.’ In the afternoon, Krishnaji had me note a memoranda about making Brockwood a 'religious' place. “1: Look at trees, nature. Be aware of everything. 2: Study Krishnaji’s teachings to know (even intellectually) all he has said. 3: Are you really interested in this? If not, do your job well, as well as you can, but ease out.”’
‘He also had me note things he wants to tell KF India trustees. “1: H

If anyone gets hurt by what I’m about to say, they haven’t 'listened' to the teachings.”’ ‘“2: Organization has swallowed the teachings. 3: Krishnaji will be ninety-one in a few months and before he dies, he feels it is absolutely necessary to have a religious center. 4: Trust. K. questions whether you trust him. You have often said that K. is influenced, etcetera” ‘“5: Circumstances; pragmatism is not his way of action. 6: We—they. In publishing India considers it is separate from England.”
Later we walked in the Tannegg wood. The sky had cleared. The sun was bright. And the fresh snow on the mountains was a glory.’
Now I’ve added in just a piece of paper, which was paper-clipped to this page. “You are responsible for Ojai more than the other two, Erna and Theo. You have been closest to Krishnaji. You must be sensitive to that. 'It' will go with K. when he dies, I think. I might have to stay in India or Brockwood or Ojai, but you are responsible for Ojai. You can’t ask for it. Just to be sensitive. Pay attention. I’m not going to correct you, the way you put your thumbs on the steering wheel.”’ ‘“When you drive me back to Geneva please go thirty-five miles an hour in the towns or it makes me nervous. Do you understand? This is very serious. You must keep the door open to That.”’

August eighth is very short: ‘We all lunched with Friedrich at Chesery in Gstaad and afterward Krishnaji had his hair cut by Monsieur Nicolas. Came back and he slept “heavily” for an hour before the now daily cup of tea before a Tannegg walk.’ That was prescribed by Dr. Parchure.
Asit telephoned from London. He has to fly to Singapore Saturday so he is uncertain whether there is the time for him to come here. I got Krishnaji on the phone briefly and later Asit rang back to say he would come tomorrow. In the evening, Krishnaji told me that Erna and I must see that he has things to do when he comes to Ojai. He isn’t going to just sit there. Then he came back and said I mustn’t arrange for things for him to do just to please him. It must be something “you think is necessary…Are you listening? Do you understand? Otherwise I’ll stay at Brockwood and just come for the Ojai talks.” My replies only seemed to irritate him.’

Asit used his new Sony video camera to film Krishnaji there.’ Every time Asit turned up, he had a new camera. ‘It was 7:40 p.m., when we got back and all of us, including Krishnaji, had supper at the table. Toward the end of the meal, Krishnaji asked the question, “Is humanity disintegrating?” and an intense questioning ensued on his part. “Is there some part of the brain that refuses this disintegration? If there is, will that turn it around? Something that will break the circle? Is there some part of the brain that rejects conditioning?…I am into something.”

August tenth. ‘Krishnaji talked with Asit in the morning, and Asit left after lunch for Geneva and Singapore. He has told Krishnaji he will be through with his business by June or July of next year and wants to work for Krishnaji. Krishnaji did not ask him how, and now he wants me to ask Asit what he meant by that if he telephones. But it is unlikely that Asit will call. He will see Krishnaji in Madras. Vanda, who had not met Asit, said she liked him. “He listens well,” she said. There was the usual rest for Krishnaji after lunch, then Krishnaji wanted to walk to get out of this house. “I’ll be glad to leave this place the day after tomorrow. I can’t stand this place. I don’t know why the atmosphere is all wrong. I cried the first day we came here,” he said. In the car going toward Gstaad, he said, “Probably it was wrong for me to ask advice…” from Asit “…and afterward, when I was washing my hands, I knew what to do.” This was about the problems in KFI, and he said he couldn’t say now what he will do, but it will come to him there.’ In other words, in India. ‘He will plunge in and know what to do. In the Tannegg wood he felt well and away from the wrong atmosphere of the house.’ He really hated that house. : ‘On the way back he said, “The spirit has left Saanen. Probably that is why I feel so uncomfortable. It has moved to Brockwood.” He was more cheerful by evening. Action, learning, and driving in a new Mercedes are in this extraordinary brain at ninety.’ He was never going to rest

The eleventh. ‘Packed. A fine, warm late summer day. Vanda is a little bearish on the possibility of Cortina d’Ampezzo. She said it is not as comfortable as here, but Krishnaji is expansive. He would like to go to Venice, to Florence, to Rome. Vanda has made a mark in persuading him to have more time for rest and that today meant going to places other than Switzerland. When we came to the Tannegg walk, he said to the trees, “Goodbye. We’ll see you in two or three years.” And coming back through Gstaad and Saanen, it was, “Ciao, until a couple of years.” He talks too about our using an apartment that may be built on the Saanen Gathering land; something that may not exist for five years. All this is music to me and lets in a blessed sense of ease and summer sunlight. He said he wants to telephone Asit in October and ask him if he would like to take over the running of KFI, the publishing, seeing to translations, etcetera, the business part—not the religious aspect, “though he could try that and see if he can.”’ ‘He said Dr. Parchure, whom Krishnaji thinks dislikes Asit for some “puritanic” reason, suggested the above for Asit during this morning’s massage.
August twelve. Krishnaji and I flew at 1:45 p.m. to Heathrow. Rita Zampese met us at the door of the plane with another wheelchair, and we rolled past a huge queue at immigration. Dorothy, Ingrid, Ray, and Bill all met us. Dorothy’s eyesight had caused concern, but she had insisted on bringing her car, so Krishnaji and I went with her. She said something to Krishnaji about this being the last time she would be meeting him. Anyhow I asked her to go slowly, and she did. We got to Brockwood at 4 p.m. Brockwood is beautiful and quiet. Only Montague, Doris, and Dominic were out on the driveway to meet Krishnaji.
I had trouble with the washing machine, and water came out on the kitchen floor, and in my efforts to mop it up, Krishnaji said I was not paying attention. “You start something and then you do something else. If you don’t learn to change, you may not be able to be with K.”’ ‘Later he had me sit quietly for a while.’

A pension was set up that would give Dorothy and Montague plenty of spending money, and Brockwood pays for all her car expenses including insurance, petrol, etcetera, all food supplies, etcetera. Dorothy is said to be pleased by all this.
August sixteenth. ‘There was rain in the morning. Krishnaji was tired when he got up and didn’t do exercises, but he did get up for lunch. He slept, and then we walked around the lanes. While having what is now a daily tea, he mentioned that, “Since the end of Saanen,” something is going on in him. He said that if something has decided everything that happens to K., it is something extraordinary.” I asked if he thinks that all the foretelling that Upadhyaya spoke of is true. He replied, “I am skeptical.” I pointed out that he speaks of it as though it had impressed him. “I don’t know,” he said. The other day he had said in the very firm voice of stating a fact, “I am the world teacher.”’ ‘Today I mentioned certain changes in him lately, and wondered if he was aware of them.’
‘Krishnaji: “What changes?”’
‘Me: “The hypersensitivity and manner.”’
‘Krishnaji: “What manner?”’
‘Me: “A roughness that is unlike you.”’
‘Krishnaji: “Am I rough to others?”’
‘Me: “No.”’
‘Krishnaji “Just to you?”’
‘Me: “Yes.”’ ‘He said he never did anything he was unaware of. I was "too hard to change", and so he had been rough. He was relaxed when he said all this, but it will recur whether through my own faults or other factors. Many things seem to be bothering him, notably the KF India situation. He wants the Patwardhans out, the publications done by the KFT, and Vasanta Vihar to be a religious center, which it isn’t with the Patwardhans in charge. He wants to end discord and set all things right “before I’m gathered to my fathers.”

The next day, ‘Krishnaji slept till 7 a.m. and ate buckwheat for breakfast. This must have upset his stomach, for after the massage he began to vomit. When Parchure was out of the room, he said, “I have to hold onto it. Death is always so close.” I am writing this as he sleeps, so frail, so extraordinarily beautiful. There is really no age in his face, only total beauty.’
Later: “He mustn’t be seriously ill or it would be the end. No accident or it would be nip and tuck.”’
Written later: ‘In Rougemont the following took place between Krishnaji and me and Dr. Parchure discussing travel plans. It’s written in dialogue.’
‘Krishnaji: “It is not a physical effort of the brain. It is something else. My life has been planned. It will tell me when to die, say it is over. That will settle my life. But I must be careful that ‘That’ is not interfered with by saying, ‘I will give only two talks.’’”
‘Me: “Do you feel how much more time is given you?”’
‘Krishnaji: “I think ten years more.”’

M: ‘Me: “You mean talking?”’
‘Krishnaji: “When I don’t talk, it will be over. But I don’t want to strain the body. Also, too long a holiday is bad. I need a certain amount of rest but not more. A quiet place where nobody knows me, but unfortunately people get to know me.”’
August eighteenth: ‘Krishnaji is feeling all right again, but stayed in bed. “Thank god I’ll have two months rest here,” he said.’
The twentieth: ‘It was a rainy day. Krishnaji stayed in bed. “He’s had enough. If there were an illness or an accident, he would slip out. No one in all these years has changed. I want to give you a new brain. I will till I die,” he said.’
August twenty-fourth: ‘At 11:30 a.m. Krishnaji gave the first Brockwood talk of the year. Afterward, we had a complete lunch upstairs, and then he went down to the tent for a little while before resting. There was a large crowd. There was rain early, but it held off later.’
The next day is the second talk, but I don’t note much else until August twenty-seventh.
‘At 11:30 was Krishnaji’s first questio

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Sat, 22 Jul 2017 #353
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

(continuing the K & MZ Story ) .

‘At 11:30 was Krishnaji’s first question-and-answer meeting, and he did five of them.
August twenty-eighth. ‘There was a discussion after breakfast with Krishnaji, Dr. Parchure and me about Krishnaji’s program for 1986. He feels he should give two talks on the East Coast of the USA. Boston? Krishnaji had lunch in bed but got up for a walk down the West Meon road at 5 p.m. I telephoned Erna about the above. She suggested speaking at universities, but Krishnaji later disapproved.’
The twenty-ninth: ‘Krishnaji held his second question-and-answer meeting. After lunch upstairs, Krishnaji had photos taken by Barry Moore to go with Duncan Fallowell’s Harpers & Queen article. A television crew covered the meeting in the morning. On the walk with Krishnaji was Dorothy, Elena Greene, and me. Erna telephoned. The settlement is ready for signatures.’
August thirtieth. ‘I awoke wondering how to bring about what Krishnaji has said is necessary: a set of talks on the East Coast in March or early April. He has rejected so-called sponsored talks (i.e., at a university), saying he didn’t want to talk just to students. That means finding a suitable hall in Boston or even Toronto, doing all the promotion, coping with the sound system difficulties, finding a place to stay, etcetera. All with the possible uncertainty of his being up to this after a heavy Indian tour. As it unfolded, the dilemma is, as he put it, the body exists to talk. If it doesn’t talk, the body will fade and that will be the end. But it needs rest too. What is the balance between these? He said speaking only in Ojai was not enough. He thinks little of discussions as people can’t be found to challenge him sufficiently. He seemed to accept the shape we worked out for Brockwood. June: arrive from Ojai, talk to students, and any other discussions. Rest in July till the Brockwood talks, beginning July nineteenth to August third. Go on holiday afterward. Return in September for an earlier school reopening. It was when I then brought up his Ojai winter that the extra talks came into it. Last evening I talked to Parchure, who is uncertain whether he will want such talks when the time comes. And then either he over-talks himself to fulfill the commitment or we have to cancel with all that that entails. Either would be a shock to Krishnaji.’
‘There was a heavy feeling all morning, and then after the massage, Parchure came to me and told me that Krishnaji had said he didn’t want the extra talks. It might be good just to rest in Ojai

Krishnaji was tense last evening, irritable just below the surface. He came to my room, sat me down, holding my hand, and said he was looking at his irritability. “I am not talking to you, I am talking to myself…Either I am getting old or have fallen into a habit of picking at you. It is my fault, and it must stop. We’ve been together a long time, and I love you deeply. The body has become hypersensitive. Most of the time I want to "go away", and I mustn’t do that. I’m going to deal with this. It is unforgivable.” Later he said of himself, “He’s had enough. If there were illness or an accident, he would slip out.” And then, “No one in all these years has changed.” And, “I want to give you a new brain. I love you; I will till I die.” Later he called me in: “Maria, I have a feeling it’s all been carefully planned. When the body goes, it may be tomorrow, it may be in ten years, but it is a strange feeling. It has all been completely planned.”’

The first of September. ‘Krishnaji gave his fourth Brockwood talk, which was very fine.[1] We lunched upstairs. .’
September second: The settlement came for our signatures. Tilly von Egmond, who stayed till it came, signed for Holland. Krishnaji will sign for himself, KFT, and KFI. He had been in bed all day It rained too much for a walk.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji signed the settlement agreement. Tilly left for Holland, and Dr. Parchure left for India. I mailed the signed settlement papers to Erna and telephoned her that I had. Krishnaji, Scott, and I walked. The house is becoming quiet and is almost empty.’
Now, for the next five days I don’t write much, partly because I had a cold, it seems. I don’t go on walks, Krishnaji talks with me about an 'empty mind'. I continue to work at my desk. Then on September tenth, ‘At 11 a.m. Krishnaji gave an interview filmed by ITV for the program “The Human Factor” to be broadcast nationwide December first. The interviewer was Sue Jay, and it was shot on film in the drawing room for one-and-a-half hours. I asked him if he knew how long he would live. “Do you really know?”’
‘Krishnaji: “I think I do. I have intimations.”’
‘Me: “Are you willing to tell me?”’
‘Krishnaji: “No, that would not be right. I cannot tell anyone.”’
‘Me: “Is one to live thinking that at any moment you might leave?”’
‘Krishnaji: “No, it’s not like that. It won’t be for quite a while.”’

The fourteenth: ‘After breakfast, Krishnaji talked to me about Ojai. He feels the Lilliefelts and I have driven ourselves into a corner. There is no one we wholly trust to carry on, and we are all getting old. So what is going to happen there? What is he going to do there for three-and-a-half months? He is afraid that for that amount of time he will wither there. It is out that he will go elsewhere to talk. He can’t go on perpetually talking to the Oak Grove staff who don’t understand. He is sure he will settle things in India. Should he then return to Brockwood and stay there until the Ojai talks, even though it is winter? Ojai doesn’t attract people. They come for him. He asked, what if, after the rest, he were to hold open discussions every weekend for anyone who wants to come? He cannot, and will not, do nothing. “I am for it.” He wants to be in our own place, not elsewhere.

September eighteenth. Krishnaji said, “I have complete leisure.” He urged us for a week to write down “Everything, every thought, etcetera.” He said he used to do this, and Rajagopal tried to find the papers but never did: Krishnaji put them under a stone outside.’ ‘It could take me twenty-three hours of the day to do all this, but this seems as good a place as under a stone to give it a try, so here it goes.’

The house was empty and quiet at lunch. Krishnaji motioned to me that I was putting out my tongue, another lack of awareness of what I am doing. He now calls for deliberate action by "will" as general awareness doesn’t seem sufficient. I feel like a robot at times but realize this is a defense.’ I don’t feel a shrinking from my own, as far as I can tell, but Krishnaji had admonished me over and over, “You must outlive me” to look after him, and each of us urges healthful things on the other.

Krishnaji’s tireless movement toward and in life is behind his present irritability: his not suffering fools gladly, his effort to right India, Ojai, the staff group here. Today he said to me during the tea in the kitchen before the walk that the unifying factor should be intelligence. “To be free in the real sense, that freedom is intelligence. Intelligence is common to all of us and that will bring us together, not organization. If you see the importance that each one of us is free and that freedom implies love, consideration, attention, cooperation, and compassion—that intelligence is the factor to keep us together.”

The next day. ‘At 9 a.m. Krishnaji met the core staff group and asked one of those seemingly impossible questions: “How do you instantly, without time, make the students see that self-interest is the root of conflict?” He was talking about intelligence. If each one of us is intelligent, in the sense that he means (i.e., sensitive, loving, compassionate), then that intelligence, which is neither yours nor mine, is acting, and, therefore, though we are separate physical bodies, we act as one. And can you make the student see this? Not only see it but instantly be transformed? Then he mentioned that out of all the hundreds of students who have passed through Rishi Valley, not one has been different.
After the meeting in the room, I said that if no student in all these years had changed, one may ask what is the point of them? If no one, with all his effort, has changed, how can the rest of us, who apparently haven’t changed, expect to bring this about in others, the students? If you haven’t done it, is there any likelihood that we can change others? “I don’t know,” he replied, but it was said a little jokingly, not wanting to go on with a serious discussion.

September twenty-second: ‘Krishnaji spoke to the whole staff in the sitting room at 11:30 a.m. He went slowly into freedom of mind in the approach to students: freedom from problems, not adding to the students’ problems.
Krishnaji came to me in the early morning while I was doing my exercises and wanted to see what I do and corrected everything. He is a very demanding exercise master.’
September twenty-third. ‘Krishnaji again came in the early morning and taught me exercises and breathing. A hard taskmaster, but very touching

September twenty-fourth, 1985, ‘Krishnaji gave me another lesson in breathing and neck exercises. A severe teacher.’ ‘He also asked me to note, “Independence without freedom is meaningless. If you have freedom you don’t need independence.”
‘I was upset and Krishnaji took that moment to point out that I hadn’t finished the breakfast dishes.’ ‘I felt harried by his constant criticism of me “not paying attention.” And “Will you kindly listen,” followed by a slow reiteration of what you have heard and understood is wearing. He asked a question, but if you answer it too quickly, this happens.’ ‘He seems to need to say all his criticisms at length and get them out of his preoccupation. I was finally able to tell him that Mary Cadogan reports that Harper’s Clayton Carson wants an introduction by David Bohm to round out the next book, which is only two dialogues long, and Krishnaji agreed to it.
September the twenty-sixth. ‘“Did you sleep well? Did I bully you too much? We’ll have a nice quiet day today,” he said.’
‘I replied, “It doesn’t matter. Will I see you again after you go to India?”’
‘Krishnaji: “Why do you ask?”’
‘Me: “I don’t want to be apart from you. You said yesterday you knew when you would die.”’
‘Krishnaji: “Yes, more or less, but it is not right away. If I’m going to die, I’ll telephone you, and you can come. I won’t die all of a sudden. I’m in good health. My heart, everything is all right. It is all decided by someone else. I can’t talk about it. I’m not allowed to. Do you understand? It is much more serious. There are things you don’t know, enormous, and I can’t tell you. It is very hard to find a brain like this, and it must keep on as long as the body can; until something says, ‘enough.’ If I die, you mustn’t mourn. We’ve been very close, but you are beyond all that and you mustn’t mourn as you would have in the past.”’
He talked jokingly about “the committee.” I don’t know, obviously, but my thoughts tend to go toward a group of something because of a strange dream I once had.
I was being judged in the dream by a group of beings, and it wasn’t…it was just a sort of brief dream, but it was very vivid. It woke me up, actually. And what I felt at the time, and, probably still feel was that I was being 'judged' whether I was suitable to be with Krishnaji and do things for him and be useful to them. Because I always felt if there’s something protecting him that thing has to have an instrument or instruments. There has to be some human being who can do things for him. That was my interpretation of the dream. And sometimes he speaks, as in this, “it is serious, and he can’t talk about it". And other times when he uses the word “committee,” it’s sort of joking.

‘This conversation took place in the early morning when I brought the nettle tea. I went to my room and wept.
The twenty-seventh of September. ‘Krishnaji slept fairly well. Feeling tired but better. He thinks that an extra dose of magnesium phosphate, which he’s taking at Amanda Pallandt’s suggestion to help the tremor in his hands, is causing his stomach to be upset. He stayed in bed all day but got up for a walk.

Another gentle mist of an Indian summer day. Before supper, Krishnaji had me sit quietly, with him touching the back of my head. “I am trying to reach your brain but you keep slipping back. You have a habit of eating too fast. Pay attention.”’

. ‘That evening, as Krishnaji did my leg, as he has most evenings since Dr. Parchure left, we heard the news that a very large hurricane has hit the East Coast of the U.S.’

The twenty-eighth of September. ‘Krishnaji supervised my breathing and other exercises again. Pupul arrived by car at 11 a.m. to stay till Monday.’ This was a Saturday. ‘I gave her tea in the kitchen and then left her and Krishnaji to talk almost till lunchtime. I had a rest after lunch and after coffee.
I invited Friedrich to come and sit and talk till 9 o’clock. Krishnaji was relaxed and animated. Perhaps glad to have said “everything” to Pupul earlier. He told me that he had pointed out what it had meant for her to give him an ultimatum about the copyright and publication matters when she came to Switzerland. He said the Foundations are one body to him, but India had made trouble over publications for thirteen years, and he was now going to settle it. He was thinking of England choosing and editing the best of all the talks in each year and publishing them in the West. India might, but this must be discussed with KFT and publishers here, have the right to publish these books in India and its territory. He said he would make the decision after talking to everyone, including all KFI members, at their next meeting in Madras. He said he told Pupul he had known for about one-and-a-half years how long he would live. That he wouldn’t tell anyone what he knew, but wanted to settle the future of everything before he died. He made Pupul listen, and told me that he said “everything” about India to her.’

for the twenty-ninth. ‘At 11:30 Krishnaji spoke to the school. “Why do we need to study academics? What should we learn beyond that?” Etcetera. After lunch in the West Wing kitchen, Krishnaji talked to Pupul with me there on the Foundations being, in his mind, one body. Saying that India had caused disagreement for thirteen years over publications, and that before he died he wants everything put in order. Pupul reiterated her position of every third book being submitted by India to Western publishers directly, not via KFT.’
‘Krishnaji had earlier, to her, brought up KFT editing and publishing talks and now said he was saying to everyone that what is right is what must be done. Only in that spirit will it be right and not through formulas. Pupul reiterated that the present generation gets on, but those that come from the next generation (i.e., Radhika, Asit, etcetera) will not accept England having predominance. Krishnaji was tired and shaking and very serious, and insisting that we must do what is right, and he would not tell us what that is. Later he told me to talk to Pupul. So while he spent over an hour at 4:15 p.m. with Natasha, I made tea and asked Pupul what she thought of Krishnaji’s suggestion that each year a selection of the best of all the year’s talks be made and edited by England. She countered with India selecting the best from India. I said it seems to me that it should be the best of all the talks, not a quota from each region, though any region might suggest what seemed is its best. The decision should be by the Publication Committee. Pupul wants Indian rights to do a cheaper Indian edition. I said we’d have to find out the Gollancz and Harper position on that, but it was surely discussable. Pupul is lunching with Mary Cadogan on Tuesday and will talk about it. But Krishnaji wants a final decision after he has talked to all the Indian Foundation members.
September thirtieth. ‘I rang Mary Cadogan with Krishnaji sitting beside me and reported what had been said with Pupul about publication problems. Krishnaji correcting me, very tense, very irritable. It was a difficult conversation. Then he said to me, when I’d hung up, “I am watching for you. When I’m in India, your brain will go unless you watch. Pay attention. You’re not paying attention. You do too many things. You are careless, you are not listening. Write down what I tell you.” He stayed in bed till walk time. He spoke of Pupul, and of her saying that she had become famous—he is shocked by this. “Is this what it has come to, fame-power?” It kept coming into his conversation all day. It rings me. He is looking around him after ninety years of pouring out his teachings and sees nothing but mediocre minds. It is as though all of us, but him, poison the life we are given, are blind and indifferent. I want to weep and the weeping seems a tawdry self-indulgence.

The first of October. ‘Krishnaji came in just after I woke up. He sat quietly with me. Without saying it he seemed to want to be gentle after yesterday. But Pupul’s “I am famous” line continues to shock him. “I’m not going to hold discussions with her in India.” He came into the room a few minutes ago, stood looking out the open window for it is a warm summer day, and said, “I feel it is ugly.” He was going to lunch in bed but came down at the last minute. At Doris Pratt’s request he saw her for an hour at 4 p.m. Krishnaji joined us when he was through with Doris. And then, with Dorothy, we walked around the lane.

the second of October. ‘Krishnaji did not have a restful night. At 9 a.m. he held a meeting upstairs with the small staff group and asked about leisure, what they do with it. What is their relation to nature or not putting up with things? For Krishnaji, who has put up with appalling things in his lifetime, this question was curious. Perhaps not putting up with Pupul and other people’s shortcomings is preoccupying him. Mary Cadogan telephoned about her lunch with Pupul yesterday. Pupul is sticking to wanting every third year an Indian international publication un-vetted by England. She also alarmed Mary by saying she was publishing in her book a letter she has from Krishnaji written in 1968 telling India that England is to have the copyright and something about the Indian resignation will be an intelligent action. Mary had never heard of such a letter and neither have I. Krishnaji doesn’t remember. It dates from the time when Naudé was secretary, and we have no copies. Pupul is insistent on including it as an example of Krishnaji’s inconsistency . Mary urged Pupul not to publish it. It is a very divisive thing and harmful to Krishnaji. But Pupul paid no attention. Mary is coming down Monday and wants to report in detail out of fairness to the whole conversation. But she and Mary Links are wondering what other letters of Krishnaji’s Pupul is using.

After lunch in bed, Krishnaji dictated to me a letter to Pupul saying he wished to see any letters of his that she intends to publish. He had me read it to both Marys. Mary Links agrees with the letter but hopes Krishnaji will wait for Mary C.’s report before sending it. He will. And Mary L. felt constrained by her own book in which she used some of his letters, but she had written the biographies at his request. Hers were authorized books. She doesn’t know if Krishnaji gave a similar authorization to Pupul. Krishnaji doesn’t think so, but Pupul may say that he has but has forgotten. I remember being present when Pupul told Krishnaji that she was going to write a sort of memoir of  “K in India.” She didn’t ask for any approval, but just said she was going to do it. Krishnaji is disturbed by all this. She’s becoming antagonistic. He wants to take enough money to India so he can go to a hotel if necessary in Delhi or to Murli Rao’s place if he feels uncomfortable in Pupul’s house. Her feeling of power and being famous is a rising disgust for him. He spent one-and-a-half hours mulling over it. These things trouble him almost obsessively these days. They tire him.
Doing my leg, he would stop as though thinking of something else then go on. He is troubled and I am heartsick.

These seem to be things that he said to me and I wrote down on little pieces of paper.
 ‘One: “To think simply and clearly.” Two: “To clear the brain of agreement and disagreement.”’ And then it says, ‘“Simplicity.”’ Then, in the same writing, so I guess it’s at the same time, is: ‘One: “Deliberation, to deliberate.” Two: “Decision.” Three: “Execution.”…“No political activity. Political equals to power seeking. No maneuvering for better power or salary. There is no climbing to higher positions or authority, for Brockwood represents not authority but the teachings. The 'captain' of the team could be, can be, and should be replaced if he is not moving in the right direction.”

“Samadhi—thought when necessary operates, otherwise the brain is quiet. "K—quiet" equals no association, recognition, reaction, planning, no time in sense of remembering. Maybe I may change it. It is a state that is always deep but has no depth.
‘“There are two kinds of energies in those who are committed and those who are not committed and are therefore free. The committed—missionaries, priests, monks—their energy becomes committed and therefore is limited.”’

This is about India: ‘Before he dies, he feels it absolutely necessary to have a religious center. The trust. Krishnaji questions whether you trust him. You have often said Krishnaji is influenced…’ This is what he’s going to say to them.

The third of October. ‘Krishnaji got a little more rest. When I brought in his breakfast, he said he had just had a remarkable meditation. Perhaps that will wipe away some of the sense of problems that have harassed him. The soft 'Indian summer' has fled, and a strong wind is flailing the trees, rushing in from the Channel.
‘ After supper Krishnaji again said to me in a most serious voice, “Will you listen? I am watching for you, but you must pay attention on the walk. You are not walking on the sides of the road.”’ ‘(my shoes had picked up a lot of dirt).’ Then, ‘“You must watch everything you do.” It is at the end of the day when he is most tired that the least thing seems impossible to him. Things seem black and white. The least thing is irritating, seen as part of larger wrong things.

The next day, ‘There was rain in the morning, but Dr. Rahula and friends came to lunch. At 4 p.m. Krishnaji gave an interview to a Lella Russell Smith for articles in the Friends Journal, a national Quaker magazine in the United States. Then tea and walk.’
It was a bright beautiful afternoon with cool air and a light breeze. Krishnaji had turned on the lights when I brought his supper tray and said he wasn’t tired. After supper he said to me, "as long as we live together he will point out things to me. After that, it is up to me". We watched a Paul Daniel’s magic show on TV, which Krishnaji enjoyed.’ .
. Mary Cadogan reported carefully on her meeting with Pupul last Tuesday. Pupul insisted administration is separate from the teachings’ ‘and we should settle such matters without Krishnaji.’
She insists that the next generation in India will not accept restrictions. Mary said Pupul voluntarily admitted that she has a remnant of anti-British feelings from the Raj days.

‘About Pupul’s book, Mary is concerned by Pupul’s including a Krishnaji letter written in 1968 making England responsible for things. We do not know in what context the letter was written or how Pupul wants to use it. Possibly it reflects feelings at the time when India didn’t want Krishnaji on their board’—which they didn’t—‘but they had Rajagopal on it, and kept Rajagopal on the board for two years after Krishnaji had disassociated himself from Rajagopal. Mary said Pupul is not antagonistic to Krishnaji, is devoted, but Mary feels she is somewhat arrogant in writing to explain Krishnaji. Krishnaji may ask to see all letters of his that Pupul wants to publish and review them after his return to Ojai.
‘Krishnaji rested after lunch but rejoined us at 4:15 p.m. We had tea, and there was no walk. Krishnaji asked us how to bring about trust in the Indian Foundation. He said they do not trust each other or him, and he has been unable to change this. He spoke again about the teachings being put second to structure in Ojai, India, everywhere. I said that was an unfair indictment, and it was a damning thing for anyone who has been close to Krishnaji to put the teaching second to organization. Krishnaji said he was not making an indictment. I say he may not have meant it to be, but to me it would be a shocking fact or act to put the teachings second to anything. I said some people (by implication Ojai) had situational trouble, which they had to cope with, but it didn’t mean they felt the teachings were secondary. It was then 6:15 p.m. and school meeting time. Later, when I came up with Krishnaji’s supper tray, he said I should not have made him defend what he said. What he said was that the teachings were not flowering. I said that we see that but do not know how to bring it about. This is not caused by denigration of the teachings. I felt exhausted by all this, and Krishnaji was tired. He said it was too much to do a video question/answering session with Scott and me tomorrow. He had talked too much today, “I am too old to talk again tomorrow.”’ God, it was a terrible time.
October eighth. ‘Krishnaji oversaw my breathing exercises but then went back to bed for the rest of the day. Friedrich Grohe left for Switzerland.
The ninth of October: ‘Krishnaji, in the elegance of one of his blue suits, and I, in my tweed coat that is descended from an old favorite brown one, went to London on a bright autumn morning and on the 10:23 a.m. train. Both Mary and Joe met us at Waterloo and took us to Huntsman for Krishnaji’s fitting. Then Mary came with Krishnaji and me to Fortnum’s for a leisurely lunch. We stopped at Hatchards for books and took a taxi to Waterloo. A simple day in the warm, gentle mold of so many almost identical ones. I rode down White Hall with Krishnaji holding my hand in a haze of happiness. The clear country air was part of it when we came home,
‘At 4 p.m. Mrs. Barbara Jackson brought the venerable Ananda Maitreya and two “attendant monks” to see Krishnaji. They brought a nice plant offering, too, appreciated more by me.’ ‘It seems the venerable Ananda Maitreya has also arrived at ninety years and seemed to wish to share this eminence. I provided tea. Krishnaji was charming and joking, but impaled the venerable with the question, “What did the Buddha really say?”’ ‘He went on to enlarge on the fact that no one really knows. The venerable giggled a bit’ ‘but gave nothing much in return.’ ‘The attendant, Mrs. Jackson, seemed to enjoy this. “He needs to be talked to this way,” she said. Krishnaji let them stay so long that there could be no walk.’

This post was last updated by John Raica Sun, 23 Jul 2017.

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Sun, 23 Jul 2017 #354
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 674 posts in this forum Offline

Last part of MZ's Memoirs on K

October fifteenth, 1985, and Krishnaji and I are at Brockwood just before his trip to India. ‘Krishnaji stayed in bed resting all day but came into the kitchen for tea and talked to me about "trust". Are there a few we trust to carry on the work and to protect the teachings? He spoke of there being virtually nobody in Ojai except the Lilliefelts and me. India is pulling away and is still a concern to him. He trusted Mrs. Besant.
He never said, “I trust Amma,” but from the way he spoke of her; it was with veneration and affection, and in that there was obviously trust. Even if she would get gaga—which she did later on. He also talked about what I should do after he was gone, and it was to guard the teachings. And I’ve said this to various trustees in both Foundations I’ve been in. I’ve said this is what I feel my function is because this is what he told me he wanted.

October sixteenth. ‘At 11:30 a.m. Krishnaji talked with the small staff group upstairs. The fire is still in Malibu but has moved away from them.’

October eighteenth. Krishnaji, he, and I made an audiotape about what Pandit Jagannath Upadhyaya had told him about the ancient text that the Pandit had been told by his teacher to find and which, after decades, he found, foretelling a World Teacher manifestation. After Krishnaji described it, he said, “I could probably investigate this, but I don’t want to. It wouldn’t be right.” Erna telephone from Ojai. The attorney general has refused to sign the settlement agreement with Rajagopal. An addendum to it is being drawn up to state the settlement is accepted without the attorney general. But it has to be signed over here by Krishnaji, me, and Tilly Von Egmond. How to get it here before Krishnaji’s leaving for India next Thursday?’ I think Erna flew over.
The nineteenth of October. ‘At 11:30 a.m. there was a videotaped discussion with Krishnaji, and me on what is the ground of a religious place—of something sacred in a center or a school. He finally said, “It should be a religious center. A center where people feel there is something not 'cooked up', not imaginative, not some kind of ‘holy’ atmosphere; a religious center, not in the orthodox sense of that word; a center where a "flame" is living, not the ashes of it. If a flame is alive, and if you come to that house, you might take that flame with you; or you might 'light your candle' and be the most extraordinary human being, not broken up; a person who is really whole, has no shadow of sorrow, pain, and all that kind of thing. So that to me is a "religious center".”

The Bohms and Mark Edwards were at lunch, and afterward Mark took photos against the light background of my room of Krishnaji and David for the next book’—he wanted a white background, that’s why it was done there—‘The Future of Humanity, which is edited by Mary Cadogan from the last two dialogues that Krishnaji and David did some time ago. Erna telephoned, saying the only way she can get the papers here for signatures is to bring them herself. She arrives Tuesday.
The twenty-first of October: ‘Krishnaji said he had slept well but was vague and “wooly” at breakfast. He had difficulty with balance, doing his exercises. And then with buttoning his clothing. ry vivid. Very vivid.

So back to October twenty-first and our trip to London. ‘We were ten minutes late leaving but made the train at Petersfield. We had a second-class ticket but sat side by side in first class because second class was so crowded. Though there were others in the carriage, he quietly felt for my hand, saying in a low voice, “I need to hold a hand,” and after a minute he nodded to me and said, “I’m alright now.” He was somewhat "not there"; distracted. But whenever I would glance at him he would nod to show that everything was alright. Joe and Mary met us at Waterloo and dropped us at Truefitt, where he had his hair cut. I went up Bond Street on some errands, and when I came back, he had just finished and was there smiling. I showed him some shoes in the Chanel window, and he thought they were nice, and said I should get them.’ ‘We walked down to Hatchards, and he looked at books. Then he needed a bathroom, so we went up in the lift, and when we came down again to the basement where the paperbacks are, where he had been so many times, he couldn’t make out where he was. I had to show him the stairs we always used. And then he said, “Yes,” he knew now where he was. We found the books he wanted—thrillers by Charles McCarry, who he says is good. Then we joined Mary for lunch. A pleasant lunch, but, as he does so often these days, he asked what would happen when he is gone. Who will decide about publications? Mary said we would decide together. The thing that is worrying and is on his mind so much at this time is India’s inability to feel part of one thing. They feel rather defiantly separate, and this is on his mind. We went to the dentist quickly and quite terrifyingly as he darted across Piccadilly to catch a taxi. Mr. Thompson didn’t do very much, and a radio cab was called. We thought we had missed the 4:20 p.m. train, but it was there. He sat opposite me in the second-class section.’ He didn’t want to be in first class anymore. I think he didn’t know what it cost—and at one point I think I gave him the money while I parked the car and that’s when it dawned on him how much first class was, as compared to second-class.
And from then on we went in second-class.
‘He sat opposite me in the second-class section, which was crowded and noisy, and though he was tired, he didn’t look tired. He was alert, bright, watching everybody, and looking extraordinarily young and vulnerable, aware of everything and infinitely extraordinary. I try not to think of things that may happen, can happen. Every inch of each day is so precious that I can’t speak of what I feel about him. He was tired when we reached Brockwood and went right to bed. When I brought his tray, he didn’t touch it at first, but then he did and ate slowly. I worry. The other day, when we were walking, he said suddenly, “I wish I could see a deer looking at us.”’
October twenty-second. ‘In the early morning, when I went in to see Krishnaji, he asked me to lie down quietly, and I did for a while. When I got up, he said, “I’m glad you lay down. It calms the body.”’ I just lay there, and the 'presence' seemed to do it.
‘When he falls asleep during the day, what he calls “shouting” comes upon him. He cries out, and it wakes him with a start. He had been doing that, and apparently my lying quietly calmed and quieted him. But he was tired.’ ‘I drove to Heathrow and met Erna bringing the addendum to the settlement agreement for our signatures. We talked about everything on the way back and reached Brockwood by 2:30 p.m. We had a late lunch in our kitchen. Krishnaji was with us and talked with us, and later we all had tea and walked Tilly Von Egmond arrived from Holland to sign the papers, too.

October the twenty-fourth. ‘In the early morning Krishnaji checked my breathing exercises. Erna left by taxi for Heathrow and Ojai. Krishnaji stayed in bed while I packed his luggage. He had lunch on a tray in bed and got up only in time to leave for Heathrow at 4:30 p.m. To me he said, “I’ll be back.” I had asked him, as he didn’t want me to go to India, “Will I ever see you again?” And it was to this he replied, “Yes. I’ll be back.” Friedrich,is accompanying him to Delhi
We were silent in the car, which seemed to move smoothly because it was carrying him, its raison d’être. Life was full because he was there. There is only that intact, in control, and the road to navigate safely. A dull brightness came from the west, slanting between the clouds. Some seagulls so far from the sea were over the chestnut-colored plowed fields, and I felt as if they were flying through me.
Krishnaji didn’t want any book at the airport. He had some with him. I went as far as I could with him, and with a look back, he disappeared into immigration. The whole meaning of life is in that small, elegant figure in his overcoat, shoulder bag, moving on his route, beautiful and extraordinary beyond any describing and more dear than any human being.
they are due to land in Delhi in the morning at 10 a.m. This flight has a single seat, the one Krishnaji likes on the right side forward. It is a nonstop flight.
On October twenty-sixth, ‘Erna phoned me to tell me that Rajagopal has reneged on the settlement and wants “philosophic” changes in the agreement. Rajagopal wants us to defend him against any questions the attorney general might raise against him,’ ‘which Cohen says is impossible. I gave my first letter to Krishnaji to Jean François, who is flying to Benares tomorrow.’
November twenty-third, ‘The first letter from Krishnaji arrived, written October twenty-eighth to November eleventh in Delhi, Benares, and another letter from Dr. Parchure reassuring me about Krishnaji’s health.
On the twenty-fifth, Krishnaji went back to Delhi. One has to fly to Delhi to get from Benares to Madras.

Two days later. ‘Erna received $25,000 from K&R Foundation for KFA with a letter from Rajagopal, a copy of which he wants sent to Krishnaji.’ That was an unusual event.
December third. ‘The first audiotaped letter one from Krishnaji arrived.’ ‘He dictated it November three through ten. It was wonderful.’

And the next day, ‘Another tape arrived, number two, from Krishnaji dictated from November eleven to seventeen.’
December eighth. ‘I gave a tea party here for the Oak Grove School staff, the office staff, and the volunteers.’

The thirteenth. ‘Rajagopal rang Erna and said he would like to talk to her and me.’
December seventeenth. ‘There was a letter from Krishnaji written in Rishi Valley.’
The twentieth. ‘I sent Krishnaji an air ticket for Mrs. Parchure to go to Brockwood.’
The next day. ‘Krishnaji was scheduled to go from Rishi Valley to Madras.’

December twenty-third. ‘The Moodys telephoned me from Bangalore. Krishnaji will decide after the first Madras talk on the twenty-eighth whether to cancel the rest of India and return here with them and Parchure on the tenth of January. They will telephone again Sunday morning. I am to keep this information secret meanwhile, except from Erna and Theo. Erna brought me the third and fourth audiocassette letters from Krishnaji in Rajghat and Rishi Valley.’ Well, she picked up the mail, I guess. ‘I listened to them most of the day.’

The twenty-seventh. ‘I got a letter from Dr. Parchure about Krishnaji’s health written on December eleventh.’
Krishnaji wants to give two Madras talks (today and tomorrow) and one question-answer and two days of KFI trustee meetings.’ And then it says: ‘Krishnaji gave his first Madras talk on this date.’
He is giving three talks in Madras, then attending KFI trustee meetings, then he leaves. Bombay is canceled.

On the first of January, 1986. I am in Ojai, and Krishnaji is still in India. ‘I went for an early walk then spoke to my brother in New York. I went with Erna and Theo to the movie Out of Africa in Oxnard, after which we had an early supper at a Mexican restaurant. Krishnaji was to have given his today.’

on January fourth, Krishnaji should have given his third Madras talk in Madras, completing the talks in India for this year. He will hold KFI trustee meetings on Wednesday’— Ivan stood in for me in the library.’ That means Ivan Berkowitz. Krishnaji has resigned as president of KFI.
On January eighth, ‘I drove to Malibu listening to the audiocassette of January second, when Krishnaji met KFI members about not using his name.

January tenth: ‘I made final preparations of the house for Krishnaji’s arrival tomorrow. The house painting is completed, the house cleaned, the garden planting is all done, and everything is put in order. It is a warm day: eighty-seven degrees.’

January eleventh. ‘I left at 7 a.m. for Los Angeles airport Krishnaji’s flight from Singapore and Tokyo arrived at 9:30 a.m. He came right out in a wheelchair looking very frail and very, very thin. Krishnaji was home and in bed by 1 o’clock. It was a warm sunny day for him. As soon as we were alone in the car he told me that for two to three days I must not leave him, even for a moment,  “Or he may slip away.” He told me that in India he had said to himself, “I mustn’t be ill because then I wouldn’t see you again,” and “‘It’ doesn’t want to inhabit a sick body, one that couldn’t function. We must not have an accident because if I were hurt that would be the end.” Later he said to me, “While I am here I want to share my meditation with you. I’ve never said that to anyone”…“I came back to see you and to die. If I die, it’s alright. If I live, it’s alright. But one must not invite death, and I don’t. I came back to be taken care of by you.” I stayed with him constantly, sleeping on cushions on the floor by his bed. In the evening, his fever was 100.9. He slept fairly well that first night. But his fever went to 101.6, so Dr. Parchure gave him aspirin and it dropped to 98 by evening. He remained in bed.
The next day. ‘Krishnaji slept fairly well and remained in bed all day. I couldn’t reach Dr. Deutsch but arranged for him to see Krishnaji the next day,
Thirteenth January: I drove to Santa Paula where Dr. Deutsch examined Krishnaji at 11 a.m. He found Krishnaji’s prostate to be soft and thinks that’s a possible site of the infection behind Krishnaji’s fever. Krishnaji’s blood sugar count is 243. He doubled the dose of Rastinon to bring it down, and prescribed Bactrim…’ I’m startled by that because Bactrim was the antibiotic that made me so sick for the infection. And Restoril instead of Halcion for sleep. We went to Santa Paula hospital for blood chemistry, etcetera, and were home by 1:30 p.m. for lunch. Krishnaji had some energy for the trip and then slept all afternoon.’
January fourteen: ‘Krishnaji was weak and drowsy, with a fever of 101.4. I stayed by his bed constantly, as I have right along, and it was a difficult night, with him needing to get up many times.’
Wednesday the fifteenth. ‘Krishnaji seemed as if over-sedated. Either the new sleeping tablet, Restoril, is affecting him too much, or his body is not excreting it in the time it should. Dr. Deutsch gave partial findings of the blood chemistry and said that Krishnaji is anemic. The white count is up. There is some liver impairment, which is the cause of the sleeping medication not being thrown off. He wants a sonogram of Krishnaji’s liver, gallbladder, and pancreas. Krishnaji saw the Lilliefelts for the first time and Krishnaji talked of problems in India, his distrust of Pupul, Sunanda, and Pama. He says he "has confidence" in Radhika, Maheshji, Upasani, and the new Dr. P. Krishna, first cousin of Radha Burnier, a physicist teaching at Benares Hindu University and who is now both a member of KFI and principal or rector of the Rajghat school. Krishnaji wants a group of two or three trustees of each of the three Foundations to be responsible for holding the Foundations together when he is no longer here to do it.’
January sixteenth. ‘Krishnaji had a very interrupted night, needing frequently to get up, though he slept in between. His temperature at 5:45 a.m. was 99.4, at 7:30 it was 100.4, at noon it went to 101.7, and at 1:45 it went to 102. Parchure is measuring fluids in and out. Krishnaji drinks Perrier in between meals.’
The seventeenth: ‘Dr. Deutsch wants a sonogram done in the Ojai hospital Monday. I stayed close to him. “I need protection,” he said.’
The next day. ‘Dr. Deutsch recommended lots of fluids, and Krishnaji took in forty-nine ounces during the day. His fever was 99.6 by 6 p.m. Dr. Parchure did a blood sugar test on Saturday morning and it was 183. His night again was disturbed by needing to get up frequently. During the night, at 1:30 a.m., he had some stomach pain, which a Phazyme tablet relieved.’

The nineteenth of January: ‘Krishnaji had forty-two ounces of fluid. At 6 a.m. his temperature was 99.3, and at 5 p.m. it was 100. He took Halcion and slept from 8 to 1:30 a.m. In the day, Krishnaji dressed, and walked slowly down the drive to the gate and back to the pepper tree where he sat and rested.’
The twentieth of January: ‘Krishnaji had a sonogram in the Ojai hospital. Dr. P. Miller there reported to Dr. Deutsch a 'mass' in Krishnaji’s liver. He couldn’t see the pancreas well enough, and there is sludge in the gallbladder, possibly gallstones. Dr. Deutsch says he cannot tell if the 'mass' is malignant or benign and wants a CT scan on Wednesday, which should tell.’
The twenty-first of January: ‘Krishnaji finds the food uneatable and blames it on Michael’s cooking, but it isn’t that.’ Michael was cooking so delicately, I remember. The new medical scale I purchased ‘says Krishnaji’s weight is ninety-four pounds. Krishnaji got up and looked at the new rose garden. Then he walked with Dr. Parchure to the end of the drive, and Krishnaji wanted to go on. So they went up McAndrew and into Arya Vihara, resting on the way. Then across the new stones in the drain are of the orchard and to the pepper tree. Krishnaji rested, and then he entered the house.
January twenty-two. ‘Krishnaji began to have pain across his upper abdomen, which woke him at 2 a.m., but though I asked, he denied it till 4 a.m., when he accepted a Tylenol. His temperature at 5:30 a.m. was 98. At 7:45 a.m. another Tylenol, but he still had no relief. I rang Dr. Deutsch, who said he needs Krishnaji to be in the hospital. With Dr. Parchure, Scott, and Erna, and I explained this to Krishnaji, who agreed to go.’
Well, I think I’ve said it somewhere else in all this long discussion we’ve had, but Krishnaji used to say to me when I first was with him to never let him go into a hospital. He always said, “I’d rather die at home,” was the way he put it. And I used to say, “Well, Krishnaji, what if you break your leg? I mean, to fix it might involve going to hospital.” And, now, this was not the first time a hospital was needed, because he’d been twice to the hospital for those operations. And I always said to him, you’re deciding this; I can’t decide it. Naturally. So we all explained why he had to go to Santa Paula. Dr. Deutsch had said that he needs the equipment in the hospital. He said he can’t handle it at home.

At the Santa Paula Community Hospital, Krishnaji was put into intensive care. He was given Demerol and an IV. X-ray and blood chemistry were begun. Dr. Deutsch came to meet him. The X-rays showed a bowel obstruction. Krishnaji agreed to a tube through his nose into the abdomen to pump out the fluid and relieve the pressure. Rocephin and high alimentation were given intravenously. Krishnaji is severely undernourished. I spent the night on a reclining chair by his bed.’

I telephoned Vanda in Florence to let her know Krishnaji was sick and in hospital.’ I thought she should know and she might want to come. I thought she would come, but she didn’t do that.
‘Late in the afternoon, Parchure had told Krishnaji that he might die. I had wanted to wait till the CT scan on Monday, but Parchure said he had long ago promised to tell Krishnaji if medically he, Parchure, saw a danger of death. When I came in after Parchure told him that, Krishnaji said to me, “It seems I’m going to die,” as though he had not expected it so soon but accepted the fact.’. When Parchure was telling him this, Krishnaji kept saying “What? What? What?” in a louder-than-usual voice, as though he was astonished to be hearing this. But he seemed to be most surprised because “the other” hadn’t gone.
. January twenty-fourth. Parchure, told me in the car that he had noticed jaundice beginning in Krishnaji and feared a hepatitic coma. But when we got there, Krishnaji’s vital signs were better and the bowel obstruction situation was improved. He was given one pint of blood in a transfusion. The surgeon, Dr. Cooley, tried to put a larger needle, a sort of catheter, into a larger vein in Krishnaji’s neck as the small ones in his hands are deteriorating; but it hurt him, the vein in his neck proved too deep to reach, so he had to close that incision and make one under the clavicle, which worked. Krishnaji bore all this with Novocain and patience. His jaundice is lessened.’
‘I telephoned Vanda and Mary Lutyens and said it was uncertain how long Krishnaji could live. The latter is coming when she can get a visa. I told Vanda the uncertainty of how long Krishnaji might live, but Krishnaji seemed better by evening.

January twenty-fifth. ‘I took Dr. Parchure back to the Santa Paula hospital. Krishnaji had slept better, in spite of heart fibrillation, probably due to the blood transfusion, said Dr. Deutsch. As there is no longer the bowel obstruction, the tube from his nose was removed. Krishnaji said, “I feel like a new man.”’
‘Deutsch and Parchure reviewed all possible reasons for what has happened. The CT scan on Monday will answer much. I prepared for Krishnaji’s return home on Wednesday. Mary Cadogan arrives tomorrow. Pupul and Asit Thursday, probably. I spent the night with Krishnaji.’

The twenty-sixth of January. ‘I spent the night with Krishnaji in the hospital. He had many awakenings but spoke of meditation having been present. I barely dozed, waiting to help him, watching the pattern, like Sanskrit, of his heartbeat on the monitor. Life becomes that beat. The rise and fall of his breathing. He is alive and so all the ugliness, the violence, the wretchedness of the world seems held at bay by that small body and its vastness of spirit. He is, as always, infinitely beautiful. He turned his head this morning and looked out the window where he could just see the hills, and his face seemed suddenly thirty years old. Dr. Deutsch found him well this morning. The jaundice is gone and he has gained two-and-a-half pounds on the IV hyperalimentation.

Yesterday, Krishnaji said almost to himself, “What have I done wrong?…I’ve tried to take care of the body,” which tore me apart as if it was his fault. How can life be so cruel to this man? Later he said that he’d had a long meditation in the night.’

January twenty-seventh. ‘To the hospital early. Krishnaji said to me, “I want to tell you something. It is hard to find words. You must have an insight into it. I will die, and I want to leave you something. In India they are too quick to think they understand these things. I am skeptical. One must be. But Americans are immature. You must just listen without trying to understand. I feel it is something more vast than one can ever put into words.”’
‘Krishnaji had a CT scan that showed a three-inch mass in his liver but cannot show if it is malignant. Dr. Deutsch wants to do a liver biopsy tomorrow. Krishnaji is still running a fever and is on antibiotics and hyperalimentation. Parchure stayed in the hospital with Krishnaji. I slept at home.’
The twenty-eighth of January. Krishnaji is feeling stronger, and he talked to me most of the morning about how I should live when he is gone. He says he will probably live until the end of February. “You must not grieve as you did before. You must be strong. You have a lot of work to do. You reflect me.” All the tests so far indicate cancer, but not exactly where. Around lunchtime a liver biopsy was attempted but failed. It was thought it would not be painful, but it was. Krishnaji winced, and the needle missed the tumor and was discontinued. It was a mistake and should not have been done, as he was disturbed and restless afterwards. He had been so much stronger in the morning. I stayed with him till late, but he insisted I sleep at home. “It is alright. The pain pushed ‘it' (‘the other’) away but ‘it’ wants to come back. It is beginning to come back.” I said to him, “You told me this morning do not let him slip away.” Krishnaji replied, “Nothing will happen tonight. I know what I’m talking about. You must rest. When I’m home, you will have a lot to do. I don’t know why ‘it’ wants to come back.”’
‘In the morning he had also said, “It is strange: ‘the other’ doesn’t want to 'let go' of the body. The last two nights ‘the other’ has taken control.” And then he said to me, “I want you to live as when I was your companion. Go to Brockwood. The West Wing is yours. I have said this before.” And in the afternoon, he said, “I wonder why ‘the other’ is not finished with the body.” And then, with humor, he said, “Who was it that said, ‘I cannot imagine a world without me?’” …

January twenty-ninth. ‘Krishnaji had a restless night. Dr. Deutsch gave him a steroid for strength and talked to him about what he, Krishnaji, wanted. It was a bad day. Pain came again. Krishnaji asked, “Can I last till they come?” meaning the three he has sent for from India, Dr. Krishna, Radhika, and Maheshji. In the evening, Dr. Deutsch persuaded him to try a catheter and then he slept undisturbed all night. Deutsch said that…some test C19 The normal reading of this test is 0 to 40. Krishnaji’s is 105,000. That is the final piece of knowledge. Krishnaji will go home tomorrow. He said to me, “There is so much love and so much pain in the air.”’ That was the deciding day. That was the end of the hospital. Nothing could be done. He could go home.

January thirtieth. Krishnaji came home in an ambulance through heavy rain. “I feel better here,” he said when he was in his room again. And soon he began to read in his Golden Treasury. And then Paul Theroux, The Consul File.’
‘He wanted something to eat, and I brought him some clear soup and a little homemade ice cream. Later he had tea and asked for a sandwich, “with a little green,”  meaning watercress and “something tasty,” tomatoes. But it was a mistake and later there were gas pains. He asked too for music, “something gay.” Pavarotti singing Neapolitan songs was chosen, and for a bewildering time the house rang with Napoli. In the afternoon, he talked a little about a responsible group to hold the three Foundations together and see to the teachings. Later, there was pain again in his stomach. It was a hard night until 2:30 a.m., when he slept. He had said to me, “Don’t be unhappy” and “Maria, will it be this all night? I want to go.”’

January thirty-first. ‘Krishnaji was in almost a stupor when Dr. Deutsch telephoned. He thought it was the effect of the morphine and came at 2:30 p.m. to see Krishnaji and counteract the morphine. Krishnaji was better. Dorothy, Jane Hammond, Mary, and Joe arrived from London.

The first of February. ‘Krishnaji was weak, sleeping most of the morning. He barely spoke when Pupul, Radhika, Asit, and Dr. Krishna came in briefly in the morning. But he was free of pain and very lucid at 2 p.m. when Deutsch came, and Krishnaji then saw Radhika and Dr. Krishna, two of the four he had summoned. Deutsch answered Asit’s questions. All are in agreement for giving whatever Krishnaji wants to help the pain and sleep. In the evening Krishnaji slept without morphine or sleep medicine.

The second of February. ‘Krishnaji slept without morphine or sleep tablets and was alert and without pain all day. He talked to me about being strong when he is gone; that I reflect him; and that I must live the way that I have lived with him. Deutsch came to see him in the morning, and Pupul came to meet Dr. Deutsch. Krishnaji saw, in the course of the day, Pupul, Mary Links, Radhika, Dr. Krishnaji, Asit, Mary Cadogan, Erna, Dorothy, and Jane Hammond.’ And there’s also a lot that can be added to your diary entries about what Krishnaji was talking to people about and things like that.

February third , 1986. ‘Krishnaji was without pain. He held a meeting on publication matters with representatives of all three Foundations. Only England is to correct his works. Pupul was not there, but her certain opposition was expressed. Krishnaji has energy but wants “to go.” He said he had a marvelous meditation in the night. In the afternoon, in a wheelchair, we took him outside, down the path to the pepper tree, where he could see the hills. He asked to be alone there and sat motionless and silent and then asked to return indoors.

the fourth of February: ‘Krishnaji slept quite well. Dr. Deutsch came to see him, and they talked at length. Deutsch says he is in an upswing, a possible remission. He said that Krishnaji could be the way he was for some time—possibly be able to write or dictate, but that if he worsened, he would not let Krishnaji be in pain. He got him up into that kind of wheelchair and into the living room. After Gary left, Krishnaji decided to walk on his own back to bed and did.’ I remember that. He was shivering afterward. ‘Parchure massaged his legs and feet.’

The fifth of February. ‘In the morning Krishnaji spoke to a group: Pupul, Radhika, Asit, Krishna, Maheshji (just arrived), Dr. Parchure, Mary L., Mary C., Jane Hammond, Erna, Theo, Mark Lee, and David Moody. “As long as the body lives, I am still the Teacher.” He wept. In the afternoon, he spoke alone with Dr. Krishna and Maheshji and recorded his wish that no one be president or secretary of the Foundations who is not doing that primarily—not people who have other jobs. He walked from the bed to the living room. On the sofa off the fireplace, he sat for half an hour and walked back unaided.’

February sixth. ‘Krishnaji slept through the night but had nine awakenings during the evening. He talked to me in the early morning, “Who are your friends? I want you to be looked after when I’m gone. K has protected you, but he can’t when he’s gone. I love you and want you to be protected. You must be careful. You must drive as if I was sitting beside you. Who will go to Huntsman with you?” ‘“Will you and Mary lunch at Fortnum’s? I have been your companion. We’ve done things together. I want you to be looked after. You must go to Paris, the Dordogne, on holiday to Switzerland. You must use the money in the Teacher’s Trust, it is yours. I give it to you to use as you choose. Have you enough money? You mustn’t go to India anymore. India is bad for you. I love you, and K loves you. That is why I’m telling you this.”’
‘His voice was high, and he cried when he said some of these things. I couldn’t control a rain in myself. A little later he saw Mary and Joe alone and apparently asked them to look after me. Pupul and Maheshji sat in the living room, she waiting to see Krishnaji. But after his bath, he wanted me to clean his hair with a hot washrag, dry it, massage in it the Biokosma lotion’—that’s his hair tonic. ‘which he rubbed in himself. He is caring for his hair as he always has, but he said, “I’m becoming a zombie, having to let people do all these things for me.”’

‘Pupul had gone when all this was done. I am sitting by his bedside. It is around noon, and he sleeps. Earlier he spoke of walking such a short time ago in Madras. ‘I like to see air,’ he said. I asked or said that perhaps one of these days we might be able to drive to the beach in the car early in the morning. He said, “I have been watching the dawn, a new day beginning. It is good to watch the dawn.”
‘Later, lying on his side, looking out at the sunlight and wind in the trees, he said, “What a beautiful day.” The large eyes seemed all-seeing as always for a few minutes then folded, with the long dark lashes covering them.”’ He had extraordinary eyelashes, and I go on about it because I once asked him, “Krishnaji, don’t you need dark glasses?” And he said “No.” He said, “I can’t wear them because my eyelashes are too long.”
3 p.m. Mary and Joe have just come to say goodbye.’ I was writing while sitting with him. ‘They fly back to London tonight. Krishnaji’s nephew, Narayan’s brother, Krishna’—that’s the name of Narayan’s brother—‘came to see him briefly. Then around 6 p.m., unexpectedly, Gary Deutsch came soon after Krishnaji had wanted to walk to the living room but had been too weak, so we took him on that wheelchair. He sat by the fire in the living room for about forty-five minutes. Gary found him weaker and ordered full Surex for sleep instead of a half-dose. He may try an internal catheter on Saturday.’ I don’t seem to have written it here, but when Mary and Joe said goodbye and went to the car and I went with them to wave them goodbye—when I came back, Krishnaji wanted to know what kind of a car it was.

February seventh. ‘Krishnaji slept with a full Surex pill and only three awakenings in the night. He watched the light on the hills. He said, “A fresh new morning. I looked for the old brain.”’
‘Then I said, “Did you find it?”’
‘He replied, “Only a little.”’
‘Me: “Did meditation come in the night?”’
‘He shook his head. “The sleep was too deep,” he said. Later he said, “You have been very sweet to me. You are the only person very close to me. You must be with me till the very last, till they put the body in the incinerator, with me till the end of my life.” His voice was weak.

Asit, Dr. Krishna, Jane, and Dorothy are leaving today. They came to say goodbye. Krishnaji has begun to have pain. Morphine relieved it. He spoke on the cassette about the energy and intelligence that has gone through the body for seventy years.’ That was that day. ‘He was too weak to get up in the afternoon.’
The eighth. ‘Krishnaji at 4:30 a.m. told me I must walk, so I went around the block at 6:30 a.m. with Erna. Dr. Deutsch came to see Krishnaji, who talked to him at some length, “as a friend, not a doctor.” Higher alimentation with a pump machine was started. Krishnaji saw Sarjit Siddoo briefly, Pupul, and Radhika. Pupul is not leaving tomorrow but is moving to Grohe’s. Krishnaji woke up five times in the night.

February ninth. ‘Krishnaji saw briefly Mary Cadogan, then Pupul, Radhika, and Maheshji. Radhika later left to see her daughter, Sunanda. Gary Deutsch came around lunchtime. He gave Krishnaji a more permanent catheter, and Krishnaji then wanted to go in the living room, so we brought him in that little contraption, his wheelchair.

The tenth. ‘Krishnaji slept better with the catheter. He sent me on an early morning walk. Pupul, now staying at the Grohe’s, came with Maheshji. Krishnaji was in the living room on the sofa. She stayed briefly. Krishnaji was able to stand and to get in and out of the wheelchair. He spent the whole day in the living room. At 10 p.m. he had pain and morphine.’
The eleventh. ‘Krishnaji slept but restlessly. After a bath, I washed his hair in bed then he wanted to go into the living room, where he stayed all day. Pupul and the Grohes came by briefly. Also Maheshji. Lailee telephoned. I rang Vanda. Dr. Deutsch came in the afternoon and stayed a long time and took blood samples. Krishnaji had only one morphine in the night at 7 p.m.’

February twelfth. ‘Last night Krishnaji had pain. At 7 p.m. he took morphine, which quieted it, and he slept the rest of the night. The nurse, Patrick Linville, said he was amazed at Krishnaji’s strength in being able to stand for moments. This morning Krishnaji was clear, maybe because of no Surex sleeping pill. He asked me to file his nails. He did his teeth and face. He wanted to be in the living room again, so I moved him in there, but within minutes his stomach bothered him and he had to come back to bed.His fever went to 103, but Tylenol brought it down. By phone, Deutsch ordered a resumption of Rocephin, the antibiotic
Krishnaji was too weak to see Pupul when she came from Grohe’s with Maheshji. Later Krishnaji told me to tell her, “Don’t wait around, he has gone for a walk in the hills.”

‘Gary Deutsch came in the afternoon. Krishnaji had said half an hour earlier to me, “I want to go. I want to die.” And when I could only say, “I know, I know,” he said, “You say you know, but you don’t do anything.”’ I didn’t know what he meant by that. ‘If he gets antibiotics now, it only prolongs his time a little until the next fall in the state of his body. I suggested Deutsch talk to Krishnaji, who was quite lucid, and ask him his wishes. This he did.’ ‘Deutsch came back and said that Krishnaji had understood. He doesn’t want to go on as he is and said, “Do what you think is right.” So what seems right to us was not to bring all extreme ways of medicine to prolong his life, with death inevitable, but to continue the IV feeding, relieve pain, fever, nausea; then the natural death that Krishnaji had spoken of earlier will come about on its own time. Krishnaji seemed satisfied when told this. I sat holding his hand a long time, and he had me press my hand on his stomach in the evening.’ He felt it relieved the pain somehow.

‘He asked what was going on in the world, “What is the gossip?” and we turned on the evening news with Dan Rather. Sharansky has been freed by the Soviets and was tumultuously welcomed in Israel. “The Soviets are cruel people,” said Krishnaji. Deutsch had said the results of the blood tests yesterday do not show much difference from when he was in the hospital. I told Pupul this on the telephone, as talk of a hemorrhage in the morning had alarmed her. She said she has decided to leave on Sunday. Asit and Radhika, who are returning here, will do the same. Those who most care about him seem to feel this way.

The thirteenth. ‘There were two-and-a-half inches of rain in the night, and it began again in the afternoon. Krishnaji had a second morphine around 11 p.m. last night, but it failed to help with sleep, and the nurse gave him Surex at 1 a.m. I got up soon after 3:30 a.m.,, and I carried him in a hammock of sheets to the couch in front of the living room fire.

Maheshji, Pupul, and the Grohes came briefly to see him. Krishnaji told Pupul he was sorry he didn’t see her yesterday. “He was off in the hills all day.” He looked all beauty lying there. He had me read to him from the Paul Theroux’s story. but then switched to the newspapers. He had a fit of shivering, then fever. Tylenol broke the fever, and then there was sweat. We carried him back to bed. Parchure massaged him, and he fell asleep. In the living room he had suddenly said, “Do you remember the place in Holland? The ducks. How each day there were fewer of the baby ducks.”’ ‘He was thinking of the place where we used to walk near the thatched farmhouse in 1967. A very happy time. Later he said, “I am very fortunate.” Yesterday he asked me obliquely—the nurse was present—“I suppose you haven’t heard from 'that person'. Meaning Rajagopal. We never heard one word from those people.

February fourteenth: ‘Krishnaji slept without pill or morphine till 2 a.m., but at 4 a.m. the pain returned. A new nurse, gave morphine. In the ten minutes it took to work, he had me press on his stomach. “Too good to be true. Sorrow, I thought I’d lost you.”
The high voice groaned with pain and the low voice came in, “Don’t make such a fuss about it.” At 4:20 a.m., he said the pain was gone and I must go to sleep another two hours.’ At one point, when he had me press on his stomach, I must have said, “Can’t you heal yourself?” you know, the pain. And he said, “Put your hand, and I’ll put my hand on your hand,” so mine gave the pressure, and his hand would do whatever it did. Of course, it didn’t work for the pain. ‘We took him again in a hammock of sheets to the living room, where the fire burned beautifully and outside the heavy rain fell. We were having a big, big storm, and I was afraid we would lose electricity, so I have rented generators and rigged them so that if there was a power failure he would still have light and warmth in his room, and the infusion pump to his vein will carry on.

We had carried him back to bed when Gary Deutsch came in to see how he was and to bring him a bunch of Clint Eastwood films he had taped. He ordered light morphine, one milligram, to be given routinely while Krishnaji is in pain because Krishnaji admitted to me this morning that the pain doesn’t come all at once but builds up before he lets us know it is there. If this amount is insufficient and pain occurs, more can be given. He also changed the sleeping prescription from Surex to Restoril. This Krishnaji took at 8 p.m.’

nurses to get through. Will you let them get through? And they did. ‘Deutsch came and talked alone with Krishnaji about his illness.’
The fifteenth. ‘Krishnaji slept through the stormy night.
Pupul and Asit came in the morning while Gary Deutsch was here. Deutsch came with slides of Yosemite for Krishnaji to look at. For a while he did but fell asleep, and Deutsch left, not before talking to Pupul, Asit, Erna, and Theo. Pupul leaves tomorrow morning. She saw Krishnaji in the afternoon, and so did Radhika, who had arrived this morning from Philadelphia. She, too, leaves tomorrow for India. Asit asked me if it was all right for him to stay for as long as Krishnaji lives. He will stay at Grohe’s. He said he felt he could no more leave then if his father were dying. I said of course; he should stay if he wished and is welcome to come to the house whenever he likes. Also he can use the gray car. All this goes on, and I keep moving, but there are times when I want to cry until my eyes are washed away and my heart dissolved. Krishnaji asked me to wash his hair; clean it with a hot towel—a hot washrag, brush it, and in the evening massage almond oil into his scalp. This evening I stood doing this, behind the top of the bed, holding in my hand, this warm, beautiful head that holds the brain that is the light of this world. It is there, alive, marvelous, beyond any knowing. The source of his teaching is an endless giving. My hands, when he said the massage was enough, held the scent of his aliveness, a perfume. The last time Deutsch was here, that they were talking alone and when we came in, Krishnaji was telling him about knowledge, intelligence, compassion, and what 'love' is. His voice was rather high, and he paused with the effort. But he kept on. It was his last teaching.’ That’s the end of the big book. And as Dr. Deutsch had said, he felt he was Krishnaji’s last pupil.

‘Krishnaji didn’t want to go to the living room. He remained in bed and watched part of an Eastwood movie brought by Gary Deutsch but was tired and stopped it and slept by 8.’
February sixteenth: ‘Krishnaji woke at 3 a.m. with pain in the abdomen. Morphine was changed to a drip. In spite of the morphine, Krishnaji was clear. Pupul came to say goodbye before lunch and left after for a flight to London. Radhika had left earlier in the morning. Deutsch thought there was a hemorrhage in the liver that was causing the pain. Restoril for sleep was taken at 7 p.m. The pain lessened, and Krishnaji slept, but it became a coma. Deutsch came at 11 p.m. and Krishnaji ‘s breathing…he was breathing only three times a minute.

The seventeenth: ‘With Dr. Deutsch, Scott, and I beside him, Krishnaji’s heart stopped beating at ten minutes past midnight. Scott and I and Dr. Parchure bathed his body, wrapped it in a cadi silk and an Italian embroidered linen sheet. He lay on his own bed which was in his sitting room till 8 a.m. when I rode beside him to the crematorium in Ventura.’

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