Krishnamurti & the Art of Awakening
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Sun, 12 Feb 2017 #391
Thumb_stringio Jess S Portugal 11 posts in this forum Offline

John Raica wrote:
Being 'alone' would imply taking the present moment 'as is'- which does actually happen

That's also one more aspect of meditation, I would say, and the other crucial ingredient is silence, all these integrate being alone. Krishnamurti tells us about this inner silence like this (taken from the book Meditations): 'As you watched, a great stillness came into you. The brain itself became very quiet, without any reaction, without a movement, and it was strange to feel this immense stillness. 'Feel' isn't the word. The quality of that silence, that stillness, is not felt by the brain, it is beyond the brain. The brain can conceive, formulate or make a design for the future, but this stillness is beyond its range, beyond all imagination, beyond all desire. You are so still that your body becomes completely part of the earth, part of everything that is still'. It's interesting that this excerpt could feel like a beautiful piece of poetry if it didn't introduce the idea of the brain... Probably Krishnamurti is always concerned about expurgating his text of any tinge of sentimentality though I don't think Krishnamurti really knew much about what is happening to the brain itself and it doesn't matter at all. But when Krishnamurti says 'as you watched...' immediately we understand that there is in all this deep awareness.

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Sun, 12 Feb 2017 #392
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 505 posts in this forum Offline

Here are a few interesting pages from Mrs Pupul Jayakar's most remarkable book "Krishnamurti, a biography':

(The year is 1948 ) Although Krishnamurti was resting and in retreat, the news of his presence in Ootacamund had spread rapidly.
Jawaharlal Nehru, now the prime minister of India, was in Ootacamund, and I got a message from his secretary that the prime minister would like to call on Krishnamurti. But the problems of arranging for security were found to be tiresome, and so Krishnaji went to see him instead at Government House. Maurice Friedman and I accompanied him, and were present during the meeting in the prime minister’s private sitting room. There was an open fire, and large bowls of carnations were placed on the tables. Krishnaji and Nehru sat on a sofa facing the fire, while Friedman and I sat on chairs on the side of the sofa. The flames lit the two noble Brahminic heads, their chaste, finely drawn faces—one from the Northern highlands, the other born amongst the most ancient Southern rocks of Andhra. The faces were sculptured, sensitive, with fine translucent skin that accentuated the bones and heightened mobility—the eyes of the seer encompassing vast distances, emanating compassion and silence; the other with the swift, nervous energy of an arrow. Nehru was a romantic, a man of action, with a highly cultivated intellect; concerned, committed, restless, seeking the unknown within the tangle of political adjustments.*

Both men were shy, hesitant. It took some time for them to establish contact. Jawaharlal Nehru started the conversation by saying that he had met Krishnaji many years earlier, and that he had often thought of what he had said. He had been anxious to meet Krishnamurti again. Achyut Patwardhan and other friends had spoken to Nehru at length on the profound work Krishnamurti was doing in Madras and Bombay. Nehru appeared anguished at the massacres and violence that had erupted after partition and independence. He spoke of it at length; he saw the two forces operating in India, the thrust for good and evil. These forces were in conflict; if the good could not contain the spread of evil, the world would perish. Krishnamurti said good and evil were always present; while it was more difficult for the good and the compassionate to function, evil was waiting for a crack in which it could gain a foothold. It needed a great awakeness and awareness to ensure that evil could not enter and gain strength. To be awake and aware, said K, was what would sustain man.
Jawaharlal Nehru asked Krishnamurti whether his teaching had changed over the years since they had last met. Krishnaji said it had, but he could not say exactly where and how. Nehru then spoke of what Krishnamurti had to say on transformation. He felt there were two ways in which transformation could be accomplished. By the individual transforming himself and so transforming his environment, and by the environment working on and transforming the individual. At this Krishnamurti intervened, “Isn’t that the same? The two could not be said to be separate processes.” Nehru agreed. He was groping, trying to express the desperation he felt at the state of the chaos in the world and what had happened in India in recent months. Greatly troubled and not knowing which way to turn, he started to question in depth his own thoughts and actions.

“Tell me, sir,” he asked Krishnaji, “I wish to be clear of this confusion within me. Tell me what is right action and what is right thought.” To us who listened it was the perennial question of the awake Indian mind.

There was silence for over three minutes. We were discovering that the silences that surrounded Krishnaji in dialogue formed part of communication; a silence of the mind in which distances between the minds diminished so that there was direct mind-to-mind contact and communication.

Then Krishnamurti spoke slowly, pausing at every word. “Right action is only possible when the mind is silent and there is a seeing of ‘what is.’ Action that arises from this seeing is free of motive, of the past, free of thought and cause.” He then said that it was difficult to go into this vast problem in a short time. Jawaharlal Nehru was listening deeply, his mind appeared fresh and sensitive, capable of receiving and responding. Krishnaji leaned forward, his hands eloquent. He said that with the growing chaos in India and the world, man could only start the process of regeneration with himself. He had to begin anew. For the world to be saved, a few individuals had to free themselves of the factors that were corrupting and destroying the world. They had deeply to transform themselves, to think creatively and so transform further people. It was from the ashes that the new had to rise.

“Like Phoenix from the ashes,” said Nehru.

“Yes,” replied Krishnaji, “for there to be life there must be death. The ancients understood this and that is why they worshipped life, love, and death.”

Krishnaji then spoke of the chaos of the world being a projection of individual chaos. The human mind caught in the past, in time as thought, was a dead mind. Such a mind could not operate on chaos, could only add to the
confusion. Man had to free himself from time as becoming, the projection into the tomorrow. He had to act in the “now” and so transform himself.

The seer and the hero politician spoke for over an hour and a half. The evening sky had darkened and the evening star had sunk behind the horizon, when we came out of the room. The prime minister saw us to the car and there was affection and grace in the parting. They promised to meet again in the winter, when Krishnaji was to be in Delhi. Later Krishnaji recorded these observations:

He was a very famous politician, realistic, intensely sincere and ardently patriotic. Neither narrow minded nor self-seeking, his ambition was not for himself, but for an idea and for the people. He was not a mere eloquent tub-thumper or vote-catcher; he had suffered for his cause and, strangely, was not bitter; he seemed more of a scholar than a politician. But politics was the breath of his life and party obeyed him, though rather nervously. He was a dreamer, but he had put all that aside for politics.

Toward the end of May certain ( very strange ?) incidents occurred which cast light on the secret mystical life of Krishnamurti.

In August 1922 in Ojai, when Krishnaji was undergoing a violent (process of spiritual ) awakening, he had two trusted friends with him. This was so on most such occasions in his life, and the emphasis on the two people is not accidental. From Krishnaji’s early years, Annie Besant had insisted that two people be with Krishnaji all the time, to protect the body. The protection of the body of the sage when it is undergoing mystical processes of mutation and transference of consciousness, was deeply rooted in Indian mystical tradition. The body at this time is immensely sensitive, vulnerable, and empty of all ego sense.

The incidents at Ooty extended over a period of three weeks, from around May 28 or 29 1948 to June 20. They took place in Krishnaji’s room at Sedgemoor. My sister Nandini and I were present. It was embarrassing for Nandini and me. Maurice Friedman had undoubtedly explained to Shanta Rao and Miss Petit something of what was happening, familiar as he was with the secret mystical traditions of the sages of this land. Anyway, there was nothing we could do.
It began on an evening when Krishnaji had been for a walk with us. He started to say that he was not feeling well, and could we go home. When we asked whether he wanted to see a doctor, he said, “No, it is not that.” He would not explain further. When we got home he went to his room, telling Friedman that on no account was he to be disturbed; but he asked Nandini and me to come into the room. He closed the door and then told us not to be afraid, whatever happened, and on no account to call a doctor. He asked us both to sit quietly and watch him. There was to be no fear. We were not to speak to him, not to revive him, but to close his mouth if he fainted. On no account were we to leave the body alone.

Although I had been swept away by my meeting with K, I had a skeptical mind and observed very intently the events as they took place.
Krishnaji appeared to be in extreme pain. He complained of severe toothache and an intense pain at the nape of the neck, the crown of the head, and in the spine.
In the midst of the pain he would say, “They are cleansing the brain, oh, so completely, emptying it.” At other times he would complain of great heat, and his body would perspire profusely. The intensity of the pain varied as did the area where it was concentrated. At times the pain was located in the head, in the tooth, the nape of the neck, or the spine. At other times he groaned and held his stomach. Nothing relieved the pain; it came and went at will.
When the process was operating, the body lying on the bed appeared a shell; only a body consciousness appeared to be present. In this state the voice was frail, childlike. Then suddenly the body filled with a soaring presence. Krishnaji would sit up cross-legged, his eyes closed, the fragile body would appear to grow and his presence would fill the room; there was a palpable, throbbing silence and an immense strength that poured into the room and enveloped us. In this state the voice had great volume and depth.

After the first evening he started going for a walk alone in the evenings and used to ask Nandini and me to come later to the house. In the beginning the experiences started at 6 P.M. and were over by 8:30 P.M., but later they sometimes went on until midnight. On days when he had to meet people (Jawaharlal Nehru, for instance), nothing happened. Toward the end the periods grew longer, and on one occasion went on all night. On no occasion did he speak of dirt or express a desire to leave the room as he had done at Ojai, though Sedgemoor was not particularly clean; nor did he speak of disturbing thoughts. On one occasion he asked Nandini to hold his hand, as otherwise he would slip away and not come back.
While he was in the midst of the ordeal, his body would toss on the bed. He would have fits of shivering, would call out for Krishna, and then put his hand to his mouth and say, “I must not call him.”

May 30, 1948:* Krishnamurti was getting ready to go for a walk when suddenly he said he was feeling too weak and not all there. He said, “What a pain I have.” He caught the back of his head and lay down. Within a few minutes the Krishnaji we knew was not there. For two hours we saw him go through intense pain. He said he had a pain in the back of his neck, his tooth was troubling him, his stomach was swollen and hard, and he groaned and pressed down. At times he would shout. He fainted a number of times. When he came to, the first time, he said, “Close my mouth when I faint.”
He kept on saying: “Amma—oh, God, give me peace. I know what they are up to. Call him back. I know when the limit of pain is reached, they will return. They know how much the body can stand. If I become a lunatic, look after me—not that I will become a lunatic. They are very careful with the body. I feel so old. Only a bit of me is functioning. I am like an India rubber toy, which a child plays with. It is the child that gives it life.”

His face throughout the occurrence was worn and wracked with pain. He kept clenching his fists and tears streamed from his eyes. After two hours, he fainted again. When he came to, he said: “The pain has disappeared. Deep inside me I know what has happened. I have been soaked with gasoline. The tank is full.”
He then said he would speak so that he would not think of the pain inside him. “Have you seen the sun and the soft clouds heavy with rain? They pass over the sun and then the rain comes down with a roar on the earth that waits like an open womb. It washes clean. Every flower, every leaf. There is fragrance, a newness. Then the clouds pass and the sun comes out and touches every leaf and every flower. The gentle little flower that is like a young girl that ruthless men destroy. Have you seen the faces of rich men? Hard busy with their stocks and money-making? What do they know of love? Have you ever felt every limb of a tree, touched a leaf, sat by a ragged child? You know when I drove to the aerodrome, I saw a mother washing the buttocks of a child. It was beautiful. Nobody noticed her. All they know is to make money and cesspools of their women. Love to them is sex. To hold a woman’s hand, when she is not a woman, that is love. Do you know what it is to love? You have husbands and children. But how would you know? You cannot hold a cloud in a golden cage.”

He was silent for a time, then said, “This pain makes my body like steel—but, oh, so flexible, so pliant, without a thought. It is like a polishing—an examination.” We enquired whether he couldn’t stop having the pain. He said: “You have had a child. Can you stop it coming when once it starts?” Then: “They are going to have fun with me tonight. I see the storm gathering. Oh, Christos!”
After some time, Maurice brought in some soup and then went out. Krishnaji had the light put on. He had sat up with the legs crossed, body erect. The pain had gone from his face. His eyes were closed. He seemed to grow. We felt tremendous power pour into him. There was a throbbing in the atmosphere. It filled the room. Our eyes and ears were filled with it and with sound, though there was no sound; and every pore of our bodies felt a touch, but there was nothing in the room. Then he opened his eyes and said: “Something happened—did you see anything?” We told him what we had felt. He said: “My face will be different tomorrow.” He lay down and his hand went out in a gesture of fullness. He said, “I will be like a raindrop—spotless.” After a few minutes, he told us he was all right and that we should go home.
June 17, 1948: Krishnaji went out for a walk alone. He asked Nandini and me to wait for him. We sat by the fire and waited. He entered the room as if he were a stranger. He went straight to his table and wrote something in his file. After some time he grew aware of us. He came and sat down near the fire. He asked us what we had been doing and said that he had walked far beyond the Golf Club. There was a flute being played in the distance and he sat silently, listening to it intently. It was only after it stopped that he appeared in that semiconscious state. Twice while we sat there, that tremendous presence filled him. He grew in stature before us. His eyes were half-closed; his face silent and immensely beautiful.

And then he lay on the bed and there was just the body. The voice that came from it was that of a frail child. The Krishnaji we knew was not there. The body of Krishnamurti started saying that he was very hurt inside, that they had burnt him inside; that there was a pain right through his head. He was shivering and started saying that something had happened on the walk. He turned to us and asked, “Did you see him return?” He could not synchronize his body and mind. At time he felt he was still in the woods. “They came and covered him with leaves.” He said, “Do you know, you would not have seen him tomorrow. He nearly did not return.” He kept on feeling his body to see if it was all there. He said, “I must go back and find out what had happened on the walk. Something happened and they rushed back. But, I do not know whether I returned? There may be pieces of me lying on the road.” Twice he got out of bed and made for the door, but lay down again. Later, he went to sleep. When he awoke, he felt himself and stared at his hands.
June 18, 1948: Krishnaji asked us to come at about seven in the evening. He was out. We waited. He came in some time later. He was again the stranger. He wrote something in the book and then came and sat with us. He said: “Thoughts of my talk in Bangalore are pouring in. I am awake again.” He closed his eyes and sat for some time erect, silent. Then he complained of hurt and went and lay down. He said he felt he was burnt. He was crying. “Do you know, I found out what happened on the walk. He came fully and took complete charge. That is why I did not know whether I had returned. I knew nothing.” A little later, “Then in the emptiness, there was a light and a storm and I was tortured that day in the wind. Do you know that emptiness that has no horizon—no limit—it stretches?” His hand moved to show empty space.
Then a little later: “They have burnt me so that there can be more emptiness. They want to see how much of him can come.” Then later: “Do you know emptiness? When there is not a thought? When it is completely empty? But, how could you know? It is this emptiness that brings power—not the power they know, the power of money, the power of position, the power of husband over wife.” He paused. “This is pure power—like that in a dynamo. You know, on the walk I was in an ecstasy. I have never cried like that. As I walked I met a poor man. He saw me crying and thought I had lost a mother or sister. Then he smiled at me and I could not understand.” Suddenly, he said, “I have a thought—time and emptiness—that’s it. I hope I remember when I wake up.”
He started saying that he could not bear it, that he was all burnt inside, hurt. Then suddenly he sat up and said, “Don’t move,” and again we saw him like the other night. His face was in the dark, but the fire leapt up and his shadow lengthened on the wall. All pain had disappeared from the face. His eyes were closed, his body was throbbing, as if some power was entering his body. His face was pulsating. He appeared to grow and fill the room. He sat without movement for about three minutes and then he fainted. He woke up calm and peaceful.

Although the notes we took on the final night are lost, Nandini and I remember the occasion vividly:

Krishnaji had been suffering excruciating pain in his head and neck, his stomach was swollen, tears streamed down his face. He suddenly fell back on the bed and became intensely still. The traces of pain and fatigue were wiped away, as happens in death. Then life and an immensity began to enter the face. The face was greatly beautiful. It had no age, time had not touched it. The eyes opened, but there was no recognition. The body radiated light; a stillness and a vastness illumined the face. The silence was liquid and heavy, like honey; it poured into the room and into our minds and bodies, filling every cell of the brain, wiping away every trace of time and memory. We felt a touch without a presence, a wind blowing without movement. We could not help folding our hands in pranams. For some minutes he lay unmoving, then his eyes opened. After some time, he saw us and said, “Did you see that face?” He did not expect an answer. He lay silently. Then, “The Buddha was here, you are blessed.”
We went back to the hotel, and the silence came with us and enclosed us for the next few days. We were held by a pervading presence. Most of the time we were in the room with Krishnaji, we had no part to play; yet our presence seemed necessary. There was nothing personal in him during the incidents—no emotion, no relationship to us. The ordeal appeared physical, and yet the next day left no trace on his face or body. He was aflame with energy—joyous, eager, and youthful. Not a word he said had psychological overtones. A weight, depth, and strength was present in the silence that permeated the room and the atmosphere on every occasion. When Nandini and I compared notes later, we found that we had both had identical experiences.

In one of his letters to me, K later referred briefly to what had happened. I had asked him one morning what was the reason for the two voices—that of the frail child and the normal voice of Krishnamurti. I said that it looked as if some entity goes out of the body and some entity reenters the body. Krishnamurti said in his letter, “This is not so. It is not that there are two entities.” He said he would talk about it later; but (...) it was to be many years before he spoke of it again.


On my return to Bombay I underwent a very deep and inexplicable experience. My senses, torn from their routine, had exploded. One night as I lay down to sleep I felt the pervading touch of a presence, waiting. I was received and enveloped in a dense embryonic fluid. I was drowning, for I felt my consciousness fading. My body rebelled; it struggled, unable to accept this encompassing embrace, this sense of death. Then the silent presence disappeared. This happened for three nights running. Each time, my body struggled; it resisted this encounter, unable to face this touch of death, which passed as swiftly as it had come, never to return. There was no fear.

I told Krishnaji about it at our next meeting, and he told me to let it be, neither to hold it nor resist it.
Krishnaji had asked us to keep secret what we had witnessed at Ooty. We felt that he did not wish it to confuse the precision, clarity, and directness of the teaching. But by the 1970s Krishnaji himself started talking about it to many of the people close to him. I asked, “Do you think that the physical brain cells, unable to contain or hold the immensity of the energy that was flowing into the brain, had to create the spaces in the brain to sustain it? Did there have to be a physical mutation in the brain cells themselves? Or was it like a laser beam operating on the brain cells to enable them to function fully and so contain the boundless?”

Krishnaji said, “Possibly that was so.” He paused, and then continued. “After Ojai, Leadbeater could not explain the pain, nor could Mrs. Besant. The explanation given by them was that the consciousness of Krishnaji had to be emptied for a fragment of the Maitreya Bodhisattva to use the body.”

When asked whether it was “Maitreya,” he neither said yes nor no. I asked, “Is it that we are witnessing the first mind that is operating fully, totally?”
“Possibly,” K said, “and that is what has to be done with the children here [at the Rishi Valley School].”
Krishnamurti, speaking in 1979 about the happenings in Ooty, said that for him the dividing line between life and death was fragile and tenuous. During the state when the body was a shell, the possibility existed that K could wander away and never come back, or some other elements that wanted to destroy the manifestation could harm the body. Therefore there could be no fear amongst the people near him at the time. Fear attracted evil.

I told him that while he was in those states, only the body was operating; there was an emptiness in the body. The voice was childlike. K said, “Couldn’t you explain the two voices by saying that one was that of the body alone?”

I asked, “Only the body speaking?”
He said, “Why not?”
“Only a shell?” I persisted.
“Yes, why not?” Then K asked me, “Was the voice hysterical?”
I replied, “There was no hysteria.”
“Was it an imaginative state?” he asked.
“How could I know?” I replied.

K asked what would happen the next morning. I said we sometimes went with him for a walk. Krishnaji was alive, fresh. The pain had left no mark, and he appeared to have forgotten what had happened. He laughed a great deal, looked at us quizzically, was affectionate, considerate, overwhelmed us with his presence, and had no answer to our questions. He said he did not know.

That same year, 1979, when K was in Bombay, some of us asked him to explain the phenomenon of the face changing. He said, “Many years ago I awoke and there was the face beside me. There was the face that K’s face was becoming. This face was with me all the time, happily. The face was extraordinary, highly cultured, refined.” He spoke as if his words related to another being. “And one day the face was no longer there.”

“Had it become one with K?” I asked.

K said he did not know. He also spoke of the need of the body to be protected. Nothing ugly should take place around it while K was away, nothing evil. In that state the body was defenseless, all kinds of elements wanted to destroy it. “When there is good, there is also the other.”
He was asked whether evil could take over his body when it was empty. His “no” was absolute.
“Then what could evil do? Destroy the manifestation?”
“Yes,” K said, “that is why there has to be love. When there is love there is protection.”

K also said that it was possible that the pain and what took place was necessary, as the brain was not ready. Traces of immaturity remained, the brain cells were not large enough to receive the energy. “When the energy comes pouring in and the brain is not capable of holding it, then that energy feels it has to polish it up. It may be its own activity.”

Speaking further of the need for two people to be with the body, K said, “Where there is love there is protection. Hatred permits evil to enter.”
When asked where does the consciousness of K go, he replied, “I have asked myself what happens when there is no movement of the brain.” After some time he continued. “It ceases completely. Only when it has to manifest it comes. It ceases to exist when it is not there. Has air any place, has light any place? Air is enclosed and so it is there. Break the enclosure, it is everywhere.”

He seemed hesitant to probe further. He said that he should not probe further. “You can ask,” he said, “and I will reply. But I cannot ask.”

This post was last updated by John Raica Sun, 12 Feb 2017.

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Wed, 15 Feb 2017 #393
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 505 posts in this forum Offline

Here are a few remarkable K quotes collected by Mrs Pupul Jayakar & friends in her remarkable "K Biography". This is how he was adressing his closest associates:

In 1950 to the young (then) Mrs Nandini Mehta :

Stand alone. If you have acted out of the depths of self-knowing because you feel in yourself that what you have done is right, then throw yourself on life. Its water will hold you, carry you, and sustain you. But if you have been influenced, then God help you. The guru has disappeared.”

Same year to Mrs Pupul Jayakar:
He looked at me a long time and then he asked, “Are you trying to protect me?” He then raised his two arms in a significant gesture. “There are far greater beings who protect me.

Same year to his small discussion group:

Let us see whether we can stay in the pause between two thoughts. In silence what is there to experience? Silence can only experience silence. Can silence leave an imprint?”
“There is an experience of silence and the mind remembers the feel, the perfume, the essence; how does the mind remember? ( The self-) consciousness is ( created by ?) the thought of the moment before, or the moment after. Thought is always of the moment before or or of many moments before. Thought is the result of a stimulus. We live in cause and effect, constantly rearranging them. We reject our background, our past of yesterday and of thousands of years, without being even aware that the past we reject is an aspect that lies deep within. And so the background remains undiscovered and is always in conflict, in contradiction.

“Do we see that our consciousness is never in ‘the now’, that it is always a projection, a backward or forward movement? That it is never in the present. The ( experiential) understanding of the ‘now’ can never be through thought, through ( the self-centred ?) consciousness,”

What is the state of the mind when it sees this? The ( self-identified ?) mind cannot understand the Now, which is the New. It is a fact, like a wall is a fact. What happens when you see as a fact that the mind cannot understand the ‘now?’ What is the state of your mind?”

It is silent—thought has ceased ? I offered.

What happens when the mind sees the fact that thought has ceased and yet there is movement, a freedom? I see it and thought has ceased, and yet I hear your voice, a sensory perception continues. Mind as thought is not there and yet sensory perception continues, is present. Only (the self-) identification has ceased.”

The next morning we again discussed consciousness.

First comes the layer of everyday activity—eating, going to the office, drinking, meeting people, the conditioned habits that operate automatically. It is obviously a static (steady ?) state that conforms to a pattern.

When one’s ( comfortable) routines are disturbed, this surface layer ceases for an instant and what is below reveals itself. For convenience we will call this the second layer (of course, since consciousness is nonspatial, it cannot be accurate to use terms indicating layer or level). The thinking that emerges from this layer is still conditioned memory, but it is not as automatic as the surface layer. It is more active, more elastic; it has more nuances. Here thought need not conform so completely to ( the generally accepted) patterns, it has more vitality. The next layer is conditioned by ( personal ?) likes, dislikes, choosing, judging, identifying. Here there is the sense of the ego's (reality) established and in focus.
Next come the unconscious memories of the individual and the collective, the tendencies, the forces, the urges, the racial instincts; this is the whole network
of desire, the matrix of desire.
There is an extraordinary movement here. The ego is still functioning—ego as (self-identified) desire moving in its patterns of cause and effect, the ego as desire that continues, the ego with its unconscious tendencies that reincarnate.
Is there anything further? Is it that the 'known' dimension has ended? Is this the bedrock of of the ego? Is this the structure of consciousness of the mind and its content?

Someone asked, “What sustains it?

Krishnaji was silent. After a few moments, he said, “Its own movement, its own functioning. What lies below? How can one proceed, go beyond the matrix?

“Shut off the mind?” said Rao.

Seeing the fact of consciousness—not the word, not the theory, but the fact of it—is not an ending possible? Again, whatever I do to move toward the 'other' (inward dimension of consciousness) is of effort and so destroys it. I cannot desire it. I can do nothing except be (non-personal or ?) "indifferent" to it. And concern myself with (understanding ?) the ego, with what I am and my problems.( continued next morning )

Can we go into consciousness again? Yesterday we had gone into it from the point on the periphery to the center. It was like going down a funnel. Could we today go from the center to the point on the periphery? Could we move from the inward out? Could we approach consciousness from the center?

But is there really a center?” asked Rao.

The center is only (becoming self-conscious ?) when ( the routinely life of the ?) periphery is agitated. The 'center' is formed as a point on the periphery. These peripheral points are one’s name, one’s property, one’s wife, fame. These points are constantly being strengthened. There is movement all the time at the peripheral points. There is a constant fear of the breaking of these points.

“Can I live without the formation of centers?” asked Rao.

“If I start from the center, to investigate, where is the center from which to start? There is no center, but only the field (of the known) . Except for the periphery (identification) there is no center. The (safety) fences to this field create the center. I only know the center because of the fence, the periphery. The fences are the points of ( self-centred) attention, the limits that create the center. Remove these fences. Where is the center?

“Can one remove the fences?” I queried.

“If you move in the ( mind's ) field, in the non-center, there is no (interference of) memory. See what happens as you move from field towards fence. As you approach the fence,( the personal) memory begins (to awaken) .

“So far we have been thinking from the periphery to the center. The thinking from this (non-center) must be totally different. I have to get used to the movement from within towards the periphery.”

“What happens to the points?” I asked.

“It is like slipping under and through the fences. The fences no longer matter. What we do, however, is to
jump immediately into the periphery, into the habitual. I cannot form a habit of that which has no center.

“To go (introspectively) from the periphery to the center is to stick to the center. When attention becomes (self-) identified it becomes the point. Thinking in habit is the movement of the periphery. The more I stay in the (non-centred mind ?) field, I see there is no ( egotistic) center.”

This post was last updated by John Raica Wed, 15 Feb 2017.

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Thu, 16 Feb 2017 #394
Thumb_stringio Jess S Portugal 11 posts in this forum Offline

John Raica wrote:
What is the state of the mind when it sees this? The ( self-identified ?) mind cannot understand the Now, which is the New. It is a fact, like a wall is a fact. What happens when you see as a fact that the mind cannot understand the ‘now?’ What is the state of your mind?”

The way I understand this is that the now is the new and because it is recognised as new you are silent, because if it is new there is no background for it... But this sequence doesn't seem to me other than thought. Of course we come across just in everyday life with things we cannot recognise, but it doesn't follow that we become silent inside because of that... probably more often than not the mind just wants to find a way how to face what is new. What I see here is that being confronted with what you don't know is not enough for you to become silent inside and here it doesn't even seem to be as mandatory that 'you don't know' in order to get into silence.
I was looking the other day at testimonies of some action in the context of meditation more in the sense of the transformation of the brain cells as presented for example by the integral yoga of Sri Aurobindo, but I came across the following 'transcendental' experience of the Mother, which I think she called the Supramental Manifestation on Earth: 'This evening, the Divine Presence, concrete and material, was there present amongst you. I had a form of living gold, bigger than the universe, and I was facing a huge and massive golden door which separated the world from the Divine. As I looked at the door, I knew and willed in a single movement of consciousness that the time had come and lifting with both hands a mighty golden hammer I struck one blow, one single blow on the door and the door was shattered to pieces. Then the supramental light and force and consciousness rushed down upon earth in an uninterrupted flow'. And this is the Mother's exlanation on the event: 'You will hardly understand what I have written, but try to keep your mind quiet and receive it. Of course there was no need for any verbal formulation as far as I was concerned. In order to put it into words for others I wrote everything down. But always, in writing, a realisation, a state of consciousness, gets limited: the very act of expression narrows the reality to a certain extent. What happened on February 29, 1956, is not so much a vision or an experience as something done. During the Evening Meditation on the playground I went up into the Supermind and saw that something had to be done and did it. (...) When I came down from the Supermind after that flood of light had swept all over the universe, I thought that since the outpour was so stupendous everybody who had been sitting before me in the playground would be lying flat. But on opening my eyes I saw everyone still sitting up quietly: they seemed perfectly unconscious of what had happened.' This statement is very interesting from different perspectives and there is always the question of what really is lacking so that transformation takes place.

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Fri, 17 Feb 2017 #395
Thumb_stringio Jess S Portugal 11 posts in this forum Offline

John Raica wrote:
Probably in K's case we should bear in mind that he meant the new in the transformational sense (something like 'being born again

Hello, John!
Not always and I think in the passage you chose he was simply giving an example of how the mind responds when confronted with something unknown, generally. Of course the mind cannot respond immediately because there is no background for it and there is this fraction of time in which the mind finds no possible solution. I think what he means is just this fraction of time to be held as if it could follow naturally and I think that that is not what generally happens... actually that is one reason why to put aside some time for meditation is right to do, because it will give us mental space to face the untrodden paths of the mind instead of rushing into finding solutions.
As to the episode of the Mother which took place on 29th February, 1956, it's interesting really that what Krishnamurti confides talking to Bohm in the following passage somehow has similarities with the Mother's 'vision': 'K:One night in India I woke up; it was a quarter past twelve, I looked at the watch. And - I hesitate to say this because it sounds extravagant - the source of all energy had been reached. And that had an extraordinary effect on the brain. And also physically. I'm sorry to talk about myself, but, you understand, literally, there was no division at all; no sense of the world, of ¨me¨. You follow? Only this sense of a tremendous source of energy. DB: So, the brain was in contact with this source of energy? K: Yes, and as I have been talking for over sixty years, I would like others to reach this - no, not reach it. You understand what I am saying? All our problems are solved. Because it is pure energy from the very beginning of time. Now how am I - not I, you understand - how is one not to teach, not to help or push, but how is one to say: this way leads to a complete sense of peace, of love?'

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1 day ago #396
Thumb_stringio Jess S Portugal 11 posts in this forum Offline

John Raica wrote:
it must have been some 'timeless event' that concerned the whole consciousness of mankind

Well, this we cannot know, but actually both Krishnamurti and the Mother at times complained that people just carried on with their petty problems and fantasies, always pursuing the old habits of conflict in their relationship with each other and which is turning society into chaos.This light that they experienced brought about all these schools where authority is a banned word and a special care and respect for nature are cherished, but their impact in the world doesn't seem to come out in any way.
Thank you for telling us about your dream on that particular day. Dreams have different sources in our inmost and may expose mental channels of connection, so maybe it was just Krishnamurti's way of saying goodbye.
Just opening Krishnamurti's Notebook at random, I found this very precise statement about meditation: 'Meditation is danger for it destroys everything, nothing whatsoever is left, not even a whisper of desire, and in this vast, unfathomable emptiness there is creation and love.' This 'creation and love' have brought about places like Brockwood Park and Auroville.

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3 hours ago #397
Thumb_stringio Jess S Portugal 11 posts in this forum Offline

John Raica wrote:
as a dreamer I took it literally for an UFO...

I understand you're telling us about a dream, actually, different dreams that you took in a sequence, right? It makes more sense that you interpreted it as a UFO than as Krishnamurti himself! And in the end it wasn't even a UFO because it was just a dream. Of course it's up to you to believe whatever you want to believe, only we must be careful not to indulge in speculations if we love truth, I think. There are so many books about Krishnamurti's identity: Holroyd's, Sanat's, Field's and others and to them I think Krishnamurti says:'Friend, do not concern yourself with who I am, you will never know' (cited on this Kinfonet site under Krishnamurti tag). Of course we also know that he encouraged people to tell what they thought about him, but I think he just meant to do it when you need a break from the deep serious matters of our life. In the book 'The inner life of Krishnamurti', in the chapter dealing with Maitreya, we read that Krishnamurti stated: 'The maitreya cannot manifest, it would be like the sky manifesting. It is the teaching that manifests.' It may be just a small detail, but anyway Krishnamurti always said that the teachings are all that matters, not the man.

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