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

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Wed, 17 Apr 2019 #151
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline

( 1961...) The car was going fairly fast and it was a good place to
meditate. To to be sensitive to words and not to be weighed down by them; to break through the verbal barrier and to consider the fact; to avoid the poison of words and feel the beauty of them; to put away all identification with words and to examine them, for words are a trap and a snare. They are the symbols and not the real.

The screen of words acts as a (psychological ?) shelter for the lazy, the thoughtless and the (self-) deceiving mind.
Slavery to words is the beginning of inaction which may appear to
be action, but a mind caught in symbols cannot go far. Every word,
thought, shapes the mind and without understanding every thought, the
mind becomes a slave to words and sorrow begins. Conclusions
and explanations do not end sorrow.

The choiceless awareness of every thought and feeling, understanding their motives, their mechanism and allowing them to blossom is the beginning of meditation. When ( the self-centred ?) thought and feeling flourish and die, meditation is the movement beyond time. In this movement there is ecstasy; in complete emptiness there is love, and with love there is destruction ( of the old) and creation (of the new ?) .

Every thought and feeling must flower for them to live and die; the
flowering of everything in you, the ambition, the greed, the hate,
the joy, the passion; it is only in ( allowing them ?) freedom that anything can flourish.
To allow envy to flower is not easy; it is condemned or cherished but never given freedom. It is only in freedom that the fact of envy reveals its colour, its shape, its depth, its peculiarities; if suppressed it will not reveal itself fully and freely. When it has shown itself completely, there is an ending of it only to reveal another (deeper) fact, emptiness, loneliness, fear, and as each fact is allowed to flower, in freedom, in its entirety, the ( subliminal ?) conflict between the 'observer' and the 'observed' ceases; there is no longer the censor but only observation, only seeing.

Freedom can only be in completion not in repetition, suppression,
obedience to a pattern of thought. There is completion only in
flowering and dying; there is no flowering if there is no ending.
What has continuity is thought in time. The flowering of thought is
the ending of thought; for only in death is there the new. The new
cannot be if there is no freedom from the known. Thought, the old,
cannot bring into being the new; it must die for the new to be.

What ( is allowed inwardly to) 'flower' must come to an end.

( ...) It was very dark; the stars were brilliant in a cloudless sky
and the mountain air was cool and fresh. Every tree was silent, mysterious and dreaming and unapproachable. Orion and the Pleiades were setting among the dark hills; even the owls were far away and silent; except for the noise of the car, the country was asleep; only the nightjars, with red sparkling eyes, caught by the headlights, sitting on the road, stared at us and flutteringly flew away. So early in the morning, the villages were asleep and the few people on the road had wrapped themselves up just showing their face; and were walking wearily
from one village to another; they looked as though they had been
walking all night; a few were huddled around a blaze, throwing
long shadows across the road. A dog was scratching itself in the
middle of the road; it wouldn't move and the car had to go around

Then suddenly, the morning star showed itself; it was easily as
large as a saucer, astonishingly bright and seemed to hold the east
in sway. As it climbed, Mercury appeared, just below her, pale and
overpowering. There was a slight glow and far away was the
beginning of dawn. The road curved in and out, hardly ever
straight and trees on either side of the road held it from wandering
off into the fields. The birds were still asleep, except for one or two and as dawn came closer, they began to wake up, crows, vultures, pigeons and the innumerable small birds. We were climbing and went over a long wooded range; no wild animals crossed the road. And there
were monkeys on the road now, a huge fellow, sitting under the
large trunk of the tamarind; it never moved as we passed by though
the others scampered off in every direction. There was a little one,
it must have been a few days old, clinging to the belly of her
mother who looked rather displeased with things. Dawn was
yielding to day and the lorries that crashed by had turned off their
lights. And now the villages were awake, people sweeping their
front steps and throwing dirt in the middle of the road; many dogs
still fast asleep right in the middle of the road; they seemed to
prefer the very centre of the road; lorries went around them, cars
and people. Women were carrying water from the well, with little
children following them. The sun was getting hot and glary and the
hills were harsh and there were fewer trees and we were leaving
the mountains and going towards the sea in a flat, open country;
the air was moist and hot and we were coming nearer the big,
crowded, dirty city (of Madras) and the hills were far behind.

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Sun, 26 May 2019 #152
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline

Here are a few selected excerpts from the 'free' long version of Mary Zimbalist's memoirs of K:

"I had a friend who was a regular medical doctor, but he was very interested in all kinds of psychiatric things, and so was I. So, whenever I went in for a flu shot, or whatever it was, we’d wind up discussing the brain or the mind and how it worked and such. Well, one day, in the spring of 1944 I went into his office for some medical reason, and he said, “Oh, come in. Come in. I have something I want to tell you.” He proceeded to tell me about a friend of his, a psychiatrist, who had learned that he had some fatal form of heart disease. On learning this, he had up and left his family, his friends, and everything in Chicago where he lived, and said, “I’m going to California to learn how to die from a man named Krishnamurti,” which doubtless startled everybody. My doctor friend was very curious, so he went to see his friend, the dying doctor, and of course, he meets Krishnamurti.

That was on a weekend, and I happened to come in on the Monday afterward, and he said to me, “I’ve met this extraordinary man, who knows more about the human mind than anyone I’ve ever heard of.” Well, of course, I was all ears at this description. And then there was a pause for about, I don’t remember, but say a month or two or maybe three when I heard that this Krishnamurti was going to resume giving talks in Ojai. As we all know by now, during the war he was in Ojai because he happened to be there when the war broke out, and he couldn’t travel. So he simply led a quiet life in Ojai, and didn’t talk publicly at all. However, now that the war was winding down, it was decided that he would speak again. Well, I thought I wanted to see what this was about, so I drove up to Ojai from LA, found the place where he was to talk, and heard the talk—the first talk. I remember quite vividly his coming into the Oak Grove; his dignity and his quiet, and his doing what we later came to see so often: his looking around before he spoke. And then his speaking; being struck by his voice, which was partly English but not quite 'English-Englis'h. He had an English accent but with his own intonation. I found the talk and his manner of giving it  very impressive, but it was all strange to me in a way. So, afterward, I went and bought some of the booklets, the things that we have come to call “The Verbatim Talks,” those little pamphlets. I took them home, and started to read. I found that, because of my background in psychoanalysis, I argued with him down the page. I couldn’t advance in these things. I kept thinking,  why  does he say that? This went on for a couple of days, but luckily it dawned on me, somehow, that I should just go and listen to what he said and not argue through these written things.

He was speaking, in those days, standing up, I think on the ground and not on a platform. I sat on the ground, and most people sat on the ground, as I remember it.
One of the people who was selling the books was a Mrs. Vigeveno. I bought the pamphlet from her. She and her husband had an art gallery in Westwood in Los Angeles, where I had gone to look at pictures at some point. I don’t know whether she knew my name, but she recognized me from having come into the gallery, and, so, when I bought the little pamphlets, she asked, “Are you interested?” Anyway, I continued to go to the rest of those talks. That was my first sight of Krishnaji.

Now the relevance of Mrs. Vigeveno in the story is that sometime later that year I had a telephone call, I think from her, and I was invited to join a discussion group at their gallery once a week with a small group of people. So, I went, and I think there were probably a dozen or fifteen people, maybe a few more. Some of the people there I already knew, two couples I knew, plus the Vigevenos, whom I knew but just very casually. Rajagopal was at those discussions, and it was said that Krishnamurti might come, and indeed, he eventually did come. While the talks were going on, I heard somehow that you could request an interview with Krishnaji—he would meet people individually. So I wrote, and in due course I got a reply saying that, if I could come on such and such date at such and such a time to such and such a place, I would have an appointment with Mr. Krishnamurti.

The address for the meeting was a house in Hollywood, not in Ojai. So I went, rang the bell, and the door was opened by Mr. Krishnamurti. And I remember very vividly the way he sort of bowed. He had beautiful, very formal manners. “Good morning, Madame,” he said.  In I went and apparently there wasn’t anyone else in the house. I don’t know. It was very quiet. We went to a sort of sitting room. Krishnaji sat there and didn’t say anything. So I felt it behooved me to say why I was there, and why I had come. I told him a little bit about myself, and was approaching the questions that I had intended to ask him when he asked me some questions. I only remember that it was a different order of any discussion of anything psychological or indeed any other kind of discussion I had ever had. When I came out I felt as though my head had been opened up and everything inside had been operated on. I remember also that he took me so far into my own mind or consciousness or level of understanding that I wept copiously. I mean, it was so deep, it touched something so deep inside me that it made me cry.  In fact, it happened to me in other interviews later on. Anyway, I went to all the talks of that year, and after the first talk, I really just listened. I’d caught on that you shouldn’t keep going on about what you think, but just go and listen. And, well, it became the thing that has interested me most centrally for the rest of my life.

(...) Many years later, in Saanen , he once said to me, “Did I ever know you in California, or meet you in California?” And of course, this meeting, which was such an overwhelming milestone in my life he, of course, had no recollection of! I remember laughing because it seemed, well, it pleased me so much. It was right, was in character for him not to remember.
Then, there’s a big gap in all this, because I didn’t really hear him speak again until he came back in 1960, and began a series of talks in June.

 Sam Zimbalist ( the producer of the classic technicolor film 'Ben Hur') died at the end of 1958 of a massive heart attack. I don’t want to go on about that, but it was as though, I don’t know, my life had ended too, somehow. It was very strange…this is very personal, but I had the feeling that as I was still alive, there was something that I had to do, and in some strange way, I felt I was doing it for him and for me—as though, there was something that I had to learn, and don’t ask me how, but I could somehow do it for him too.  It was a very profound feeling. I felt that I had to find out what all this was about. That was the only important thing to me: what lay beyond life and death, and what are we all doing with our lives, and why do we go so wrong? All the questions that …probably we all have about our lives when we come into contact with something that is as serious as Krishnaji’s teachings, or as serious as someone dying in your life that is really a crisis. The answer to that was that I had to go back and listen to what Krishnamurti had to say. It wasn’t running to Krishnamurti for some kind of a refuge or enlightenment or solace. It was that I had to understand what he was talking about because I felt instinctively and profoundly that what he was talking about had to do with reality and truth, and that that was the whole point of my still being alive. It was the only thing that I wanted to do, was interested in. It was the only reason for anything to me at that point.
But I also had a very strong feeling in the weeks and months that followed that I mustn’t run away from something; that I mustn’t go to anyone to solve a problem, or to somehow make me feel better in some way. I mustn’t run away from what’s happened, but rather come to terms with what happened in my own life. I felt that intensely, strongly.

So I didn’t make any attempt or even think of going to see him, and then suddenly he came back in 1960. I went to the talks. I also wrote and asked for an interview. He was to give eight talks, but he only gave four. At the end of the fourth he announced that he regretted that that would be the last talk. For reasons of health, he had to stop. In the meantime, he had given or okayed to whoever handled it, a certain number of interviews, and mine was among them, fortunately.
So, I was called to go on a certain, again, time and date and place, but it was in Ojai this time, at the Vigeveno’s house. He again greeted me very formally. There was no reference to my ever having seen him before. We talked for a very long time, and it was all about death. I was able to tell him that I had seen for myself that when people are in a state of grief, it’s very often self-pity. They’re feeling, why did this happen to me? Why have I lost something? And I thought that was false and repellent, and I didn’t feel that way. I felt I had seen that very clearly, and I was able to tell him this. I remember his nodding, and I could tell, or his manner showed that he saw that I saw that, and that he didn’t have to go through  that with me so he could go on from there. The sort of conclusion of this, to put it very simply, was his statement, which I understood at the time and have since; “You must die every day to everything. Only then are you really living.” I understood that it doesn’t mean that you brush your life under the rug and forget everything. It doesn’t alter what you feel, or the feeling of loss, if you’ve lost someone you loved, it doesn’t alter that, that sense of loving them, or indeed, remembering them. But it’s the factor of dependence, it’s the factor of egotism, it’s the factor of me and the whole thing. You have to die to that and only then, otherwise, well, as we now know from his teaching, that you mustn’t carry the whole shadow of the past and react to that. It was the most profound experience of listening to Krishnaji that I’ve ever had. It meant a great deal. After that, he left Ojai, I guess. I didn’t know what was happening. But, I determined then  that I would hear him again and follow what he was saying seriously.

Now, what I didn’t know was that he wouldn’t come back to Ojai. I assumed that he would return because he’d resumed talking in Ojai, but he didn’t. So it wasn’t until 1961 that I realized he wasn’t going to come back to speak in Ojai. Finally, I thought, well, if I want to hear the man speak, go where he’s speaking. So, the first time I went to where he was speaking, which was Saanen, Switzerland, was in the summer of ’64. I determined that summer that I would follow the whole tour; do this really thoroughly that next year. I would start wherever he spoke in Europe, which turned out to be London, and that I would go on to Saanen and to India—do the whole year, which is what I did. I remember landing in Geneva, renting a little tiny car, and driving along the lake with a map, figuring how to get up to this place called Saanen. It was strange to be back in Europe. I hadn’t been in Switzerland before, but to be suddenly driving along in the middle of Europe by myself.

Then the talks started. I remember that he took questions at the end of each talk, and I wanted to ask a question but somehow it didn’t work out, and the talks ended. At the end of each talk, Krishnaji used to stand over where Vanda, who was driving him in those days, used to park her car under some trees. He would stand under the tree and talk to a few people who would come up and shake his hands, as they always did after the talks. So, I went up to him and said, “Mr. Krishnamurti, I’m Mary Zimbalist, and you won’t remember me, but I’ve talked to you before in Ojai, and I wanted to ask you about…so and so.” He replied, “Yes, yes, ask that tomorrow.” So, I thanked him and walked away. Of course, the next day, the talk went off in a totally different direction, and my question had no relevance to what he was saying! So I didn’t ask it. Again, I hoped to have an interview, but I was shy about asking and I didn’t know how to go about it there.

However, there was a friend, in those days, of his and Vanda’s, a lovely man Pietro Cragnolini, a funny man; very, very Italian, and he’d known Krishnaji from the Ommen days. He used to tell me tall tales of what really went on at Ommen, people going in and out of the wrong tents in the middle of the night, sleeping in the woods, all these stories. I used to walk with him, or lunch with him sometimes, and he caught on what I wanted: he asked, “Do you want an interview?” and I said, “Oh yes, but I’m hesitant to ask.” He said, “Don’t worry about it,” and I had an appointment on Wednesday at 3 o’clock at Chalet Tannegg. And again, Krishnaji opened the door and took me into the living room. I remember Krishnaji’s eyes, and I thought it looked like a cataract was developing in his eyes, and I remember thinking—horrible! He’s going to lose his vision, which, of course, he never did. But his eyes were sort of cloudy.
I remember what I was asking him then. I was telling him that I was really tormented by the disturbances in the world that were going on and to the degree that I was not a free, enlightened, psychologically clear person, I was responsible for all that human evil, really. I felt that I had to do something about it, the whole thing. I felt a terrible burden of this. He sort of brushed that aside. He didn’t feel that was really the root of it. He said, “You take all these things very seriously,” and I said, “Yes, I do.” He went on from there, and it somehow unhooked me from this ( activistic ?) thing. He was saying was that I was displacing onto the state of the world, that my responsibility was myself, and I shouldn’t feel all this other burden of everybody’s insanities. One day, Cragnolini asked, “Would you like to come on a walk? I’m walking with Krishnaji this afternoon. You come too.” And I said, “Well, if it’s alright, yes, of course, I’d like to.” I remember that we walked towards Lauenen, on the road to Lauenen. And I remember we walked way up.

As the talks were ending, he said to me on one of these walks “Are you going to stay after the talks? Will you be here, or are you leaving after the talks?” I said that I had intended to leave. He replied, “Well, we’re holding a small discussion after the talks, and if you’d like to be part of it, you are welcome.” So I naturally changed my plans, and stayed on. He had about 30 people, roughly, in that meeting, and again it was at Tannegg. By this time, I’d met Vanda, and also met Alain Naudé, who had just come to the talks, but he was going to go to India. He was very serious about it all, and he sort of was acting as a kind of assistant. For instance, he was the one who called me up and told me when to come to Tannegg for the meeting, and things like that.  Vimala Thakhar was in the discussion, and she was already obnoxious. She was already saying, “Where do you live?” When I told her where I lived, she made it up in her mind that she’d come to visit me, and that I would put her up during her coming tour of the west coast. I was not going to have that at all.(to be continued...)

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Mon, 27 May 2019 #153
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline

(continuing the selected excerpts from Mary Zimblist's memoirs )

(...) So, the next bit in this story, is that Rajagopal comes into the picture now, because while these meetings were going on in Chalet Tannegg, some of the people, including myself, wanted to hear the recordings of the meetings. So, I said to Alain, “So many of us would like to hear the tapes of our discussions, or read a transcript that I would be delighted to pay some secretary to transcribe it for some of us, if that’s allowed.” Word came back from Krishnamurti via Alain that, “Mr. Krishnamurti does not have the right to give that permission, only Mr. Rajagopal does”. ( Back in California) I called up Rajagopal and said, “Look here, I was in this discussion group, and I know you have the tape and I’d like to hear them.” “Well, you see, everyone wants to hear them, and I can’t possibly let everybody hear them, so no, well, if you can come up to Ojai,…did you make notes?’ “Yes, I made notes.” “Well, you bring your notes, and you can hear one tape, and you can choose the tape, but you must bring your notes.” And it had to be a day when the Vigevenos, who lived next door, would not be in Ojai, because he didn’t want them to know that I was allowed to hear a tape. And, not only did I have to come when they were away, but I had to park my car so that it would not be visible to them next door.

Well, I could tell that he had a sort of teasing, flirtatious way, not towards me, but toward another woman who was all excited by him. He sort of made himself the center of attention, not by coy behavior, but in a way that drew attention to his every reaction. So, I knew he was a bit neurotic, but this nonsense over the tape was something. Oh, I was asked for lunch too. So, we had lunch, and Rajagopal, his wife, and I sat solemnly in the living room. It was in sort of an alcove. We ate on a table in a corner of the living room, and then we moved to another area where he had a tape recorder. I had to hand over my marvelous notes. I could make notes of listening to the tape, but I had to give him copies of those notes too. So, I listened to the tape. They both sat there and listened with me. I suddenly figured out why he was letting me near the tape: he had recognized some of the voices of people he knew on the tape, but he didn’t recognize others, and he wanted me to identify them. That’s why all this performance went on. By this time I was living in Malibu, and naturally I wanted to know when and where future talks were going to be held. So I called him up and he said casually that he didn’t know. I thought that was very odd. He said, “You must write to Mrs. Mary Cadogan in London.” So I wrote to Mrs. Mary Cadogan, and I got back a letter that said that since I was coming from so far away, that she would tell me where the talks were and when, but I must please not tell anyone else where they were, including my family, or why I was going to London. When the spring came, I returned to London, and went out to Wimbledon where the talks were being held. The talks were in the Boy Scouts’ Hall in Wimbledon, which was a very small hall. I didn’t understand why such a small hall was rented, but, Rajagopal was really trying to damp down all this; printing these little booklets which were only sent out to those on the mailing list, and nobody knew anything, It was all kept as a big, dark secret. Anyway, I went and afterward when Krishnaji stood outside, I went up to him this time. Alain was there and Krishnaji seemed to recognize me and he was charming. We chatted a bit.

Alain eventually called me up and said that they’d like me to come for lunch at the house in Wimbledon. It was really awful to put Krishnaji up in those dreadful houses, but they did. So I went. I had again rented a little tiny car to get out there. So, we had lunch. I was the only guest with the two women, Alain, and Krishnaji. He was full of the questions about “What is the American mind?” as he used to say. “What’s happening in America?” Well, as it happened, I had gone on the March to Selma, from Selma to Montgomery with Martin Luther King. I thought that would interest him, because that was big news in America at that point. He was very interested, and I described the whole thing in quite some detail: how it came about, and what happened, and all of it. He listened with great interest to that. He walked me out to the car afterward with Alain, and he said, “Perhaps we could go to a cinema.” I, of course, replied, “Yes!” Then he said, “Well, you decide.” So I went off, thinking, “What in the world do I take this man to? A cinema? What would he like?”  So I stared at the newspaper and pondered and finally decided that My Fair Lady was playing and that that would be a good movie and suitable
Anyway, that’s what I decided. So, either I called Alain and told him my choice, and Alain said, “Oh, Krishnaji has changed his mind by now. He doesn’t want to go to the cinema. He wants to go for a drive in the country. So could you choose a place and drive us to the country.” So, I was back to my problem. I didn’t know where to go. I’d spent two winters in London, but I hadn’t gone driving in the country especially with the aim of something that would please a man named Krishnamurti.

So I did some researchI heard about the royal horticultural gardens at Wisley, and I thought maybe that would be a place. So, I did a dry run. I went out and cased Wisley and decided, yes, that it was really beautiful and perhaps he’d like that. I remember that I got a better car than the one I was driving, and I went to the house in Wimbledon. Doris came out and she said “Now, be sure you have him back here by 6 o’clock. He has an appointment at 6 o’clock. It is very important that he be here in time for that.”
“Yes, yes, Ms. Pratt. I will.” So, in we get, in the car. Krishnaji looked happy, pleased.
“Where are we going?”, he asks. I said, “Well, I thought perhaps a place called Wisley, the garden.” “Oh, Wisley!” said he. He knew it, but he hadn’t been there in a long time. So, off we went to Wisley, and it was a success. We walked around, and I had the feeling that he saw every flower and every tree and every bird and every everything. It was my first experience of that…of his extraordinary perception that he had of…of everything. When we got back in the car, he said, “Oh, let’s drive a little further.” Where to take him now?! Luckily, I had been to Box Hill. I knew where it was, which was not too far away. It’s the highest point of Sussex, and you look out at all of southern England. It’s beautiful!

So we went up Box Hill. We got out and looked at the view and it was beautiful, very pleasing. So now it was time to get back for 6 o’clock. We got back on the A3, and it was heavy afternoon traffic. Now, I wasn’t used to driving on the left and I certainly was not used to driving the World Teacher. And the responsibility was weighing heavily on me, especially in the terrible traffic, and getting there at 6 o’clock. I drove with absolute concentration, and just I got him back at 6 o’clock.
When he got out, he thanked me. “Thank you, Madame, so much. It was so kind of you.” I replied, “It was a pleasure, Krishnamurti”—or Krishnaji, he asked me to call him Krishnaji in the Saanen discussions. They didn’t have any car, and there was no way to get into town from Wimbledon, so I did a lot of taxiing them back and forth. Sometimes just Alain, I’d take him for, I don’t know, a dentist or something, and sometimes Krishnaji. Or, they’d somehow get into town, I don’t know how, and I’d pick them up and take them home.

By this time, 1965, Alain had been hired as Krishnaji’s secretary. Alain became his secretary that winter in India. He’d gone to India in the winter of ’64—’65. In January, Alain wrote me a couple of letters, and then he wrote me that Krishnaji had asked him to be like a secretary, assistant, do things for him.
Anyway, after London came Paris. I took the boat train to Paris I forget how Krishnaji and Alain went, but Krishnaji was scheduled to give his Paris talks in the Salle Adyar, a theosophical place near the Tour Eiffel, in that quartier, only a few blocks from where he was staying with the Suarès’. He spoke twice in the Salle Adyar, and then he had some days off. Apparently my driving abilities were satisfactory, because he suggested going to Versailles and at some point I had caught on that he liked Mercedes cars. So I went to Hertz and I got a Mercedes car and we went to Versailles. He wasn’t then and never has been very interested in palaces and looking at them. He was not a sight-seer. But he loved gardens, and a walk in the gardens was something he enjoyed. We walked all over: a big walk. After that we went on to St. Germain. I think we had a cup of tea, and then we walked some more in St. Germain, which was also pleasant.

There was another talk, and after that there was another expedition, again in the Mercedes, and this time we went to Chartres, which was wonderful. We walked all around and looked at everything very carefully. Krishnaji was taken with the stained glass windows, found that particularly beautiful, and we all agreed that this was the loveliest of all the gothic cathedrals that we had seen. We lunched  nearby. I’ve forgotten the name of the restaurant, but it was about a block away from the cathedral. I could go there if I were there, but I can’t remember the name. And then we went to Romboulliet and had another walk in the forest. That, also, was very pleasant. Paris was busy for him, but not so much for me. All the French friends wanted to see him.  He was always very elegant. For an outing like these he would wear a sort of sports shirt, a tweed jacket and gray flannel trousers and beautifully polished shoes. And a scarf at his neck.

After these talks I left for Switzerland by train. I became a vegetarian on the first of June Knowing I was going to be a vegetarian, I started, not in Paris because of my father, who lived in Paris in those days—his pleasure was to take me to all the best restaurants in Paris, and I didn’t have the gall, or 'courage', or whatever you want to call it, to say, “Father you should know that I am now a vegetarian.” So I postponed making the change until I got on the train leaving Paris. Alain was particularly good at rounding up young people. That was really his function in those days because he was of the opinion, and Krishnaji shared it, and I shared it, that the old situation of white-haired ladies filling the auditorium should change. It was time to mix that up a bit. So, Alain collected young people.I rented a room, for the discussions, in the hotel where I was staying, and about sixty or seventy young people came. Krishnaji discussed with them and answered questions. Some of them would ask questions in French, but he’d reply in English. These meetings with young people was something new and something good, and it continued from then on for as long as Alain was with us.
Anyway, so now I’m on the train from Paris to Geneva, and I go into the dining car for a meal, being now a vegetarian and there’s nothing on the menu that’s vegetarian. There isn’t a vegetable in sight except for 'pommes frites', which... came with steak.

So a few days after I got there, the telephone rang, and it was Alain to tell me that they had arrived; they flew from Paris to Geneva. He asked, “Do you have a car?” “Yes, I have a car.”
“Well, Krishnaji would like to drive up to Gstaad instead of coming on the train, can you come and pick us up?”
So, I drove down. I think I got a slightly bigger car. I was forever switching from the smallest, cheapest to something worthy of the event! I drove down to Geneva and met them. They had spent the night at the Hotel du Rhône, and went into the dining room. I remember scrutinizing the menu thinking, “You know, I’m a vegetarian now, what do I order?” Krishnaji, who picked up everything, looked at me and said, “What have you been eating lately?” Well, what I had been eating was cheese omelet, and cheese omelet, and again cheese omelet, and I had the feeling, “Am I going to live on cheese omelet for the rest of my life?!”  He said, “We will teach you how to eat.” And he said it quite…firmly. And then they ordered a lovely meal of vegetables and salads and fruits and all the things that we’ve all been living on ever since!

Anyway, we drove up to Chalet Tannegg. Vanda had rented, as always, one floor of Chalet Tannegg. But she wasn’t there and didn’t come until July. This was in June still.
Vanda had sent ahead a cook, a chef really, to look after Krishnaji and provide the food and all that. It was lovely in Gstaad. There was nobody there. Usually I was asked for lunch, not supper because he had that in his room, but usually for lunch. And I would, with my car, drive to wherever he wanted to walk in the afternoon, if it wasn’t up the hill and into the woods, sometimes we went up towards Gsteig and walked. I remember there was a way of going off the road onto some higher fields and walking up there. Also, we often walked down along the river, the Saanen River toward the airport, that way.

Then, not too long after arriving in Gstaad, we had to go back to Geneva. Again, we lunched at the Hotel du Rhône. Then we went to pick up shirts. Krishnaji got shirts in Geneva. I don’t know why he got shirts in Geneva, but he did. There was a place on the Rue du Rhône where he got some sort of shirts. Then we drove back, this time we went via Bulle. By this time I knew the way to go via Bulle, which was lovely. But before turning up into the mountains, he always wanted to go along the lake. He didn’t want to go on the auto-route. Well, we did sometimes when we had to, and that’s when I found out that Krishnaji liked to drive fast. So, we went back via Bulle, and I had supper with him that night. That was the first expedition of that kind.

One day I went up to Tannegg and there was this beautiful little silver jewel-like car, with Krishnaji looking so pleased. He showed me everything about it, and then he asked if I would like a drive. I said, “Yes, I’d love a ride.” So, he drove me to Chateau d’Oex. I remember it was the first time I’d driven with him driving instead of me driving. He looked so elegant with his driving gloves, and he drove beautifully. Obviously an experienced driver! We just went to Chateau d’Oex, then turned around and came back. When we got back he dusted the car—it had been out! I think the next day when I went up, I found him and Alain both washing it because it had been out. As I watched Alain working, I thought, “My god, he’s a musician, he’s going to ruin his hands.” But he was doing what had to be done, and Krishnaji was also washing. After it was washed, Krishnaji opened the hood and dusted all the machinery inside. Only then was it alright.

He, also at this point, received some tapes of chants from India, and we listened to those, which I enjoyed.  They were made at the Rishi Valley School with the children chanting.
Every day we walked, rain or shine. Also, there was a lot of talk about my going to India. I was planning to make the whole tour that year, so, we talked about that. Krishnaji said that he must see that I’m properly looked after in India, and he’d arrange my housing. He said that I shouldn’t go to a hotel in Madras, but that Frances McCann and Alain and I should rent a house in Madras, because it would be healthier: we could control our food. I hadn’t the remotest idea how to rent a house in Madras, but Alain knew just what to do.

We often went down to the Biascoechea’s for lunch. Either I would also be asked to have lunch, or I would drive them, drop them, and later take them back up the hill. That was when Enrique pulled out a photograph of Krishnaji and his brother Nitya as little boys. The Biascoecheas brought them out to show us. Krishnaji looked at that and looked at that, and he kept going back and looking at it again. He said he didn’t remember that time at all. Afterward, when I drove him up the hill, I said, “What was it that interested you so much in that photo?”
That’s when he made the statement, “If we only could figure out why that boy wasn’t conditioned and remained vacant, perhaps we could help children in the schools not to be so conditioned.” He was trying, somehow, to get a sense of why that boy, meaning himself, remained that way. Why nothing really scarred him at all, mentally. I remember his looking at the photo for, oh, such a long time.

Vanda eventually arrived. I, in the meantime, not wanting to spend my life in the Hotel Rossli with cheese omelets, had rented a flat in an apartment house called Les Caprice.
When Vanda came there was no longer a room for Alain because she only rented one floor, the floor on the level where you came in, and that only had two bedrooms. The proprietor lived upstairs. He was a German, and he only came for a short time in summer, but he never rented out his floor. There was a downstairs floor with a flat, because the chalet was built on a hill, but Vanda only had the middle floor. When Vanda came Alain had nowhere to go. Fortunately, the flat I had taken had two bedrooms, so I invited Alain to stay with me, which he did.
Then the talks began. Again, usually I walked in the afternoon with Krishnaji and Alain. Vanda didn’t want to walk; she was doing yoga all morning and wasn’t much for walking. So, I usually walked.
At one point, Pupul Jayakar arrived, and that was my first meeting with her. She stayed only a short while. Also, Pupul’s daughter Radhika arrived, also staying with the Biascoecheas. I remember going on a walk with everybody, Pupul, Radhika, Alain and, I forget who else; I was walking behind, and Krishnaji fell back in step with me. This is when he said to me quite shyly, “Did I ever know you in California?” Of course, this refers  to the interviews I’d had. which were earth-shaking events in my life. He didn’t, of course, remember anything. I remember laughing and being very pleased. It was the way he should have been. 

In those days a lot of people made their own tape recording. There weren’t any rules about that. People sat down at a kind of table near the stage and taped.
Krishnaji gave an awful lot of talks in those days. I think there were ten or something like that. And, at the end of each talk, he would ask for questions from the floor.
After the talks were over, he held young people’s discussions again. Alain had rounded up young people. He used to go around the camping ground where a lot of the young people camped, and just collect young people like the Pied Piper. Sometimes these young people’s discussions were at Tannegg, if they could all fit in, but there was one across the river in a field. Also, David Bohm came, and they had discussions. There were six of those, and they were at Tannegg. Then there was another trip to Geneva. I don’t quite remember when. But at that point Krishnaji asked me to be on the RishiValley School committee! I had no qualifications, but it didn’t matter to him! I don’t remember what I replied, but fortunately nothing came of it.
So, then I flew back to Malibu, and I went and saw my family. In September, there was a fight between India and Pakistan, which put the whole Indian winter tour in jeopardy. Alain called me to tell me that Krishnaji was going to decide whether to go to India as scheduled, or postpone it until the end of the month. He then suggested that I come to Rome, and that if we didn’t go to India, that we all spend the winter in Italy.

But, as it happened, there was a cease-fire, and Alain, who had been refused a visa for India, now was able to get a visa for India. So, I flew back to meet them in Rome in October and two or three days after arriving, on the first of November, I think it was, we flew to Delhi, and were met at the airport by Kitty Shiva Rao and Pupul. I remember the fact that when Krishnaji arrived in Delhi, the car met him at the foot of the steps down from the plane and we were ushered into the VIP lounge, while other people saw to the luggage. I didn’t have to do anything, which was wonderful. Our passports were taken away. Eventually passports were returned after being processed, and we were taken into Delhi, stopping first at the Shiva Rao’s for Krishnaji. Kitty Shiva Rao had very kindly arranged for me to stay in a place called the Indian International Center, not far from her house, where I had a very nice room. She lived not far from Lodhi Park. I remember that same day, Krishnaji, and, I think, Pupul, and Alain, we drove around to show me a bit of things, and we drove into Lodhi Park, but it was dark by that time. We got there on the second of November, and he gave his first talk on the seventh in the garden of the Constitution Club. He was under a shamiana on a little raised platform with a bright little canvas thing shielding him from the sun. There was a wonderful red and blue carpet put out for people to sit on. I sat with Alain, right in front of the stage with the Nagra tape recorder. That was the first time I saw Krishnaji with an Indian audience, and he startled me by being really blunt with the audience, saying, as nearly as I can recall, “You people have talked about non-violence for all these years, and yet this year not one of you spoke out against the war.” They’d almost had a war with Pakistan. He really, put it as only he could, witheringly! I remember really feeling shocked, that he talked differently to Indian audiences at that time. He was tougher with them.

When we got to Benares, Krishnaji went off with Madahvachari and some others in a kind of a bus.
I’ll never forget my first glimpses of Benares, because it made me feel that I hadn’t been in India till then. All the traffic with the lorries constantly honking at each other, and all the decorations on them, and the goats and cows wandering around, and the women putting dung patties on the walls to dry them, and other women with big brass pitchers of water on their head, and the smells of things drying and the people lying on those string beds, low beds by the sides of the roads. It was India, much more so than Delhi!

When we got to Rajghat, there ensued this business about the rooms that were prepared for us. There was a big turnout at the school to greet him, little children with flowers and everything. Frances and I were given rooms. We had a big room and a little room and we shared a bathroom. It was in one of those buildings looking over the river called Krishna Ashram. We went upstairs to our rooms and opened the door, and were astonished. It must have been unused for several years because, I’m not exaggerating, there was so much dust it was like being in the desert. When we entered, clouds of it went up. It looked like sand, but it was dust. There was nothing in the room except one bed with just the rope, no mattress, no sheets, no blankets, no mosquito netting, nothing! The small room was in a similar condition.
Frances and I debated about  who got the big one and who got the small one. She won and got the small one There were three pegs in the wall on which you could hang things, but that’s all there was, nothing else! The bathroom was not very big, and it was chiefly extraordinary because of the wash basin and there was just a hole in the floor as a toilet. Alain was in the same building but somewhere else,  and after seeing our place, he went right to Krishnaji and told him. Then, apparently, Madhavachari, who ran all K activities in India, was told that all was not well. He’d been an Indian railway big shot of some kind but was now retired. Very tall, big man. Very severe Brahmin type, but he had no interest in people’s comfort—at all! He came and looked at it and mumbled something like, “Oh, it, ah yes, it’s not ready. Well, I’ll ah, send someone” but  nobody ever came!

Apparently Krishnaji was again informed, and now Krishnaji he came in and started asserting his authority. In no time people came with buckets of water and brooms, etc. Eventually a mattress was found, and some sheets and a blanket and, I think, eventually mosquito nets. Some pathetic bearer, the one who staggered up the stairs with our buckets of boiling water in the morning, which he’d gotten up way before dawn to make (we could hear him cutting the firewood, making the fire, boiling the buckets of water); this poor man was set to cleaning the wash basin. He cleaned it for four hours the first day, and he was still scraping away with a razor the day we left three weeks later.  But the consternation at Krishnaji coming over and seeing what his guests were subjected to—everybody’s face was ashen.
Anyway Krishnaji gave lots of talks, and talks to the children; there were talks to teachers, and to students, together and separately. And, one lovely day in December Frances and I were invited to Krishnaji’s room where he chanted with Mr. Salman, who was the music teacher. We sat on the floor. I remember his room, it was very neat. There was a towel over this pillow. The mosquito netting was pulled back ever so neatly, and there was a metal wardrobe and something with drawers, and a chair. I can still see it vividly. There was a small rug on which we sat, and they chanted. It was wonderful. There was a big walk that goes all around the property. I remember the earth is sort of sand-colored, and the buildings were made of that same earth and so were the same color, but with white decorations on them. They weren’t square, like ordinary houses; they were sort of rounded as if little children had made them, you know, like the houses children make on the beach. I used to walk over there quite a lot. Also, I used to walk to the agricultural school.

I also remember being asked to go with Alain into Benares to buy staves because there was a student in the agricultural college who’d been bitten by a rabid jackal, and he didn’t take the Pasteur treatment, so he died. We were asked to buy staves, big heavy things, to ward off rabid jackals. I never saw jackals, but that was the errand. I remember the extraordinary-ness of Benares, which again is like no place else in the world.
Again, the taxis and trucks honking, with goats and cows wandering around. At one point, Frances and Alain and I were walking down toward the ghats and, going around a corner, I almost collided with a bicycle with a dead body on the back! Wrapped up and being taken to the burning ghats Then walking along the river, on the ghats, and we were just walking through ashes. I remember saying to Alain, “Look if I fall in, just keep walking and forget you ever knew me, because I’ll be dead!” Strange city!

Eventually, when we were to travel on, I remember at the airport, there was a lady, she was a Jain, and she was (mentally) disturbed and believed she was married to Krishnaji, so we had to protect him from her. She would lie in wait for him because she always wanted to touch him, and he didn’t want her to, so we had to run interference like in football. We used to call her Mrs. Moonlight, because she got madder when the moon was fullest, as some people do. At one point, in the airport, she almost got to him, and I remember his saying severely to her, “Don’t touch me.” He later told a story about how once in Bombay, he was out alone, and she appeared, and he had had to say, “Go away,” and eventually, “If you don’t, I will call a policeman.” She replied, “Go ahead, I’m your wife!” Luckily, at that point, a streetcar came by, and he jumped on the streetcar and escaped. She had a daughter, and she got the poor child to write, “darling daddy” letters to Krishnaji.
Anyway, we traveled on to Madras. I remember stepping out of the plane in Madras, and it was suddenly the tropics. It was late afternoon, and it wastotally different. There were crowds of people to greet Krishnaji, many of them with garlands, and one of them was Mrs. Jayalakshmi - she was quite tall for an Indian woman, with great presence and dignity. She dressed in a South Indian style, which was always the cotton blouse with beautiful heavy, heavy, heavy silk saris, but she wore them differently: it was wrapped around her waist in a different way. It wasn’t the over-the-shoulder way, and it had great elegance. Eventually I saw her collection of saris, which is something extraordinary. She was very silent, and rather shy; and slightly austere. When Alain greeted her, she said, “I have found you a house.” She proceeded to drive us to the house that she had rented for us. She also rented all the furniture from Spencer’s in town, and she lent us her Brahmin cook to cook one meal a day! I couldn’t believe the hospitality. She didn’t know Frances and she didn’t know me. She knew Alain, and because he’d written to her that Krishnaji wanted so and so, she’d gone to all this trouble!  Really extraordinary.

So we moved in; Frances and I had rooms upstairs with a bath. Alain was downstairs, and we had a kitchen, where I was to get breakfast and supper. And I remember my first glimpse of the kitchen, a room about ten feet by twenty feet, a sizeable room, and at the narrow end were shelves with  cooking pots, which looked like silver, but they don’t have handles. At the other end of the room was a stone counter with a square hole cut out, above which was a cold water faucet. Well, the one servant arrived, the Brahmin cook. He was a very handsome young man, very polite and austere and dignified, but I saw him preparing lunch on the floor. Chop, chop, chop, chop, on the floor. Now, because he’s Brahmin he’s very clean, and I realized that I had to not go in there without taking off shoes and having clean feet! But even so, on the floor!
So, my first meal was breakfast, but before that the milk-man came with water buffalo milk. He carried it in a huge pitcher. The customers had their container, and he would pour it into your container. And I remember there was always the dirty thumb that was holding it like this and the milk cascaded down over the dirty thumb. The milk had to be boiled, so you don’t fuss about these things. So I would boil the milk. There was also an earthenware closed pot for boiled water which was filled by the Brahmin cook. You could trust the water. I made toast on the camp-fire thing with toast stuck on a fork and there was fruit, carefully cut so you didn’t get dysentery. That was breakfast

That was interesting as a first experience. Frances didn’t do anything about breakfast in those days. I got the breakfast alone Anyway, I was invited over to Vasanta Vihar. Krishnaji showed me all around and explained that when he was no longer welcome in the TS that Rajagopal collected donations to buy the six acres of Vasanta Vihar. They had intended to build two small buildings, but somehow all this great big thing was built, which wasn’t what Krishnaji would have chosen, but there it was.
After that we went for a walk. Mrs. Jayalakshmi drove us to the deer park, and the three of us walked around the deer park. That was nice. Then, the public talks began, at which point I got the flu. I was really sick and had to stay in bed. I remember thinking that I was going to get pneumonia because I got sicker and sicker and sicker. Finally, one night I went down to Alain’s room and said, “Look, what am I going to do?” He responded, “I promise you, as your friend, that if you really get seriously ill, I will get you to the American hospital in Paris if I have to drag you there myself.” That reassured me. I had a terrible feeling that I’d be put in an Indian hospital. I kept having visions, I suppose from movies, where there’s a caravan crossing the desert and someone falls off a camel, and the rest just continue on. And that was going to be me! Left in India!

So, my spirits picked up and I guess I conquered my bug. The moment my fever dropped, Alain told Krishnaji, who said, “Bring her here.” Alain came back and told me, “Krishnaji wants to see you NOW!” So I staggered up and put clothes on. He wanted to do, what we have come to call, “healing.”  That was the first time he ever did that with me. He sat me down in a chair, put his hands on my shoulders so lightly it was like a bird’s wing touching me. He then asked me where I felt the illness, and I had, of course, terrible sinus congestion. He put his hand on, above, and beneath my eyes as though smoothing it away with the tips of his fingers. Then he put one of his hands over one eye and the other hand on one shoulder. The pain stopped instantly. He said, “Now, you come every day and I’ll do it.”
I wanted to weep at his kindness. I was so touched. It was terribly moving. Years later, he once helped my housekeeper, Filomina, who had terrible arthritis. She said to me afterward, “A le mani de un santo.” He has the hands of a saint. That’s what it was like.
I could have sat there after he finished for I don’t know how long.
He would always go away afterwards and shake his hands like he was shaking the illness off. And then he’d go and wash his hands.

So, from Madras we drove to Rishi Valley. Krishnaji drove with Pama  and I forget who else. Alain, Frances, and I were in a separate car that I had hired with a driver. We all set off at four in the morning, the usual time to set off for Rishi Valley.
Krishnaji’s car was ahead, and he had told me to look for the Southern Cross, which I’d never seen. I remember driving through that morning before sunrise and the bullock carts coming in from the country bringing vegetables to the city; those white bullocks prodding slowly along, not to be hurried, and the lorries honking—the whole thing. Going through villages where people were huddled around small, smoky fires and all wrapped up, especially their heads and necks wrapped up to keep them warm in the predawn of India.
We were to all meet up and have a picnic breakfast somewhere along the road. But when we got to a certain road block, a check point as it were, it turned out that our car didn’t have the proper papers. So we hired another taxi, which had the proper papers and we got to Rishi Valley rather late. Krishnaji was out in front of the old guest house when we arrived.
I immediately felt better in RishiValley, because it was a different climate: dry. It was like Arizona for me. All my troubles with that flu-like illness ended with the good climate.
I just remember the strange look of the valley, with those extraordinary rocks that have always looked to me like children’s toys that must have been put there by a giant baby and balanced just so. Nature couldn’t create them somehow.

At Rishi Valley there is what’s known as the old guest house. Krishnaji had two small rooms upstairs, and there was also a dining room and a kitchen and a big open place where meetings were held. Downstairs there were some guest rooms. Frances McCann and I had each a room downstairs and we shared a rather large bath. Alain was on the other side of the building in his quarters. We settled in, and eventually went to lunch. There was a special dining room for the visitors, and the food was less spicily prepared than for the school. I was immediately struck with the beauty of RishiValley, which was entirely different from Madras. It was dry, and it has a wonderful feeling of being away from the whole world somehow, which I like. To the west there was the mountain which Krishnaji cared so much about called Rishi Konda. In the afternoon the students used to go to watch the sun go down behind Rishi Konda, which was a nice sight because they’d all had their bath after playing sports, and changed into little white pajama suits. All the boys with their black hair, their big eyes, and the white, clean and neat outfits, and very young. It was very, very nice to see. Krishnaji felt that there was something sacred about Rishi Conda. The legend was that once some hermit had lived up at the summit, a holy man, a Rishi. And he’d left some kind of something in the air, which Krishnaji felt, I think. He didn’t say he felt it, but he cared very much about Rishi Conda.
The way of our life usually there was as follows: In the mornings sometimes Krishnaji would talk to the staff, in which case we (meaning Alain, Frances, myself and any other guests) would sit in on the discussions.

On certain days there’d be a chanting in assembly when the students chanted, and Krishnaji would go. He usually sat among the students on the floor, cross-legged, and chanted with them. It was very beautiful, very moving. Some days I would go up the mountain by myself and lie in the sun and take a sunbath and feel a wonderful sense of being away from the whole rest of the world, in this ancient valley, sort of suspended in time and place. I loved it.
Usually, in the afternoon, I would walk, and very often I would be invited to accompany Krishnaji on his walk with maybe some other people. I met Narayan then and walked with him and with Krishnaji. Other days I’d be walking on my own and sometimes meet him coming back from his walk and walk back with him and talk.

Somewhere in those weeks we were there, I asked Krishnaji for another interview. This time I felt much more relaxed in the interview with him. I remember the question that I had on my mind which, was one of relationship. I asked him if there is indeed any reality to relationship between people if they really don’t see each other a great deal. He asked me what I had in mind, what I meant. Well, what I was talking about was a niece of mine who was quite a young child then, and I was concerned about her but I hardly ever saw her. I was questioning whether there was any relationship just because you’re a member of a family. He asked me a little bit about it, the circumstances of the child’s life, where she was, etc. In effect he replied that probably there wasn’t any relationship, but there would be if there’s an exchange of some kind, either a conversation or by letter, or something. If I was to establish a contact verbally, then relationship can be real and can endure, but otherwise not.
Then he asked me what all this (by which he meant the really listening to him, the contact, etc.) was meaning to me.
I think I repeated what I’d said to him in an earlier conversation, which is that I was leery, as it were, of trying to measure where I was all the time because of the inclination to and danger of trying to achieve some aim. I saw that that wasn’t an intelligent way to go about it. He then asked me if I was fearful of anything. I replied, “Well, actually no, not at the moment, but I distrust that. It’s like a fear of not being afraid.”
He laughed a little bit, smiled at that, and said, “Don’t do that. Don’t make problems for yourself.”
I told him that once earlier I had said to him, “I’m very hesitant about asking for an interview with you because I don’t want to take up your time unnecessarily, and there are so many people who want to talk to you. So, I haven’t asked to speak to you in quite a long time. Also, it didn’t seem right, unless I have a crisis of some kind, I shouldn’t ask.

I remember his replying, “Now that we’ve talked a little bit and we know each other better, it will be easier for you to speak…” Also,  he didn’t want to have to tell me to come for my so-called treatment. You know, I had been sick in Madras, and I should just come when I thought it was necessary.
I said, again, that I was hesitant to bother him with anything like that. He replied, “Well, now we know each other better, it will be easier.” So, that was the end of that.
I remember that before that interview he wanted to cure me of something, and he said, “Do you want it before we talk or after?” I said, “I think after.”
You could often tell with Krishnaji if you made the right answer. You felt it. And also one always knew when an interview was over. His attention was turned off like a light. It was curious; not his total attention—he would still speak to you and all that, but that other quality went out. You just knew, that was that, you felt it was over. When I got up from the interview, he pulled out a chair for me to sit on. He washed his hands and came back and stood behind me very quietly for a while, and then, ever so lightly, he put his fingers on my eyelids. The touch of his fingers was extraordinary. It was as delicate as a leaf touching a pool of water. It was so unlike most human touch.

There was to be a puppet show in the school later that evening. The children of the lower school had made puppets of the story of Ulysses and the Cyclops; quite marvelous, great big puppets out of papier maché, and in those days Mark Lee was head of the lower school, and he had organized all this. At tea, Shakuntala asked. ”Why don’t you wear a sari? I’ll lend you one.” But, of course, I didn’t know how to put one on, and I’m still not any good at it. So, she literally dressed me in the sari. I stood there like a dummy! We then walked over to where the puppet show was to be, and we were seated in the front row. Everyone was ready and then Krishnaji came in from the side, and he walked in, at right angles to where I was. He noticed me immediately , and he did something that was utterly un-Indian and very Western—he raised his eyebrows but didn’t say a word! However, when it was all over, when he’d said good night to everybody, he bowed to me and said, “I see you have a new dress.” But most of the time I wore things that I had gotten in Delhi—cotton kurtas and trousers and sandals. Of course, the tailor in the school, who was so  heavily patronized when the visitors came, made some kurtas and trousers for me.

I remember some nuns who were always asked for lunch up in Krishnaji’s dining room. I also remember Balasundarum’s wife, Vishalakshi, I think, being a traditional Indian wife; she didn’t eat with everybody. She sat on a stool and saw that everything was properly done, but she didn’t eat. Very old-fashioned Indian style.
And Parameshwaram was the cook. In later years, he would go wherever Krishnaji was, and not this year. I can’t remember when he joined Krishnaji this year, but he was certainly in Rishi Valley because that’s where he was cook the rest of the year. He would come to cook for Krishnaji in the little kitchen upstairs.
Pongal occurred then while we were then in Rishi Valley. All the bullocks were dressed up with flowers and ornaments on their horns. Villagers came and played on flute-like things and drums, and the children had a lovely time dancing. Krishnaji came with his big umbrella to watch. At some point in his early years, I don’t know when exactly, he’d had sunstroke in India, so he was sensitive to sun, which is why he used to walk always in the afternoon, when the sun wasn’t high.
It was a wonderfully peaceful time. I remember the combination of Krishnaji, his talks, the beautiful valley, the remoteness, the silence, children all around, and those funny hills. A great atmosphere there. I imagined suddenly leaving everything and becoming a kind of hermit there. Then, of course, there were the dance performances under the banyan tree. I think that the same Mrs. Moonlight lady—the demented lady—had come, too. So, again, we had to run interference for Krishnaji to keep her away from Krishnaji.
But overall, Rishi Valley was just lovely.

The next move was to Bombay but via Bangalore. Again, Alain, Frances, and I had a car, a school car this time, which took us to Bangalore. We had lunch, did a little shopping, and then we met Krishnaji at the airport and flew to Bombay. I was invited over to Pupul’s for lunch about the second day, and Krishnaji said, “Bring me the things that you want kept safely.” In other words, money, passports, and things like that. So, I brought them, and he took me through the bathroom into his bed-room, and he took my things and put them away, saying they were perfectly safe as no one would come in his room. He then said, going out through the bathroom, “When I got here they had all sorts of pictures on the wall of Indian statuary and they’d taken them down quickly after he’d got there. And he added, “But not before I’d had a good look!”I remember Alain saying, “They were pornographic, weren’t they, sir?’ And Krishnaji replied, “Oh, no, they were religious!” I said that I didn’t feel that they could be pornographic because they all looked so happy! Well, it turned out as the conversation went on, that I hadn’t seen the ones that were on the bathroom wall; I’d only seen ones that are reproduced books—strange positions and so forth. Anyway, I had lunch there. Then Krishnaji began giving his talks. They were held in the usual place, in that college of art. He also held public discussions in the something like Khareghat Hall, which lots of people came to. You had to leave your sandals outside, and I remember one day I came out and all the sandals had been stolen!  Hundreds of pair of sandals where gone! Great consternation. Then there were walks around the hanging gardens in Malabar Hills with a required number of laps around. Krishnaji one day (there were people milling around), and pointed to a couple on a bench with their arms around each other, sprawling, and he said, “What is this country coming to? You never would have seen that a few years ago.” He sounded quite shocked.

I was invited to several meetings at Pupul’s, and I remember in particular the first one I went to. There were about fifteen people. Krishnaji asked the question, “What can the individual do in the face of the disintegration of society?” He made it something very interesting. He said that an individual cannot be changed by another individual. He made a distinction between individual consciousness and human consciousness: the individual consciousness is one’s own, but an individual can affect the totality of human consciousness He said that if only two or three people ever could do what he talked so often about, it would make a change in the world. He was pointing that out in this discussion. The individual who has changed has a vast resonance, like a wave going out from the individual; if there’s really change in the individual it would spread out like a wave through the totality of human beings. He didn’t use those exact words, but that was the implication of what he was saying. He said one has to see this, but people don’t, aren’t willing to. It was one of those discussions which were frustrating because he would say something like that and then inevitably, as in all discussions, there’d be someone who would say, “But we don’t see that, Krishnaji!” And then the discussion would go back as so many of his discussions did. So you’d go through a whole catalogue of what’s wrong, and it wouldn’t go forward. It was frustrating, somehow. If the discussion had flowed onward, people had gone with it, they would have seen something. There was one day, another private discussion, and he was a little bit late, which he usually never was; he came in laughing, and said, “I’ve just been scolded,” he said, “by a guru.” Apparently some guru took him to task for saying that gurus were no good! Were a hindrance! He was laughing at that so much! I think he said that in a talk at which I felt that one occasionally gets a sort of insight, and then thought perceives that insight as a danger to itself because we perceive that as almost like death; because if we really went ahead the self would disappear, and that is perceived by the thought process as death,  and it’s so scary that you pull back, and don’t go ahead.

Anyway, he talked, and whatever I said, I said, and he said things back. But I had the feeling—many people have these feelings in talks with Krishnaji—that he was talking to me directly, not only words, but subconsciously. I could feel it coming at me, even when he was talking to somebody else or addressing some particular question. It was very strange. Afterward he came over to me for some reason and said, “You didn’t mind me pounding you in that talk, did you?” I replied, “No, of course not.” It was one of those times when there were different levels of communication going on. I think it was in that talk that he said, as he so often did, “When you see that the road you’re on is the wrong road—you’re going north and someone comes and says that doesn’t lead anywhere; go south or east or west—why don’t you do it? Why don’t you see that where you’re going leads no place and stop?”
I remember saying, “But I can’t stop walking. My mind won’t stop. Even though I see it’s futile. It won’t go on.” He replied, “Why do you say that? You think you can’t, but you can.” I remember that strongly. It was like, he didn’t say it then, but it’s like, “Stop thinking.” I’d never done that. I mean, I could stop thinking about a particular thing, but the mind would run on in some other way.
(to be continued...)

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Tue, 28 May 2019 #154
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline

(We're still in 1966)

(...) About this time, Krishnaji would call me to come and discuss whether this house in the south of France, that had been offered by Frances McCann, was a good thing to accept or not. And at that point it was still a possibility, so he called me to discuss it. Frances had lived in Rome, where she had one of the very beautiful old apartments in the old palaces, Palazzo down in the old part of Rome, Piazza Navona—that part of Rome. She’d lived there, and she had an art gallery, too, that she supported. She sold all this, and had a certain amount of money as a result. She wanted to buy what they call in the south of France, a "mas"—a large farm house that could be a place where Krishnaji could retire, or use in whatever way he wanted, as he didn’t have a home really.

So that was still being discussed. In Bombay, he had said that he wanted to involve me in it. He wanted to make a committee of people who would be responsible for it. The idea was that Frances would look after it, but there had to be a group that would have jurisdiction.
He said that Alain should go and look for such a house when they got back to Europe after Bombay. Gérard Blitz was involved in this too because he lived near there. He knew that part of France. He lived in a community of rather luxurious houses. So, Blitz was going to help find it too. But there was to be a group of people—I think myself, Alain, possibly Vanda, I’ve forgotten who else, would be involved in it. We were still talking about all this. Krishnaji wasn’t sure that he wanted to do this. He was a little afraid that Frances might regret it, or he felt Frances wasn’t perhaps too stable, and that it would be a mistake to have a place like that which she had really provided. But at this point it was still on. As I recall, when we did get back, Alain did go and look for things. But it didn’t go any further. And, of course, it was after that, that the idea of a school came up.
I remember another discussion. This was the final discussion. It was again on the subject of thought and the difficulty of letting go of thought. I found that impossible. Krishnaji said something quite extraordinary which made the whole thing clear to me. He used the metaphor of the drum that is silent—the silence was necessary. “Thought is the un-tuning of the drum,” he said. And he also said, “What happens when you put thought aside? Turn your back on it?” I again replied that I couldn’t do it and said, “How does one turn away even when the futility of that is seen?”
He said, “You mean you’re (caught ?) in thought and you can’t get out? Why do you insist on that?”
All I could do was just be stuck. And then he did something quite remarkable. All of a sudden he said to me, “Mrs. Zimbalist, is beauty (related to ?) thought?” And that broke it for me. I saw that. That isn’t thought. It was like a blinding light all of a sudden.

I remember also that at the end of that discussion, he said, “If you could see the beauty of the empty drum tuned and that out of that action comes.”
I said, “Yes, I see.”
And then when he said goodbye, he said, “Hold onto that drum!”

There was also a dinner party at Mrs. Mehta’s house, the mother of Nandini and Pupul. It was in their old family house, it was quite beautiful. Really marvelous food, extraordinary food, and everyone was wonderfully dressed in saris and things. There was a great sense of the affection that the family had for Krishnaji. In one of the discussions,  suddenly a door burst open and Nandini’s little grandchild, who later became a dancer… she was a little girl of about six or something then, she rushed into the room to Krishnaji, and he jumped up and kissed her on both cheeks and threw her up in the air to her delight. There was such excitement in the child’s face, and his joy in seeing this little child. It was lovely.

I remember that when we were still in Rishi Valley, at the end of that discussion that I mentioned earlier, I went back to just mentioning the other interviews that he’d given me, which of course he didn’t remember, and I said, “Sir, I feel that, as I seem to be increasingly a fixture around you that you should look into what I’m like. You should ask me anything you want. You should know who the people are around you.” That was part of the thing when he said he was shy, but now that we knew each other better, etc. I said, “I’m shy too, but I think it’s only right that if there’s anything that you want to know about me, you would ask me, please.”
I didn’t feel strange in India. I mean, it was totally strange, but I didn’t feel alienated. I thought it was wonderful being there, and I felt I liked everything that happened to me there.
On the last day in India, I went over to Krishnaji’s, to Pupul’s house to collect my passport or whatever it was that I left with him. When I came in people were seated on the floor in a little sitting room just to the left as you come in. There was a dark bearded minstrel who held a stringed instrument, one string, and a little clicking castanet sort of thing. The minute Krishnaji came into the room, he started to play and sing. It was lovely, haunting songs. Apparently Krishnaji had heard him singing in the street and had him brought in to play.
We sat and listened to it. Krishnaji said that he’d heard the singing in the street and he knew that rich people who lived around there don’t hear it, only the servants would hear it. He also said that the man was from the south and spoke Telugu. When it was over, Krishnaji went and thanked him and put a gift of clothing on the floor next to him. I remember so clearly the grace with which he did something like that. It is rare for a person to be able to convey such human grace in everything he did.

So, that evening, everybody went to the airport, and there were a whole mass of devotees who came to see him off. They were seated in a big circle in a room, and Krishnaji was seated on a chair, and there was dead silence. I remember that when I came in, he got up as he would if a woman came into the room, and you could feel a shock wave go around through the whole of the Indian devotees that Krishnaji would get up for a woman.
And finally, he got up and went out in the hallway, and the Parsee lady, the mad lady, Mrs. Moonlight, she was after him. So, again, we had to protect him.
I should clarify, we had been in a sort of a sitting room that had been put aside for him as a waiting room, and then there was the open airport outside. So, I went along too, to protect him, until Madhavachari came, and then he kept her away. Krishnaji said to me, “I can’t stand sitting there and being stared at.”

So, off we went (to Europe) . Alain and I were in tourist class, and Krishnaji was in first class, but he kept coming back to see us, and said, “I’m visiting the poor.”So that was the end of India that time.
We landed in Rome. Krishnaji went to stay with Vanda Scaravelli, at the house she’d rented in Rome, Via Casaletto, and I stayed in Hotel Rafael, off Piazza Navona, which is a very nice little hotel, but I didn’t stay there long as I went back to the United States. This was the end of March 1966, and I didn’t see Krishnaji again until April, in London. Krishnaji stayed in Rome for a while.

This is the end of April and, again, he was in a crummy little rented house in Wimbledon; not right in Wimbledon, but near there, in Kingston something, near the Kingston Bypass.Alain telephoned me and said, “Will you meet us at Huntsman?” And of course, this entertained me vastly because it was the follow-on of the last time we were in London. Anyway, there was much pouring over samples, and they ordered suits. Everybody was very happy. I was consulted on the choices, as my advice was really a Ph.D. advice! Or so I was considered. Well, Mr. Lintott, of course, was just as pleased to see Mr. Krishnamurti as Mr. Krishnamurti was to be there. So, all the “patterns,” as they called samples of materials, were brought out, and there was great discussion about what was needed. Then, of course, he had the added fun of deciding what Naudé “needed,” as he said. Krishnaji called him Naudé always; never called him Alain.
“Naudé should have a blue suit.” So what kind of a blue suit, what weight of a blue suit? Where and what climates would he being wearing it, and what occasions? This was all a very serious matter. And it entertained me greatly. I sat on that old leather thing by the window.

By then I had ordered a car because I don’t think I had a car before that. Anyway, I’d ordered a Jaguar, not a Mercedes. But I’d ordered it in California for delivery in London. I drove it out to the little horrid house by the Kingston Bypass. I remember Krishnaji looking out the window and rushing out to see the car. He looked it all over, but as it wasn’t a Mercedes, he didn’t say very much. I think it was that day that he gave his first talk at the Friends Hall on Euston Road, and we went to that in the Jaguar. It was a bigger and better hall than Wimbledon, but it’s still not such a great hall.
The next day,  in the car, I took them on their round of appointments, mostly shopping. I can still see driving them in and out from Kingston Bypass place, which was the point of the car.  Krishnaji had a wonderful way in the car. We’d be chatting about anything, and he would suddenly say, “Do you mind if we talk seriously?” Naturally one agreed. And he would say something like, “Meditation can be extraordinary if you know how to do it.” And then he’d say, “What is humility?” And then he’d say, “It is without content, without any movement toward anything.” There were these extraordinary unrecorded little things, which luckily, I made some notes of these.
And then he would ask me, “Does it interfere with your driving if we talk seriously?” He wanted to discuss, “What is seriousness? What is it to you?” he would ask. And then I would say whatever I thought it was. He replied, “There is decision in it.”

After he had talked to David Bohm , he said that David had said that he, himself, was not decisive. That word struck Krishnaji, that decision was a part of all this.
At that point, Naudé quoted something Krishnaji had said some time before about seriousness, but Krishnaji brushed it aside. He didn’t want to go back to something he had said, and he was looking at it anew at that moment.
At one point he asked me about someone we both knew, whether that person was serious. I apparently paused quite a while and then said, “No.” He then asked, “What do you mean by that?” I said that to me a person isn’t serious if they’re unwilling to go wherever the inquiry takes them; and that was why I answered “No” about this person.
He countered by asking, “Why do people do that?”
I felt that a serious person doesn’t chose or decide out of self-interest.
Krishnaji then asked me why they always act out of self-interest; to which I responded that I thought it is an impulse in people and they were “afraid of putting all their eggs in one basket,” as I put it. He replied with something like, “But actually people would have much more, but they don’t see it.”
Then he asked me out of the blue, “Would you be serious if you married and had a family?” I said it depended on the marriage and the relationship.
He said that people say they are serious about work and about the people they marry. “I am serious about the suit I’m going to fit.”
I said, “Well, is that because there’s no extraneous questions about that?”
He replied, “Have you self-interest in your car?” We were driving.
I said, “Yes, but were these things a measure of seriousness, or was it what the car meant to me? I am serious about the car to a point,” but I said, “not dependent on it.” That was the kind of conversation that would go on. All the time, he’s directing me through traffic. He was the greatest backseat driver that I’ve ever encountered, or heard of. He would do hand signals.
There’d be a red light coming up, and with his hand, while still talking, he would slow me down. Occasionally, when we weren’t talking 'seriously', he would say,  “There’s a red light ahead.”

One day we got on to the subject at the table with Anneke. Anneke brought up "LSD", and Krishnamurti expressed surprise that I knew anything about it. He told us again about soma in ancient India and how he had discussed this with Huxley , and Huxley told him LSD wasn’t quite the real thing. Krishnaji said, “It can’t be like the real thing.” I had told him all about my being part of a scientific experiment with it. He rather dismissed it. Huxley had taken all these things at the time he knew Krishnaji. I sat next to him at that dinner party, and during that dinner, I asked him whether Krishnaji’s knowledge of LSD and all that had come from him and whether that was why Krishnaji felt so much against it? Huxley gave an odd reply, “Oh, well, it’s part of his vegetarianism.”

Anyway, on this day, he wanted to go for a ride. So in the Jaguar, we were going to go to Wisley again, but as we got toward Wisley, he said he didn’t want to go there. So, we went on to the Links’s . He had told me all about how he’d known her since she was a baby, and that she and her husband Joe had  a house near Haslemere. So, we headed for Haslemere. We didn’t know where to go, but Alain inquired and we finally found the house, but there wasn’t anybody there. A farmer who was in a field said that he knew who we were talking about, and he thought that they would’ve been out for a walk. So we parked the car at the house, and we walked along the road, and met them coming back.
Krishnaji was delighted, and they were thrilled to see him, of course. I had the pleasure of meeting them for the first time. We went in and we had tea, and immediately everybody was very congenial. Mary writes about it in her book: how she was pleased to see that Krishnaji had some fun in his life with two people who laughed and enjoyed things with him. On those drives, Krishnaji would remember places that he’d stayed in the old days. Apparently, he’d stayed all over England with various people. He would explain it by saying that he was never allowed to go out by himself when he was young. He always had to have two 'initiates' with him at all times. The reason being that Dr. Besant thought he’d be safer, but also because he would give all his money away. If he was alone, he’d just give it to someone who needed it. So, Dr. Besant said, as he said, “For god’s sake, don’t let him go out alone!” And then he said, “My brother never left me.

There was another drive, which is almost historic in a way because we decided to drive to the Cotswolds. I went with maps and an itinerary and everything, but when I got to the house, and it was decided that maybe that was too far. So we set out towards Winchester. And as I look back on it, we must’ve driven right past the road up to Brockwood, because from Kingston we went out the A3 and must’ve turned onto the A272 and drove right by. Nobody had any paranormal intimations of the future, and we got to Winchester. We looked at the Royal Hotel for lunch, but there wasn’t anything vegetarian. Alain went in and looked at the menu and found that it wouldn’t do. So we wound up at the Wessex’s.
 After lunch we went to the cathedral and looked around it. And in the middle of Middle Wallop probably, we decided to take a nap. I had a big steamer rug in the back of the car, which we took into a field, and spread it out on the grass. Each person had a portion of the rug, and we lay down and snoozed a little. And then, refreshed, we drove on to Stonehenge, which in those days was so wonderful because it wasn’t surrounded by fence. There was nobody around. You could just go up to the stones. It was wonderful! We drove back by another route

In the car, Krishnaji said that a question by some young people he’d seen the day before had come back to him in the morning. He’d thought of it, and he said that, “Time is a like a river flowing, but we divide it into the past, the present, and the future. But one must see the whole of it, and then when you see it, then time has a stop.
Suddenly he said, “Yes, I see, but I mustn’t talk about it now.” Which meant that he’d seen something that he didn’t want to talk about because he’d talk about it in a public talk. Then quite suddenly he said, ”When my brother died, this person” meaning himself “fainted, went into a coma for several days, so Shiva Rao told me,” he said. He didn’t remember. And when he came to they all assured him he was alright—the Masters and all that. But though he cried out and it was a great shock, he never tried to move from that fact, to question what it all meant. He just suddenly came out with this thing about his brother. And then he was very intense and very elated by the idea of time, and said, “I wish I could give a talk right now!”
That night, I had supper with them. Anneke had it ready when we got there. He kept saying at the table, “I’m ready to talk now!” We were concerned that he wouldn’t sleep—it would be hard for him to sleep in such a mood, so he wouldn’t get enough sleep the night before a talk. So, we watched television as a soporific to calm him down. Then I went back to Eaton Place.

By this time, I was the chauffeur, so it would make sense. He was talking to David Bohm during these times. They were having discussions. Sarel and David would come on the tube to Sloane Square or somewhere near there, and I would pick them up there and drive them out. In one of the discussions, Krishnaji made the statement that, “there is, in effect, nothing to do but listen, listen with affection.” That’s the way he put it. He said that if a statement is made that is true, it has its own action if you listen. He illustrated this with that story of the robbers—he’s told it many times—of the band of robbers is made by their leader to close their eyes and ears as they go past a teacher who is teaching. The youngest robber steps on a thorn, and drops his hands, and hears the words, “stealing is evil,” which he truly hears, and he could no longer steal. So, he told that story. After these discussion we would walk in Richmond Park quite a lot, David, Sarel and Krishnaji and myself.
Also, Krishnaji started asking questions about “that boy”—meaning himself—why, despite everything, he wasn’t conditioned. He was talking about that an awful lot in the car.
Anyway, we again went to Mary Lutyens and Joe’s in the country one day. It was pouring rain, and we took a picnic to eat on the way down, but we ate it in the car because of the rain. I remember that I made a ratatouille—must have made it in the house in Kingston. Things you remember. Anyway, we went and had tea with Mary and Joe and had another lovely walk because the rain had gone away.

So, we come now to May, I think the tenth. We were to drive the car to Paris, so we drove to Lydd, which is where they had a way of flying cars over. It was a rather small plane, that could land on the water but it also had wheels. It would emerge from the water on a ramp, and then the wheels would take it up onto the landing strip.
Around noon we drove on towards Paris, and I had ordered a table at the Coq Hardi - the food is superb and we had a somptuous lunch. Just one beautiful dish of vegetables after another, and fruit. Krishnaji was pleased. So we went on into Paris in the afternoon. I dropped Krishnaji and Alain at the Suarèses’ at about four o’clock. Then I went on to the Hotel Pont Royale, where I’d stayed before.

 On May fifteenth, Krishnaji gave his first talk in the Salle Adyar. Then we went to the Bois  and to (the park) Bagatelle , which is lovely. We walked around, and I think we had tea or something to drink, and then I drove them back. And, then t here was going to be another young people’s discussion  arranged by Alain, and I was able to hire a nice room for that discussion in the Hotel Pont Royale. I took them to it, and sat in on it. Afterward, I dropped them back, and I went to tea with Marianne Borel. Little bird-like lady with white hair, very French. I can see her in my mind’s eye. She always used to put up money for the camping people in the tent to have food. Well anyway, she gave a tea, and that was for all the French people, and so I met them all.
There were two other characters of note: General and Madame Bouvards. He was a retired general and she was a rather worldly woman. They were around in Saanen every year, and Madame Bouvards would give luncheons and things. So, we went and had a luncheon with them and somebody called Nagaswaran. Nagaswaran played the veena in India, for Krishnaji, and also he played it at the house that Alain and Frances and I shared. He was rather nice, and he moved to France, I think, and believe he started a school. Anyway, he played at Madame Bouvards.

Mr Suares he was a little gnomish-like man, and he was very busy, really absorbed, in doing some translations and writing a book about the Kabbalah. He was very involved in that. Nadine was a grey-haired, middle-aged, very French-looking lady, but in fact they were both Egyptian. There was another young people’s discussion, and I took K  there. And then coming back the Jaguar stopped. Luckily, there was a parking place right on the corner, and I was able to roll it in. I don’t know how, but I did. And so I said to Alain and Krishnaji, “Go away, and leave me to deal with this.”
After some protests, they did. This was on the twenty-ninth of May, and there ensued an absolutely frantic and comic day , trying to get the Jaguar moving, have life again. I eventually got someone through the auto club, I don’t know what. “Ma voiture est en panne,” said I.
“Oui, oui, Madame,” came the reply. He would come and deal with it. So, how he dealt with it is that he towed it away. And I couldn’t find it.  It was Pentecôte, and I was due to drive K, in the Jaguar, to Switzerland. And it was Pentecôte, and nobody was anywhere. I finally located the man who towed it away, and I learned where it was supposed to be. He said that he would meet me there. He hadn’t been able to fix it, but we were going to try to get it out anyway. So I went in a taxi way into the eastern part of Paris, to some terrible place, a dead car yard, and mine was behind a big wall with a big gate and an enormous padlock on it. So, the man climbed the fence, and was to stand guard outside in case the police came by. But anyway, he broke the lock or something because somehow he got the gate open, and he got the car out. He also had to go in and steal the key, which was hidden in the office. He did all that while I stood guard. Finally he got it out, but it would only go in very low gear in fits and starts. And driving it that way with this awful jerky motion, I thought it’s ruining the whole car so it’ll never recover from this. He got it to the Jaguar agency up near the Étoile. I don’t know how we managed but it got there, and it was left there. By this time, I was rather a nervous wreck.

The next morning, I called the Jaguar people, but they were rather vague about the whole thing. So, I got Alain on the phone and I said, “You’ve got to come with me, or we’ll never get it” –we were supposed to leave that morning for Switzerland!
We went over, and Alain was marvelous. He found out who was head of the whole place and where his office was, and we went upstairs to it, and he walked in with me in tow. There was the boss behind a big desk, important man in a conference with other important men. Alain walked up and said in immaculate French, “Monsieur, I am bringing you a great problem. Madame is due to leave this morning in her car to take a very distinguished gentleman on a tour of France and to Switzerland. It is the highest importance that the car be able to run. Will you see to it?” With that, the chef de Jaguar pointed to an underling and told him to take care of this.
We went out and followed him down, and there was the poor car. So we got in and, again, a harrowing ride into the Bois with the car going in lower than low gear, I don’t know what, and jerking, jerking all the way. The technician, who was driving, forced the car to go. Apparently the car was not broken. There was something stuck, and by forcing it, and forcing it, and forcing it…suddenly it went!
When we went back to the Jaguar dealership, I said, “We can postpone our departure until after lunch, but I will need the car looked at in detail between now and 3 o’clock,” or whatever it was.
After lunch I fetched the Jaguar, got my luggage from the hotel, and I met them both at the Suarèses’. The car was driving perfectly, so off we went to Touraine. I must go back to this exit from Paris, because this was when Krishnaji told both Alain and me that, at times, he faints; and that, if it happened, we weren’t to be frightened, but “don’t touch the body,” as he put it. So, we’re going out of Paris on the thirty-first of May. Heavy traffic on the Autoroute de Soleil. We’re driving along, and something made me glance at Krishnaji, and he s-l-o-w-l-y  fainted to the left into, more or less, my lap. I put out my hand instinctively. I was afraid his head would hit the steering wheel. I couldn’t stop the car. Cars, you know pouring all around us. Alain was in the back seat.
It was extraordinary the way this happened. It was like slow motion. He didn’t go "plop". He v-e-r-y slowly, like a flower leaning over , so I was able to continue to drive. Luckily, I was in the right-hand lane. As soon as possible, when there was an exit, we got off the auto-route. After a few minutes, with a cry, Krishnaji came to. He made some half-joking apology for falling into my lap or something. I’ve forgotten exactly what he said. So we drove on he said it would sometimes happen after a series of talks. He didn’t explain it then, but he explained it later on; that it was something about leaving the body temporarily, after it’d been through strain of some kind. The effort of the Paris talks and all that, would have made that a moment for it. He also said it will never happen in public, and it will never happen unless he’s with people he knows well, not casually.  So, we drove on. I booked rooms in a hotel in Montbazon, which we turned out to dislike very much. It was the former house of somebody like Monsieur Coty, you know, some big industrialist. It was turned into a hotel, and it was overly ornate and pretentious. We didn’t like it at all. But we spent the night, we had to. We decided to drive on the next day.

Also, he had, once in California, a cyst inside his lower lip, and the doctor said it had to come out. So, we drove into the doctor’s office, and they gave him Novocain, I think, and it was cut out. It wasn’t serious in any way. But about halfway home, he fainted, again, in the same way. He also did it once in New York when we arrived, and we went to a flat I rented from my ex-sister-in-law. A little flat on 61stStreet. I took him into his room, showed him where it was, and, I guess, just from fatigue of the journey, he fainted. So it was after some, as he put it, “shock to the body” or exertion, strain of some kind. And the cry, when he comes to, he wasn’t aware of the cry. It woke him up, but it wasn’t a sign of pain or something.  So, the next day we drove on to Amboise. We lunched in Amboise. Krishnaji isn’t a great chateau visitor, as I’ve said, so we didn’t go into the Château, but we went on to Chenonceau. When we got there, we did do a walk around, but again, we didn’t go into the Château. We went in on another trip when we went there. But it’s lovely to look at it from the outside, and we walked around the gardens.

Then we went on—again the Michelin Guide had done its duty for me—to a place I’d found called Pougues-les-Eaux . At Pougues-les-Eaux, there was a Château de Mimont, which had been turned into a hotel. It was Château with parkland around. Lovely! And the owner was the host. That was lovely. It was in the country, and there were fields, and trees, and beautiful rolling country. We had nice rooms and I remember in the salle à manger that supper was very good. They rose to the vegetarian challenge very nicely, and it was good.
I remember that was one of the first times when I was aware of something… strange…some presence when Krishnaji was talking about his early life. I can see the dining room in my memory, and feeling something, something that’s not identifiable. A sort of presence, is the way I can explain it was like a kind of, well…I’ve described it as a vibrance in the air. Something electric, something, some sort of unheard hum or something…

So, we then went to Gstaad, and Les Caprices. This year we all stayed at Caprices for a while, because Tannegg wasn’t open yet. Krishnaji had a sort of studio, next to my flat, as I recall. But we all used my sitting room. And I did the cooking.
The next day Alain and Krishnaji went to Dr. Pierre Schmidt, who was a noted homeopath. An ancient gentleman. Alain of course has always been mad about homeopathy, and he got hold of Dr. Pierre Schmidt, who was a very distinguished homeopath. I went along, I took them. They both had liver treatments. God knows what that was. They became patients of Dr. Schmidt. Then K and I drove back to Gstaad, and Alain remained to meet Desikachar, who was arriving from India.
One day we drove one day to Evian for lunch on the terrace of the Hotel Royal, which is lovely. I think it was the time of cherries, those wonderful, big, black, huge cherries.  We ordered cherries, and Alain insisted on opening every cherry in case there was a worm in it. He had a thing about worms. I said it ruins the cherries, being full of anxiety about a worm! I said that I’ve never had a worm in a cherry.
He said, “I have!”
But it was this really a lovely lunch because the terrace looks out over the whole lake. And it’s a very old-fashioned hotel. In fact, we thought of taking rooms there once, but we never did.
So, on we went to Geneva and the Hotel du Rhône. Alain and Krishnaji had homeopathic treatments, which I didn’t have. They also had steam baths. But I didn’t do that.At other times, when I drove alone with him, later on when Alain wasn’t with us, he used to chant. And that was wonderful. We would drive through France on lovely little tiny roads, with the beautiful country unwinding around us, and he would chant. It was like…well, I’ve always felt most people have a hum—when they’re alone, they hum something. Krishnaji’s hum was Sanskrit chants. Those were really wonderfully magic moments, being in the middle of France, away from everything, no telephone, no people, nobody knew where we were, just rolling through lovely country, relaxed and–just loveliness. We wouldn’t talk too much. But there was a kind of something unspoken that we both were enjoying.
Krishnaji talked about his life. He made a rather detailed attempt to explain to Alain and me about the theosophic order of thing He explained that the Lord Maitreya is a living ancient being in Tibet who periodically leaves his own body and enters that of a person. He hasn’t gone on to be a Buddha because humanity is suffering. It is said that he took Jesus’ body.
I asked Krishnaji if he could see auras. He replied that he used to.
Then I asked him if his extraordinary perception in interviews that made such an impact was, or came from such powers.
He said probably. He told us a story about a man who came to him, and K was able to tell him all about himself. And the man was indignant! It’s as though this man felt Krishnaji had intruded into his life. As he was talking about these things, he always seemed to know how they occurred, but he never said. I mean how he could see auras, and how he could, for instance, know all about this man when he walked in the room. One felt that he understood what was going on. But he never explained it.

I was always felt it was not right to pry. If he wanted to tell me something, wonderful. But if he didn’t want to go beyond what he told me, I never asked questions.  Or, I sometimes asked questions prefaced by the statement, “If you don’t want to tell me, please don’t, but I’ll ask it, and then forget it if you don’t want to tell me about it.” So, I never pushed. Perhaps I should have, but I felt that wasn’t right to do it that way. And also in one of these talks, he talked about what was actually “the process,” but he didn’t call it that then. He said that he’d suddenly had fits of unconsciousness or coma that would come upon him, and he would cry out. And his brother was there, and Rosalind, and a Mr. Warrington, who was a theosophist  And he said that they never touched the body. There was something…he was so vulnerable in these states, in the fainting too, that anything that impinged upon him physically and Mary wrote about it  the times in the Tyrol when they were there and the church bells would ring, and it—he said something like, “It nearly was the end of me” because of the shock of the bells ringing while he was in this state was so great.  So there was an extreme vulnerability at a time like this. There mustn’t be anything to shock the body physically or it could be fatal. He said they never touched the body. When he was telling us about this, I wondered if there was some reason that he was telling us. And, he said that his brother wrote it all down. That the boy had spoken marvelous poetry, and strange things happened. This was during “the process.”
We asked what strange things happened. He said rather hesitantly, “A star appeared.”
I asked where. He said above his head The boy had no memory of all this, then or now, he said. I asked if he was aware of what was happing then and he said, probably, he must have. But he couldn’t remember.So that was one of the times when he talked about this.

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Wed, 29 May 2019 #155
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline

(Continuing with selected excerpts from MZ' memos. We're in the summer of 1966)

(...) I ought to recount one evening when he spoke of a game of noticing and naming objects from just one glance. He said he used to play this game with his brother, and a similar game, where you, say, have just a second to look at this table, and then not look at it, and remember.  I asked him if his state of noticing everything is constant. He replied, “It always has been, except when I’m empty, and I hardly look out the window of my room. I’m empty.”
Then he turned to Alain and said, “That’s why, sir, sometimes when you come into the room I jump out of my skin.”
That was interesting: how he could look at everything, see everything, and then he’d go into these states of being empty, at which times anything would startle him.

He also asked, in the car going to Amboise, if we’d never heard a definition of meditation, what would it mean to us? He then asked, “How does one look at oneself, not each individual, but in a way in which all things are included?” He continued, pointing to a mountain, “It’s like being up there. When you look down from there you see everything in its proper place. So, how do you see from there?…Not how, but what is seeing from there? That is the question.” Then he asked, “Do you remember silence?” “Where was it?” he asked. Alain said, “The Château de Mimont.”

Krishnaji replied, “Yes, there was silence, and all the sounds in it.”  I said it had happened since, and he nodded, and said, “Yes, several times, in this room.”
He continued, “Where do you start to look from? Not up there, but where you are. You must be very sensitive and do everything you can for that. Right food, enough sleep. Hip baths…” He was big on hip baths! I think, Mary talks about having to have hip baths in mountain streams from melted snow when they were in the Tyrol He used to take hip baths in the tub, ice cold water.
“Be aware of everything you do. Have you ever tried that awareness?” he asked us. Alain said that he had. Krishnaji continued, ”You are not aware if there is a center watching to correct. As long as there is this, you are not watching. There must be no center. Then things are corrected of themselves. That is the lesson for this evening.”

And then he changed the subject, and said he wanted us to speak only French all through supper! In the middle of a lunch, at some point, he said suddenly, “There is no discovery in thinking, only in observation.” We were also playing records in those days in Caprices.
I had bought a machine in Geneva, I think, when they were having steam baths, and I bought some music.  He liked Segovia’s guitar music very much.
Also, one evening, Krishnaji was very pleased because, one evening, Alain locked me out of the kitchen and did the dishes. There was always a continuing battle over the dishes but in those days I had the upper hand. I wasn’t challenged except this one evening.
Krishnaji was quite pleased with that.

Krishnaji also asked me what I thought neurosis was.
I said that I thought, in part, that it was a very defective perception of reality. “The persistent pursuit of impossible aims,” said I. He asked me if I thought psychoanalysis did any good.
I replied that I did. Of course, he doesn’t remember all that I have told him about my doing psychoanalysis.
I said, “Yes, but not on the level” of which he was talking. “It seeks to adjust people to the environment.”
He then said, “But the society is neurotic. Thinking creates neurosis,” he said. And laughed at what he thought most people would think if he said that. Then he asked, “So, how does one act without thought? You must see that thought creates conflict, which is neurosis.”

He was full of energy through all this, delighted that the rain had stopped his hay fever.
We watched the turbulent gray river pouring down the mountains.
 He used to tell us his stories, but you know his stories about the student of a guru who went off and studied for fifteen years with another guru, and then came back to the first guru and said he’d learned marvelous things, so the second guru said, “Show me a little.” The student said he could walk on the water. So the student showed the first guru, who said, “You took fifteen years to do that? If you’d told me, I could have showed you there was a ferry!”
In return for yoga lessons, Krishnaji was giving Desikachar meticulous lessons in western table manners! Alain and I learned a thing or two about western table manners as it went along!
Now here’s a question that appeared on the way to Geneva; Krishnaji asked, “What would make a man change, a man like Iyengar, who is angry and bitter at Desikachar’s giving lessons here.” “As long as he is taking a stand, there is no change.”
At this point, Alain and I ask if he hadn’t taken a stand on things like not killing or eating meat? He replied, “It isn’t a stand. I don’t kill anyone. I’ve never eaten meat, but it’s not a position. I just don’t.”
It seemed a subtle and important difference between just not doing something, and having a plan, ideal pattern of action. It was not a principle.
“As long as he takes a stand,” this refers to Iyengar, “he will never change. There is no small, gradual change. That is no change at all. Only the awareness that a total revolution is necessary, in an instant, will change a man.”
Another day, in the car, he asked, “What is love? Not all the exchange between most people. For love there must be meditation, there must be no memory.”
And then he said, “Love is innocence; just don’t answer it.”
At one point he asked me if I would like to be twenty-five again. Not to go back to when I was twenty-five but be that now, having had all the rest of my life.
I replied, “In that case, yes!” “I thought so,” he said!
Later he admonished us about food and the good or bad of taking vitamins. He was in a wheel of energy and kept coming back from his room to tell us more. He told me that I must make the body very sensitive by learning what foods were best for me.

On another drive he was talking about relationship, and he said, “I’ve always done what I wanted. One reason Rajagopal used to get upset was that, if I wanted to give something away, I gave it.” He spoke of seeing things instantly. And he asked why I hadn’t seen, in the past, both death and pleasure and stepped out of it?
I said that I had. He replied, “No, no Madame, why didn’t you see it then?”

Still in Switzerland; when people started coming for the talks and we used to go on walks, he said, “I don’t dare look to left or right” because people would be looking at him and want to catch his eye. He said, “Do you mind if we walk fast?”
Oh, I had a dream at that point. It was the most vivid dream I’ve ever had in my life, and it’s pertinent to this time in my life. I knew immediately what it meant. So, the dream was that I’m standing on the bank of a river. The river is very fast, and turbulent; a fast moving river. If I jump in, I may drown, but I feel I must jump in. In the middle of the river was a tall, majestic Sequoia; a redwood tree; a splendid towering tree. I knew that if I jumped in the river that I had to be willing to drown. Perhaps I wouldn’t, perhaps I’d be washed against the tree and that would save me. So, I jumped, and that’s what happened. The moment I woke up, I knew exactly what it was because the Saanen River is gray, and can be turbulent and though the Saanen River a little river, the river in my dream was vast. The grey river represents change to me. What the dream was saying to me was: You’ve got to be willing to let go and die to yourself, as it were, and change. Of course, the tree is obviously Krishnaji. I told him of it , sometime later. We were on a walk along the river, and he smiled and said it was a symbolic dream.
I said, “Yes, it could be interpreted in various ways, either being saved or perhaps destroyed.”
“Oh no,” he said, and asked how a psychiatrist would look at those things. I described the process. “Oh, that takes forever,” he said.
Also we had a conversation about 'masks'; that we all wear 'masks', and would it be possible to live with no masks, no defenses, directly in contact, and have no objectives?

Well, now we come to Vanda arriving from Rome.
Just before Vanda arrives, at lunch, there was a teasing battle on the subject of 'marriage' with Desikachar as the audience. Krishnaji and Alain were attacking it and I was taking the defense.
I said that Alain put it along-side leprosy and that K’s tone when speaking of  marriage to the children at Rishi Valley was enough to put a terror into them. He would make a remark and then look sideways to see how much of a rise he’d got out of me! We finally agreed that the whole system needed revising, and I suggested that he re-invent its meaning.
That afternoon Vanda arrived from Rome at Chalet Tannegg, and came down for supper with us. It was lovely to see her. She met Desikachar for the first time. Then the next day  Krishnaji and Alain both moved up to Tannegg. Krishnaji thanked me for everything and said if he and Signora, as he called her, quarreled could he come back and stay with me? I moved most of their things up to the Chalet, and as I left Vanda said, “You must come for all lunches and suppers,” very sweetly so I was frequently up and down the hill between the two places. The day after Krishnaji went up there, I lunched with all of them and also present was Radha Rajagopal Sloss with her husband and two youngish children, quite attractive children. She had a kind of 'proprietary' air toward Krishnaji as though he sort of belonged to her as a child, a sort of hangover from that. She both played up to him and treated him a little as though he was old and bumbling. There was much chatter at the table. The children were very nicely behaved, nice children.

On the tenth,  Krishnaji began his talks and, as usual.Right after the second talk, Alain and I went to Divonne to hear Richter I remember it especially because Richter had appeared, at least in my awareness, the previous winter when he came to Los Angeles. I’d read a review of his playing in, I guess, the New York Times, which said this extraordinary Soviet pianist has come to the west, and gave such a review as I’d never read. By coincidence, when I was reading the review, I thought I recognized the name from material I used to get of people who were playing in Los Angeles. So, I went to hear him, and it just blew me through the ceiling. It was so wonderful.
So, I thought that Alain being a musician and a pianist to boot would be interested. I told him about this and, well, he wasn’t patronizing, but it was obvious that he was thinking that I was an amateur and he was a pro. But I insisted, saying that he had to hear this man. So, when I heard he was going to play in Divonne, which is, as you know, right outside Geneva, I got tickets through the concierge at the Hotel du Rhône, where we always stayed.
Well, it was a big success. We had seats quite close to the stage, and Richter no sooner started playing, then I glanced at Alain, who rolled his eyes . He saw immediately what it was. I remember that Alain ran into Richter in the hotel hall and spoke to him in French. I don’t whether Richter spoke French, but he understood it. Alain said, “Monsieur, vous etes le seul pianiste,” and Richter sort of acknowledged that. Anyway, it was a very successful outing.
Then we came back the next morning, in time to hear Krishnaji give his third talk. After the talk, Krishnaji brought his car down to Caprices because he wanted to keep it in the garage. With my rent, I had garage rights. Vanda had a Lancia that she’d had for years, and the last time I saw it, which was in 1986, it had died, but it was sitting on her lawn in Italy. She kept it like a monument! For all I know it’s still there!

But it was a very splendid Lancia, and she drove very fast and enjoyed driving.
Alain, again, arranged young people’s meetings. They were usually held at Tannegg. Filled the living room with young people, and I suppose they were taped. He was taping everything because he was responsible for the Nagra.

So, there was also yoga going on with Desikachar, for both Krishnaji and me.
And also, Krishnaji used to ask me to come driving with him in his Mercedes.
At one point, early on, in the middle of July, Krishnaji said that he was uneasy about staying with Mrs. Pinter in New York. He was going to speak there at The New School. Krishnaji knew that she was now old and not too well, and he felt that his staying there would be an imposition and difficult for her. Mr. Pinter had died since the last time he was there. As I had said I would find a place for Alain and me to stay in New York, Krishnaji wondered if he could stay wherever Alain was staying. So, I immediately got in touch with my brother, and asked if I could rent his flat. He was between marriages at that point, and alone in his flat. I asked him if I could I rent it for the time we’d be in New York. My brother could stay in our father’s flat in The Ritz Tower. My father had a little flat which Krishnaji and I later used in another year. But, with three of us, I needed a bigger flat than was my father’s. My brother immediately cabled me and said, “Yes, of course.” So, that was arranged.

At about this time I remember Mrs. Lindbergh came to lunch. She was a friend of Vanda’s and had met Krishnaji before. Of course, she had written something for one of Krishnaji’s books. Was it an introduction? She admired him very much.
On the twenty-second, there was another ninety young people for a discussion.
It was Alain’s doing that brought all the young people to Krishnaji.
That was a really good thing that he did.
Instead of us old ladies doddering in the front rows, tides of young people came. Of course, it was also the era when young people were wandering around Europe, with packs on their backs, and this was a place to go at that point, a 'hippie stop'.
On the twenty-eighth, there was the ninth Saanen talk. Lots of talks in those days.
And the next day there was the third young people’s discussion at Tannegg. I was invited to attend and stay for lunch afterward. It was busy days. He had a bit of bronchitis but, as usual, he surmounted the bronchitis.
On the thirty-first was the tenth and last Saanen talk of that year.

On August third, the public discussions began.
On the fourth there was the second public discussion—there was one every day at that time. But of more significance was the meeting at Tannegg with all the people who wanted to start a Krishnamurti school. The room was full. There must have been fifty people, at least, with many rather emotional ladies who were thrilled with the thought of starting a Krishnaji school. Krishnaji just listened, and then asked a couple of questions.

We also discussed that day about having a permanent hall at Tannegg instead of a tent. We went rather far with that, but in the end nothing came of it. It was too expensive. You see, by this time we owned the land. So, instead of paying an awful lot of money for a tent every year, we thought of putting up a permanent building, but it turned out to be far too expensive!
On the next day, after the third public discussion, Krishnaji sent for me. He wanted to talk to me because he was worried that I might be spending too much money. He talked to me very seriously about all that, as he was a bit worried. “Are you going into capital, Madame?” he would ask, and I would assure him it was alright. He kept coming back to that subject. When we came back to Tannegg, the Bohms were there, and there followed a long talk with Krishnaji, the Bohms, Vanda, and me.

On the seventh of August, Krishnaji called a meeting at the Biascoechea’s. Krishnaji picked out about fifteen people who’d been at the first meeting about starting a school. He decided the rest were not serious. He said I was to be part of it. I don’t know why, having nothing to do with education. But, he wanted to involve me in it, apparently. Anyway, he said to everyone, “Are you all serious?” This was the time when he really inquired into it.
There was the question of what country the school should be in. He wanted it to be an international school, and he wanted, at that point, the teaching to be in both English and French. The possible countries were France, Switzerland, England, and Holland. There was much talk back and forth. There were people from all those places. That was when he said, at the end of it, “Well, go and find out”—someone from each country was to go and find out “everything to do with what it takes to establish a school in your country, and come back here next summer, and we’ll talk about it some more.” So, he acted rather quickly on all that.
Nadia Kossiakof was finding out about France. I don’t know who was doing Switzerland. And Dorothy was finding out about England.
Anyway, that was a decisive meeting. I remember driving him and Alain up the hill after it, and that was when Krishnaji gave me a definite “yes” that he would stay with me in New York, and for Paris the next year. We could go ahead with a plan for that. So that was settled.

The next day, things seemed to be moving fast. In the morning was the sixth discussion, and in the afternoon, there was a third meeting about the European school. I was up at Tannegg for a yoga lesson, and Krishnaji called me in to ask me to discuss where we’d stay in Holland the next year. So, my role in housing was growing daily He said to talk to Anneke, so I asked her for supper that night. I explained to her what Krishnaji had been doing up till then, and the difference in the Paris plans. She offered to find a place for all of us for the next spring—Anneke, Alain, me, and, of course, Krishnaji.

So anyway, we’re on the ninth, when Krishnaji had the seventh and final public discussion. In the afternoon Krishnaji, sent for me to tell me that he’d told Bonito de Vidas of the Paris plans, and his asking me to rent a place. I don’t know what de Vidas said, but de Vidas liked to control everything, so, apparently he didn’t like the idea much, but I don’t know. At the same time Krishnaji was telling me this, he again asked me if I was I spending capital. Again I said, “No” and not to worry about it.
The next day there was a meeting with Alain, and Krishnaji, and Anneke about the Amsterdam plans. Again he called me back for a talk, and had Alain present. He wanted me to be sure that I wouldn’t regret what I was doing He was concerned, and I gave complete assurance. He wanted once more to ask me, and I guess what I said satisfied him.

And then we flew to London. The amount of traveling we did in those days that felt like nothing; it was like going from here to the post office, we flew to London because Alain wanted to get British citizenship, so we flew to London. And, we were in England for only a few days, but we found time to drive down to Oxford to look around. And we saw the Digbys.I took my car to Thun to leave it there for the winter, and came back by train and said goodbye to all of them, Vanda, Krishnaji, Alain. The next day I went by train to Geneva and flew to New York, and then I flew to California and my house in Malibu. While I was there, Rajagopal telephoned me and asked me if I would drive Krishnaji when he came to Ojai for the talks, because he’d heard that I had been driving him around.
I said, “Well, yes, of course if you want.” I really had intended to stay out of things. I thought Krishnaji would be back in his own home territory and I would stay out of things. I would, of course, go to the talks, but I wouldn’t be involved in all the personal things as I had been in Europe. But Rajagopal wanted me to be the driver, and he said that if I would do that, would I like to stay in his old flat, which is the upstairs flat of the house next to Pine Cottage.  So I said, “Well, yes, thank you very much.” So, that was arranged.

Now, comes the funny meeting in NY …At one of the talks we got a message that Allen Ginsberg had been there and would like to talk to him. So that was arranged, and, lo and behold, on the twenty-ninth Allen Ginsberg appeared, with Timothy Leary in tow! And also, a friend of his, and I suppose this is going to be indiscreet, but I’ll go ahead and tell you for the purposes of humor.  I guess I was sort of naïve in those days. Names, you know, you don’t hear names, so I didn’t know who his friend was. But I thought, “How could any woman allow herself to be that unattractive?” Dirty jeans and long ponytail down the back. Just plain unattractive. Eventually it dawned on me it was not a woman at all; it was a man! But I was new to that. It wasn’t commonplace for a sort of scrawny young man to have long hair down the back, tied back.

 But anyway, the young man never spoke. Ginsberg began all the talk, and I think he was against Krishnaji saying that drugs were not a good thing. And he went on about LSD, I think it was, and a religious experience or something. At one point Krishnaji said to Ginsberg, “You know what the symbol of the cross is.” And with that he made the gesture, with his hand of like crossing yourself with vertical stroke, and then horizontal stroke. Then he said that it stood for the negation of the ego.
And with that Leary sprang to his feet, silenced Ginsberg who was going to reply, threw his hands out, and said, “Yes, every night!” Leary was giving some sort of performances down in Greenwich Village on the stage. And he said, “I stand on the stage, and I throw out my hands, and I pluck the nails out of them and throw them onto the ground!” with a big dramatic gesture, in a loud voice, an enactment of Christ removing the nails from his hands.
Krishnaji talked very quietly, and said something about Christianity, whereupon Leary sat down and agreed with Krishnaji, absolutely refuting what he’d been saying before.
I mean, he just turned around and agreed with Krishnaji absolutely. There was no discussion. They finally left.

Anyway, the talks went on at The New School, and we went to the movies and the dentist. We walked in the park, around the reservoir. Nobody mugged us; they didn’t do that in those days. It was quite safe. People were jogging, but there were no muggers.
And Radhika Herzberger came for lunch with her new-born baby. I  remember we put it down in the room I stayed in while we had lunch, and Krishnaji was struck by the fact that I paid attention to this little baby. He didn’t know that most women behave the same way when a little baby is present. He seemed to think my attention was significant. It says in my notes that Allen Ginsberg came back to see Krishnaji, but I don’t remember the second time.
Then on October eighteenth, we flew to Malibu. It was their first time there, and I had the pleasure of driving in the gate with both of them, and cooking supper for them in my own kitchen.The reason he hadn’t gone back all those years was that it was so disagreeable with Rajagopal. There was awful trouble going on, and this visit in ’66 was supposed to reconcile things, or at least be peaceful. I’d caught on the previous summer when I found out that Krishnaji couldn’t give permission to listen to an audio-tape, and that only Rajagopal could do that. I thought that was rather odd, but I didn’t say anything about it.

But I do remember that when Krishnaji arrived in New York, on the very first day, Rajagopal telephoned him. Alain and I were with Krishnaji in his bedroom, which was my brother’s, the main bedroom in the place. Alain and I were in the room when the call came, and inside of two minutes Rajagopal was yelling at him on the phone and then hung up on him.
That was my first sense of how things were with Rajagopal, and the welcome back to United States from Rajagopal. So I was aware that it wasn’t good between them.
.We arrived there on the eighteenth of October.
There were some dental matters, and on the twentieth we drove up to Ojai. I had, in those days, a Ford or something, I don’t know what. Rajagopal arranged that Rosalind, who was living somewheres else, come to Arya Vihara  and supply meals to us. So we went up and drove right to Arya Vihara for lunch. Krishnaji had to show me where it was.
He guided me there through Ojai. And then after lunch we drove around to the other entrance and into Pine Cottage, where Rajagopal was waiting.
Krishnaji sat at one end of the table, and she sat at the other, and Alain and I sat in between. She would say things like, “Why aren’t you finishing your food? What’s the matter? Don’t you like it? That’s good for you, you should eat that. That’s good for you. Finish that.” That’s the way she talked to him. Like to an errant child. And when she would bring the food in, or when we’d sit down she’d say, “Well I suppose you all won’t like this but here it is. One night things were so bad with Rajagopal that Krishnaji couldn’t sleep. He had about three hours’ sleep, and then he had to give a talk in the morning. When we got back after the talk for the lunch, Krishnaji mildly said that he hadn’t slept much the night before, and she said, “Oh?! Why?! Why not?!” in a tone of voice as though he was a child and had to be reproved for having done something awful. I thought, how could he put up with this dreadful woman?!

I remember vividly the two men. Krishnaji got out of the car and went over to him, and they both sort of embraced and put their arms around each other. Rajagopal was facing me, and I remember that he averted his face from Krishnaji as though he was both moved and repulsed. It was unfriendly, horrid. I also remember that he insisted, before he took Krishnaji and opened up Pine Cottage, that I be shown where I was to stay. So he alone took me up the steps to the little flat above, and when we got to the door there was a garter snake by the door, and he said, “I hope you don’t think I put it there on purpose.” So, he opened it, and I went in. He showed me where things were. That was before we enlarged it. It was just a tiny bedroom with sort of half the sitting room, which you may remember. Anyway, then he went over and unlocked Krishnaji’s flat, and then he went and unlocked the other one where Alain was staying. The two places had no interconnecting door; they were separate.

It was unbelievably ugly. But Alain was in there. After Rajagopal went away, Krishnaji then showed us around a little, showed us the pepper tree. Krishnaji came with Alain up to where I was, and I remember his coming in the door and just looking around. He said that he hadn’t been there in many years since once when he went up there, Rajagopal had chided him for having brought dirt in on his shoes. So Krishnaji never went back! Rajagopal was one of those neatness obsessives, everything had to be lined up just so. Clearly an obsessive and he had every symptom of paranoia that I’ve ever read of in any book.

Anyway, Krishnaji looked around the flat. There were some paintings that Rajagopal had done on the wall, little tight sort of paintings. Krishnaji looked at them and sort of nodded and said, “He’s very deteriorated.” Not about the pictures but from having talked to him.
Then he showed us more of his cottage, including…that was when he showed us the cupboard off the back porch where he said…This story took place many years before, when Krishnaji used to live in that cottage, and Rosalind and Rajagopal stayed in Arya Vihara. One night Krishnaji lost his key to his apartment, so he couldn’t get in. It was cold, I guess it was winter. California houses of that era and kind usually have the water heater outside in a kind of closet, so that if it leaks it’ll leak not into the house but where it won’t do any harm, in this case under the porch and onto the ground. So Krishnaji spent the night standing up next to the water heater, which was just a few inches, just barely room to cram in. I was horrified when he told me this! I said but why didn’t you go and ask him for another key, and he said, “Oh, I couldn’t have done that. They would have been too angry.”

And the next day, Rajagopal came over and talked to Krishnaji. Alain and I sat in Alain’s flat, which, mind you, had no doors leading from one flat to the other. And in no time at all we heard Rajagopal’s voice, angry voice coming right through the wall. We couldn’t make out what he said, but we heard this angry, raging voice. Pretty soon he left.
Alain had also arranged for the talks in Ojai to be filmed through KQED, the public broadcasting station in San Francisco. They’d written to ask if they could record the talks on film. We have those now. Again, it was without Rajagopal’s permission, so he didn’t like that. One day I drove Alain to the Oak Grove to look at the sound system. Rajagopal met him there and explained how it all worked. Afterward, Rajagopal wanted to talk to Alain. So they sat in my car and I went and sat in the grove. They talked for two hours. I finally got so cold that I had to go break it up. Later on, Alain told me that Rajagopal had wanted him to report to him about who Krishnaji saw, and when Krishnaji gave interviews to arrange to tape them. It would have been like bugging a confessional, because people often wanted to talk to Krishnaji about very personal things. But that’s what he wanted Alain to do. I was appalled. So, as things got worse and worse, Alain and I came to feel that Pine Cottage was probably bugged. Whenever we talked about anything we wanted to keep private, the three of us went outside so it couldn’t be picked up. I mean it was our suspicion; we never found a bug or looked for one actually, but it was that bad. And we knew that he used to surreptitiously tape things.

Then there was another meeting in the old office, where the vault now is.  Krishnaji had sent Rajagoal a letter when we first got to Ojai saying that he, Krishnaji, wanted to be reinstated on the board of KWINC . He also wanted the board enlarged. He wanted me on it, and he wanted accounting of what happens to money coming in. Krishnaji had also stated that KWINC shouldn’t be run just by Rajagopal; there should be some other arrangement. So, in this meeting taking place in the old office, Krishnaji said, “You haven’t replied to my letter.”
Rajagopal replied, “No, why should I? I don’t take orders from you.”
Krishnaji then said, “You don’t understand, Rajagopal. This is a very serious matter, and if you don’t reply and we don’t come to some arrangement, I shall have to take measures.”
At this Rajagopal flew into a rage and said, “What is this? Is this a Brahmin curse? You’re cursing me. Well, I’m a Brahmin too, and I curse you more than you could ever curse me.” And then he went on and apparently said things that Krishnaji wouldn’t tell us about, but he said things against, as Krishnaji put it, “the Other” The minute Rajagopal talked about “the Other,” Krishnaji left and went back into his own cottage.

We heard the door slam when Rajagopal left. The lights in the office, which we could see, went out, the door slammed, and then the car drove off. And then we went in to Krishnaji, and he told us what had happened. And I think it was the day after that that he called Vigeveno, because Vigeveno was the Vice President of KWINC. Vigeveno came over, and Krishnaji showed him a copy of the letter that he’d given to Rajagopal, and which Rajagopal wouldn’t show to Vigeveno. Vigeveno knew there was a letter but hadn’t been allowed to see it. So Krishnaji showed it to him. He was trying to get him to act as the Vice President. “You’re responsible” Krishnaji told him. But Vigeveno, of course, did nothing.
Rajagopal only allowed people around him who were in his pocket.

Alain and I were sitting in his flat, in the sitting room there, and we heard Krishnaji’s footsteps return to Pine Cottage and go in and close the door. Then after a bit, not right away, but after a bit we heard Rajagopal leaving the office, and when he’d gone Krishnaji came in to tell us what had happened.
I’m going to pause in the horrid descriptions of what was happening in Ojai, because before we went to Ojai the dentist told Krishnaji that he had a small cyst in his lower lip, and that it had to be taken out by a doctor. So, on October twenty-fourth, I took Krishnaji into Beverly Hills where the doctor was, and he removed the small cyst using Novocain and put some stitches in. Coming home in the car Krishnaji suddenly fainted as he had in the past. And again I kept driving because you can’t stop suddenly. It would shock him and be bad for traffic, but I slowed down, and he came to quite quickly. But he fainted twice more on the way back. When we got back to Malibu, he spent the rest of the day in bed, but insisted on getting up for supper.

On the twenty-seventh of October we went back to Ojai, and I took Alain to the Oak Grove for a microphone rehearsal, and that’s when Rajagopal wanted to talk to Alain, which I described before.
On the twenty-ninth was Krishnaji’s first Ojai talk in the Oak Grove. It was a very hot day, but there were a lot of people. And again the next day he talked, he talked both days of weekends. I skipped the lunch and went and did housekeeping in the flats, and after lunch we went back to Malibu where it was blessedly cool, and we took beach walks, mostly in the dark, which was lovely.

Then we come to the time when the television crew came, it was a station in San Francisco called KQED. They came down, and set up  very nicely, I forget, two or more cameras. There was just one light near him, and then there was a reflector. He had a little canopy over him, because the sun would come at him. And they put a reflector up in it, so it reflected light down on his face, which was quite unobtrusive from his point of view, and it was effective.
Somehow or other the public broadcasting system learned that Krishnaji was going to give public talks, and I don’t remember how they got in touch, but Alain was the go-between. There was a man called Dick somebody, I have it written down, who was the director who came with a crew. They did everything quite nicely. It was unobtrusive and didn’t bother anybody. They missed the first one, but they filmed the November fifth talk. I think that was his third talk. I think they missed the first two.
Afterward, we all dined at Arya Vihara with Rosalind and her daughter Radha Sloss and her husband Jim Sloss and their three children.

On November seventh, there was a most unexpected heavy rain, so the talk that was scheduled had to be cancelled. Instead Krishnaji went up to the Happy Valley School and talked to the students, It was begun by Krishnaji, Aldous Huxley, and Dr. Ferrando. Rosalind was just supposed to work there, do things but not be part of running it. But she quickly took over and got hold of it, and of course Krishnaji wasn’t there, and Huxley didn’t live in Ojai anymore. I don’t know what happened to Dr. Ferrando. it’s owned by the Happy Valley Foundation, which was founded by Mrs. Besant, but it was suppose to be for Krishnaji’s use. Rosalind got control of it by appointing the board. And Krishnaji wasn’t on it, only Rosalind’s friends and toadies, if I may be malicious.
As far as I understand it, and my understanding comes from what Krishnaji said. There were these people who were so-called devotees, but Rajagopal foisted on them the notion that there is a split personality—there’s the World Teacher, who was on the platform and is wonderful, says all these marvelous things; and then there is the man Krishnamurti, who’s a rather ordinary, fallible man. This is very convenient because, whatever they didn’t like was from the fallible man, whereas all the wonderful things could be attributed to the
World Teacher who was talking.

 Anyway, let’s return the awful scene between Rajagopal and Krishnaji, and Vigeveno came, and Krishnaji also showed him this letter that he’d written Rajagopal, which Rajagopal wouldn’t show Vigeveno. Although he was his vice president, he wasn’t allowed to see anything like that. And there was a long talk between Krishnaji and Rajagopal that night, and it was a dreadful day, all along. Then on the thirteenth, Krishnaji gave his sixth Ojai talk, and it was a wonderful one. And then dentist again for Krishnaji. Throughout all this, he’s always going to the dentist.
There was a public discussion on the fourteenth in the Oak Grove, after which we went straight to Malibu, as quickly as we could. We got there at sunset, and went immediately for a walk on the beach in the dark. We returned home to supper and talked endlessly. A couple of days later we went back to Ojai, again to the dentist. And that day Krishnaji had said to Rajagopal that he wanted the tapes of the current talks, and so he sent Alain and me to his house. Also, we were to ask for the Notebook manuscript. But Rajagopal wouldn’t see us, wouldn’t let us in. This is the seventeenth of November. Rosalind wanted Krishnaji to come to Santa Barbara where she was really living. There was some sort of a Happy Valley meeting of trustees or I don’t know what. So, Alain and I were on our own, and we drove up to the Santa Inez Valley, which is quite beautiful, and drove around, and then came back to Santa Barbara and went to a movie. Then we came back to Ojai and had a lovely dinner at the Ranch House.

So we packed the next day, the eighteenth, and left Ojai. In the car going back to Malibu, Krishnaji…dumbfounded, is the only word I can use, both Alain and me by saying he had decided what to do. He would just walk out, and have nothing to do with Rajagopal, ever again, or KWINC. Rajagopal could keep the whole to-do, the money, everything, he wouldn’t touch it, he was through. I remember thinking at the time, although I was staggered by this, that I wasn’t surprised. He said, “I can’t be mixed up in this. I can’t. I can’t fight this thing.” Alain was really…not speechless; on the contrary, he blew up in the car, which was so awful, so unjust.
At that point we arrived in Malibu, and found that the TV people were going to film an interview with Krishnaji on the lawn. So, that occurred. We had to stop talking about all this. So, in the evening, when Krishnaji and I again went for a walk, I talked alone with him at some length. When we returned to the house I got Alain to come in and the three of us talked. At that point, Krishnaji called Rajagopal, but he wasn’t in. Annalisa answered the phone. Annalisa said Rajagopal was out, and she took the opportunity—it was her only opportunity to speak to Krishnaji alone, and she poured out her own emotion over these terrible fights, and said she knew how difficult Rajagopal was, and that he had wanted to agree to the things in K’s letter, but that K’s conversation had made him blow up. Obviously Rajagopal had told her a doctored story, never went on about this cursing business, and thought it was all Krishnaji’s fault that he’d upset Rajagopal. Krishnaji just talked to her sort of soothingly and didn’t go into anything. So then I went into the other room and had a long talk with Alain, and while we were talking Krishnaji rang Rajagopal’s number again and got hold of him. Krishnaji had said to Rajagopal that he, Krishnaji, would no longer accept any money from KWINC for his support. So Alain had then said he too would not take a salary. Because one of the things Krishnaji had put in that letter was that Alain should be paid a salary, and that on Krishnaji’s death Alain should be paid a pension. But with the current situation Alain refused any money. Everybody was pulling out of anything to do with Rajagopal, which was, of course, just fine with Rajagopal.
The next day, the nineteenth, I helped them pack, and made food for them to take on the plane, and took them to the airport, and said goodbye, and at 11 a.m. they took off for Rome. But before they left, Krishnaji said to Alain, “If ever you are disillusioned with me, sir, you have only to say so.” And Alain made an echoing statement to Krishnaji. Then it was discussed whether Alain didn’t need a holiday. At first he said that he couldn’t take a holiday, that yes he did need a holiday, but that he couldn’t take one when things were in this upset state. So they went off to Rome, and a few days later I got, a letter that Alain was going to go to Pretoria to take a holiday, and not go to India. And he would rejoin Krishnaji when he came back from India.
So that was the end of ’66. (to be continued...)

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Thu, 30 May 2019 #156
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline

(January 1967 )

(...) I’m in Malibu, Krishnaji’s in India, Alain had gone to South Africa to see his family and have a rest. I had a letter on January fourth from Krishnaji written in Rajghat, and another one toward the end of the month from Madras, telling me he’d received the package of brewer’s yeast he had wanted, and which I’d sent.
In early February, Alain rang me from Paris and said that he would take charge of the hunt for an apartment for us, for Krishnaji’s talks in the spring. I was quite relieved because I knew he’d do it well. In February, Krishnaji went from Rishi Valley to Bombay.
On the fifteenth, I got a cable from Alain saying that we had a house in Paris, and that he had to go to the hospital for some minor operation. And on the same day, I had a letter from Krishnaji in Bombay.

So on March first , I flew to New York and then to London, and on the fifth Krishnaji arrived in Rome from Bombay. Alain met me and we rang Anneke in Holland and we learned that we had a house for Krishnaji near Amsterdam for May.
On the eighteenth, Alain flew to Rome to join Krishnaji at Vanda’s. I remained in Paris for the next four days, but on the twenty-second, I also flew to Rome. I checked into the Hotel Rafael and went to Vanda’s. I remember Krishnaji was standing by the gate to meet me, and we all four had a lovely lunch together. Later, Krishnaji and I went for a walk, and we discussed all the events in California.
On the thirtieth, Krishnaji gave his first public talk in Rome at the Istituto di Pedagogia.
The next day I lunched at Vanda’s. Saral and David Bohm were there.
On the first of April, Krishnaji gave his second Rome talk at the same place, and we discussed a meeting of young people that Alain had rounded up the day before.

On the fifth, I flew to Geneva and took the train to Bern, where I spent the night. The next day I went by train to Thun to get my Jaguar that had wintered there.
I remember driving from Thun to Gstaad through a snowstorm, a spring snowstorm. I’d left things in the attic in Les Caprices.
The next day I got to Paris by noon, and moved into the house, and went over the inventory with the proprietor. The whole of the next day was spent putting everything in order. Alain called from Rome to say that Krishnaji would be coming soon. The following day I went with Marcelle to see the Salle de la Chimie, which is where Krishnaji was to speak, and which was a much better hall than the Adyar one of the year before. It was bigger and better and more dignified. It’s right on, um…oh, right near that part just off the Seine on the left bank, not Rue de Grenelle, but it’s near there.
That same day, the eleventh, I met Mr. de Vidas, and we went to Orly and met Krishnaji flying in from Rome by himself and I took him back to the house at Rue de Verdun. We  were having supper when Alain arrived in his Volkswagen. He’d driven up. So we were all in our nice little house. There was a part-time maid who came with the house, so I didn’t have to do all the work. The next day I cooked lunch, and then of course in the afternoon we went to Lobb for shoes and Charvet for more shirts.

On the sixteenth, Krishnaji gave his first Paris talk in La Salle de la Chimie. He spoke about violence and sorrow. From then on, we started to go to Bagatelle, which was lovely for me because in my childhood It’s a little park within the Bois de Boulogne , but unto itself. And there’s a little house, which, as a child, I was fascinated by. Above the door, it said "Parva sed apta", small but apt. I thought that was so nice, to have a little house in a beautiful place like that It’s lovely. So then we took to walking there every afternoon.
 We had two or perhaps three young people discussions. There was a quiet Quaker center in the Rue Vaugirard where those occurred.
Then, Krishnaji did a Paris radio interview, but I can’t tell you who interviewed him. I don’t remember. Krishnaji also, at this time, was giving personal interviews.

On the twenty-eighth, for instance, Alain flew to London to see his doctor again and Krishnaji held interviews all morning and another one later in the day. Krishnaji and I walked in the Bois, and Alain got back for supper. We were leaping between countries all the time as though taking a taxi somewhere.
The fifth and last talk was on April thirtieth, and it was quite an extraordinary one. Then, on the third of May, we flew to London, all three of us, and stayed at Claridge’s.

 On the seventh of May, eighteen mostly young people came to see Krishnaji in the morning and then afterward, he and Alain and I lunched at the Suarèses’, and then K and I walked in the Bois. On the tenth of May, we loaded both cars, my car and Alain’s car, and Alain set off at 11am in his Volkswagen, and Krishnaji and I in my car. We left Paris and drove northeast to Arras where we met Alain at a restaurant we’d found in the Michelin!  A restaurant called Chanzy, and then we drove on into Belgium and spent the night in Ghent at the Hotel St George. We left the next morning at 11 am, and went through Antwerp into Holland, and then I got a bit lost in Utrecht. Anyway, somehow I got out of Utrecht and [S laughs] found my way to Huizen, which is where we had a house.This was wonderful, a wonderful house. We somehow met Alain in Huizen before either one of us had found the house. We had instructions from Anneke, so we conferred, and we found it. And it lovely. A real farm-house with a thatch roof, and it had a nice cow smell. There was a big room with a fire-place as you came in, stone floors, and a kitchen. In the back, on the ground floor, Krishnaji had the main bedroom with his own bathroom. Upstairs were three further bedrooms for Anneke, Alain, and me, and we shared a bathroom. It was very nice. There was a lovely wood next door, beautiful wood, which is somehow like a park, a private park, and this played a great part in our stay in Holland. We got permission to walk there; there was never anybody there, and it was winding walks with streams running through, or maybe they were canals—I don’t remember—little ones, with ducks. We walked there every afternoon. It was lovely! Really lovely. So we settled into our house, and then K and I went for a walk in the woods. Eventually, Anneke and I cooked dinner.

The next day, a neighbor, Mrs. Warren-Brecher, took me into shop in Bussum! Bussum is the little town where you shop, and she showed me the different stores because I had to do all the marketing, obviously. I remember the places where you bought the cheeses, and others the vegetables, and others the fruits, and another, lovely biscuits. Anneke stayed through lunch, and then Alain drove her to her house in Oosterbeek, which is down near the border. Krishnaji and I walked in the woods, and then the three of us had supper by the fire in the big room that night. It was lovely.
The next day, the three of us drove to Oosterbeek and lunched with Anneke. We came back and walked in the woods and had supper again by the fire.

One thing that we did in those days was talk about where we wanted to live in Europe. There’d been talk before about where we would have a house, which would be our headquarters in Europe. And there was much discussion of where it should be. Alain had the idea that he could acquire a South African servant who would do all the chores; he would use the car, would take the luggage in and out, he would cook, and valet, and  everything! He would be a sort of elegant slave, as far as I can see. And we wouldn’t have to do any dishes or anything like that anymore. Alain was sure he could find just the person.
And so, on May twentieth, the next day, I drove Krishnaji to his first Amsterdam talk. The hall was full, and everything was fine. That afternoon, Mary and Joe Links, and two Dutch friends of theirs, a couple, came to tea! We had tea, went for a walk, and talked, and it was very nice. After they left, Krishnaji felt he hadn’t had enough of a walk as they walked slowly. So the two of us went back and walked fast through all this lovely wood. There were all kinds of ducks on the little waterways there, including those little crested ones. And the little baby ducks were there as well. There would be the mother duck and the little tiny ones afterward. And Krishnaji noticed sometimes there weren’t as many the next day. Foxes or something must’ve got them. And his noticing that is strange because he remembered that later in Ojai, in his last days. He said, “Do you remember the little ducks and how there were less of them?”

The next day he gave his second talk. A young American painter called Jay Polin came for lunch. I think Alain had met him and invited him for lunch. Also that day, Krishnaji did a taped interview for Dutch radio.
 I felt it that as certain talks were so intense and so deep, that it was as though he was elsewhere, some part of him was deeply in the perception of that he was describing, and to come out of that, he couldn’t suddenly be right back in a normal state. I remember once in Malibu, we were sitting in the living room having dinner on trays, and I think the television was on. We hadn’t been talking, but something, I don’t know what, made me speak about something on the television, and he came to with a start. I mean he’d been off. And my speaking to him shocked him, physically shocked him. It’s like one mustn’t wake him up. When one had to wake him up, one did it very gently, gently, gently, but never touch him, that would’ve been worse. But when I’ve had to wake him up, here, for instance, in Brockwood, I would speak very low, and very few words, and keep it up until it sort of eased into his consciousness. Then he could come out of sleep without a shock. It was sort of like that. Anneke and I cooked when she was there, and I cooked when she wasn’t there, and I did all the marketing, and so it was a kind of a home life, and very nice. And there was a beautiful privately owned park, but it had been arranged that Krishnaji could walk there, and it was ideal—winding paths through partly woodland and partly open fields, laced with canals on which there were all kinds of water fowl, and Krishnaji enjoyed looking at these very much. And there was nobody there, which made it perfectly lovely to wander about as though you were in the wilds somewhere.

Krishnaji was busy giving the talks, naturally, and also there were reams of young people collected largely by Alain at the talks. There were also groups of students from Utrecht, and he talked with them. But on the whole it was a very, very happy sojourn in Holland. We stayed until the end of May.
In the afternoons or early evening he would give me a so-called 'treatment' which, as I think I’ve described, he put his hands on your shoulder and something strange happened in the sense of a kind of tremendous…not tremendous warmth, though it did give a warm feeling, but he was sort of brushing away ill health and any pain. But later on, when he was trying to help my bad leg, which was really the circulatory problem at that point, he would generally touch the shoulders, and again…shake his hands, sort of like wiping something away.

On June third, and again Vanda had the Chalet Tannegg apartments, but not until July. So, I’d gotten a little studio apartment for Alain, and Krishnaji stayed in the flat that I had before, which has two bedrooms and sitting room, kitchen, bath, etcetera. Krishnaji would have his yoga lesson in the morning, and then he’d rest and then lunch. I’d do the marketing and the cooking, and we’d have lunch, all four of us. After lunch he’d rest again, and then walks in the afternoon. I don’t remember Desikachar walking so much; I think he did his own yoga. But, it was lovely. Gstaad was wonderful because there was nobody there in June. The crowds hadn’t started. Krishnaji didn’t feel, as he later came to feel, even that summer, he felt a sort of pressure of people’s attention. Almost a psychic pressure focused on Tannegg.

 On June twenty-ninth, Krishnaji had a fever in the night that went up as high as 101.8, which is a high fever for him. Alain got hold of Doctor Schmidt in Geneva, who prescribed some homeopathic remedy, and Alain went to Thun to get it. They didn’t have any in Gstaad. That was the afternoon that Krishnaji became, what I then called, delirious. But, he had warned us in the past, or told me, if his fever goes up high he’s apt to become unconscious. And sure enough he did. He was in bed, obviously, and I was sitting in a chair by the bed with him, and Alain had gone. He started looking around the room with sort of vacant eyes, and said to me, “Who are you?” I said my name. Then he asked, “You haven’t asked him any questions, have you?”
I said, “No.” Then he said, “He doesn’t like to be asked questions.” And after a pause or two, he said, “Even after all these years, I’m not used to him.” Through all of this he had a child voice, a little, little, little child. High voice.
 And again he had these large eyes that didn’t recognize me or indeed anything, and it just stayed that way. I didn’t attempt to talk to him. I think I replied to him using his name, saying, “Yes, Krishnaji” or “No, Krishnaji,” but that didn’t seem to have any effect. It was as though he had gone away, but he wanted to be sure that I hadn’t questioned him about anything. He didn’t want that. He fell asleep finally. And when he woke up he was himself. He was sort of quietly sleeping most of the time after that.

He wouldn’t have called for a doctor for this. He might have called for the fever, but the fever was presumably being taken care of. I think, as I recall, Alain brought back some medication, and also we had to make a kind of tea out of the stems of cherries. That was the remedy. But he was very weak the next day. I sort of gave him bed care, which I knew how to do from working in a hospital during the war. You know, sponging him off and getting him clean and comfortable. Now this was on the thirtieth when he was so weak, but he didn’t have “the other,” and he didn’t want to cancel the Sunday meeting of the Saanen Committee, which was the second. So, in other words, two days before this meeting was to be held, he wouldn’t cancel it, although he was so weak he couldn’t get out of bed, really. Vanda arrived that afternoon, and he was to move up to Tannegg, but he obviously couldn’t that day. But he was better. It says here, ‘Krishnaji again stayed the night at Caprices, feels the pressure of people’s attention at Tannegg.’
It says for the twenty-fourth, ‘Krishnaji and Alain discussed going to the U.S. later in ’68 for a long holiday.’ He wanted a long holiday—get away from things. Krishnaji discussed with Dorothy, Alain, and me, saying we’re probably going to have a school, probably in Holland’ in those days. And again, ‘there was a meeting in the tent and it was announced plans for a school in Holland’!

Alain had gotten the Nagra tape recorder , and he was the 'recorder' every time Krishnaji spoke to any group. At 4 p.m. the Saanen educational meeting with Krishnaji was held at Tannegg, and it was decided that the school was going to be in Switzerland! Again he came down that night for supper and stayed. He said, it says, ‘has difficulty sleeping at Tannegg, as if people’s attention is concentrated on him. He feels a target, but he has privacy down at Caprices.’

Here’s one day when Krishnaji appeared at Caprices before lunch. His Mercedes wouldn’t start. So he kept it down at Les Caprices. Some of the time he kept it down there, and sometimes he kept it up at Tannegg. So, we drove up in the Jaguar, and met the Bohms for lunch. My diary says ‘came down after reading what K had written this morning on meditation and ecstasy. He wrote more here [at Les Caprices] while waiting for his car to be fixed.

Well, especially in his last few years, he had this feeling about darkness, that there was kind of…when the sun is gone, the forest, which he loved, and he felt a wonderful place to be…evil went into the forest at night. He said he would never go into a forest alone at night.
But there was also protection. I said, “Would you go in with me?” and he said, “Yes, but only if you were there.” And, for instance at Ojai, apparently he wouldn’t have gone out of the house at night alone, even to walk to Arya Vihara for instance, once it was dark.
 I mean he had no occasion to go, but I asked, “What if?” and he said no he wouldn’t. It’s as though something menacing, something evil, would come with darkness, and could creep into an otherwise benign and much loved place.
And he also felt the contamination, as it were, of people who had evil intent or something evil in them. For instance, again this is way out of the progression of this saga, he told me I must never let either Rajagopal or Rosalind come into the cottage. Those two, he said "Never let them come into this place" And so, at the very end (in 1986) , when he was so ill, I went to him and said, “You told me never to let either of them in here, but supposing the doorbell rings and I open the door and Rajagopal is on the doorstep, what do I do?” Of course, Rajagopal never did give a sign that Krishnaji was dying. But Krishnaji, in a way, shrugged, you know, as if he was saying well, I’m dying, you know. In other words, whatever, he was beyond being affected by it.

Then, Krishnaji had more young people discussions, which were held in the Wimbledon Community Center. The Bohms used to come and go for walks in Richmond Park with us. Krishnaji and Dave would walk ahead talking, or Saral and I would walk ahead talking. It was just the way he and David always were: discussing something intently. There were many, many times, and I suppose after talks was a particular example where you had to be absolutely quiet with him. So, it would happen for instance at Saanen, my job was to get him as quickly into the car after the talk as possible, and then he would sometimes want to just drive, just sit quietly in the car, and I’d drive and drive till he said, “Alright, let’s go back.” It was sort of coming out of whatever state of heightened action he was in. I don’t know how to define it. And then the fainting on this particular day might have been part of that, the actual need to decelerate, if there is such a word, or if leaving the body, which the fainting was, according to what he said to me, was a manifestation of that.  Well, this fainting that he would do at different times seemed to be, or he said it was when I asked him, he said, “It’s leaving the body.” And he always, in the beginning said, “Don’t touch the body”—in other words, just leave everything alone, and don’t attempt to intrude by a gesture or a question.
Just don’t say anything; just be there. And the only thing I ever did, is when he was going to fall, I moved so that when he landed on my forearm; it was no different than landing on a sofa, and I was trying to avoid his hitting his head on the steering wheel. So, that was different. I wasn’t doing something. I just put an obstruction in his way to protect him.  But, those were the necessities: to not interfere, and not be nervous. That was also a thing, “Don’t let it worry you.” That was in the beginning when he said, “Don’t be afraid, if it happens, it happens; just be quiet, don’t be alarmed.” So, I think that there’s a link between his coming out of being almost unconscious, like ''not-knowing-where-you-are'' kind of thing; not that he didn’t know where he was, but gearing his mind down to ordinary perception of people and having to speak to people. He had to be quiet for a bit before he could get back into that other state, the normal state.
In the ''process” he was going out of the body, as partly avoiding the pain that was happening; when the pain got too bad, as it says in Nitya’s account, Krishna went away and left the body, which was exemplified by the little child voice, to cope with it.

(...) When he got on the platform and whoever it was put the mike on him, he would then sit there and look for a while. It was like something he went through in the beginning. And then, he very often began a talk with saying, “This is not a lecture; it is not entertainment.” He would give that preliminary thing, which was sort of like easing into something that he was then going to start examining. And I do think it was linked with what happened afterward, but it was different. In the later years, after a talk, usually when we got home, he would lie down for quite a while at least a half an hour. The Saanen talks ended and we took off; Krishnaji was with me in the Mercedes, and Alain was in his Volkswagen with lots of luggage. We drove across Holland and into Germany via Arnhem, and on this trip, we met somewhere near Frankfurt, I think, and had a picnic lunch. Oh no, we had a picnic lunch alone; Alain went alone—you couldn’t keep track of each other on the autobahn. That was too difficult. So we drove and had our picnic lunch in a lovely wood, and then we drove on to Ettlingen, which was near Karlsruhe, where we had intended to stop, and we met Alain there at, I think it’s called, the Erbprinz Hotel; we had rooms there. It was a good hotel; Father had told me about it, a very good hotel. I had booked rooms for us, but that was the time when we got there and went in for something to drink, I could tell that he didn’t want to spend the night, that he wanted to get on and get to Gstaad and finish with the travel. So, I said, “Well, if I can have a pot of coffee, I can drive to Spain!” I was doing all the driving. And so, they brought me the most wonderful whole big pot of coffee with lovely little cakes. Krishnaji had herb tea, and I drank the whoooole pot.  And felt I could do anything! And so we drove on. It was a 600-mile drive from Noordwijk to Gstaad, and we got there about 10 p.m

(...Back to Ojai ) Mrs. Lilliefelt came to lunch the next day, October second, We talked about all these Rajagopal matters. Erna brought with her her research that she had done on the transfers of property—land, houses, real estate that Rajagopal had done where he played what we called the Shell Game. He would transfer something that belonged to the Brothers Association  and transfer it to the Star Bulletin and then some other local Star thing, and then he’d move it again. He moved these things around creating little foundations as he went. And, lo and behold, everything went into the ones controlled by him and nothing was left in the ones where Krishnaji had the power that Mrs. Besant had insisted he have, which was meant to be total power.
So everything had just been removed to empty shells. So Erna Lilliefelt had, by tracing land ownership, because land ownership has to be recorded; and she traced enough land to show how he would sell a property to KWINC at a high price. Then he would have KWINC pay to improve it vastly. And then he would buy it back from KWINC at a low price. So KWINC’s money was spent, and he wound up with just about everything, including the house, which had been built by James Vigeveno for his daughter. When Vigeveno’s daughter divorced her first husband and moved out, Vigeveno owned the house because he’d built it. That was then sold to Rajagopal by Vigeveno, but with money that Rajagopal had gotten through these manipulations. So Erna had this really curious picture of the transfer of assets, and that’s what she brought with her and showed to Mitchell Booth.
So the next day, the third of October, there was a meeting with Krishnaji, Alain, Mrs. Lilliefelt, Blitz, and me, and we went through all these papers again. Michael Rubinstein arrived from London at 2:30 p.m. And at 3:30 p.m., Krishnaji and I went to The New School for the second talk, but Rubinstein, Blitz, and Lilliefelt continued to go through all these papers. When we returned, Blitz had gone to Los Angeles, and we talked some more with Rubinstein, who stayed for supper.

The next day, October fourth, Erna Lilliefelt, Michael Rubinstein, Mitchell Booth, and I all met, and we went over all this again until the afternoon, when Rubinstein flew back to London. Mitchell Booth then suggested that we get a Los Angeles lawyer, and he suggested the one that we eventually went to. Saul Rosenthal was the one who handled it, a youngish man, very bright, very nice, but he was in a big—a very prestigious law firm in Los Angeles.
It was good advice that Mitchell gave. Eventually, and this is down the road, but when it was seen that it would be tried, if it came to trial in Ventura county, Rosenthal said “Look, when you get out of Los Angeles, the judges, the courts, the whole thing, tend to favor local people over the big Los Angeles law firms.” So he advised that we get the man we got, Stanley Cohen, who was in Ventura. So after the beginnings of it were all handled, things were eventually all transferred to Michael Stanley Cohen, who was the lawyer throughout

On the twentieth, we talked all morning with Hughes about houses in England, and there’s a new one in view, and its name is Brockwood Park. ‘In Hampshire,’ it says. ‘All four lunched. Hughes left in the afternoon, and Krishnaji, Alain, and I went for a walk’, after which there were more interviews. One was with Jacqueline Onassis Kennedy.
‘There was a morning discussion on the twenty-first at Brandeis between Krishnaji and students. And in the afternoon he gave another talk at 4:30 p.m.’
On the twenty-second, ‘in the morning we watched on TV the return to earth of the astronauts from four-day orbit. At 10:30 a.m. Krishnaji held a discussion with students at Brandeis, and we walked. On the twenty-third, ‘we had a quiet morning, but at 3:00 p.m. Krishnaji spoke to graduate students at Brandeis.’

Then the next day, the twenty-eighth, ‘Krishnaji, Alain, and I went to meet the Lilliefelts at the lawyer’s. We met a senior lawyer, Mr. Berkowitz, and Rosenthal at 4:30 p.m. Then on our return home, we got a letter from Mary Links about Brockwood. Well, she thought Brockwood was the place. And, as she explained, there was a part of it called the West Wing, which could be a sort of separate residence for Krishnaji. And she’d already picked out who got which room. We got a cable and a telephone call from Mary Cadogan on the twenty-ninth saying that Gerard Blitz had resigned from the Krishnamurti Foundation at the trustee meeting yesterday. We also learned that Brockwood can be ours. And Krishnaji sent a telegram to Rajagopal suggesting that they meet to discuss KWINC. My recollection is that we know that Blitz resigned on this date. I do remember that there was a disagreement financially between Blitz and everybody else, that he was uneasy about starting the school until we had lots of money collected, and of course we didn’t. But we did have enough to buy Brockwood, and that was enough for Krishnaji. I do know that at the time I felt Blitz was being very high-handed. He wanted his own way in most things, and when it didn’t go that way, he resigned.

To continue, ‘Krishnaji sent a telegram to Rajagopal, saying he would like to meet with him to discuss KWINC and he would like the meeting to be held at the Lilliefelt’s.’ Whereupon ‘Rajagopal telephoned and spoke to Krishnaji, and he refused. Then he called back and Krishnaji had me talk to him, and Rajagopal hung up on me. Then Rajagopal called Erna at home and was insulting,’ according to Erna. So the gist of it, as I recall, it doesn’t say here, but you know: “Who are you to interfere? You people are outsiders. This is between Krishnamurti and me.” That’s the line he always took.
The next day, the thirtieth, ‘Krishnaji decided to have the Lilliefelts head the USA branch of the Foundation, and to commence forming it. The Lilliefelts and Blackburns came down at 3:00 p.m. We talked of plans, and had tea. Later, Rajagopal gave me a message for Krishnaji, who didn’t want to talk to him: There will be no meeting unless they talk alone first.’ That was his pitch the whole time. He wanted to get Krishnaji alone and browbeat him. And Krishnaji wasn’t planning to do that.Alain went to Ojai the next day. And Krishnaji and I lunched here, then went to Santa Monica to look for…coat hangers!’ What in the world did we want with coat hangers?! I guess he wanted to come along.‘We drove through Topanga and Mulholland. Alain got back after having trouble with the car. Krishnaji spoke to Vigeveno, and gave him a vivid talking to on the gravity of the meeting with Rajagopal and the board. Krishnaji said, “It’s very grave and you must realize it and there must be a meeting at which not just Rajagopal, but the whole KWINC board must be there.” And he was very firm.’

‘The next day we talked with Erna on the telephone about getting the KWINC board here for Krishnaji to see. And he invited Mima Porter, the Vigevenos, Castlebury…they refused. So no meeting was held. Krishnaji had made every possible gesture,’ which was what he was aiming to do. He didn’t think they’d come. They wouldn’t dare come.
Then Rosalind called to ask to come here tomorrow.’ So she came the next day, which was November second. She came at 10 a.m. and stayed till 1:30 p.m. in a three-way conversation with Krishnaji and me.’ And I have in my notes: ‘ugly people.’ Alain wasn’t there, but I remember what she did. I received her at the door, politely as hostess and took her into the living room, at which point she announced, “You sit here, and Krishnaji sits there, and I’ll sit there.” This was in my house, so this was a bit much.

So, we sat down, and I don’t know, she talked in circles, sort of. It was just junk, She was berating Krishnaji: “How can you have this quarrel with Raja?” and “It’s all awful, and you don’t know what your getting into.” You know, it was just picking at him, picking at him. It was just unpleasant. She was attacking Alain, too. And she said to me, “Oh, well, you, you’re infatuated with him. And Krishnaji and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. It was ugly. Because she was in cahoots with Rajagopal. The whole thing, in my opinion, in all these things, I mean, they fought over their own complications…she didn’t want him to divorce her, or her to divorce him when he wanted to marry Annalisa, but that wasn’t to preserve a beautiful marriage; it just suited her the way it was. They had fought over that, back in early ’60s. But they were manipulating Krishnaji. They wanted him to be subservient to, in this case, Rajagopal, whatever Rajagopal decided. And she was prepared to testify for Rajagopal in the case. She went to our lawyer, which is absolutely beyond the pale; you can’t do that, and they said that she couldn’t do that; they had to show her out. She wanted to say that there were things they didn’t know about. As though she knew what they knew. So, she tried to blackmail our lawyer before she blackmailed anybody else. It was all blackmail from beginning to end. The hold they thought they had over Krishnaji were those stories about an affair. She never said it, but she hinted at it, and that Rajagopal had letters that would be compromising. Our lawyer said: “I’m sorry, it’s immaterial, you have nothing, and we can’t talk to you” and they put her out. they were, at least to me, perfectly clear, and Krishnaji felt this too, that their interest was in holding Krishnaji, and controlling what he did. It was alright for him to go around and talk and for people to send money, that’s fine. They didn’t think anything was wrong with that, but they wanted to control everything after that.

Now we come to the third of November. ‘The Lilliefelts came at 11:30 a.m. to talk and then have lunch. There was a wire from James Vigeveno saying that a meeting “can be arranged” for K personally with the board at the KWINC office after Claremont,’ because Krishnaji was going to Claremont. ‘It was unacceptable to Krishnaji as it was a rejection of his invitation.’ So, we talked some more to the lawyers the next day and the Lilliefelts. ‘A rude letter came from Byron Casselberry. And we went for a long walk on the beach. Betsy dined with us.’
‘We instructed our lawyers to write to Rajagopal,’ but I don’t remember the details of what that was. It may be in Erna’s account. But in other words, we instructed the lawyers to enter the picture as our lawyers, and it was the first time, as far as I know, this been mentioned straight to Rajagopal.
The next day, ‘Annie Vigeveno turned up and brought a letter from James Vigeveno about Rajagopal, etcetera.’ I’m sure Rajagopal wrote the letter. Actually, a lot of the Vigeveno letters, which are very ugly letters…Gaby Blackburn, who is the daughter of James and Annie, has since told Erna, that James Vigeveno never really wrote those letters. Instead, Annie got her husband to write something, which she then took to Rajagopal, and she and Rajagopal rewrote it, and then James just signed it, and they sent it out.
thought Vigeveno was a worm to do it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. Then the same day, on the sixth, ‘we drove in two cars to Claremont. And we met at something called the Blaizedell Institute,’ which is the entity that invited K to come to talk, ‘and a Mr. Rempel, the head of it, showed us to the house that was provided,’ and it was a very nice house. And I remember the first evening, a family of raccoons came to the porch, obviously expecting to be fed. They were charming, and that was enjoyed by Krishnaji and me.

The next day, ‘Krishnaji took a canyon walk in the late afternoon. And I put food in the house. Rosenthal rang’…about legal matters.
‘We were shown around the campus the next day, and at 7 p.m. Krishnaji gave his first talk to the students and faculty and public in something called “Bridges Auditorium.”’
On the next day, the ninth, ‘Krishnaji discussed the threat from Ojai with Alain and me and what to do. There was a student from Fordham, Jim Eagan, who came to lunch with us. We walked.’
On the thirteenth, ‘Krishnaji gave a talk and discussion at the School of Theology. After lunch, Krishnaji, Alain, and I walked two miles up the canyon while Krishnaji gave us a history of Zen!’ And back down in the dark,’ it says. ‘Four miles in all.’
On the fourteenth, ‘Huston Smith came for lunch to discuss a televised discussion they are to have tomorrow. At 4:30, Krishnaji held another discussion with students.’
It didn’t seem to be going anywhere as far as I was concerned. I was very unimpressed with Huston Smith, why…I don’t remember. Krishnaji didn’t comment.

On the seventeenth, ‘after lunch, the Blackburns came by and wanted,’ they were always wanting, to 'get into the work', so-called. So, the only thing that Krishnaji could come up with was, “Well, if you want to travel at your own expense with us”—meaning the 3 of us—“maybe Gaby could type and Al could help record, that was alright,” but it had to be at their own expense, because we couldn’t afford it.
On the eighteenth, Krishnaji recorded a television interview for NBC. ‘We left in the afternoon, and were home in Malibu by 4:20 p.m.

Now, there had been talk that Alain should go away for a holiday, and it had been back and forth between Krishnaji and Alain and me, too. But, at this point, Alain said that he would prefer, instead of going away for a holiday, he would like to do things he enjoys, such as writing, etcetera, here in California. So, that was decided. It didn’t happen that way, but temporarily it was decided.

December second, ‘Windy day, after lunch, went to town for errands, saw Amanda, had tea with a friend. Radha  rang Krishnaji, and Sidney Field came to see Krishnaji.’ Radha gets into the picture to chivvy Krishnaji on behalf of her father. And Sidney Field was a long-standing friend of Krishnaji’s, and Krishnaji would get Sidney Field to help him wash the car! That was a big event, or go for a walk on the beach with him sometimes.
Next day, that would be the ninth of December, ‘in the afternoon, Krishnaji, Alain, and I went to town, did some shopping, and then at 6 p.m., we had tea with Sidney Field. Then, we went to see Judge Robert Kenny.’ Now, that was a very important day because we had all this data that Erna had dug up, and didn’t know what to do about Rajagopal? Judge Kenny was a very good man. He’d been the attorney general of California, and he was now a superior court judge, or something like that, and just a very nice, very liberal man. He used to fight for all kinds of good, liberal things in California, and he was a friend of Sidney Field. So, Sidney suggested that Krishnaji go and talk to Judge Kenny, and we went on this particular day, the ninth of December 1968, and told him what we knew. He said that there was no question that all this was very suspicious, and that we must take the evidence to the present attorney general immediately and present it to him and he would then advise us. But it was clear that something is there to be investigated. So, that is just what we did.

In the late afternoon, Rajagopal telephoned. Krishnaji picked up the phone, and then put me on.’ ‘Rajagopal again said he wanted to meet Krishnaji alone,’ etcetera, you know, the same old thing. I think that was the time that he said, ‘Wasn’t that Krishnaji who answered the phone?’ I said, “Yes.”
He then said, “ I want to speak to him.”
I replied, “He doesn’t want to speak to you. You’ll have to tell me whatever it is.”

On the fourteenth, ‘the first of the discussions that we held at the house began at 4 p.m. and about 15 people came.’ Again, that’s all Alain’s doing. The next two days saw another discussion with youngish people and lots of interviews.
Oh, on the morning of seventeenth of December, ‘a cable came that Brockwood papers were signed today, and is Foundation’s as of today.’ On the nineteenth, ‘we all three drove to Ojai and to the Lilliefelts for lunch. There was a tea afterwards for Krishnaji to see Ojai friends.’ Lots of people came for that.
On the twenty-second, ‘there was the fourth discussion of the group.’ My leg was too numb to walk, so I didn’t walk on the beach.On December twenty-fourth, ‘in the evening, we had supper and watched the live television of the moon from the Apollo flight. After the tenth orbit, they headed back to earth.’ ‘We watched a Horowitz concert on television.’ This is Christmas Day. Supper as usual by the TV and watched the Horowitz concert. I spoke to all of my family in New York,’ and that was this Christmas. We didn’t celebrate Christmas.

On the thirtieth of December , ‘Freedom from the Known, Krishnaji’s new book edited by Mary Lutyens. arrived, published by Gollancz. This is the first Krishnamurti Foundation copyright book.

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Fri, 31 May 2019 #157
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline

(...) January nineteenth, ‘Pouring rain! The Linkses (Mary Lutyens & her husband) came to breakfast. The Lilliefelts and Ruth Tettemer followed. Talked about the Bulletin, donation appeals, etcetera, until the group discussion began. Mary and I went over Brockwood matters. Then, after the group left, we continued discussions of the foundation and Bulletin matters with Krishnaji, Mary, Erna and Theo, and Ruth Tettemer. Finally, Krishnaji, the Linkses, and I had a late lunch. Talked most of the afternoon. Rain kept pouring down. The Linkses are going to Pasadena tomorrow.’ She was going to the Huntington Library.
On January twenty-third, ‘I bought a Leicaflex camera with a 90-mm lens…’ It was really for taking pictures of Krishnaji, because the new books and the Bulletin that were planned needed photos. ‘…and was back by tea. Mary and Joe came for dinner. We watched the Traverses’ film of lions in Africa.’ That was Born Free. ‘Listened to some tapes of the conversations in the Holiday Book collection.’

The twenty-fifth of January: ‘Mary and Joe came to breakfast, lunch, and supper. There was a group discussion in spite of being, for a while, cut off by the rain and mudslides. Ojai was blocked, but one boy, Lloyd Williams, from Ojai walked seven miles to a bus to come!’ How extraordinary. ‘Mary and I made notes about Brockwood. The roads are blocked to the north. The Linkses and Alain decided to fly to San Francisco instead of motoring.’
January twenty-sixth. ‘The Linkses came to breakfast, and the fourteenth and final group discussion was at 11 a.m. The rain stopped at last. After lunch, Krishnaji and I drove the Linkses and Alain to the airport where they flew to San Francisco. Krishnaji drove the Jaguar back and practiced parking in Santa Monica. That’s when he wanted to get a license. ‘We walked on the beach strewn with driftwood. A quiet supper in a quiet house.’
Well, on the next few days there were some legal meetings, including setting up the American foundation, which required, for some reason, some life members, which Erna and I became. I’m afraid this became a point of contention with Alain, as he was only made a member for a year. On the twenty-eighth of January, K took the driving test Excellent on the written, but nervous on the driving part. They gave him only a temporary permit. We had a picnic in the car.’

January thirtieth, ‘Krishnaji and I left at 11:45 a.m. in the Jaguar and drove north. Stopped beyond Santa Barbara in Dos Pueblos for a picnic lunch. Drove on. The country was green and beautiful. Big Sur Road was closed, so we took the inland 101 freeway through Salinas and into Carmel Valley. Spent the night at the Highlands Inn.’
Thirty-first of January. ‘We drove down the Big Sur Road a little to Point Lobos. Walked and I used the new Leicaflex. We shopped in Carmel, and lunched at the Pine Inn, then drove on to San Francisco, arriving at the Huntington Hotel at 5:30 p.m. Alain was there. We unpacked, and had a long three-way talk, and supper.’ We had quite nice rooms in the Huntington; there was a kitchen, a sitting room, and two big bedrooms and bath.
The next day we lunched in the sitting room. ‘Then we drove to Muir Woods and were able to walk only a short way, but Krishnaji had a good walk.’

February second. ‘A sunny day. Michael Korman of KPFA’—that’s a nonprofit radio station out of Berkeley that played audiotapes of Krishnaji’s talks—‘for lunch. Later I went to see Father, walking down the hill but not up it.’ They were down at the bottom of the hill; we were up on top of Nob Hill. The leg is very numb. Joan Baez came to see Krishnaji. Alain and I dined downstairs in the restaurant, L’Etoile, and reviewed our Friday conversation.’ Alain was upset about the life memberships for setting up the foundation and his not being one of them.
On the third, Alain and I reconnoitered at the Berkeley Theater, where Krishnaji is to talk. At 8 p.m. I drove Krishnaji to the first Berkeley talk. There were about 2,500 in the audience. We had supper afterward.’
The next day there was the second Berkeley talk. ‘Tremendous, tremendous one. Also, ‘Krishnaji has a slight cold.’
Fifth of February. ‘Rain. Sonoma student, Terry Agnew, came to lunch, then to the third Berkeley talk.’ The next day, ‘the final Berkeley talk. It was a great one.’

February seventh. Krishnaji, Alain, and I went to Alan Watts’ in Sausalito; he lived on a houseboat in Sausalito, and he had wanted Krishnaji to come and meet all the distinguished, intellectual people in San Francisco. But when we got there, both he and his wife were drunk! And the people asked stupid questions. It was a fruitless event! It was just a mess. We left.
 February eighth. ‘With Krishnaji to a meeting arranged by KPFA at 7 p.m. in Berkeley. Came back to supper. Rajagopal has formed another foundation called K & R.’

February eleventh, ‘lunch with Buckminster Fuller, Michael Kerina, and John Digues.’ John Digues is the one that brought Buckminster Fuller. ‘A discussion was taped for KPFA. At 4:30 p.m., went with Krishnaji to his first Stanford talk, but I had to return to San Francisco to an appointment with a vascular doctor.’ My leg was troubling me, and my Los Angeles doctor said I must see this vascular person. ‘He thinks the femoral artery is blocked.’
On the twelfth, ‘Leg a little less painful. Have a cold. Krishnaji decided to cancel the Australian tour, then he went to the second Stanford talk.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji is tired, but he gave his third Stanford talk. Alain out for supper. He is to go ahead of us to Europe.’
Finally on the fourteenth, at 4 p.m., ‘the final Stanford talk.’ The next day Krishnaji and I both rested all day in bed.

On the sixteenth, ‘we packed, had lunch, and drove to UC Santa Cruz. Krishnaji and I were lodged in a nice flat. Alain was nearby. Krishnaji gave a talk at 8 p.m. to students in Cowell College. The next day, he gave his second talk.’
On the eighteenth,  ‘Krishnaji had the day off. We went for a drive inland through the Redwoods. He walked while I followed him in the car.’ I couldn’t walk much at that point. I used to drive along slowly. On the nineteenth and twentieth, Krishnaji gave his last two talks at Santa Cruz.
On the twenty-first, ‘We were early. Breakfast at 7 a.m. Alain loaded the car and Krishnaji and I left Cowell College and Santa Cruz at 8:45 a.m. Drove via Carmel, Big Sur, stopped briefly at Nepenthe’—you know that’s that restaurant right on the water. ‘The coast road only just opened after the storm and mudslides. Had a picnic lunch near Cambria. Krishnaji drove the rest of the hundred miles to Santa Barbara, and then I drove the remaining way to Malibu, arriving at 4:20 p.m. Good to be home. House and garden beautiful. Filomena was well. Alain arrived afterward in the night. No rest for me, pain in leg.’

February twenty-second. ‘Beautiful morning after the rain. After lunch, Erna and Theo Lilliefelt, and Ruth Tettemer came; we discussed affairs and formally signed, before a notary, the trust’s founding documents of the Krishnamurti Foundation of America. Trustees are Krishnaji, Erna Lilliefelt, Ruth Tettemer, Alain, and me. Had our first trustee meeting.’
February twenty-fourth. ‘Took Alain to the airport. He flew to Paris, and will go to Gstaad and find housing for students next summer.
Nothing much happens until the twenty-seventh. ‘Krishnaji and I met the Lilliefelts and Ruth Tettemer at Rosenthal’s office. We all went to the attorney general’s office downtown for a meeting between Krishnaji and Laurence Tapper, the attorney general. He will investigate KWINC. Krishnaji and I had lunch in the car. And then I went to fetch my Tassell coat, while Krishnaji had a haircut.’
The next day, ‘we packed, and I took four bags to Pan American cargo for shipment to London.’
Then nothing very special until March fourth. ‘‘We left at 10 a.m. Amanda drove Krishnaji and me to the airport, where we took a new Pan American flight nonstop to London. I went first class with Krishnaji.’
On the fifth of March, ‘Krishnaji and I arrived in London, and spent one half hour waiting in transit before flying on to Paris. Telephoned Mary Links, the Digbys, and Mary Cadogan. Alain surprised us by being at the Paris airport with his car. He had got rooms in the new school in Schonried for students. We all lunched and talked. Krishnaji and I walked over to see my Mercedes in the garage, brought by Mr. Moser from Switzerland. We took naps, then phoned Madame Duperrex.’ She was the very nice concierge of the rooms in Caprices at Gstaad. ‘We rented rooms in Trois Ours.’ Yes, she was also the concierge for this chalet just below Tannegg. Instead of staying down in the village at Caprices, I had wanted to stay there.

March sixth, ‘We left Pont Royale and Paris in both cars at 8:40 a.m. Krishnaji and I drove to Le Touquet, 160 miles in three hours. Alain met us there and flew both of the cars to Lydd. We lunched there, and then at 2:30 p.m., left and drove across southern England, 120 miles. We met Alain at the West Meon Hut, and then together, we all went to Brockwood.’ This is the first time we’d been to Brockwood!

I remember just as sun was setting, the Simmonses, Donald Hoppen, Doris Pratt, Alan Hooker, and four boy students were there. The house and grounds are beautiful. Saw it, had supper, and went to bed.’ I remember that I was so tired because I had misjudged how long the journey would take. I knew how long it took to get to Le Touquet from Paris, then cross over in the plane; that was easy. But then, on the map, it didn’t look very far to cross the south of England.
I’d been driving since eight in the morning or something, and by the time I finally drove up the lane to Brockwood, and had the first glimpse of Brockwood, I was in tears from exhaustion.

I learned that from my aunt or someone who put Heal beds in a house in Rome, because they were suppose to be wonderful. And so, we planned all that ahead of time.
So, predictably, on the seventh, ‘unpacked. Mary Cadogan arrived for lunch and talked with Krishnaji, Alain, and me. Went for the first walk with Krishnaji in Brockwood Park. Lovely, seven redwood trees, the cedar of Lebanon trees, the fields and orchard, and an enormous rose garden and vegetable garden.’
The next morning, ‘Alain and I left early and drove to London and the airport to fetch the four bags I’d sent a few days ago by Pan American cargo. Frost on the fields. Lovely landscape. Returned in time for lunch. A discussion with Dorothy Simmons about which rooms will be Krishnaji’s section of the house; also of plans for the school.’

On March ninth, ‘The Linkses came to call in the morning. The Digbys and the Cadogans came to lunch. Trustees meeting all afternoon. George Digby reassured on KF of America being able to contribute funds.’Well, in those days, the KFA had nothing much to do except run an office, so Erna was glad to send funds to England. It turned out pretty soon that it was illegal to give charitable funds from the USA to a foreign entity.

March eleven, ‘Krishnaji decides not to spend the night in a hotel in London before and after tomorrow’s talk. Then various people came: Claudine and Gérard Blitz, Mary Cadogan, Mary Links, and Hughes van der Straten. Frances McCann came to stay for several days.
On the sixteenth, ‘Krishnaji and I drove to Wimbledon at 9 a.m. for the 11 o’clock talk. Went via the Hog’s Back.’
On March eighteenth, ‘With Krishnaji and Alain to London by train from Alton. He went to Huntsman, and then he, Mary Links, Alain, and I lunched at Claridge’s. Krishnaji and I went to see the BBC for a color television interview of Krishnaji. I did errands at Harrods, etcetera, and met them at Waterloo Station for return train at 6:30 p.m.’
On the twenty-third, ‘Motored with Krishnaji to Wimbledon for the fourth and last talk of the series, a very moving one. We came back and lunched alone. Then a lot of people came. Krishnaji had a school discussion which included the Simmons, Alan Hooker, Alain Naudé, and me.’

The next day Krishnaji and Alain took the train to London and I drove in. I did household errands, and they went to Huntsman and then Sullivan & Wooly.
For the next few days I continued to work on house things, plus dictations from Krishnaji, and I worked a little in the garden, pruning.

On the third of April. ‘We left Montreuil at 9:45 a.m. and drove via Arras to the autoroute to Paris. Krishnaji and I arrived at 12:30 p.m. at 16 Rue de Verdun, and Alain slightly later.’ That’s the house I rented. There was a maid, Marguerite, and a cook, André, and they had lunch ready. We unpacked and rested. After supper, Alain and I went to the Salle Pleyel and heard Sviatoslav Richter play Bach’s The Well-Tempered Clavier,
On the fifth, ‘Krishnaji dictated more of the Holiday Book. De Vidas came by. In the afternoon, Krishnaji, Alain, and I went to a movie, Mackenna’s Gold.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji worked on the book and after supper I played a tape that Alain made of his notes of conversations with Krishnaji.’
April twelfth, ‘Krishnaji and Alain worked on the book. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji held a discussion with young people at the Hotel Pont Royale.’ That was followed the next day with the second talk at the Salle de la Chimie.

On the eighteenth, there was a tea at 4 p.m. for the French group, which consisted of the Suarèses, de Vidas, M-me de Manziarly, Madame Samuel, Madame Safra, Madame Ettori, Madame Banzet, Mademoiselle Borel, someone Suydoux and Frances McCann.’
Another young people’s discussion on the nineteenth at 4 p.m, followed the following day by Krishnaji’s fourth talk.
On the twenty-first, left for Orly at 5:45 a.m., took a 7 a.m. plane to London. Paul Anstee met me and drove to Brockwood. The daffodils were all out. We spent the day on painting problems. He drove me back to the airport just in time for me to catch an 8:30 p.m. plane back to Paris.’ On the twenty-second, ‘Krishnaji saw de Vidas about his telling lies to Mary Cadogan.’ Goodness, he did? ‘Yo de Manziarly came to lunch. Took Krishnaji to get his visa photos and then to the Pont Royale for another young people’s discussion.’ Oh, I had tea again with my former roommate.

On the twenty-third, ‘Krishnaji saw Doris Pratt, and then Alain with her. Loads of criticism.’ ‘I went with Krishnaji and Alain to UNESCO, where they taped an interview with Krishnaji.
‘At 7 p.m., Krishnaji had his fifth and last Paris talk.’
On the twenty-sixth, ‘We left Paris at 11 a.m. and drove to Arras, lunching at Le Cheuzy.’ It was on the way, and a very nice restaurant. ‘Left there about 3 p.m. and drove around Lille to Tournai, crossing into Belgium. Onto Brussels, where Krishnaji, Alain, and I spent the night with Suzanne and Hughes van der Straten. Their children Gauthier, Favienne, Marie-Laure, Evrard, Marjolaine and Ariane were there. A nice, immense, comfortable house, and very nice family.’
The next day, we ‘spent a pleasant, relaxed morning with the van der Stratens and left after lunch. A three-hour drive to Hilversum in Holland, and to the house at S’Gravelandsweg…where Anneke was waiting. A house rented for Krishnaji and furnished with loans from well-wishers.’

I spent the next morning ‘getting settled. After lunch, Krishnaji, Alain, and I drove to Keukenhof,’ ‘The tulips were just beginning. I ordered perennial bulbs for September delivery to Brockwood. On return to the house, we heard of de Gaulle’s resignation.’
On the twenty-ninth of April, some people to lunch, Krishnaji came with me to do errands in Bussum, ‘and then walked in a lovely wood near the farm house we lived in two years ago.’
The next day, ‘I did errands in Bussum. In the afternoon, Krishnaji, Alain, and I went to Amsterdam to a movie: Peter Sellers’ The Party.’
Then the usual: various people to lunch, errands, etcetera, until May third. ‘I drove Krishnaji via S’Gravelandsweg to first Amsterdam talk at the Congress Centrum, in the RAI. It was a very strong talk. Krishnaji was slightly faint in car on the return. After lunch, he came with me to Bussum on errands.
On the fourth of May, ‘With Krishnaji to the second talk in Amsterdam. There was an afternoon tea for all the people who have helped in the week here.’
On the fifth, I had a discussion with Krishnaji about how we might cut down on some of his traveling and talking. And the very next day, we continued the discussion on the way home from a 5 p.m. young people’s discussion at the Congress Centrum.
On May seventh, Alain and I went to Amsterdam to the Theosophical Society Bookshop to buy a book that Alain wanted.’ And I remember vividly, they had a big picture of Mrs. Besant and a big picture of Leadbeater on the wall, life-size, in sepia…you know, old-fashioned. And I looked at these two photos. It could’ve been 300 years ago. I thought, those two people were in Krishnaji’s life! And the contrast between the apparent age of these people in the photographs and Krishnaji, who was as young as could be, was astounding.

On the eighth, it just says ‘Second young people’s discussion.’
For the next day it says, ‘Krishnaji decides not to come to Amsterdam next year. I marketed all afternoon. Alain and I rang Madame Dupperex in Gstaad about Chalet Trois Ours.’
On the tenth and eleventh, Krishnaji had the third and fourth talks.
Then I went to see the Van Gogh paintings at the Kröller-Muller Museum in Osterloo, while Krishnaji had interviews.
On the thirteenth, Krishnaji had the third young people’s discussion, and the next day he gave the fifth and final Amsterdam talk.
On the fifteenth of May, I joined Krishnaji and Alain at a young people’s discussion at the RAI. The hall was full, and there was an audience listening outside in that big room. After that, I brought Krishnaji home.’
Sixteenth of May, ‘We left Hilversum at 10:30 a.m., and drove to Rotterdam, where we got lost for an hour, but finally found the airport. Alain was already there. The attendant broke the Mercedes’ left window. We flew on British Air Ferry to South End, where Mary and Joe Links were there to meet us and guide us into London through terrible traffic.’
‘Brockwood is lovely. Slept well, unpacked, and put everything in order. The carpet is down in my room. There was a meeting between Simmonses, Krishnaji, Alain, and me on school matters. Walked with Krishnaji through the bluebells in the woods.’

The next day was ‘a quiet day at Brockwood, but Alain is feeling low.’
On the nineteenth, ‘I drove Krishnaji and Alain to London. Left them at Huntsman’s, then they went to lunch with Mary L. while I took the Mercedes to be fixed. Then went to Anstee and miscellaneous shopping for the house. Came back to Alton on the 4:56 p.m. train.’ I must’ve left the Mercedes. ‘Krishnaji and Alain came back on the 5:20 p.m. and I drove back to Brockwood with them. I have a sore throat.’
On the twentieth, ‘Alain had a long talk with Krishnaji. Mary Cadogan came and we had a meeting with her and Dorothy. We are going to have the gatherings at Brockwood in September on two weekends. My mother and Huges are in London at the Goring Hotel.’
For the twenty-first it reads, ‘A lovely, quiet day. Stayed at Brockwood resting. Felt much better, and went for a walk with Krishnaji across the field. It was warm and beautiful. Krishnaji’s talks to Alain seems to have changed and cheered him.’
The next day, ‘Drove Alain’s car to London. Went to the Chelsea Flower Show and to Anstee’s and Harrods, etcetera, on errands. Back to Brockwood for supper. The kitchen cabinets and appliances arrived.
The following day I returned to London to pick up the Mercedes and it took me three hours to drive back to Brockwood through the Whitsun weekend traffic, arriving at 9:30 p.m.
On May twenty-fourth, it says, ‘to West Meon on errands. Then, worked on the shelves in Alain’s room,’ I must’ve been putting things away, I can’t remember what it was. ‘After lunch, Krishnaji, Alain, and I in both cars drove to Blackdown for tea with the Linkses.’

The next day, ‘I washed the kitchen walls. Unpacked cabinets. The Chinese-Indonesian family of possible student came.’ That’s Tungki.
Over the next several days, I went to London and Winchester to find things to furnish the West Wing, and do odd jobs around the house, including on the twenty-ninth, when ‘Krishnaji and I began weeding the lawn.’ Heavens. Nothing major except the first and second of June, Krishnaji and I continued to weed the lawn. And on the second, ‘Took Alain to Winchester. Did errands. Alain brought back Desikachar from the airport when he arrived from Madras. Also, a Mark Schmidt also arrived from the U.S. to become a teacher at Brockwood.’

On the fifth of June, ‘Had fifth yoga lesson with Desikachar. Very good with the leg.’ In other words, he didn’t do what Iyengar had done, which hurt my leg.
The next day, ‘Mother and Huges fly to New York. Krishnaji washed the car. The kitchen is finished. I began cleaning it. The Linkses brought Alain, who had spent the night in London, back to Brockwood, and they had tea.’
On June seventh, as well as work in the house, ‘There was a meeting after lunch with Krishnaji, the Simmonses, Alain, and me about Brockwood policies.’

The next day, ‘An unhappy discussion between Krishnaji, Alain, and Dorothy Simmons. Alain called me in the night, talked to him for hours.’ He and Dorothy didn’t get on at all. And it was over that student, that Indian boy. Alain felt he was his guardian or something. The father had given him permission to put him in the Brockwood School, and Dorothy didn’t want Alain interfering. They didn’t get on at all, and Alain was very emotional about these things. This was the year that Alain finally left.

June fourteenth. ‘Alain rang Dr. Schmidt.’ That’s the Swiss homeopath who says that ‘Krishnaji has gout. The Digbys and Mary Links came in the afternoon for an editorial meeting. Joe Links came with Mary’s grandchildren, Anna and Nicky. We had tea. After supper, Krishnaji, Alain, and Dorothy had another meeting about Alain to which I didn’t go.’
The next day, ‘Another long talk with Alain. Walked alone in the afternoon.’
June sixteenth, ‘Talked early to Alain, then Krishnaji. Then we had a three-way talk with Krishnaji, Alain, and me, at which it was resolved that Alain promised not to talk about leaving or to leave.’ Well, that didn’t last, but anyway, that’s what happened in June. ‘Winchester in the p.m. On return, I took Krishnaji for a drive toward Droxford along the lanes. Breathtaking countryside.’
June seventeenth, ‘It was raining. Yoga lesson number twelve. Krishnaji came with me to Alresford and Winchester. After supper, Krishnaji talked to Alain and me about the danger of destructive forces. Then, there’s more about decorating and buying antiques for the house. Krishnaji’s foot was better so he could walk. He was also practicing his driving so he could get his English drivers license. Then on the twenty-second of June, ‘Krishnaji held first talk and discussion at Brockwood in the big room. About 165 people came, including two boys, Terry Agnew and Alan Hansen from Sonoma. Sandwich lunch afterwards.’

Krishnaji drove me to Winchester and beyond, practicing with the Mercedes for the driver’s test. We had our first meal at the new long table in school’s dining room.
The next day, ‘Krishnaji talked to two new teachers, Mark Schmidt and John Digues as well as the Simmonses, Alain, and me about the school.’
School meeting in the afternoon; Krishnaji, Alain, the Simmonses, Digues, Schmidt, and me. Tensions are everywhere. Alain was very tense. Had a yoga lesson.’ Everybody was tense, particularly Alain.

The twenty-seventh of June. ‘Talk at breakfast with Alain. Then, he and Brant Cortright left by car for Paris en route to Saanen.’ Brant Cortright was a student, In the afternoon, Krishnaji passed his driving test in Winchester and now has a lifetime license!’ That was a triumphant day! Because, if you recall, he’d gotten turned down in California, and he was unhappy that he’d flunked. So, he said he’d get one in England, but to be on the safe side, he engaged an equally aged gentleman to give him driving lessons, so he’d learn the English driver’s laws and techniques. And this day, what happened was that the teacher, a little old man, came, and he rehearsed Krishnaji, though he didn’t tell him that, by having Krishnaji driving all through Winchester. He said, “turn left here” and “stop here” and “turn right here”, and all that. He knew exactly the pattern that the inspector would take Krishnaji. And Krishnaji did it flawlessly. So the old man got out, and the inspector got in, and they went over the exact same route. And he came back very happy, because everyone had said to him, “Oh, nobody ever gets it the first time, and they’re very difficult. He came back just triumphant!

July second, ‘Packing, etcetera. Krishnaji washed the car in the afternoon, and while backing into the garage, his foot slipped on the accelerator and the back of the car was slightly demolished against the garage door.’ I was upstairs doing something, and he came up looking stricken! I thought he’d hurt himself. I blurted out, “What happened? Are you alright?”, you know. He couldn’t speak he was so shocked.
July third. ‘Krishnaji is still shaken by yesterday’s car episode. Dorothy Simmons in the Land Rover drove Krishnaji, me, Desikachar, and Narendra to the London Airport.’ Narendra was the bone of contention between Dorothy and Alain.
We ate sandwich lunches there, and then Krishnaji, Desikachar, and Narendra flew to Geneva where Alain was to meet them, and Dorothy and I came back to Brockwood. The Mercedes had been towed to South Hampton, and they will let me know the damage tomorrow.’ There didn’t seem to be very much.
The fourth of July. ‘Krishnaji and Alain in Geneva to see Dr. Schmidt for a check-up, and then they went to Gstaad. I put things away at Brockwood, paid the bills, etcetera. Two months to fix the Mercedes! The house is so quiet. There’s scarcely anyone here. Alain called from Gstaad, got me an Avis rental car.’
The next day ‘I had the twenty-sixth yoga lesson with Desikachar at Tannegg. I lunched there with Vanda and Dorothy. Talked to Vanda till 4 p.m. Did errands in the village, and finished unpacking.’
July eighth. ‘Lunched at Tannegg with Krishnaji and Desikachar. Krishnaji held a discussion with the young people at the Schonried School.’

Krishnaji held another young people’s discussion on the tenth.
On July eleventh, ‘Early lunch with Krishnaji and Alain. Then, we drove to Thun, where Krishnaji got his new Mercedes sports car! I drove back with him. Exhausting afternoon, and on into the night with Alain. He was being impossible.’
July thirteenth. ‘Drove Krishnaji to Schonried, where he spoke to young people. We had lunch at Tannegg, Vanda, Krishnaji, Alain, and a Mr. and Mrs. Raul, a UNESCO man from Paris. Had a nap. Then, a looooong conversation with Alain on all the difficulties. Had a violent headache.’ He was so being difficult, and I was trying to keep him with us, because I thought he had very useful capacities and skills in bringing young people.
He wanted to storm off, and I wanted to hold him there, for Krishnaji’s sake, the work, and everything. And this particular day, we had this awful conversation that really baffled me, and suddenly, I got a blinding headache so severely that I almost fell over, and it shocked him out of his tirade.

The next day, ‘Lunch at Tannegg with Vanda, Krishnaji, Alain, and Desikachar. At 4 p.m. I went with Krishnaji in his new Mercedes. He had his hair cut. Then, we went for a long, peaceful drive across Les Mosses. Krishnaji asked me to talk to Vanda about Tannegg next summer.’

The next day, Vanda went to Geneva and met her son-in-law. Krishnaji took me for a drive to Lenk, and then we lunched alone. Astronauts Armstrong and Collins took off on Apollo 11 for a moon landing.’
July seventeenth, ‘Drove Krishnaji to the opening Saanen talk. The question and answer period was broken up by an angry Norwegian boy.’

Anyway, ‘the Simmonses, Donald Hoppen, Alain, and I met afterward with Krishnaji who offered Donald de Vidas’s job in the Saanen Gathering. He is to think it over.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji had a meeting with Mary Cadogan and Alain. Vanda and I had a brief talk and agreed to all share Tannegg next year.’
On the nineteenth, ‘There was a Saanen Gatherings Committee meeting at 10:30 a.m. with Krishnaji, Alain, de Vidas, Mary Cadogan, Doris Pratt, and me, plus Donald Hoppen, who can’t accept Krishnaji’s offer to run Saanen in de Vidas’s place because he needs one more year in the U.S. for his final qualification there as an architect, but he will help. de Vida’s resignation was accepted as of the end of this season. But he has not resigned as head of the French group, as his letter implied. Lunched at Tannegg. Krishnaji, Vanda, and I talked about young people’s housing next year. Vanda and I talked alone about sharing Tannegg and its costs next summer.

On July twentieth, ‘I drove Krishnaji to his second talk. Lunched at Tannegg with Krishnaji, Vanda, and Alain. Alain and I dined with the van der Stratens, and at 8:30 p.m. news came that the astronauts Armstrong and Aldrin had landed a capsule on the moon.’
The next morning. ‘Went to Tannegg at 6 a.m. to watch on Krishnaji’s television, Armstrong followed by Aldrin, setting foot on the moon. Vanda left for Florence after lunch. I moved up to stay at Tannegg.’ When she went away, she had me come and run things. ‘Watching at 6 p.m. TV shots of the astronauts taking off from the moon to rendezvous with the main capsule and the waiting astronaut Collins.’
On the twenty-second, ‘Took Krishnaji to his third talk.
On the twenty-third, ‘9:30 a.m. meeting, all the committees of other countries. The Simmonses stayed for lunch. Krishnaji took me for a drive and a walk toward Lauenen.’
Krishnaji held the fourth talk on the twenty-fourth. ‘Came back and watched TV of the perfect landing and pick-up of astronauts in the Pacific.’

On the twenty-sixth, ‘Krishnaji had taped a discussion with Swami Venkatesananda.
Then, there was a meeting of Mary Cadogan, Donald Hoppen, Ms. Keller of the Swiss Committee, and Mr. and Mrs. Graf. Latter three are to handle the Saanen business matters for the Saanen Gathering Committee. Cragnolini, Senior Navarra, and Bruno Ortolani came for lunch. A secretary, Ms. Anderson, arrives. I brought her up to Tannegg to take dictation.’

The next day ‘I became signatory for Krishnaji of his account. I went for a drive with Krishnaji. Mrs. Travers…’, that’s Pamela Travers, ‘…Frances McCann, and Ted Santos for lunch. Donald rang and asked to see Krishnaji, and came at 2:30 p.m. I fetched the Simmonses, who were disturbed over the friction yesterday. Krishnaji is upset too.’ This was a bad summer, I mean overall.
On the twenty-ninth, ‘With Krishnaji to his sixth talk. Meeting afterwards with the Simmonses, Donald, and finally Alain. All ate lunch late.’
On the thirtieth, ‘Krishnaji and I to Thun in the Mercedes while it had its 500-kilometer service. We took the lake steamer to Spiez and back, having a picnic lunch on-board. Then, drove to Interlaken in a borrowed car. We got caught in traffic. Came back in the Mercedes, slightly late for Krishnaji to go to a Spanish tea.’

First of August. ‘A long talk with Alain at breakfast. Vanda arrived from Florence. She is coming with Alberto’, her son, ‘on Monday. David Bohm and the Hammonds came for lunch. There was a tea for all the foreign committees. Krishnaji walked to Saanen afterwards and I picked him up. The next day ‘Krishnaji spoke to an encampment of young Theosophists. There was a meeting of the Dutch Committee. There was a discussion all afternoon between Krishnaji, Alain, and me.’
On the third of August, ‘Krishnaji came to breakfast with Alain and me, and talked till almost 10 a.m. Then, we dashed to the tent for the first of the public discussions.’
August fourth, ‘Krishnaji held the second public discussion. Simmonses, Donald, and Alain to lunch. Talked afterward without Alain. Then there was a meeting of the Saanen Gathering Committee after which Alain came to Tannegg. Krishnaji talked to him with me there for three hours. Alain will no longer be his personal assistant. He is to work away from him.’

The next day was the third discussion. In the afternoon, I took Krishnaji to Schonried for a discussion with young people. At 5:30 p.m., the Simmonses and Donald came, and Krishnaji told them of Alain’s change of work.’
 August seventh through ninth were the fifth through seventh, and last, public discussions.
On the tenth there was a long talk between Krishnaji, Alain, and me about Alain’s new work for Krishnaji. All sounded well.

On August twelfth, ‘Krishnaji and I took a picnic and drove in his Mercedes down to the Col de Pillon, Les Avants, and then back via Bulle.’
August fourteenth, ‘With Krishnaji to the bank to put his account from AN to MZ account,  “trust account”’—that was to authorize me to handle it. ‘Frances, and Pietro came to lunch, also Madame Duchet. Walk with Krishnaji.’

August nineteenth, ‘Vanda left very early for Florence. Alain also left early for Italy. Krishnaji and I left at 11 a.m. and had a picnic lunch near Rolle on the lake. Continued to Geneva and the Hotel du Rhône. It was such a relief when Alain left.
On the twentieth, ‘Krishnaji and I carried three tape recorders and a camera. Flew to London at 12:30 p.m. Dorothy and Montague met us. One of the shipped bags was lost. Arrived at Brockwood at 5:30 p.m.’
The next day, ‘I unpacked. Mary Links came for tea. Explained some of the events of the summer, Alain, etcetera. She is disturbed. Also, she doesn’t want to do the Bulletin anymore. The Mercedes won’t be ready for three weeks.’

On August twenty-third, ‘Krishnaji dictated a conversation.
On the twenty-fourth, ‘Krishnaji dictated another “conversation” to me. We walked around the garden.’
August twenty-sixth, ‘To Winchester with Donald about a TV set for Krishnaji. His cold is better, but he’s very tired. He stayed in bed all day. I moved furniture, and changed rooms around. Krishnaji’s study goes to the school.’ Krishnaji’s study was what became the school library, the end of the building, under my room. ‘Alain’s study goes to the school and his bedroom becomes a guestroom. The present guestroom becomes the dining room, and the dining room becomes an office.’

August twenty-ninth when ‘Krishnaji got up for lunch. Saral and David Bohm came. There was a discussion with Krishnaji about the school.’
August thirty, ‘In the afternoon, Krishnaji and I drove in the Hooker’s small car, now bought by Brockwood, to Blackdown to have tea with the Linkses.’
On the thirty-first, ‘Krishnaji dictated to me in the morning. The Digbys came to lunch. After tea, they left, and Krishnaji and I walked down the lane across a golden field. How lovely this country is. Worked on learning to use the Nagra.’
September first, ‘Krishnaji dictated to me. Frances McCann arrived to stay through the talks. I went to Heathrow to meet and bring back the Biascoecheas, who are also staying here through the talks.’
On September sixth, ‘Krishnaji gave his first talk at Brockwood in the tent in the field. Ginny and Bill Travers came and lunched afterwards with Krishnaji, Suzanne, and Hughes van der Straten, and me in the West Wing dining room. First meal there.
On September seventh, ‘Krishnaji gave the second Brockwood talk in the tent. The Bohms and van der Stratens lunched in the West Wing. Krishnaji invited David to be a trustee. There was Indian music in the afternoon. I spoke to Sidney Roth about TV films of Krishnaji.’
On September eighth, ‘Meeting at 11:30 a.m.: Krishnaji, school members, and the Bohms.
The following day, ‘Krishnaji had a discussion in the tent with about sixty people. It went well. We ate the cafeteria lunch that was on sale. Walked with Krishnaji around the lanes.’

September eleventh, Krishnaji held the second discussion in the tent. We lunched there again.’ On September thirteenth, ‘Krishnaji gave his third Brockwood talk. We lunched in the tent. At supper we were forty with sixteen nationalities. Mercedes was delivered after ten and a half weeks.’ That was from when he pushed it into the garage.
The next day was the fourth Brockwood talk.
On the fifteenth, ‘I drove to Blackdown and saw Alain and Mary Links. I brought Alain his belongings. We lunched in a pub. Then they went to London and I went to Guilford to the garage that fixed the Mercedes for a mirror adjustment. Back to Brockwood by suppertime.’
On September sixteenth, ‘Krishnaji decided against the scheduled public talks in Rome and so will go there later, staying here until about October twenty-first. In the morning he dictated a conversation to me. We walked in the afternoon.’
The next morning, ‘Krishnaji dictated a very subjective conversation to me, #93.’ He was dictating those over a period of years…they were called 'conversations', but it was just a dictation. In p.m., Krishnaji drove me in the Mercedes to Ringwood and Netherbrook antiques’

Over the next two days, Krishnaji dictated two more conversations to me, #94 and #95.
On the nineteenth, ‘Krishnaji’s head is bad.’ On September twentieth, ‘Pupul Jayakar arrived. I met her at Winchester. She spent the day and night here. I took Krishnaji and her for a drive in the surrounding country.’
On the twenty-second, ‘David Bohm came and there was a discussion with Krishnaji, staff, and students.’On September twenty-third, ‘Krishnaji and I drove to London. He had a Huntsman fitting and haircut. We had a picnic lunch in Hyde Park then looked at some furniture in Mallet’s on Bourdon Street and then left him for an hour with Mrs. Bindley. Left some papers at the Digbys for Alain, who was staying there. Krishnaji and I left at 3:30 p.m. and got back to Brockwood in record time.’

On the twenty-fourth, ‘Mr. Graf of the Saanen Committee was at the house. There was a meeting to decide on a tent versus a building for 1970. We chose a tent.’ In those days, I think we thought of building something permanent with rooms for teachers to come and stay.
On the thirtieth, ‘To London by car.’ Where I did various things for the house, then at ‘4:30 p.m., there was a Publications Committee meeting at the Digbys’. The Hammonds, Mary Links, and Mary Cadogan were there. Got back to Brockwood after 9 p.m.’
On the first of October, ‘there was a school meeting with Krishnaji at 11:30 a.m.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji dictated conversations #98 and #99 to me. He washed the car. And we walked.’
On October fourth, at ‘11:30 a.m. another school discussion with Krishnaji and David Bohm. After lunch, Krishnaji and I drove to Blackdown. Walked and had tea with the Linkses. Drove home in marvelous late afternoon light and rising mists, such a sense of peace and beauty.’
On the sixth and seventh, Krishnaji did another two dictations to me. Also on the seventh, Krishnaji held another meeting with the school, and talked about responsibility and authority, and Dorothy Simmons’ responsibility in particular.

Then nothing much until the tenth, when ‘with Krishnaji to London. Huntsman, bookstore, lunched at L’Aperitif. I bought a Phillips tape recorder for Krishnaji to take to India. Went to the health food shop and back to Waterloo to catch an early train home. Krishnaji postponed our trip to Paris by two days.’

On the fourteenth, I went to London to get Krishnaji’s visas for France and Italy, and did more antique shopping.  For the sixteenth of October Krishnaji and I to London by car. We went to Huntsman and Krishnaji had a dentist appointment at 12 p.m. Teeth are all fine. We went to the Mercedes agency for advice. Then, had a picnic lunch in the car in Hyde Park, and Krishnaji went to see Mrs. Bindley and we drove home via the Heathrow, Camberley way.’
The next morning Krishnaji dictated a conversation, and at 3:30 p.m. a trustee meeting began that lasted the rest of the day.
On October eighteenth, ‘Krishnaji dictated conversation #105 to me. In the afternoon, Krishnaji, Donald Hoppen, and I walked the boundary of Brockwood to consider conceding a piece land to the previous owner, Mr. Morton. Rajagopal telephoned Krishnaji from Ojai.’

October twenty-sixth, ‘Krishnaji and I left Brockwood. Dorothy drove us to Heathrow. We took Air France flight to Paris, at 3 p.m. after eating a picnic lunch in the car. We have rooms at Plaza Athénée. Unpacked and took a walk. Supper in our rooms. Today was most beautiful autumn day ever at Brockwood, and Paris was gentle and a soft gray.’
October twenty-seventh ‘Lobb was closed. We bought books, went to the Jeu de Paume [S chuckles], walked through the Tuileries to the Louvre, saw the Victory of Samothrace…’
M: We went in, and for me, the sight was Krishnaji, very small at the bottom of the stairs, looking up with just total enjoyment of this marvelous statue, and the whole scene was quite wonderful. All those really ancient Greek things he had great feeling for.
We had lunched at the hotel. And then went to the cinema, and the movie was Once Upon a Time in the West’ which he liked because it was a western. We walked back, stopping to buy a bag at Vuitton and shoes at Mancini,’ that’s a good shoe store. ‘Marcelle Bondoneau came to tea with me, and G.V. Rao came to see Krishnaji. We had supper in our rooms.’
 (I don’t want to imply that we were sharing a room).

October twenty-eighth, ‘We went to Lobb’s. Krishnaji ordered four pair of shoes, and then we went to Au Vase Etrusque,’ which is sales of china that I was buying for Brockwood; two sets and those white place settings. Then, ‘We lunched at Conti,’ that’s the Italian restaurant that he likes so much. Monsieur Conti was an ebullient, cheerful man.
Then, we went to a movie, The Wild Bunch.’
Donald appeared at the hotel with letters from Vigeveno and Alain. About the Vigeveno one, Krishnaji had me telephone Erna in California, and then he sent a cable to Rajagopal.’ Vigeveno wrote these awful letters, but really I think Mrs. Vigeveno did it.

M: Krishnaji never quite blamed him because he thought that he was being manipulated by his wife. ‘Went to Madame Welser for Krishnaji to help her.’ She was a French woman and an invalid, she used to come to Saanen, hoping that he could help her, heal her. ‘Then, we came back to the hotel and had supper in our rooms.’

On October twenty-ninth, ‘Accompanied Krishnaji to Orly and he left for Rome. I then flew to New York.
Now there are some Krishnaji-related things, and I’ll mention those.
November sixth. ‘First letter from Krishnaji written and sent from Rome.’ Then there was a meeting with someone from Harper and Row—they were one of Krishnaji’s publishers—and Curtis Davis of NET about the films of Krishnaji they made.

On November fifteenth, I got the first letter and cassette from Krishnaji, written in Delhi.
The next day, ‘I drove to Ojai to lunch with the Lilliefelts. Spent the afternoon with them and saw the new Krishnamurti Foundation of America office.’

November twenty-first. ‘Letter #3 from Krishnaji in Delhi. The Lilliefelts and Roth came to lunch, and we discussed filming Krishnaji.’
The next day I got two letters from Krishnaji. They often didn’t come in the same sequence as they were mailed.
On December first, ‘Letter and cassette #2 from Krishnaji. He goes from Delhi to Rajghat tomorrow.’
On the fourth, ‘A letter from Krishnaji in Rajghat. He went today from Delhi to Bombay.’ The next day I got a cable from Krishnaji.
On the eighth, I wrote a report on Brockwood for the Bulletin.
On the thirteenth, ‘A letter from Krishnaji in Bombay enclosing a letter to KFA trustees about Rajagopal.
On the seventeenth, ‘Cable from Krishnaji about an attempt by Rajagopal to telephone him in Bombay. Spoke to Erna and Saul Rosenthal’—that’s our lawyer—‘as Krishnaji’s cable asked me to tell Rosenthal,’ so that’s why I called him.

(to be continued, fast-forward mode)

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Sun, 02 Jun 2019 #158
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline

(continuing MZ's memos for the year 1970)

1970 began with Krishnaji in India, and I was in Malibu. He’d been in India since the autumn. In January, the first thing that happened to me was that I went down to La Jolla because there was a possibility that Krishnaji would speak in San Diego. I went down to find a place for the three of us to live and to talk to the people at San Diego State University. There I met a man who was the head of religious studies, a Dr. Ray Jordan. I also met, from the philosophy department, Dr. Allan Anderson, who eventually did the video recorded dialogues with Krishnaji. I also met a woman called Martha Longnecker who had a house down there, and she very kindly offered it if Krishnaji came down. It was a little house, a very nice house. She is a potter, and had a nice comfortable small house, which she turned over for Krishnaji—she moved out, and Krishnaji and I lived there.
On the twenty-sixth of January, Krishnaji left Bombay and flew to Rome, and after two days he flew on to Brockwood, where he stayed until the second of February, when he flew to Los Angeles. I met him at the airport, and we drove up to Malibu. He’d been up by then for twenty-four hours, but instead of being wilted, he was full of vim and talk. It was lovely.

In those days he was writing to me, and he brought with him…he wrote small amounts every day, but he didn’t mail the letter every day, only when he had about two pages…letters numbers 25 and 26; one he wrote while at Brockwood, and one he wrote on the plane. They were always wonderful, especially the ones he wrote on the plane. He would describe what he saw out the window and things like that. And his handwriting, it was more like his early writing, because it’s become more pinched together somehow.
He would write right to the edge of the page. And if let’s say, the last word on the line was ‘that,’ it would be t-h on one line, and then a-t on the next line. He wrote right till you fell off the edge of the page. Anyway, now he rested for a couple of days. I caught him up on all the news of what was happening with the Ojai people.
On the fifth of February, we got a letter report from our lawyer in those days, who was essentially Saul Rosenthal. David Leipziger was a fellow lawyer,youngish fellow—both of them were young in that office. David did a lot of handling the case day to day. Saul was slightly more overall. Anyway, we got a letter from David, who had just met with the attorney general, Laurence Tapper, the deputy attorney general, and Rajagopal, and Rajagopal’s lawyer. In those days, his lawyer was a man called Jim Loebl who lived in Ojai. And as a matter of fact, Erna had gone to talk to Jim Loebl when we first started to think of dealing legally with Rajagopal, but he stopped her—she’d known him personally, socially, sort of—in mid-sentence and said, “I represent Mr. Rajagopal.” And that ended that meeting.
Eventually, Rajagopal changed and got a big law firm in Los Angeles. Anyway, Leipziger had a meeting, and so he reported all that. We read it through, and then Krishnaji had me telephone Rajagopal to say that he had arrived in Malibu and that he would telephone himself in a few days when he was rested. So, that was the opening contact with Rajagopal. When that was done, we went off to see a movie, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid which Krishnaji was very pleased with.
Two days later, we went to another movie, Topaz.

On March twenty-third, Krishnaji gave two interviews, one to a nice boy, Bill Burmeister, who has since disappeared. He was a seventeen-year-old boy, and he used to come to Saanen in later years. But who knows where he is now.
At 4 p.m., Krishnaji had his tooth pulled out, which was loose and infected. The tooth came out easily, but Krishnaji fainted twice in the car on the way home. The tooth has probably been making him feel under par for months, according to the dentist.
He felt better the next day. Bill Angelos and his wife, and Charlotte Zuteman came for lunch. Then some people I knew who had lunch the day before with Rajagopal at the Vigevenos, they came by and told about the meeting. The Vigevenos and Rajagopal had said that Krishnaji refused to see him. A black lie. So, later I telephoned Rajagopal and asked him with or without the Vigevenos to come here to see Krishnaji. He said he would think about it and let me know. Rajagopal always claimed he wanted to see Krishnaji, but alone and on his territory, which Krishnaji wouldn’t do. We all believed Rajagopal taped everything, all conversations, without telling you.

 On the afternoon of March twenty-fifth, Krishnaji held a young people’s discussion. Young people brought by Sidney Field and Laura Huxley and four sent by Dr. Weininger. He was a psychoanalyst/psychiatrist, lived in Santa Barbara, had known Krishnaji for a long time, and was responsible for Krishnaji’s only trip to Washington before he spoke there in 1985. He’d taken him to see a meeting of psychiatrists, and I think Krishnaji was taken through a mental hospital, which I think was called St. Elizabeth’s in Washington. But any contact that Krishnaji had with psychiatrists in those days was through Weininger.
 Laura Huxley was working with Weininger, doing some sort of psychotherapy. They left, and Krishnaji and I walked around the garden. When we didn’t have time to go to the beach, we’d walk around the garden, and he saw for the first time the great-horned owl that had come to stay. On the twenty-sixth, we again went to Ojai via the inland way and had a picnic in the little park, Dennison Park. Again, at the Lilliefelt’s, there was the third discussion with the Ojai people, and then Krishnaji had an osteopathic treatment from Dr. Edna Lay, who was a very good osteopath. And we drove back to Malibu.
The next day, the Lilliefelts, Ruth Tettemer, Sidney Roth, and Donald Hoppen all came at 11 a.m. and we held the annual KFA board meeting. So, I sent Narayan to pick up Alain at the airport, and he arrived in time for lunch with everyone else. The meeting lasted till 4 p.m., when Krishnaji gave interviews. He was tired that night. That was the first trustee meeting after the formation of the Foundation.
My diary says for the twenty-eighth, Saturday, that we had an interesting discussion at breakfast. When Alain was there, Krishnaji would come to the table so we could all have breakfast together, and we’d often talk quite a long time. It was recorded onto an audio cassette, Krishnaji, Alain, and me. In the afternoon, there was a seventh group discussion at 4 o’clock, and that was videotaped.
That same day, a letter came to Krishnaji from Rajagopal saying that he couldn’t leave Ojai to meet Krishnamurti.

On the twenty-ninth, Krishnaji held the eighth group discussion, which was videotaped.  Afterward, on the remaining tape, Krishnaji restated something he said at the board meeting about the future of Brockwood and of the foundations. He also discussed Rajagopal’s reply with the trustees. I wonder where all these ancient things are.
The next day, ‘Alain has decided to stay in California, and in the afternoon, Krishnaji gave an interview to two rabbis, Rabbi Rabin and Rabbi Lymen.’ I remember them, sort of.
On the thirty-first, Krishnaji, Alain, Miranda, and I lunched at the Bel Air Hotel. That’s a rather nice hotel in Los Angeles, in a canyon; very pretty hotel, lunched in a sort of garden-ish place. And then we went to Hollywood to see a movie called Airport. After that we drove Alain to the airport and he went back to Oakland and Berkeley, and he said that he planned to go to Europe in May, gather his things, trade in his VW for a new one, bring all this over. Said a warm goodbye, and Krishnaji and I came back to supper.

Then nothing much happens until the third of April. ‘At breakfast, we decided to go to La Jolla the next day, instead of today. I said, it was too nice here, and we didn’t want to leave. So, we had a long, lovely beach walk in the afternoon. Krishnaji had written a letter to Rajagopal, which we posted, and he rang at suppertime and said he wanted to see Krishnaji before he left. Krishnaji said he would ring before leaving. It was a brief conversation.
The next day, ‘I packed for Krishnaji and myself, and we left at 12:30 p.m. on a hot, calm day for La Jolla. Stopped and had a picnic lunch in the car, near San Juan Capistrano, and arrived at 3:45 p.m. at Martha Longnecker’s in La Jolla. She has lent her house to Krishnaji for the week of his talks at San Diego State. She and the Lilliefelts were staying nearby. We unpacked and went for a walk along the cliffs above the ocean. I made supper.’
On the fifth, ‘we went to the hall in the morning with Mrs. Longnecker to see it, and Erna and Theo were there. And then we came back to La Jolla, and I quickly marketed and had lunch cooked for Krishnaji by 12:30 p.m. I drove him to Montezuma Hall at San Diego State campus, where he gave the first of his talks at 3 o’clock. We came back, and walked in the neighborhood. Krishnaji spoke to me about the two months he spent alone in a cabin at Sequoia. And his shyness in avoiding people. He was always more or less shy, but particularly in the early days, and ‘he would go to the store in Sequoia, when he figured out there’d be the least people around. He had to buy his own supplies because he did his own cooking. He was shy even of the ranger who cautioned him to be careful on his long walks. He says even today he’s too shy to have ever walked alone when we were here on Sunday.’ In other words, he wouldn’t have walked in La Jolla alone; he’d have been too shy. He’s alright when it was in a wild place like Sequoia, but around people he is very shy.

The next day was the sixth, and he gave his second San Diego talk at 7 p.m. They were college students that came to that. It was well attended, as I recall, but nothing much came of it.
On April seventh, ‘in the morning, Krishnaji had the Lilliefelts and Roth come to discuss legal matters. And then Roth consulted by telephone Mr. Wyatt (his lawyer in Chicago). The attorney general’s man, Mr. Tapper, was aroused by the situation set forth by Leipziger and Rosenthal and a meeting of the results of the January twenty-first meeting with Rajagopal and Loebl. We had lunch alone, and Krishnaji rested all afternoon. ‘At 7 p.m. he gave his third and a great  talk at San Diego State. We had supper afterward.’
‘It was another beautiful day’ on the eighth, ‘and at 11 a.m., he held a big public discussion at San Diego State. On the way back, we stopped to see a Mr. and Mrs. Mark Sellon who live on the top of a hill above La Jolla. He is ninety-five years old and knew Krishnaji in Adyar, years ago We came back for lunch. And then, with Theo Lilliefelt, we went to Coronado’—oh, Coronado—I remember this, this is nice— ‘and visited a heavy cruiser, the Saint Paul, which Krishnaji found very interesting.’ There’s a naval base at Coronado, and Krishnaji had wanted to visit a naval ship. The only one we could get him permission to visit was a heavy cruiser, but he walked around and looked at everything, the way he looks at cars.
On the ninth, ‘there’s a long telephone and talk with Sidney Roth and his lawyer, Mr. Wyatt, who gave advice. Krishnaji and I lunched quietly, and at 7 p.m., he gave his fourth and final talk at San Diego State. There was a huge crowd, Then, it says here: ‘Krishnaji’s comment on seeing the photo of himself in a 1929 Star Bulletin. ‘He said, “He must’ve been a very gentle person.”’
‘We were up the next morning at 6 o’clock. Had breakfast, loaded the car, and had left La Jolla by 7:30. Martha Longnecker came to help and receive her house back. Krishnaji drove the first eighty miles, and we were home in Malibu at 9:50 a.m. The garden and the house was bright with flowers. The Blackburns came at 11 a.m. to see Krishnaji. He wants to do tape duplication for Krishnamurti Foundation.

On the eleventh of April, ‘we watched Apollo 13 take off for the moon.’ That was something he was interested in. ‘After lunch, Krishnaji, Filomena, and I went to Santa Monica and saw the movie True Grit  with John Wayne.’ That he also liked.
We’re about to go to England. So, ‘in the afternoon on the thirteenth, there was a 3 p.m.  meeting with Krishnaji, the Lilliefelts, Ruth Tettemer, Sidney Roth, and Saul Rosenthal.
Krishnaji and I had supper as usual and then news came of the electrical trouble on the Apollo 13 moon mission, forcing cancellation and return to Earth.’
The next day, ‘young people came to discuss with Krishnaji in the afternoon. A letter came from Rajagopal and the Vigevenos, and a telephone call from Mima Porter came while we were out.’
On the fifteenth, ‘I telephoned and spoke to Sidney Roth and his lawyer, Mr. Wyatt. And spoke to Mrs. Porter. The osteopath came to the house and gave both Krishnaji and me treatment.’ Then the next day, ‘Rajagopal telephoned Krishnaji and said “Don’t desert me.”’ It was a brief conversation. We had lunch. It was a clear, lovely day, and the flowers and birds fill the garden. Amanda came over at 1:30 p.m. We said goodbye to Filomena and drove to the airport. Krishnaji and I took the 3 p.m. TWA nonstop flight to London. Smooth flight, but virtually no sleep.’ ‘Krishnaji and I arrived in London at 10:30 a.m. The Digbys came to greet Krishnaji, and Dorothy was there to bring us back to Brockwood in the Land Rover. Dorothy said this was the first spring-like day. We arrived at Brockwood, where the daffodils are out but the trees are still bare. The house looked lovely. Everyone gave a warm greeting, and we were just in time for lunch. Both were groggy and tired. Telephoned Mary Links at Blackdown. Alain was there, having flown from San Francisco last Monday. Slept all afternoon.’

On the twentieth, the morning, ‘I felt sick, but better later. Very tired. Krishnaji felt the same. Mary Cadogan came by in the morning and for lunch. I brought her up-to-date with the news. Slept in afternoon. I did a little unpacking. Krishnaji and I went for a walk with the two dogs, Badger and Whisper.’
The next day, we’re still getting unpacked. ‘The Mercedes was reactivated, and in the afternoon we drove to Winchester on errands. Krishnaji talked to me about change that is necessary and quiet within and without.’ He was always talking about being quiet within. As you know, a little-paid-attention-to factor in his teaching, the real necessity to be quiet, which, of course, is the emptiness.

On the twenty-third, Krishnaji and I left the car at Alton and ‘we took the train into London. Alain met us, and then both Alain and Krishnaji went to a homeopathic doctor, Dr. McGowan, the one that’s best in England, according to Alain. He gave Krishnaji a general checkup, and then we went to L’Aperitif, where Mary Links and Alain lunched with us. Alain is to go to Rome on Saturday and later to California. Krishnaji and I went to Flora’s and Hatchard’s for nature books, and then to Dr. Peter Campion.’ Krishnaji’s dentist in those days was Dr. Peter Campion, not Mr. Thompson. ‘He X-rayed him for an abscess, results tomorrow. Then, we went back to Huntsman, where Krishnaji fitted an overcoat and ordered a blue suit, and I ordered a pair of slacks. We caught the 5:45 p.m. train back.’
I got back to London on the twenty-seventh, and went from Heathrow to Waterloo Station in London. Mary Links met me there, and we both met Krishnaji when he came in by himself at 3 o’clock. Dorothy would’ve put him on the train.
We all met at Waterloo. And then we went to the dentist, who did more X-rays on Krishnaji’s teeth. And…oh dear! There was a necessity of three more of Krishnaji’s teeth to come out.

But while we were waiting in the dentist’s waiting room, Mary, Krishnaji, and I, to some degree, talked about the biography.
So, we went back to Brockwood, and Dorothy met us at Alton. Krishnaji had written to me both of the days I was away. He had letters for me, which was lovely. He wrote whenever I was away. And even though I came back two days later, I had two letters, two letters.
Mary must’ve been in communication with Shiva Rao]. You know, Shiva Rao was supposed to do the biography, and he assembled a lot of material. But then he got too ill and old and so forth, and so Krishnaji asked Mary to take it over, and Shiva Rao turned over all that he’d written and also the research material, which he’d gathered quite a pile of it, he turned all that over to Mary. She continued, really out of politeness I think, to communicate with Shiva Rao for quite a while. But the book that came out eventually is really all hers because she has a very different style, I think. But that day, he talked very much of what he talked often about, which was, why was the boy unconditioned, and what looked after him? He wanted to discuss it some more another day. He kept coming back and back to that. It’s such a…well, now, I find, reading through things, his teachings I mean, his writings, I keep highlighting some things. It keeps jumping out at me, this necessity for everyone to be able to have this emptiness. He talks so much about emptying the mind. There’s some place where I’ve probably come upon it in notes where he says that every night, before you go to sleep, empty the mind, go through what happened, what you’ve been preoccupied with that day, and empty it. Finish it! So the mind can start anew the next day. And, of course, this is something few of us even think of trying to do, much less doing it.

I can rattle on about everyday life with him, but the infinite fact of this man is that that played a very small part, I think—I mean, I’m guessing actually, in the totality of what he was. A lot of what I’ve been talking about this summer with Dr. Parchure is looking in old, early talks of the 1930s , and the hints which a lot of us mightn’t pick up in the writing because he’ll say something, but it has a much deeper meaning in another context, and yet it seems understandable in our context. We understand it on our level, but it has a deeper significance if you continue to study and see how he’s really testifying, or there seem to be very strong hints of a lot of things he didn’t go into in depth with that audience, because they wouldn’t have understood it. Or, he may come back to it later and deepen it. The study of Krishnamurti seems infinitely subtle. I think that he felt that with David Bohm, he’d gone as far as they both could go. But he used to say, there’s more…And, I would say to him, “Krishnaji, couldn’t you just talk?” And he said, “No. It takes, a kind of process of having not only just a listener, an audience, but there’s that communication and he could tell, or so he said, what the other person was picking up. Therefore, he knew, had he explained it properly. He did this in the public talks: He would find a face somewhere in the audience that seemed to be following, he could tell, and he would talk at that person, not necessarily just looking at him constantly and excluding the others but that was like a thermometer of the temperature of interest, or what he was saying was communicating to somebody; somebody was going with him. And he used to say, he used to say, “Does this interest you?” or “Do you understand?” or “Are you going with me?” He wanted that reciprocal response. That’s probably why he would say to the audience it was dialogue, even though he was doing all the talking.

But there was that "sonar" going out and coming back, which somehow paced his talking. In other words, if he had to go into it again, or that curious pattern of how he would go forward and then he would loop back part of the way, and then go a little forward, like endless figure eights on the side. And therefore, he also needed the challenge. He wanted someone to challenge him, which would make him dig deeper into his perception and his language to bring it out. Well, it wasn’t that he sat there and saw the whole distance of whatever it was infinitely into…who knows what. It was that in order to talk and have this…because he was communicating something, he had to get something back to tell whether he was communicating it adequately. But, at the same time, the challenge of questions made him look deeper. It wasn’t that he was sitting seeing, you know, a whole ocean there; he had to go deeper into his power of perception to meet the challenge of a question, and what he brought out of that made it…it sort of stimulated another step.

Also, he seems to be calling for…I’ve been talking about mutation with Parchure and what Krishnaji meant by that, and Parchure has looked up what science has said causes mutation, to try to see what this thing is in outward life. In other words, scientifically, it’s mostly medical, about the genes, all the genetic things they found and how that works. And the thing that Krishnaji’s always said which is it’s the constant change and flow, which is really of life. I mean, as we sit here, we’re both changing, both organically in various ways and psychologically. And he was trying, I think, by all the ways that he spoke of awareness and watching and all these things, to bring people into that perception that thought is never the flow. In other words, the stuff of thought happened, it’s over; it’s a reflection of something that is by now static and over. And to bring people into a state where psychological change can occur, because the mutation is a psychological mutation, obviously. This is also why he was so interested in talking about the brain, and the repercussions of perception in the brain cells; and even into genetic change. He seemed to foresee all this way back before science caught up with all these things, that that is the evolution, not some step-by-step unfolding of human potential. I don’t know what else to say. It’s a psychological “going further.” We’ve evolved physically over a period of whatever it is, but now what is required in order to survive, and it’s part of the survival thing. The mutation that’s possible and the next…what human beings should be doing is to mutate psychologically, which would be into this state of not being bound by conditioning, and all the level that we live at ninety-nine percent of the time, and which we perpetuate in a way, by thinking; because as we think and talk, we’re adding more data into our brain cells, which is indeed, that’s where the self lives, and the self wants to keep that going and resists the emptying, resists the something that threatens it.
People don’t realize the extraordinary depth of what he was saying.  Sometimes it sounds so simple, which is where people get hung up because they think it is simple. It isn’t. It’s immeasurable.

On the first of May, ‘Again Krishnaji dictated in the morning, and in the afternoon Mr. Campion and a nurse arrived and they set up their equipment in the guestroom. Campion pulled two of Krishnaji’s lower left molars. They came out very easily. Krishnaji felt well enough to listen to a little of some Indian musicians who came to play for him at the school. He went to bed and had a liquid supper.’ He had a terrible time with his teeth all the time. And as a dentist once said, they just wore out.
For the fourth, it says, ‘it was a spring day at last,’ so it must have been rather cold. [There was a Saanen meeting in the morning. And we walked across the fields and down into the lanes, and started cleaning ivy off trees.’ He was very intent on getting the ivy off the trees.

, ‘On the train in the morning, we had a discussion of what is sacredness, and what freedom is to the sacred.’  I’m afraid I don’t remember the contents of that. ‘Later Krishnaji had an idea to bring his Mercedes to England and sell mine in January.’ But then he changed his mind because he didn’t want to bring the little one.
Now we come to the eighth, and ‘a student meeting and made a tape from it on education to be used in Finland at an educational conference in June.’
The next day, James Brodsky interviewed Krishnaji and stayed to lunch. Saral and David Bohm came for the weekend.

On the tenth, Krishnaji spoke to students in the morning. I talked to the Bohms and the Simmonses about trying to raise money by the English Foundation for a grant for Brockwood. Obviously, we didn’t get it.
According to India, the eleventh was Krishnaji’s seventy-fifth birthday. And it says here, ‘as he brushes it away, no reference is made to it in the school. He dictated on the book in the morning. And he washed the Mercedes very thoroughly.’ ‘I went for a walk alone as he’d had enough after the car washing.” That was his seventy-fifth birthday. [Both laugh.]
The next day we went to London and Huntsman for a fitting for each of us, and then to the dentist…And then we drove home. Krishnaji drove from Guildford to Brockwood. .
So, he spoke to students again on the fourteenth about, ‘What is stupidity and what is prejudice? And in spite of the rain, he washed the Mercedes in the afternoon and then we went for a walk.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji did a dictation for The Bulletin, on the functions and future of the Foundation and Brockwood.’
On the sixteenth, ‘Krishnaji and I left at 11:30 a.m. and drove to London, taking a picnic lunch, which we ate in Richmond Park.’ In those days we drove in quite a lot because
it was possible to park. After eating, ‘we went to Mrs. Bindley’s at 2 p.m., and Krishnaji slept for an hour, and then he went to the Friends Hall where he gave the first of his London talks. The hall was just about full. We drove back to Brockwood easily; no traffic. It wasn’t too tiring for him.’

On the nineteenth, ‘Krishnaji dictated a statement for The Bulletin, the Dutch all left, and the house was quiet again. We walked across the fields and back by the lane. Again pruned ivy from the trees. I had a telephone from my father that his wife was dying, so I rang my brother in New York and asked him to fly over, and I will go.’
The next day, a Wednesday, ‘Krishnaji and I drove to London and went to the Digbys, where Krishnaji rested and then, taking Nelly with us, we drove to the Friends Hall for his second London talk at 7 p.m.’It says here, ‘the talk went wrong for him. He felt that the talk didn’t get going. The answer period went better, but the audience was not good at all. We came back to the Digbys, and had supper. Krishnaji and I spent the night there.’
‘We left the Digbys the next morning, picked up Mary Links. Krishnaji had an appointment with the dentist to have the bridge looked at, during which time Mary and I sat in the car and talked. When Krishnaji was finished, we took Mary to lunch at L’Aperitif, and then went on to Huntsman. After that we went to Hatchards for books, and Krishnaji had his hair cut at Truefitt while I fetched my Air France ticket. Then we drove back to Brockwood, with Krishnaji driving from Gilford the rest of the way.’

Again, we went by car to London on the twenty-seventh, taking a picnic to eat in Richmond Park. Krishnaji rested at Mrs. Bindley’s all afternoon. I went to tea with Mary Links and then came back and took Krishnaji to the Friends Hall for his third talk at 7 p.m., a very fine one this time. We had a quick picnic supper on Wimbledon Common in the car on the way home and arrived at Brockwood after 11 p.m., which was too late.

On the thirtieth, Krishnaji and I left Brockwood at noon, had a sandwich lunch while driving, and reached Mrs. Bindley by 2 p.m. Krishnaji rested, and then we went to his fourth and final London talk in the Friends Hall, a very good one. Drove straight back to Brockwood.
On the thirty-first, there was an all-day trustee meeting with the Digbys, Hughes van der Straten, David Bohm, Dorothy Simmons, and me.
Krishnaji’s hay fever began on the first of June, and he had to stay in that day, the next day, and the following day; but still gave an interview to a French woman from Pondicherry called Jannie Pinson.
On June fourth, Krishnaji and I had one of our lovely days in London. We went to Huntsman, then I went to Mr. Hewitt for my fitting, then to W. Bill for a cashmere turtleneck, and Demiel’s for underwear. Then, as usual, we met Mary for lunch at L’Aperitif, and again to the dentist while I hunted for hay fever remedies! Then we went [chuckles]—this was fun—we went to Mallett at Bourdon Street, that’s the antiquaire, where we saw a beautiful eighteenth-century Italian table and then in another shop on Davis Street, we saw three large pictures of trees made by needlepoint. They were hung over the stairs, and I remember he was behind me, and we were both looking up at these needlepoint trees, and he said, [mimicking in a whispery voice]“Oh, that’s very nice,” in that kind of a voice. Anyway, we went back to Huntsman, and he gave me two scarves and then we went back by train.

On the fifth, Mary Links came down, and I met her at the early train. She interviewed Krishnaji for the biography, and I taped it and sat in. Later, Krishnaji chided me for not pursuing questions, and for trying to guess what he does or doesn’t want to say, and editing my own questions. He seemed to be pushing us to inquire, though not stating himself what it was that was behind “the boy,” and what, if any, power looked after him, etcetera. Mary stayed to lunch; we walked in the grove and saw the handkerchief tree and talked. Francis McCann arrived to stay, and the Digbys came for the weekend. Also, the Finnish ladies and Joan Wright are here.
On the sixth, ‘after lunch, Krishnaji, Dorothy, and Sebastian put two hives of bees, which arrived in cartons, into the new hives in the orchard. Krishnaji said later, “Now I feel this is a real place; it has bees. Bees are a marvelous thing,” he said. He used to take care of bees, in Ojai. At 4 o’clock, he held a discussion for about 200 people who were invited. It was held in the big room, and he talked mostly on violence. Afterward, he gave an interview to Mrs. Zarick. I talked to Sybil Dobson and the Digbys about The Bulletin. Supper was served out on the lawn. It was a cloudless, hot day.’
On the seventh, ‘Krishnaji held a second group discussion in the big room. It was videotaped, but the picture was faulty. We had a picnic lunch on the lawn afterwards. It was a very hot day.’
Here’s something on the ninth: ‘Krishnaji said there was a different something in  meditation in what would have been described in old terminology as an 'initiation'.’

Harrods would have all sorts of exotic, odd things to sell to customers, including this lion cub. This young man was so horrified by this that he bought the lion cub and raised it, but by now it was getting pretty big, and it was getting difficult to keep in the back of an antique store on the Kings Road in London. Apparently, Bill asked, “How do you manage it?” And the young man said, “Well, there’s the vicar of a church down the Kings Road, who allows me to bring it at night time to the graveyard so I can exercise it.” [Both laugh.] Well, as a result of this, Bill and Ginny took over the lion’s fate and they had it at their place near Dorking, which is where Krishnaji and I went on this day, the twelfth of June, to see the lion. And indeed we did. We went out in the back and they had in the garden an enclosure with a high wire fence, and there was this young male lion. It had a great big rubber tire as a sort of plaything. Krishnaji immediately wanted to go in and touch the lion, but both Ginny and Bill said, “No, I think not.” Ginny said, “We can go in because he’s used to us, but we’d rather you didn’t.” So, we stayed outside. Bill went in and fed it. And indeed, I could see why they were so careful because one of their younger children, who was about four years old, came trotting along and outside the fence with us, and the lion looked and immediately began to stalk it from inside. And the parents said, “You see, they think that humans, because we’re taller than they are, get some respect, but a small child is prey in the lion’s mind.”
Anyway, Krishnaji was delighted by seeing that. ‘After seeing all that, we drove home via Billingshurst, Petworth, Midhurst, and Petersfield. Krishnaji’s hay fever was better in the rainstorm, but Brockwood is still in a month’s drought, and he coughed a great deal in the night. It has moved into his bronchial tubes a bit.’
On the weekend of the thirteenth and fourteenth, ‘the Digbys came for the weekend. We rang the doctor, Mr. McGowan, for a new remedy for the hay fever. In the afternoon, Krishnaji had the third group discussion, which was videotaped. The big room was full.’ The next day, he held the fourth Brockwood discussion. Narasimhan came for lunch, and we ate it in the West Wing.

We went for a short walk. Later [pause], Krishnaji asked if I might carry on the work when he is gone”The fifteenth of June was spent in ‘Krishnaji giving an interview in color for the BBC television. He was questioned by Oliver Hunkin, head of the religious department of the BBC, and a Miss Shirley du Boulay was the producer of the show.’ I remember that; it was in the drawing room.
On the seventeenth, ‘we went to London for Huntsman and then the dentist for Krishnaji’s bridge to be adjusted. Then we lunched with Mary at her flat, and continued the discussion of Krishnaji’s early life for the biography. The Uher’—that was my tape recorder in those days—‘didn’t work, so I took notes. Krishnaji felt tired on the train back and quite sick when we got home. He coughed a lot, and though he was without fever, he became somewhat delirious. And he said, “He shouldn’t have gone to town. Who’s looking after him? He’s left the body. No, no, not that.You see, he wasn’t well that day, and he’d done too much. When he first told me about the “going off” thing, he said, “If I have fever this may happen.”  So, we finally got there, and I took him in a sort of back room, the main room, and showed him where it was and ah, he was standing by the window and fainted.

 The next day, the eighteenth, ‘Krishnaji was shaky and weak at first, but he stayed in bed all day, but felt better after lunch. He read and watched television. I put Kaolin poultices on his chest.

The first notable thing we did was on the twenty-seventh, when ‘we drove over to Blackdown and had tea with Mary and Joe. We took a walk and had a lovely time. “Let’s enjoy ourselves,” said Krishnaji.’ [Both chuckle.] ‘And we did. We had fun.’ He was so quick to enjoy things, when things were nice and enjoyable, he entered into it with such relish…not relish, and such a kind of childlike—I keep using this word childlike for a man who was so far from childhood—and yet he still had that lovely quality of openness and entering so easily and quickly into anything nice that happened.  It made one want him to be pleased…
because seeing him enjoy something was really such a selfish pleasure for me.He sort of swept one along into his joy without meaning to. So, one shared that kind of wonder and enjoyment.
On June thirtieth, ‘we left Brockwood and drove to Hastings, and then to Lydd, where we flew the car across to Le Touquet in France, as we had before. Krishnaji drove about halfway there.‘We went on a little further to Montreuil,’ where we had stayed a number of times, ‘and stopped at the Château de Montreuil,’ which was a very nice hotel, a château made into a small hotel. It’s right on the sea with battlements in front of it.‘We walked along the battlements before supper with the sea wind blowing in. It was lovely. We had a pleasant supper in the dining room,’ and that was it. ‘We’d driven 141 miles,’ it says here.

‘We left the next morning,’ the first of July, ‘and went via Arras to the autoroute and reached Paris at about 1 p.m. We lunched at the Tour d’Argent with my father.’
Father didn’t ever say, but he appreciated Krishnaji’s presence, his grace, his beautiful taste in clothes, his manners, and all that. Beyond that, he didn’t know what it was about.
 So, ‘we left Paris, and went to the hotel Bas Bréau in Barbizon,’ where we’d stayed before. ‘We had the same rooms as before, which was very nice.’ It was a little upstairs in another building. It was very quiet. ‘We went for a walk in the forest and had dinner up in the rooms.’ You could have meals brought, which was nice.
The next day, ‘we left Barbizon and drove to Sens, where we took the little tiny yellow roads on the maps,’ those small country roads and wound our way. We went to Troyes, and beyond Troyes we lunched at the Hostellerie Pont in Pont Sainte-Marie. We went on towards Chaumont and finally came to Prangey, where we had rooms in the Château de Prangey,’ which wasn’t so good. ‘The food wasn’t too good’; we didn’t like that too much. I got all these things out of the Michelin.

‘Krishnaji spoke after lunch to Herri and Hilda Moorhead, and he talked about India a lot with them, and who can carry on the teachings in the school and see that they’re followed and taught. Also, and if money becomes available from KWINC for the Indian schools, who is to see to that and see that it’s used for the teachings and not used for buying tractors, etcetera?’ ‘He also asked, “Who has the teachings at heart?” They had no answer. “All the old Foundation for New Education, that is the present KF India, is mostly old followers who don’t want any interference, even by me. They care about the status of it and little else.” The Moorheads pointed out something about the Krishnamurti Centre in Madras, and The Bulletin, and Krishnaji got quite upset. He wanted to revise the text of his statement, but I pointed out that the omission in the statement was because of his talking of all three foundations and not all the allied committees.’
‘In the evening, Krishnaji suddenly said to me, “Make a note of it. I’ve been talking in India, spending more time there than anywhere else, and there is not one person who listens and has changed. It is terribly difficult for people to change. They are what they are. When I die, it will be over. I thought Naudé might have done something, but he wasn’t ready. What will happen to you? People aren’t serious. Are you serious? I’ve been talking over forty years, and I’d be a damned fool if I didn’t realize people are as they are. I’m not depressed by it, I’ll go on talking.” It was a kind of…I don’t like the word frustration about Krishnaji, but he felt that people were all busy there, but it wasn’t…the teachings were somehow, I don’t know what, taken for granted, as it were. 
The next day, the fourteenth, ‘Krishnaji wanted to go for a drive and we took the Mercedes, stopping at the Biascoecheas. We went past the tent and on to Château d’Oex and Les Moulins. Krishnaji said he was nervous in the car. I don’t know why. We came back and had lunch at Tannegg alone. I spoke to the doctor in London about his health and also to Mr. Moser about the cost of another ''280 Mercedes'' next year, if we could put the present one in trade.

Krishnaji asked what will happen to me when he dies. He said that it depends on what I do and am now, i.e., the changes in me. He asked me if I felt any presence of Sam after he died. I said yes. We discussed what is evidence and what is imagination. I said I felt it strongly but neither saw objectively nor heard anything. It was a strong sense of presence and communication, real to me, but I cannot offer it as objective evidence to another. Krishnaji said to me, “You can tell the difference between imagination and a something.” He wished he could remember how it was when his brother died. I asked how one can assess such things. I don’t assert anything because I cannot see how it can be proven. But I pay attention and do not deny any part of it. I spoke of the conversation with Vanda last week: her saying that neither she nor I have theosophical conditioning and therefore her experience of being spoken to when Krishnaji was unconscious and the words spoken to me when Krishnaji was sick on June seventeenth…”—that was when he said he shouldn’t have gone to town, who was looking after him—“…were not out of our projection.”’ That’s what Vanda felt.
Krishnaji then spoke of change and listening, i.e., ‘“if you really listen and see, that erases the habit, the previous imprint. The new then functions in the mind and whenever an action of the old pattern arises the mind alerts the consciousness, the conscious attention.” He spoke of my bad habit of frowning, and the need for “a quiet face”’—he always used to say to me, “Have a quiet face”—‘remains because I haven’t seen the importance of changing them. If I had, the old pattern would be erased, he said. He said, “The body sometimes takes time to relearn, but the mind can be instantly alert, therefore, to listen, to see, to change, to wipe out the old pattern. Lack of change is inattention,” he said. “What is listening? Make a note. I will talk about that.”’

The next day, we went to the Biascoechea’s for lunch. Krishnaji asked Enrique to tell me about the dreams he had before Krishnaji was found as a boy. In Enrique’s dream, Mrs. Besant appeared with a young Indian and said, “This is the world teacher-to-be.” The dream was so strong that Enrique, who was speaking at a Theosophical meeting, announced that a boy had been found before he knew it officially.’
‘“What was he like when you saw him?” Krishnaji kept asking. But Enrique was only able to discuss what he himself felt and not what the boy was like, except that he was very warm and friendly. “Write it down, sir,” said Krishnaji. I asked later, would it be interesting for Mary’s biography? Krishnaji spoke on freedom, authority, compassion, and the basis of fear. In response to a question, “Is it possible to learn all the time?” he said, “You block yourself in such a question. If you are watching, there is nothing to learn.”
I discussed the endless serving up of thoughts and images that is all trivia. If one widens the scope, like looking from one’s finger to the wide valley, it is still an act of the conscious mind and will, and not very different.’ I don’t know what that means. ‘Then, attention to inattention can become a succession of images. As I spoke I find myself saying that a different sense comes about when there is great physical quiet in that there is almost a detachment from the body, a different quality of mind. Krishnaji said, “Try to act from emptiness. Find out what it is and do that. It is the way one should live.”’
Krishnaji asked me what I would do if he died. I asked what he would want me to do, but he wouldn’t say. Later, he came back to it again, saying how he lives between life and death—it has always been a very thin line for him. Sometimes he feels like disappearing. I asked if he meant dying. He said, “No, no,” just going off where nobody knows him. He said he had often told me that talking is necessary in what he is supposed to do. Could living quietly, remotely and just writing be sufficient? And he said, “No.”’

On the twenty-fifth of July, ‘Krishnaji weighs only fifty kilos on the scale, but looks less thin and is full of energy. This morning he had me telephone Mr. Moser in Geneva about a Mercedes. He thinks it’s too complicated to ship mine to New York as suggested by Narasimhan, as it involves getting it to the port, finding an agent, insurance, etcetera. So we are back to plan A, which is to order a new 280 SE 3.5. This took the whole morning. So, he polished shoes with a fury,’ and had his bath as the Simmonses and Lilliefelts arrived for lunch. He went merrily off down the hill for his walk. I fetched Donald and a dessert, and then we went back for Krishnaji. Erna and Theo had a baptism of fire about Brockwood as Dorothy described some of the behavior of the students before she left. Her worries over the girls here in Gstaad is because of the hippies.’ She was afraid the girls would get mixed up with the hippies. ‘I talked to Erna and Theo while Krishnaji napped. They left and then Krishnaji and I did some errands and then for a walk up over the hill. The weather has turned cold again.’
The twenty-sixth: ‘A cool day. Krishnaji gave his fifth Saanen talk, an absorbing, very clear one on fear and pleasure. To be caught in them is the bourgeois mind, or rather “the essence of the bourgeois mind is pleasure and fear.” When you are aware of yourself, see the action in you, what happens? There is a greater sensitivity. You don’t suppress or reject it; you see. The sensitivity sees joy, enjoyment, which is different from pleasure.’

‘Mary Cadogan had an appointment to see him at 4:15 p.m. I fetched her and sat in. The problems of Miss Keller.’ Miss Keller was a Swiss lady on the committee who didn’t like Graf. They couldn’t work together. And it says here, ‘she sounds highly neurotic. Various other matters. Then, Mary brought up reactions to Krishnaji’s talks and discussions and the feeling some people have that they can’t get through to him. Krishnaji listened and examined it and said, “The speaker also feels you are not coming to him with great buckets, etcetera. He says, ‘Please take anything you want,’ and you say, ‘Here, give us a little bit of that.’ He doesn’t want to push. He can pour, pour when you say, ‘That is not enough,’ then he can pour. He, the speaker, he says, ‘Alright, I’ll give you…you know?’”
‘It was decided to hold smaller, daily, more intense discussions at Brockwood. I took Mary back to Chalet Choucas while Krishnaji walked down the hill.

‘On our walk back toward the car, we passed U.G. Krishnamurti, who gave the Indian salute unsmilingly with a sort of hunched turning away. Krishnaji said after we passed, “I felt something unclean.’”On the twenty-seventh, well, it’s about my father and his wife, who no longer recognized even the nurses and had worsened, and later that day died. And my brother flying out to help father who is in Baden-Baden[6], etcetera. I spoke with my father on the phone and will go by train to Baden-Baden and return on Friday.
On the twenty-eighth, ‘Krishnaji gave his sixth Saanen talk, and an Italian hippie, Enzo, shouted at him in the middle of it. Krishnaji, who had been talking about pleasure in sex, in various things, was quiet, then resumed, “You take pleasure in violence, in anger, etcetera.”’

This is the twenty-ninth, ‘Krishnaji said to me, “I came from Madanapalle to make you intelligent.”
On the first of August, ‘there was the annual Saanen Gatherings Committee meeting. Krishnaji, Edgar Graf, Mary Cadogan, Doris Pratt, and me. Miss Keller said she was ill. She has been talking indiscreetly outside the Committee, saying Graf is not honest and doesn’t cooperate with her. He is the treasurer; she is the secretary. Krishnaji will talk to her next week. Fresia was also away. George Digby came for lunch (Nelly was sick), and so did Erna and Theo. They met Thursday at the Cadogan’s and all was very friendly, thank goodness. Erna’s negotiation with Harper and Row has been accepted, and they will do all the books. After lunch, there was a Krishnaji, Digby, Cadogan, de Vidas, and me meeting about French publications followed by a Spanish one with the same cast, plus Biascoechea, Farias, and Sendra. It developed that they want their own foundation. Erna was called into this meeting. There is a resentment of the English Foundation, which was evident. Mary Cadogan and George Digby are disturbed by this. Farias is quite aggressive, calls people gringos. A long, tiring day. Krishnaji and I walked a little over the hill.’
On the second of August, ‘Krishnaji held his first public discussion in the tent. The Lilliefelts and Olaf Campbell to lunch.’ He was an American who used to come.
The next day, ‘Krishnaji gave the second public discussion. Mary Cadogan came to see him. She is disturbed about the resentment of the Foundation. She has to leave tomorrow. Badger died from garden poison at Brockwood.’ That was one of the school dogs.

On the fourth, ‘Krishnaji held the third public discussion in the tent. A Saint Bernard tethered to the fence near the car jumped at him aggressively but didn’t hurt him. After the discussion, Krishnaji saw the Biascoecheas upstairs at Tannegg, while I had a meeting downstairs with Joan Gordon and the Lilliefelts about New York next April. Then Madame Duchet and Marcelle Bondoneau came to lunch. Krishnaji asked questions on what he was like when he was about twenty-two and Marcelle first met him. Marcelle imitated the way Indians talk, animated.’
‘At 4 p.m. Krishnaji gave interviews to the two Shepard sisters from South Africa, and a Bertil Gedin. A girl named Blazier telephoned to say she couldn’t come because she had just given birth to a baby.’ ‘She was at the discussion this morning!’ ‘Krishnaji drove his car a bit, and we did errands in the village.’

On the fifth of August, ‘Krishnaji’s fourth public discussion on fragmentation and thought; it was a very good one. Krishnaji saw Achard and Gaillard before lunch.’ Achard is the one who did a thesis on Krishnaji at a university in a city in the Savoie. Achard did his thesis on “Le Langage de Krishnamurti” because the university wouldn’t accept a thesis just on Krishnaji’s teachings, so he had to figure out how to do it and it was acceptable to do it on Krishnaji’s language.

For the sixth of August, it reads, ‘Did errands early; lovely summer morning light in the villages, clean. The early people doing marketing. Such a sense of summer, simplicity, and that lovely inner shine this time of year always brings me. Krishnaji gave a superb fifth public discussion on inner and outer revolution. Answered all the youthful insistence on social revolution. He had enormous bursting energy. Anneke came for lunch with us in the car and discussed Amsterdam for next year. She also raised the matter of the antagonism of the Suarèses, who are here. He lectures about his Kabbalah book and doesn’t come to the talks. He doesn’t come to the talks, and he’s hopeless, according to Anneke, but she [Mrs. Suarès] came to listen and is also full of lies from Rajagopal, who has been wooing them.’ In other words, his wife came to the talks, but he didn’t.

I met Dorothy at the bank and transferred to her some gold for Brockwood, which was left to Krishnaji by an old French woman. This makes 48,280 Swiss francs or $1,115 US dollars. Dorothy was up till 3 a.m. with Joanna, who was having a fight with a hippie.’ That’s Joanna, who was a Brockwood student then, and who was here just lately with her child. ‘Dorothy is in a mood to expel the three girls who have behaved badly here. She is tired of playing policeman to save silly girls from delinquency. The school was meant for more than that, she said. At 4 p.m., she brought up Mr. Motani, Sunita’s father.’ Sunita was from Pakistan, I think. ‘A Mr. and Mrs. Perrine!’ ‘Perrine from California wants perhaps to buy the hundred-acre place across from Brockwood It had been a very hot day, but Krishnaji walked up to the river and back. The meeting for Tapper, Leipziger, Loebl should have occurred today in Los Angeles.’ Those are the lawyers on the case.

On the seventh of August. ‘Krishnaji gave another superb discussion in the tent. Number six. Nadia spoke to us about the Suarèses. When I came back, I telephoned to invite the Suarèses to lunch, but Madame Suarès was busy. After Krishnaji had treated Madame Welser’—that’s the paralyzed lady—‘Dorothy and Anneke and Krishnaji held a meeting with Miss Keller, Doris Pratt, and me on why Miss Keller was so antagonistic to Mr. Graf, her general indiscretions and remarks about him. She said she could not work with him, so she resigned from the Committee and will be responsible to Mary Cadogan at the Krishnamurti Foundation Trust for selling books in Zurich.’

Nadia came up and sat with Krishnaji through lunch and discussed the Suarèses, Rajagopal mess, etcetera. Krishnaji is upset by it. On top of everything else, another Vigeveno letter came, he says his last, saying that only Krishnaji can save the situation without interference with lawyers, etcetera. Krishnaji again would not touch it or read it but had me tell him the gist of it. He had a brief rest before the Saanen Gatherings meeting at 4 p.m. with the Grafs, Doris Pratt, and me. Krishnaji asked Graf to suggest a Swiss replacement for Miss Keller and also why, after he has been speaking for ten years here, there are only about a dozen Swiss at the talks? And what to do about this. When they left, we prepared for a walk, but there was such a thunderstorm with hail and heavy rain that we went downstairs and called on the Lilliefelts. Krishnaji is tired, and all this Suarès/Vigeveno junk is a harassment to him. He slept poorly; his body’s disturbed. He says I mustn’t be tired or it affects him.

On the eighth of August, ‘Krishnaji’s eighth public discussion. At 4 p.m., all the foreign committees came, fifty-some people. Krishnaji talked about the function of the committees after his death and much about publications. He spelled out that Vimala Takhar has nothing to do with anything. George Digby has to answer endless questions asked by the Spanish group who, as usual, monopolize things. A Romanian woman was there, also a Russian woman, who translated books.’

On the ninth of August, ‘Sidney Roth rang from Chicago, and Erna took down in shorthand the news that will come in full from Leipziger next week. At the meeting on the sixth between Tapper, Loebl, Leipziger, Tapper proposed a settlement that leaves KWINC as a shell but gives all assets to the KFA. Loebl for the first time was conciliatory. Each lawyer now consults clients, etcetera. All of us feel Loebl’s attitude is now a key one to persuade Rajagopal. So far, so good.’ Of course, Loebl was soon out of it. Rajagopal fired him, I think.

Krishnaji gave the eighth and last of the public discussions in the tent. It seems these talks and discussions were the most intense Krishnaji has ever given. Superb. He came back and saw Madame Welser, Dorothy, and Anneke for treatments. Anneke told me she has a faulty valve in her aorta. Krishnaji saw the girl, Dorothy Blazier, who had the baby last Tuesday. The baby died.’ George and Nelly Digby came to lunch. We had a relaxed time, very congenial. Krishnaji talked till 4 p.m., when the Ojai group came to tea—the Hookers, Noyes, Kate Nadje Verna Krueger and the Lilliefelts. Krishnaji went off for a walk and when they’d gone, I joined him. I saw his footprints along the muddy road. It had been raining and then the remote figure in his raincoat and beret came along the path. He is tired but full of energy. These concentrations of meetings seem to bring him the necessary, almost limitless vitality, but they all are now over, and he will give no more interviews, etcetera. He was restless at night, cried out, “Mama! They don’t know how vast it is.” He said he might start writing.’

The tenth was ‘a cold, foggy day. Krishnaji wanted to shop for shoes, so we went to the village and he found a pair he liked for walking. Then Krishnaji took Dorothy Simmons and me for a ride in his Mercedes. Let her drive it, too. Both of them were quite nervous at that.’ ‘Krishnaji and I walked with Dorothy down to the van der Stratens, where she and Montague went, and Krishnaji and I came back. ‘In the morning, Doris and Graf came by. Until the Saanen Gatherings Committee gets more members next year, Graf will sign checks alone. Paola and Jon Cohen and Alberto appeared after supper. They will move here Wednesday when Erna and Theo leave.’

The eleventh. ‘I fetched Madame Suarès up the hill to see Krishnaji at noon. She has sided with Rajagopal through misinformation of Mima Porter, according to Nadia Kossiakof and Anneke, but she was upset. So Krishnaji talked to her and gave her the facts. She had been told that Krishnaji had refused to see Rajagopal. He explained why he wouldn’t see him alone and that he had tried repeatedly to meet. Blitz’s story was distorted. Alain was blamed for all of it. Krishnaji said that his trouble with Rajagopal had been going on for over ten years before Alain appeared. Krishnaji didn’t mention the attorney general at all, but said that things are now up to Rajagopal if he wishes to settle. Krishnaji told her that he doesn’t ask her or care what she does, but if she wants to write to Porter, to remember that now is the time for Rajagopal to settle. Madame Duchet, Marcelle, and Madame Suarès were at lunch. Everyone kept the amenities going. Krishnaji talked alone with Madame Suarès for a short time after lunch and then they left. Krishnaji saw Topazia, and her daughter.’ Also an Italian young man who wants to start a school. I fetched from the bookstore the large copy of a photo of Krishnaji taken in Chicago, on the roof of the Palmer house when he was very young. Alain had it blown up and it was used on Mrs. Ruisch’s bookstore window when Krishnaji’s books are on display. She is selling the store. The photo is too big to take to Brockwood this year. We will store it here. Krishnaji and I walked to inspect the river.

On the twelfth, Krishnaji said he read in his Maigret which he reads to practice French, the phrase, “his thought was faster than his words.”’ ‘And he realized that when he is giving a talk, he does not think at all!’

The thirteenth of August. ‘It was a marvelous morning, cloudless, warm, clearly the day to go out in Krishnaji’s car, and off we went, down to Aigle, Montreux, and to lunch in Lausanne at the Grappe D’Or. It was beautiful. Along the way, Krishnaji said, “Shall we talk seriously? That no one has made the change. Is there something he should do before he dies about this? I don’t feel I’m to blame.” I began to ask him what the process is of meeting a statement of his, such as “having an empty mind,” i.e., hearing that, my mind sees it has known such moments but doesn’t know if what I have known is what he refers to. I suspect it is far less, but that is speculation. How indeed should one proceed? He seemed to want to go into it but not today. I am to bring it up again. This drive was a little too long for him and he was tired, but still wanted to stop at the shoe store in Saanen—Kohi—where he found some walking shoes that pleased him. Later he said, “I come from so far away.”

Saturday, the fifteenth. We went for a walk by the river. He said he thinks the second-rateness of the early people (Rajagopal, Rosalind Rajagopal, Suarès, Vigevenos, etcetera) was just that they were at hand, and therefore served a purpose in a practical sense to whatever seemed to order things around Krishnaji.’ That was his estimation. ‘The present entourage is more mature-thinking. He used the word indecent about Rajagopal and Rosalind. ‘She once kicked him with her knee, and he was in pain for days. But he never felt angry. It left no mark in his spirit. Rajagopal was as he is from the beginning. Krishnaji and Nitya both felt an aversion to him. Rajagopal once had rheumatism in India, and an Ayurvedic doctor said he could cure him if treated for a year. Rajagopal refused, saying he must leave with Krishnaji or Krishnaji would forget him. “Which was true,” said Krishnaji!’

On the seventeenth of August, Ruth McCandless came at noon. Ruth told me, at my request, the sequence of her experiences as follow : In early 1968, after Krishnaji had agreed to speak at Claremont that autumn, she was invited by Mrs. Mathias, to meet Rosalind. They quizzed her on how Krishnaji came to be speaking at Claremont. “He can’t do that,” said Rosalind. “Was it a group or an individual, who had arranged it?”’
‘“Both,” said Ruth. “The individual would be me, and the group was Blaisdell”’—that’s the place at Claremont that invited him. ‘“Oh, we knew Allen Blaisdell,” said Rosalind. It wasn’t until this year that Ruth learned from a passing remark of Mr. Rempel’—he was the head of Blaisdell—‘that they had to override Allen Blaisdell to have Krishnaji speak at Claremont. Within a day or two, Rosalind invited Ruth to tea and told her how easily influenced Krishnaji is, and that now I and Alain Naudé were doing so, and then launched into her usual libel of Alain. Shortly after that meeting, Mrs. Mathias rang Ruth and said that she had known Rosalind for years and knew her to be without guile, whereas she, Ruth, had guile. Furthermore, she and Margot Wilke, and Rosalind, had been friends for years and years, and no one was going to break that up. This left her amazed, said Ruth.’
‘The Suarèses then were fetched up the hill to lunch by me, and after that, Krishnaji talked alone with Mrs. Suarès, told her to ask Yo’—that’s Yo de Manziarly—‘why she didn’t attempt to find out the facts, but instead turned against him.’

Oh, this is all about Biascoechea: ‘I went to the bank with him, where the bank manager sent a draft of $25,000 to the Cantonal Bank for the account of Alzina.’ Alzina was an account for money for Krishnaji’s needs, as he wasn’t getting any money from Rajagopal, obviously. I was the one to handle it for Krishnaji, and the bank advised on how to invest it. ‘The bank invested in Danish bonds, paying 9 percent annually on March third, redemption in 1982. These are not subject to withholding tax. This new Alzina account is a numbered one, and Krishnaji is the owner, and power of attorney is given to me. On Wednesday, Krishnaji will come to the bank for signing. Meanwhile, at his instructions, I put a £2,000 scholarship for an Indian boy to be selected by Krishnaji to go to Brockwood, given by Madame Duchet. I put it into Dorothy Simmons’s account at the Cantonal Bank. I also arranged for Krishnaji’s trust account, and personal account to get 5 percent net. I deposited money for our use next year at Tannegg. Krishnaji walked down, and had his hair cut. We did some errands; walked by the river.’

The eighteenth of August. ‘It was a nice day, clear in the morning. With Krishnaji driving, we went to Thun in his car. We ate our picnic in the same little place beside a church at the edge of the lake. We left the car for the winter at Moser’s and went over the contract for the trade-in of mine to order a new Coupe 280 SE 3.5 for the end of next April. Then we walked over to the lake steamer and took it to Spiez. The Mönch, Eiger, and Jungfrau were visible with heavy new snow. We took the bus from Spiez up the hill to the train station. Krishnaji had given much of his rice at lunch to the swans and some ducks. So, we went to the buffet and he had a bun and some tonic water. We took the train to Zweisimmen, where we changed onto the Gstaad one, which delighted him. He stood all the way, absorbed as a child, with his hands in his driving gloves, holding the edge of the window, lost in looking out; that remote, absent look. He followed where the road went, but saw all the countryside, silently. Later he said, “I like to go in trains. You see better. I must go more in trains.”’ He used to watch from trains in India, the vast country unroll in the days before he flew. We got off in Gstaad at 6:18 p.m., bought our paper, took the shortest and most expensive ride in a taxi ever, paid five francs and got off at the palace and walked the rest of the way up hill.’

 Wednesday, the nineteenth, ‘Packed. Spoke to Vanda in Rome. Mrs. Lindberg and the Biascoecheas came to lunch. Mrs. Lindberg talked about ecology, concern of young husband in the Philippines. She talked quite a bit, rather intensely, nervous but direct, both assertive in conversation and shy. Shyness is not the surface thing, though perhaps is behind it. She was dressed in a pantsuit with odd pantoufle. Very nice, very perceptive person. Krishnaji was pleased to see her. Later, Krishnaji and I went to the bank, where he opened the Alzina account to house the Biascoechea sum. Power of attorney to me, and Krishnaji received power of attorney from Isabel Biascoechea for another $25,000.’ That was money Krishnaji could use, but it must go eventually to Isabel if something happened to Enrique. We went for chemist things, then came and took a last walk of the season to the river. Inspected the stonework. Later Krishnaji said, “Since the train ride I have felt very far away.”’

On August twenty, 1970, in Gstaad it was a cool grey day, and Krishnaji and I said goodbye to Fosca and Antonia’—that was the extra maid—‘and drove in the Mercedes toward Geneva at 11:30 a.m. We had a terrible time finding a gas station open to fill the tank. But we did and we had a picnic along the autoroute before we got to Geneva. We arrived at the Geneva airport where Mr. Moser met us. We signed the order for the new Mercedes 280 SE Coupe 3.5 for next April, and he drove off in the dear present one.’ As usual, I got very sentimental about giving a car away.‘It had hummmmed at 105 miles per hour on the auto route.’ ‘The nicest car I ever drove

‘Krishnaji and I took the 3:15 p.m. British Air flight to London. Dorothy met us, but on exiting the terminal, found that her car had been impounded for illegal parking! So there was a delay while she got it back. We then drove to Brockwood. Krishnaji was very silent and remote. He has been “far off,” he says, since the train ride on Tuesday. He said that Rajagopal and Rosalind must have asked him for things when he was in s

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Sun, 02 Jun 2019 #159
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline

(...) He said that Rajagopal and Rosalind must have asked him for things when he was in such states, and he would say, “anything you say,” the way he used to say to Leadbeater. His face was an austere mask in the car, but he returned enough to greet people on arrival at Brockwood, and wanted to have supper downstairs with everyone. Dorothy looked tense. Brockwood needs pulling together, but it is good to be back. Slept very well.’

On the twenty-first, ‘Unpacking. I put all of Krishnaji’s drawers and cupboards in order. Rang Mary Links at Blackdown. Also Doctor McGowan to give him Krishnaji’s health report. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji held a meeting with the Simmonses, Doris, Donald, and me on Brockwood and all problems and general disorder. Well, someone was having an affair with someone else at Brockwood, and that was the problem. ‘Krishnaji really blazed at all of us. He said, “When you have tried reasoning, talking with them, and it does no good and you don’t want to use threats, what do you do?” He hammered so hard on Dorothy, the others kept silent, but I was afraid she would come apart, so I drew some of the fire, and what a fire it was! “You can’t walk away from me. You have to educate them.” In the end it was a matter of saying that we have tried dissuasion, and they have turned that into a game of contention.’ ‘Krishnaji said, “We are through with that. This is the direction of Brockwood, not your direction, but the original direction for which it was begun. Do you want to come with us? If so, it will be an answer in action and not merely verbal.” It was 7:00 p.m. by the time this meeting ended.’
On the twenty-second, ‘Krishnaji finished unpacking and I put away all his things, reorganized drawers, etcetera.
On Sunday, the next day, ‘the Lilliefelts arrived, having motored around southern England for a few days. They are in the West Wing spare room. Krishnaji was interviewed at noon for the Times’ Educational Supplement. Mr. Parriae wants to invest $100,000 in a house nearby, which Brockwood can use. After lunch, I took Erna and Theo around the place. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji had another meeting with the Simmonses, Doris, Donald, and me. Dorothy has asked all the extraneous people to leave, including…’ those people who are having affairs.

Well, the very next morning he talked to the woman concerned before lunch. But I wasn’t there so there’s nothing about what he said. And ‘in the afternoon, I went to Winchester with the Lilliefelts in their car and then went alone by train to Southampton. At the Hertz office I rented a tomato-red Volkswagen and drove home to Brockwood. Krishnaji went walking with a young man who wishes to be part of Brockwood. This was good news to me until Krishnaji added that this young man said that he had a feeling of Krishnaji’s death and that he would be present then when Krishnaji is seventy-seven.’ This is the kind of nuttiness that floats up. Krishnaji was impatient with all this. “You must face it,” he said. “I don’t know why you all make such a fuss about death.” I said I would face it when it came, but I didn’t want to face the trivial references to it conversationally. Later, he said, “I think I will live quite a lot longer, or pop off any time!”

The next day ‘was quiet. Krishnaji slept a lot. We walked a long walk in the afternoon.’
August twenty-sixth. ‘Krishnaji and I in the red Volkswagen went to Alton, then to London on the 10:20 a.m. train. Naturally, our first stop was at Huntsman, where I ordered a pair of grey Birdseye slacks, and Krishnaji liked the material so much that he ordered a double-breasted suit of the same material. We walked to W. Bill Limited and bought two Shetland pullovers for Krishnaji, and then went to the Aperitif, where Mary Lutyens met us for lunch. Krishnaji asked her about “continuing conversation” for the next book…’ That must mean some provisional titleor d oing one on parents, children, and teachers. He will start that.

‘The next day was a lovely, warm, clear day. I did deskwork all morning while Krishnaji slept. In the afternoon, we drove to the Itchen River near Avington. Lovely clear stream. We walked along it, but it was too short and we came back to Brockwood.’
On the twenty-eighth, ‘Before lunch, Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I continued the conversation Krishnaji and I had on what are our reasons to the students against their sleeping together. He had to stop for lunch before we finished. Then Krishnaji met the staff and two students who are here for discussions of what cooperation is. Krishnaji said the feeling of cooperation comes first; then, out of that comes its objectives, etcetera. On the walk after, he lit into me, saying I didn’t understand when I asked if the cooperation doesn’t imply action with others, and around some endeavor, the objective or some general nucleus of something, a direction stimulates a feeling of wanting to cooperate. Or, does it get started in the beginning? It generates the wanting to cooperate. I had felt in the discussion that he was stressing cooperation as a primary thing to lead people past the pitfall of beginning by defining what the objections are.’

On the twenty-ninth of August, ‘there was the first official meeting of the Krishnamurti Foundation Trust and the Krishnamurti Foundation of America. Present were Krishnaji, Dorothy Simmons, Mary Cadogan, George Digby, David Bohm, Erna and Theo Lilliefelt, and me…also Hughes van der Straten, who stayed for the night. Earlier the post brought Leipziger’s account in detail of the Tapper-Loebl-Leipziger meeting held on August sixth. In it, we learned for the first time the disturbing news that Tapper, without consulting Leipziger, proposed that Rajagopal be allowed to carry on publications of post-1968 material. Everyone thinks this is non-negotiable. Krishnaji leans to thinking that perhaps Rajagopal may want to settle with him rather than go through lawyers. All this plus the Indian Foundation, Spanish-American, and Australian potential foundations were discussed. Finances look somewhat more optimistic.’
Next day, ‘there was a long morning talk between Krishnaji, Hughes, Erna, and me about the impossibility of the Tapper proposal, that Rajagopal carry on publications. Erna cabled Leipziger our feelings and drafted a stiffletter on all of this. Krishnaji again explored the idea that Rajagopal doesn’t really want to carry on this work; he’s too old and sick, but wants the rapprochement with Krishnaji, and may want to hand things over personally to him.’ This was his perpetual optimism. ‘Hughes flew back to Belgium. After lunch, I drove Erna and Theo to Blackdown for tea with the Linkses. Krishnaji was ready to come but looked so tired that he stayed and slept. Mary had written to him yesterday to suggest that Brockwood needed his presence eight to nine months of the year. It was a warm day, and pleasant at the Linkses. We got back to Brockwood in time for supper.’

On the thirty-first of August, ‘Krishnaji dictated to me, in the morning, a conversation on the meaning of cooperation for The Bulletin. In a resolve never to fall behind, I spent most of the rest of the day typing it, and before going to bed had it in an envelope and in the post, on its way to Mary L. for vetting. If I could keep up-to-date with book, letters, and laundry, all would be well.’ At lunch, Dorothy gave a resume of the instant hostility of the latest pupil from the U.S. He wants to leave after being here two hours because of his hair!’
‘It was suggested that it be kept reasonably clean, neat, and not too long. Hair is one’s most sacred object these days. Krishnaji and I and Whisper walked along the road toward West Meon and then down the hill between the fields, a long and lovely walk. Krishnaji decided to start a new book tomorrow on education. Giving views of parents, students, and teachers in India, Europe, and the U.S. Mary L. wants to start editing his next book in January, which means we must work on this one every day. I will put aside typing the other one and try. I must keep this one typed without falling behind. It takes me all of a day, so it will take some doing.

The first of September. ‘Krishnaji began dictation of the new education book. It began very like the conversations except that the questioner was a group of parents, in this case, Indian ones. There was the usual lovely bit of nature descriptions at the beginning—Rajghat in this one.
The next day, ‘Krishnaji did #2 of the education book. I went to Winchester on errands. It rained and the de Vidases came for the talks.’
On the third of September, ‘he dictated #3 of the education book in the morning. We had a 12:30 p.m. lunch, and made the 1:50 p.m. train from Alton to London. Both had Huntsman fittings. Krishnaji bought a windbreaker at Lillywhites and we were back at Brockwood by 6:30 p.m. On trains, Krishnaji gets very dreamy.’
The next day, ‘again he dictated. The house is swarming with people. Balasundaram arrived from India. There’s a letter from Rosenthal’—that’s our lawyer—‘who will be in Norwich on Sunday.’
On the fifth, ‘Saturday, a lovely sunny day. The tent had been put up in the field beyond the swimming pool, and in it, Krishnaji gave his first of four talks. About 600 people came. The sound system worked excellently this year, and lunch was had after the talk by everyone, including Krishnaji. Martha Longnecker was there—the Digbys, the Lilliefelts, and I discussed publication matters afterward.’
Sunday the sixth, ‘another lovely day and Krishnaji gave the second talk, very good, very strong. Again, a picnic lunch in the tent—800 to 900 people today. At 4 p.m., the two Krishnamurti Foundations met—Biascoechea, Farias, and Sendra, regarding their forming a Krishnamurti Foundation; a Krishnamurti Fundación Hispano-Americana. They never could give a reason why they wanted to be called a foundation, but it looks as if they will. There was talk of how more protection could be put in all the foundations’ charters to protect Krishnaji’s intention. For instance, they would publish only his books, etcetera.

The seventh of September, ‘Erna and I rang Saul Rosenthal in Norwich. He can come here next Sunday to discuss settlement proposals. ‘Krishnaji dictated No. 5 on the education book. At 4 p.m., he held a meeting with the school. Brockwood’s intention is intelligence, which is sensitivity and freedom. Freedom equals freedom from one’s own conditioning. 
Krishnaji walked with Balasundarum, and I walked with the Lilliefelts. Mrs. Jayakar has the flu in Bombay and can’t be here till the eighteenth, missing the meeting on Monday. The Lilliefelts’ charter flight leaves that day. We will go ahead with the meeting on Monday. A tiring but busy day. Balasundaram showed Rishi Valley slides in the evening.’
Tuesday, the eighth of September. ‘There were showers, and it was colder. Krishnaji held a discussion in the tent for those who are staying in the neighborhood between the weekend talks; 150 to 200 people or more. Questions were on education and ran rather like yesterday’s school discussion, except that he made it sound utterly new. Intelligence, freedom, and the fragmented conditional mind could see that it is patterned as it happens, and that instantaneous perception frees it.’
‘The Bohms asked to see Krishnaji and he talked to them at 4 p.m., and later Krishnaji went for a walk with Dave. Meanwhile Erna, Theo, Balasundarum, and I talked until suppertime. Balasundaram gave us the background of the Foundation for New Education in India.  It became Krishnamurti Foundation of India. They just changed the name.
Madhavachari was on it, and the head of it, and it turned out in the end, to their surprise, that Madhavachari had been passing all the information about the case that he got from Krishnaji to Rajagopal. So Rajagopal knew what was being planned.

3:30 p.m., de Vidas, Erna, and Theo were to meet, but de Vidas was late and I had to leave them to tape Krishnaji’s discussion with the school. We continued, “what Brockwood is about,” how to bring about intelligence and freedom in this. And what is discipline? What do we do if after discovery through intelligent discussion and agreement the person still doesn’t follow through?’ That’s what we talked about. ‘Hair was brought up as a subject by Dominic. If clean and tidy, fine, but otherwise is disagreeable to others who have to live alongside. Sensitivity, consideration, should prevent dirty bare feet, etcetera, etcetera.’ Oh dear! That was the early problems. ‘But if a person perpetually disregards all this, do we discipline, punish which is repellent? What do we do?’ It became almost a detective story, wondering how Krishnaji would solve it. Later, he told me that he had no idea where he was going; it just came out. That it is the reluctant person who punishes himself by pulling away from the intelligence of an offer to live in friendship and accord, and the learning process here.
Krishnaji was too tired to walk after all this, and went to bed. I was exhausted, too. Erna and Theo and de Vidas were still talking. That was useful, too. We called George Digby about a meeting on Saturday afternoon for publications for the foreign members here. Erna had earlier drawn up a letter answering Leipziger’s questions on past publications. In the evening, Balasundaram talked with Biascoechea and said he had seen Krishnaji’s Indian horoscope at Adyar, and that he was born at 12:24 a.m., after midnight on May thirteenth, 1895.’

Balasundaram's notes:‘Theosophy said Krishnaji in a former life, was one of the Buddha’s disciples. Balasundaram gave me a photo of Krishnaji when young', said Krishnaji, in answer to his and Pupul’s question on how it was he could see things without division, etcetera, how it came about. Krishnaji replied, he could remember that as a boy he had always seen things without any division, i.e., the "observer" and the" observed" were not there from the beginning in him.’ ‘Yesterday, Balasundaram told me of Rajagopal’s bullying Krishnaji in India in 1957, and also Rosalind’s rudeness to him in India in 1956.’

On the tenth of September, ‘Krishnaji held the second discussion in the tent for those here between talks. A woman new to all this and a worker in a mental hospital, by the name of Spooner, kept asking, from the psychiatric point of view, questions on thought, solving everything, trying to understand through the brain. Krishnaji gave a brilliant analysis, laying bare how thought is the cause of trouble—fear, as an example, cannot exist without thought. Erna and Theo left for London after lunch and spent the night there.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji dictated #7 in the education book. Rosenthal rang from London and will be here on Sunday. Krishnaji, Dorothy, Whisper, and I took a long walk down the lane between the fields. Erna and Theo returned. They’d had a long lunch with Michael Rubinstein and Mary Cadogan. After supper, I talked to Balasundaram about Indian publication matters.’

The twelfth of September ‘was pouring rain in the early morning, but it luckily stopped in time for Krishnaji’s third talk in the tent. He lunched there, sitting with Mar de Manziarly, who had just come from Boston. Later, he showed her through the West Wing. Erna, Theo, and I were talking right up to the 4 p.m. meeting with the Digbys to persuade George, at Krishnaji’s instructions, that the foreign committees must be able to get publication rights for their languages from KF London directly and not have to go to Servire or Gollancz George clings, like a limpet, to his concept of loyalty and to Verhulst of Servire. He feels overly indebted to him for publishing the talks when we first began to do it and we hadn’t a publisher. Verhulst has profited by this, and has, in fact, done us no favors, but George cannot see that the committees, though they have every sound reason not to want to deal with Servire and Gollancz, nevertheless, do much work and are owed something by the Foundation, too. De Vidas has been the opponent of Digby, rude as usual, and has stirred up others too, but he did come up with an offer from Delachaux et Niestlé, a Swiss publisher, to do the French translations, and George had brushed him off. Nelly was on our side in all this, and Erna, Theo, and I talked to George right up to the 4 p.m. meeting attended by Krishnaji, de Vidas, Madame Samuel, Farias, Sendra, the Biascoecheas, Tilly Von Eckman, Schmidt, Balasundarum, and the Greek and Danish representatives, Sybil Dobson (who took minutes), the Digbys, the Lilliefelts, and me. Krishnaji led the meeting. Then there were sparks between de Vidas and Digby—de Vidas being his rude and heavy-handed self, George resenting it and defending Servire. It came out, at one point, via Tilly, that Verhulst hadn’t even published in Dutch, except the Gollancz books. With Nelly prodding, George said that the Flight of the Eagle is available without Servire, and they all dove for that. De Vidas will offer that to Delachaux et Niestlé. Then, when the meeting was all over, George said to de Vidas he would have to wait three weeks until George had talked to Verhulst. At that point I went back in, and Nelly and I pointed out that he had to give de Vidas a letter authorizing him to offer the book immediately. A long day.’
Sunday, September thirteenth, ‘Erna, Theo, and I met Saul Rosenthal at Alton, and we all came back in time for Krishnaji’s fourth talk in the tent. A big crowd. Afterward, the four of us lunched and talked in the new West Wing dining room. Krishnaji ate in the tent, then joined us, and we set a line of proposal to be made to Rajagopal to join us, and become a trustee of KFT in London. ‘Via a cordial letter from Saul and Leipziger to Loebl saying that Krishnaji would come on his way to Australia to Ojai to meet Rajagopal to invite him into the fold. Specifics to be worked out by lawyers later. Discussed this as essentially what Rajagopal seems to want as an ultimate face-saver for him. Krishnaji then rested and went downstairs, and he questioned Mary Cadogan on events in the past. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji came down and the English trustees, i.e., the Digbys, Dorothy, and David Bohm, met Saul. All of us discussed the above proposal and got their consent to inviting Rajagopal to join KFT London.’ Well, it obviously sank into the mist, and was never heard of again, but at least it showed an effort to try to have come to some accord.

On the fourteenth, ‘Saul Rosenthal left Brockwood and flew to Los Angeles. At 11 a.m., Krishnaji, the Lilliefelts, the Digbys, Dorothy, David Bohm, Balasundarum, and I met to discuss the Indian Foundation and relations between the three Foundations. The question of Krishnaji’s formal position on the KF India was discussed, but can’t be settled until Pupul Jayakar arrives later in the week. Krishnaji raised the question of what is his and everyone else’s responsibility in all these matters, and bore down on Balasundarum about whether the Indian schools really work at the teachings. Otherwise, the American trustees—if they get Ojai funds, can’t, with a responsible conscience, support them,’ meaning India. ‘Balasundarum gave the history of the Rishi Valley Trust, the Foundation for New Education and its relation with KWINC, and finally the structure of the present KFI. This took all day.’

On the seventeenth, ‘he dictated #10 of the education book. Pupul Jayakar was met at airport by Dorothy and Balasundarum, and arrived at Brockwood for a very late lunch. Krishnaji talked to her and Balasundarum, and after tea Dorothy, Krishnaji, and I went for a walk.’ The next day, ‘Krishnaji, Pupul Jayakar, Balasundarum, and I met in the morning and discussed the KFI’s relations with the other KFs. She understands, as does Balasundarum, that funds in the United States cannot be divided equally.’ They wanted whatever KFA got to be shared.She suggested an annual meeting be held of at least one member of each of the three main Foundations, as only then could there be cooperation built for now and for the future. Suggested topic the needs of each foundation, publications, matters of overall policy, and any other pressing matters. She had read the legal papers about Rajagopal and is shocked. She wants Madhavachari to see them. Krishnaji asked for suggestions for a settlement, and it was suggested that Rajagopal be given something to do. Krishnaji then told her and Balasundarum, in total privacy, of what was decided during Rosenthal’s visit last Sunday, i.e., to offer Rajagopal membership as a trustee of KF London, and this in return for all assets in archives.’
‘They both welcomed the idea and approved completely. We discussed Krishnaji being on the KFI board as a distinction for three main Krishnamurti Foundations, and as a differentiation from subsequent ones.’ If he was on the board, that would be the difference between the three main ones and any future ones. ‘They will try to come up with something, what will probably be honorary.’ You see, they didn’t want him to have any power. ‘Pupul says that if Krishnaji disapproves of anything, everyone on the Indian board would do what he says.’

 ‘Later in the day, I voiced my doubts about being an Indian trustee. She said it had been a gesture, and it didn’t matter if I couldn’t attend meetings. She seems to understand that it wasn’t feasible to have representatives of each Foundation on all the boards.’ That was another thing that came up. ‘But thought the idea was a good one in principle. Hopes that the annual meeting of representatives from each Foundation will have the same effect. In the p.m., Krishnaji held a meeting with the school. A Wilfred Thomas telephoned to ask to interview Krishnaji for Australian broadcasting. Michael Rabiger of BBC came to talk over a half-hour film of Krishnaji and Brockwood next weekend. This was a long and tiring day.’
On the nineteenth of September, ‘Krishnaji dictated #11 in the education book. Balasundarum left.

In the late afternoon, Krishnaji and I took a long walk, coming back across the fields and into the Grove. We had Whisper with us, and we no sooner entered the grove than there was an extraordinary silence. Neither of us spoke, and we walked as though we didn’t want to tread on the grass. There was no wind; an utter stillness. The great trees were like silent living guardians of something, witnesses. There was a sense of something sacred, a presence that was total stillness. When we came out, latched the gate and walked across the field, Krishnaji said, “Did you feel it? It was something holy. One didn’t even want to step on the grass. Whatever there is about this place is centered there, not in the house.” Late in the evening, I remembered my dream several summers ago in Gstaad.’ Oh, that’s the river dream; I don’t want to go into it again.
‘After supper, Mrs. Jayakar and I talked in the drawing room. Krishnaji was above in his room, and while we sat there, that strange quality was in the room. She spoke of the book she is writing on art and yoga. We spoke of Krishnaji.’
On Sunday, the twentieth, ‘Krishnaji planned to write, but a conversation at breakfast lasted into the morning. He sat with Pupul and me in the West Wing dining room, and got onto the subject of kundalini. He questioned Pupul on whether her observation of what happened in Madras and at Ooty in 1948  could have been kundalini. Her version, which she wrote in detail, was taken by Rajagopal, who forbad her to make a copy. She described it to Krishnaji and me. She and Nandini were staying in Vasanta Vihar. They heard Krishnaji groaning in his room and went in, fearing he was sick. He looked at her and said, “Are you Rosalind?”
She said, “No.” He told them to stay in the room and not leave him alone. He said, “Krishna has gone away,” and then he put his hand over his mouth and said, “I mustn’t say his name. He doesn’t like me to say his name.” He was in apparent pain, sweating and faint. This happened again the same year when he was staying with Frydman. It would start around 6 p.m. and lasted until 1 a.m. He told Pupul and Nandini to stay in the room’—this is the Ooty occurrence—‘but wouldn’t have Frydman there. He would faint and an extraordinary beauty would come into his face. Pupul described what was happening to him as seeing a total cleansing of his mind.

In reply to Krishnaji’s questioning, she said that she wouldn’t describe it as kundalini, which is a result of conscious deliberate meditation on chakra centers in the lotus pose, and the result of great effort and a release of great energy, bringing various powers, etcetera. But Krishnaji’s various related experiences were different. Leadbeater, who knew at least something about kundalini, couldn’t explain Krishnaji’s experience. In kundalini, there is a breaking of the energy in the mind, like an explosion. Krishnaji never seems to have been caught in conditioning. He was very interested, and questioned her at length. After these episodes, he has no memory of them at all. In Madras, and maybe it was at Ooty, he spoke of “the shining ones, the great ones are here.” In the afternoon, Krishnaji spoke to the school and we took a walk.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji dictated #13 of the education book. I went for my postal order for a new passport for Krishnaji. Pupul will take the application to the high commissioner tomorrow. We walked in the afternoon.’
On September twenty-second. ‘Pupul left, and the following day, Krishnaji dictated #14 in the morning. I dashed for the 12:50 p.m. train to London and, with Anstee, covered many shops looking for a table and something to put over the fireplace in the drawing room. Home by 7:15 p.m.’
On the twenty-fourth of September, ‘Krishnaji and I to London by train. Huntsman fittings for both of us. We lunched at the Aperitif, stopped at Mallard’s for Krishnaji to look at the third piece of the tapestry we could get for the drawing room’—that’s the one over the fireplace—‘and a vase of flowers. Krishnaji liked it, and so I will get it for the fireplace. We took an early train back.’
Friday, the twenty-fifth, ‘Michael Rabiger who works for the BBC and is making a half-hour color film of Krishnaji and Brockwood, came with two others to start three days of work on it. Krishnaji dictated #15 to me in the morning. I met Sacha de Manziarly at Alton. He is spending the weekend.’
On the twenty-sixth, ‘Krishnaji dictated #16 to me in the morning. In the afternoon, there was filmed discussion between Krishnaji and fifteen students and staff. We took a walk with Henri Methorst, who came for lunch. Anneke came in the evening. I met her at Winchester. She is to spend the week.’

 Sunday, the twenty-seventh, ‘Krishnaji dictated #17 in the morning, and then held a discussion with the school later in the morning. In the afternoon, he was interviewed on film by Michael Rabiger.
On the twenty-eighth, ‘I read in the Times that there is a huge brush fire in Malibu. Krishnaji said I should telephone immediately, but it was 1 a.m. in California then, so I waited. Then a telegram came from Betsy saying both houses are safe, the Dunnes and Filomena as well. Krishnaji finished dictating #17 that he’d begun the day before.’
On the twenty-ninth, ‘With Krishnaji to London. He to Mr. Campion’—that’s the dentist—‘and I to Mary Cadogan, and then to American Express to pick up Krishnaji’s new passport and tickets. Straightened out my own at TWA, and bought at Pan Am my LA to Sidney/LA ticket. Meanwhile, Mary Links fetched Krishnaji at Campion’s, and we met at L’Aperitif for lunch. Sacha came, too. Krishnaji and I did errands and finally took the train home.’
On the thirtieth, ‘I took the 7:50 a.m. train to London. Got Krishnaji’s and my Australian visas and then Krishnaji’s Italian and U.S. visas, and got to the Brompton Oratory at 1 p.m., where Ginny Travers met me, and we found a small Italian restaurant in Beauchamp Place for lunch. Bill is in Spain on a picture. The lion that Krishnaji and I saw in June is now in Kenya with George Adamson.

On October first, ‘for the first time, Krishnaji and I went to London via the Winchester Station. Krishnaji was very pleased with it, as it was a better train. Part of the scenery was new, with some yellow fields of mustard. He was “lost” and far away. Later, he tried to put it into words in a dictation: emptiness and stillness within, which lasts all day. “That is my rest,” he said. We went to Huntsman and to L’Aperitif, where Mary L. joined us. Krishnaji went to Mr. Campion while I walked to the health food shop on Baker Street. We had luck in immediately finding a taxi, which took us to the train back to Winchester.’
October second. ‘Krishnaji had said he would have only one more talk to the school this coming Sunday, but Doris Pratt came upstairs and made a rather dramatic plea for one today, too. I said it was too much, but left it to him. “Nonsense” from Doris; she said something to the effect that people were going to kill him with their demands anyway, so it was necessary for the school that she should be the one to kill him by asking for the meeting.’ That was Doris’s logic. ‘Krishnaji said, oh, it didn’t matter; he would see them at 4 p.m. He thought I was angry, which I wasn’t, only disapproving, but leaving it at that. He charmingly tried to divert me by saying lovely things and about the trees and sky. He began dictation on #18, but it didn’t come, just a description of yesterday in the train. He intended to do one from the point of view of European students, but gave it up. A walk after the school discussion, and he was tired and wanted to turn back before either Dorothy or I did.’

October third, ‘I got a letter about the California fire: horrendous. Krishnaji switched the student in the dictation to an Indian one, and completed #18. He slept well last night. There was a cable from Erna that Rajagopal telephoned her last evening, asking “as an old friend” if she would see him. She said yes.
The next day, ‘Krishnaji dictated #19. Roger Straus of Farrar, Straus & Giroux came to lunch with Krishnaji, bringing an Italian woman, Lucia Marionetti Barbi. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji held a discussion with the school.’
On October fifth, ‘I spoke on the phone to friends in Malibu. Krishnaji dictated #20. We talked Anneke about the Stichting[8]. She left after lunch. Krishnaji was interviewed for Australian radio by Wilfred Thomas and his wife. We took a late walk in the rain.’
The sixth, we fled the packing and had a marvelous walk down the lane between the fields. The sky had dark clouds with bright sun, illuminating the earth. Autumn has touched the trees. There was the lovely color of the Hampshire earth, honey-buff and pinkly brown where some of the fields were plowed. The air was bright and clean and had the sharpness of autumn, though it wasn’t cold. We cut across the great bowl of a field and ate blackberries along the hedge. Whisper has learned to catch them. What a lovely land it is.’
On the morning of October seventh, ‘we were up early at 5:30 a.m. Krishnaji did his exercises, and I packed. Doris was very helpful with last-minute things, and yesterday, she got the interview correspondence off my back’—that means she typed things for me. We said goodbye to Mary L. by telephone. Everyone was lined up on the driveway to say goodbye to Krishnaji. I went around first, and there was a real warmth of affection in each one of them. Even Dominic, who was leaving the scene, was on the point of tears, and leaned suddenly to kiss my cheek. Katherine Merriment Lane, the new student, gave me two little letters, one for Krishnaji, one for me. A very touching and gentle goodbye. Krishnaji then shook hands with each one; and with Dorothy in the Land Rover, we drove off for Heathrow.’

‘Letters had just come from Erna, describing her telephone call from Rajagopal. Copies of lawyer Wyatt’s reactions to Rosenthal-Leipziger draft. I read them to Krishnaji in the car and raised the point that Rajagopal may well try to telephone Krishnaji in Rome. We discussed what he would say if this happened, i.e., that if Rajagopal asked to see him, that he is coming via California to Australia and might see him then. Wyatt made a strong point that Krishnaji shouldn’t see Rajagopal alone, and Krishnaji said he would take me, or if Erna has seen Rajagopal by then, that the three of us should see Rajagopal. Wyatt wanted a witness to what is said at the meeting.’
‘At Heathrow, we negotiated our mountainous luggage, mostly mine. Went first to Alitalia and checked Krishnaji through, then to Air France for me. Dorothy said goodbye to us and we went through immigration and sat in the departure lounge for about forty-five minutes. Humanity was a scruffy lot, and Krishnaji was all elegance and simplicity. His Rome flight was called and he went off with the grace, exquisite manners, and face lighting up in affection that only he has. My flight was an hour late leaving. Krishnaji was arriving in Rome before my Air France took off at 3:15 p.m. The walk to the plane and from it in Orly was almost more than I could manage. I carried camera, cassette tape recorder, Uher, typewriter, and a bag with all of Krishnaji’s dictations, and both books in tape and notebook form.  I went to Father’s and found him looking well. We talked and had supper. Doris telephoned from Brockwood that Rajagopal had just rung from California for Krishnaji, and was told he’d gone to Rome. I thought about telephoning Krishnaji to let him know Rajagopal might call, but thought this morning’s conversation covered it. Shortly, the telephone rang again and it was Vanda’s voice, and Krishnaji wanting to tell me that Rajagopal had just rung in a very pathetic voice, and wants to see Krishnaji as soon as possible. Would he come to California? Krishnaji said he already planned to go there en route to Sidney. Rajagopal wants to see him and tell him that he loves him, and then see that things are alright. Krishnaji said he would think about it and Rajagopal said please telephone as soon as you are there, that the meeting was more important than the talks in Australia, that he wants to see that things are alright and be his old self. Krishnaji said to me he thinks Rajagopal is afraid he will die and wants to mend things with Krishnaji. Asked me to tell Erna but have her keep it quiet.’

The next day, ‘I wrote a cable and letter to Erna with Krishnaji’s messages. I lunched with Father at Ledoyen, and bought a suit at Dior.’
On the ninth of October, there is more about Paris. ‘I went to Charvet and chose four shirt materials for Krishnaji. During supper, Vanda and Krishnaji telephoned. Rajagopal had rung again from Ojai. Vanda asked him not to speak to Krishnaji, who was resting. Rajagopal gave his message that if Krishnaji didn’t “withdraw for technical reasons,” Rajagopal would be forced to go to court to defend himself, and Krishnaji would be “exposed.”’ . ‘That he loved Krishnaji and that the reason he was calling was that Krishnaji must see him in California. I asked both Krishnaji and Vanda if Rajagopal had said he would go to court, or it would go to court. Krishnaji put Vanda on, and she wasn’t positive which of the two it was. Rajagopal asked if I were there, and she said I was in Paris. Rajagopal said that Krishnaji would never have done all this but for those around him.’‘Krishnaji had been resting in bed’—this is in Rome—‘and felt (quote) “washed out” (unquote), but went for a walk and to Marchetti today, but found it closed.’ That’s the shirt-maker.

On Monday, the twelfth, ‘Krishnaji telephoned from Rome. He has had no more calls from Rajagopal. He has been resting and going to the cinema. Sounds relaxed and as if he felt like chatting. He speaks in Perugia on Saturday. He asked me just when I will be in California.’ Well, then it’s family things.
‘Took TWA to Los Angeles, passing over Monument Valley, the snowy Rockies, and down into the dirty brown smog of Los Angeles. Amanda met me and we came to a burned, black Malibu. Filomena, looking strong and healthy and full of energy, rushed up the path. A Santa Ana’—that’s that wind, ‘was blowing in the night and had destroyed the garden flowers and the pristine neatness she had achieved, but the inside of the house shone with white immaculate walls. She has painted the whole inside; ceilings, cupboards, shelves, everything. New blue and white curtains were up in Krishnaji’s room, made of the toile Anstee got for me and sent over. Outside the trees are brown. The eucalyptus may come back; I doubt the pine trees will. The fire went over the brick wall and burned all the oleanders right up to the house. I haven’t yet walked to see all the rest, but the canyon is a blackened void. Went at 5 p.m. to the Dunnes’ and sat for an hour and talked with them both. How good it is to be with them, to see Filomena, and be in this dear, beautiful, and surviving house.’
‘There was a letter from Rome written by Krishnaji each day. He had rested a lot and went to the movies. He says he might have more rest in the future. I must see to it.

We now jump a week to Tuesday, November third, 1970:  ‘Krishnaji left London on TWA at 2 p.m.’ Krishnaji had flown to England after his brief series of talks in Italy. ‘I voted in the morning and met him at the airport at 4:30 p.m., and he looked very well in spite of the long flight. He wasn’t at all depressed by all the fire’—if you remember, or anybody remembers in this account, Malibu had been devastated by fire—everything was black and horrible. But, ‘he didn’t seem to be downcast at all. And said, “It will all grow back.”’
 He thought that everything would be razed to the ground, but what little was left, the few houses, surprised him.
The next day, ‘we had to go to the dentist because Mr. Campion in London had given him a bridge, which was hurting him, so we went to my dentist, who fixed it. And then we came back for lunch, and Erna, Theo, and Ruth Tettemer came at 4 p.m. to see Krishnaji, have tea, and talk everything over. Earlier that day, I had talked to Saul Rosenthal’—our lawyer—‘who had rung Mr. Loebl’—Rajagopal’s lawyer—‘to prod him for a reply to our offering Rajagopal to become a trustee of both the English and U.S. Foundations.’ There was no reply, obviously.

The fifth of November ‘was a lovely, quiet day and Krishnaji slept mostly. I spoke to Alain Naudé in Berkeley and invited him to come down for the weekend.’
On the sixth, ‘Krishnaji felt feverish in the morning. His temperature was 99.6, going up to 100.2 in the afternoon, but it fell back to normal by nighttime. I met Alain at the airport in time for lunch, and he rang Dr. Schmidt, a homeopathic doctor who is the brother of Pierre Schmidt’—the one that Alain and Krishnaji had gone to in Geneva. ‘He suggested ferrum phos,’ which is like giving aspirin in homeopathy ‘Alain reported that there were no serious religious people where he’d been. In the evening, Rajagopal rang and told me to “give Krishnaji his personal, not legal, greetings.”’ That was the message.
The next day, ‘Erna said that Rajagopal had also rung her and asked her when Krishnaji arrived and when was he leaving.’ And then, well, there’s a lot about my father’s health, which was bad. Oh, yes, ‘Alain said that what he saw around him was a drug-oriented society. He said that a good article he wrote was refused in the Berkeley Barb…’ That’s the university paper because it implied criticism of drugs. Krishnaji was well on this day, and wanted to go to a movie. So we drove to Hollywood and saw something at the Chinese Theatre, which was dreary

November eighth, ‘we had breakfast in the dining room, all three, and talked at length. Krishnaji said that if one is serious about inner things, the means come about. One doesn’t worry about it. Later, Alain was taken back to the airport by friends, and Krishnaji and I had a beach walk. He asked me to telephone Radha Sloss and give her his greetings, to say he had not been feeling well, but he would ring her on his return in March.’ You see, we’re now about to go to Australia.
On Tuesday, the tenth, ‘Krishnaji rested and I did deskwork. After lunch, we drove to Santa Monica to fetch things at the Jaguar place, and bought some Scholl’s sandals. After that, we then went to a movie called Cougar Country. In the evening, Rajagopal telephoned. Krishnaji wouldn’t speak to him. He told me to tell him that because he (Rajagopal) had been abusive on the telephone in Rome, he would not talk by telephone. If he had anything to say, to write to him.’

‘Rajagopal said angrily, “I will never write him,” and rang off. Later, he rang back in a different tone, and asked if I would talk to him. Then there ensued a part of his neurosis, saying Krishnaji had destroyed him all over the world, with people thinking he is an embezzler, etcetera.’
‘I tried to get through and say that first Krishnaji had not talked about him—on the contrary. And that if he wants to be reconciled with Krishnaji, to reply through Loebl to the settlement suggestion we had made. That the door was open to a solution, and that we all wanted it, and with deepest sincerity. But from his non-response, we could only conclude that he didn’t want a settlement.’
‘“How can I work with people who think I am an embezzler?” he said. Then he said that there would be no settlement until there is a meeting between him and Krishnaji. That it is a personal matter.’
‘I said, “Krishnaji has said there is nothing personal to discuss, only what concerns KWINC, the Foundation.”’

‘“What foundation?” said Rajagopal. “You aren’t in this,” he said, “It is between Krishnaji, Rosalind, and me.”
‘I repeated Krishnaji’s statement, and said that Krishnaji had been repeatedly willing to see Rajagopal, and that in every instance Rajagopal had prevented it. His last telephone call to Krishnaji in Rome was an example of his being disagreeable and abusive.’
‘“I didn’t abuse him,” he retorted. “He is a liar, a hypocrite, and a coward. He hides behind women,” meaning me and Vanda.’
‘I finally rang off.’

In the evening, Rajagopal again telephoned and asked to speak to Krishnaji. Krishnaji told me to tell him that he had again abused and insulted him through me, and therefore, if he had anything to say, to write. Rajagopal was angry, and said a “goodnight” and hung up.’ This went on and on. On Thursday, November twelfth. ‘We finished packing. Krishnaji and I had supper at 5:30 p.m. At 6:30 p.m., Amanda came and drove us to the airport. We boarded a Pan Am 747 plane at 8:30 p.m., but were almost two hours on the ground before taking off. We landed at Honolulu around midnight. The tropical soft air was lovely and we walked for exercise and circulation briskly up and down the airport waiting room for forty-five minutes. We changed to a 707 and flew on across the vast ocean.’
Friday, November the thirteenth, ‘crossing the international dateline, we lost this day.
Saturday, November the fourteenth. ‘We crossed the equator somewhere west of Fiji—a first for me—and landed in Sydney around 10:00 a.m. The press and television people interviewed Krishnaji. We then were met by Mr. and Mrs. Reg Bennett, Barbara and Spencer English, Donald Ingram-Smith, and a Mrs. Marsha Murray. We were taken to Manly, a suburb of Sydney, to a very nice apartment on the eleventh floor of a new building above the harbor with a magnificent view of the bay. The Bennetts and Englishes have thought of everything. Mavis B. and Barbara E. are to do the marketing and lunches, and I will do the rest here. They would come each morning. Krishnaji and I took naps all afternoon.’ It was very nice. They had arranged everything very well.
Sunday, the fifteenth, Sydney. ‘Krishnaji rested all morning. Mavis Bennett and Barbara English did the lunch. We discussed the plans for the meetings in Sydney, TV, and newspaper interviews, etcetera, and also their thoughts on whether an Australian Foundation is necessary. Reg Bennett and Spencer English came in the afternoon for the walk. In the evening, Krishnaji and I watched the Hitchcock movie North by Northwest.’
The next day, ‘Donald Ingram-Smith brought a TV interviewer, also a reporter from the newspaper The Australian. The Bennetts and Englishes and Smiths were all at lunch. The Bennetts took me to Manly for errands, and Krishnaji and I walked at six.’

On the seventeenth, ‘Krishnaji had a public discussion in the Mona Vale Memorial Hall at 10:30 a.m. He said later it was like, “pushing a weight.”’ [Chuckling.] ‘We drove with the Englishes and their son David, who came back for lunch. We had naps in the afternoon, and Krishnaji and I went for a late walk. At supper, we saw the television interview that Krishnaji made yesterday, and out of all that they shot, they only used one minute of what he said. They spent the rest of the time on the story of his arrival here in 1925, when the Australians thought he would arrive walking on the water.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji showed the Leipziger and Tapper letters about Rajagopal to Reg Bennett and Spencer English The Bennetts then took me on a drive northward to Ku-ring-gai, where I saw koala bears, emus, and wombats, all kinds of brightly colored parrots, and went in the kangaroo enclosure where you can come close to them. They have soft fur.’

On Thursday the nineteenth, ‘Krishnaji held the second public discussion in Mona Vale, and it went better; they seemed to catch on.’
‘The next day was quiet. In the afternoon, I went in to Manly and bought paperbacks for Krishnaji to take to India. Detective stories,’ obviously.
On Saturday, November twenty-first, ‘we had a quiet morning. I made a light lunch for us, then we went with the Bennetts to the Sydney Town Hall, where at 2:30 p.m. Krishnaji gave his first talk. There was a crowd of around fifteen hundred. It was Election Day, and some rather rowdy young people, who had been passing out communist papers at the polling places next door, came in and called out rough questions. One came down to the edge of the stage and challenged Krishnaji on a question of social change. Krishnaji’s answer quieted him to silence.’
Next day, Sunday, ‘Krishnaji and I drove with the Englishes to Sydney for Krishnaji’s second talk, a most intense one. In the middle of it, a young man climbed up on the stage and sat himself self-consciously at Krishnaji’s feet. Krishnaji was taken aback for only an instant and asked him to move further away. He then took up his talk where he had been interrupted. When it was over, Krishnaji had that half-faint, far-off look. In the p.m., we walked alone. At 7:00 p.m., we saw a good nature film on TV of rare Australian animals; and at 7:30 p.m., the Bennetts and Englishes came and showed a color film of the Great Barrier Reef.’

On Monday, November twenty-third, ‘Krishnaji held a discussion with about thirty-five people chosen by the Bennetts and the Englishes, here at the flat in the morning.’
The twenty-fourth. ‘Krishnaji has been questioning the Bennetts on what it was like here in the Leadbeater days; why people accepted Leadbeater, etcetera. They suggested asking Harold Morton, who was once one of “Leadbeater’s boys” and still lives here with his wife, whose brother is Oscar Collastrom a Leadbeater favorite, now a psychologist in London. So, Morton came for lunch. He was a white-haired, pink-faced, aged, adolescent-looking man. He spoke with some detachment and a tinge of humor about it all. Krishnaji questioned him, and most of his answers as to why people believed so in Leadbeater were that they wanted to believe in all of it, in the supernatural, his supposed clairvoyance; and so, no one really dared question him. Krishnaji asked him if Leadbeater was homosexual, and Morton replied that he was; he knew it definitely in two instances, one from the boy himself, and in the other from the father of the boy. Krishnaji was appalled that a man would so use his position of trust. The clairvoyance was discussed, its apparent genuineness, first of all in the recognition of Krishnaji, and in foreseeing a ship sinking which turned out to be the Titanic. Also, its nonexistence, as when he cabled for news of one of his boys, Tom somebody, who had already died.’
Krishnaji and I walked in the rain in the late afternoon. In the morning, we had watched the departure of the aircraft carrier S.S. America. Krishnaji said it would be fun to be its captain. He would like that.’  This splendid great carrier was going out through what they call “the heads,” which are the two cliffs on either side of the entrance to the harbor. It was a very splendid sight. We could see right across. We were high up on a hill and also on the eleventh floor, so we had a great view of this, steaming out through the heads.

On the twenty-sixth, ‘Donald Ingram-Smith and Marsha Murray came to take Krishnaji and me to the Australian Broadcasting Corporation, where at 1:45 p.m., Krishnaji was interviewed on television for half an hour by a Ross Saunders. It looked excellent on the monitor. Krishnaji paid little attention while Saunders read passages on belief from Penguin Krishnamurti Reader, which is published here, too. Then Krishnaji demolished belief, religion, etcetera, and went on with such a fresh clarity until the end of the half hour, covering a great deal with simplicity and eloquence.
We took naps when we got back and then walked in the rain.’

On Friday, the twenty-seventh. ‘After lunch, the Englishes took me to see The Manor, where Mary Lutyens and Ruth Tettemer, as well as the others, lived with Leadbeater. It is now a Theosophical home for retired people. We drove past, then went to a Swiss health food shop where I arranged for some good lecithin granules to be packed so that Krishnaji can take them to India. Then we went into Sydney and got Krishnaji a beige sleeveless pullover, which he likes so much that I will try to get a cardigan to match. Kitty has written’—that’s Kitty Shiva Rao—‘that it is cold in Delhi.’
On Saturday, ‘Krishnaji had a quiet morning in bed. I fixed us a light lunch, and then we went with the Bennetts to Town Hall for Krishnaji’s fourth talk at 2:30 p.m. At the end he spoke of beauty, asking, “Is it in the object? The sky? The white sails on the harbor? A Velásquez?”—which sold yesterday in London for $2.2 million pounds, ‘which I had heard on the radio and told him about at breakfast). “Or is it in you? As long as there is space between you and that, there is no beauty. Only when there is no self is there beauty.” He was tired when we came back and we skipped the walk.’

On Sunday, the next day, ‘he gave the fifth talk at Sydney. He said to me, “I don’t feel as if I had been working here,” which made my spirits soar. He said he wasn’t tired because he had done nothing when not talking. He had slept, read, and walked. NO’—underlined four times—‘private interviews. I am to reply to inquiries in the U.S. saying there will be no interviews.’
Monday, the thirtieth. ‘Krishnaji held the second private discussion in the apartment. He was delighted with the cardigan to match the beige pullover I bought on Friday. If I see something I think he would like, in the way of some good detective novels, I am to buy them for his arrival in Malibu. “I like new things,” he said, with his face alight.’

December first. I went into Manly to cash a check and send flowers to the Bennetts and Englishes. This was a packing day. The Bennetts and the Englishes came by in the p.m. for the walk. In the evening, Krishnaji told me to write only letters that could be read by anyone, as his mail is not secure in India, and even at Brockwood, letters could be opened by mistake. He said about Rajagopal that I, Erna, and Roth lawyers must discuss what to do, and not wait to consult him. He will not be a part of litigation, but if we decide to pursue Rajagopal, “All the better.” He said this might need immediate decisions to be made, and he trusts me to make them. If I am acting for him according to the thing, not because of my personal feeling, I will be alright. He said Rajagopal has stolen. That he, K, will not accept any telephone calls from him or any emissaries. It may be a question of money to finance a suit, and we, KFA, must decide. This was the first thing he wanted to tell me, and the second was that we are getting older and must beware of falling into bad habits,’ ‘i.e., I have rubbed my nose in an 'unbecoming' way lately.’ ‘Three, he is feeling increasingly far away: “Lately, perhaps, I am becoming as I was as a little boy, vacant.”’
‘I must look after things, somehow do things anonymously, so people will not resent it. “We must figure out a way.” He asked me about the book’—that’s the book he’s writing. ‘He feels it should have another five chapters. I am to send him a list of what questions were asked in the student section of the book. He may add to it. I asked him about the part in which he said, “You have raised a generation with regard for nothing.” And he agreed that it was too harsh, and that I must change it. We talked about the personal letters that came for him; he has changed back and forth whether I am to open them or keep them for his arrival. It wound up that I should open them and, if they appear very personal, to hold them. But no one must know they have been opened by someone other than him. He said he felt very well; he looks and acts well.’

On the second of December, ‘Krishnaji and I had breakfast and were packed and ready by 9:45 a.m. The Englishes came and took the luggage, while Krishnaji and I drove with the Bennetts to the airport. I checked Krishnaji through for his flights to India; his tickets and passport. Then, checked myself and luggage onto Pan Am for my 5:30 p.m. flight back to L.A. There were some people to see Krishnaji off. He had that remote look.’
His Qantas flight to Delhi went via Hong Kong, ten hours, and then another six-and-a-half hours to Delhi. He had said goodbye to me in the apartment; from then on, he was far off. It was a hot day, and he wore his cotton grey sports shirt and carried the nice Gucci bag that Vanda gave him. At the airport, he wandered off and stared while waiting to leave, as he does so often in airports. He shook hands very formally with everyone, including me, and went to his plane. We all waited and watched until it took off and became a tiny white dot in the sky.’

‘I went back to Sydney and took the Bennetts, the Englishes and David English, Marsha Murray, and Donald Ingram-Smith to lunch. Had something called the Salad Bowl in Kings Cross. Then said goodbye to them and went back to the airport with David English, who works in a restaurant there. I sat and talked to him for an hour, and then read until my 5:30 Pan Am flight.’
‘Krishnaji had left at 11:30 a.m., was due in Delhi at midnight. I flew all night and landed back at Honolulu at 7 a.m., which was also December second because of gaining back the day that we lost on November thirteenth. I went through customs there, and walked for exercise for an hour. Then, in another aircraft, flew to Los Angeles. Flying along the coast on such a clear day, I could see Ojai and houses all the way down to the airport. Arrived at 4 p.m. Amanda was waiting, and we came back to Malibu in clear, clean air. Five-and-a-half inches of rain fell here last weekend. I cabled Krishnaji of my safe arrival as he had asked me to.’ That’s it( for 1970)

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Mon, 03 Jun 2019 #160
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline

( ...) On February twentieth 1971, when Krishnaji flew from Bombay to Rome after his India program, and on the twenty-second, from Rome to London to stay at Brockwood for a couple of days.
So, on February twenty-fourth, Krishnaji arrived from London at 6 p.m., looking marvelous. We came home and had dinner by the fire.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji rested and slept most of the day. We talked at length. He taught me a new pranayama taught to him by a sannyasin from Bangalore. We went early to bed.’
On February twenty-sixth, ‘at 11:30 a.m., the Lilliefelts and Ruth Tettemer came, and with Krishnaji we discussed current matters. At 1 p.m., Sidney Roth joined us for lunch. We continued our discussion until 5 p.m. Theo drove Roth to town, and dropped Krishnaji and me at the repair place, where we picked up the Jaguar with its new fender, and from there we came back to Malibu. Krishnaji and I had supper by the TV.’
The next day was a quiet day. Krishnaji slept a lot. We walked around the garden in the afternoon.

‘Four days after his arrival, I telephoned Rajagopal and invited him and Mima Porter here on Krishnaji’s behalf. Rajagopal said that he couldn’t leave Ojai because he was ill; we must come there. It was agreed, and an appointment was made for March third, at 2 p.m.’
On March second, Krishnaji reported having a dream of a large man who was unfriendly to his being in this house. Something about the man’s mother in the dream.
On the second, ‘Krishnaji began a new dictation tentatively titled, This is meditation.’ I think I labeled it Dictation No. 1 – Spring, Malibu. ‘It was a clear, cold day. We walked in the garden.’
On the third, ‘the weather was marvelous. We had an early lunch, then Krishnaji and I drove to Ojai and met Rajagopal at his house at 2 p.m. He, in bare feet, Krishnaji elegant in grey flannels, turtleneck jersey, and a tweed jacket. His wife was there initially, but soon left. Mima Porter was half an hour late, so we sat and made social chat. Krishnaji looked splendid and was quite relaxed. The talk was casual of things and doings in India. This continued for some time after Mrs. Porter’s arrival.’

‘Rajagopal seemed nervous and unable to begin a serious conversation or say what he had asked Krishnaji to come and hear. Krishnaji was poised. Finally, he asked Rajagopal to talk about whatever it was he had to say. Rajagopal began what became a tirade, saying that Krishnaji had attacked him, blackened his name, etcetera, etcetera. Krishnaji explained why he broke with Rajagopal and KWINC, and said he had completely lost contact with Rajagopal due to all this, and probably there had never been a real relation between them. This seemed to shake Rajagopal. At one point, when I was pointing out to Rajagopal his inconsistencies, he tried to silence me by saying that I was trying to protect Krishnaji. I said I was replying to what he, Rajagopal, had said and continued, and it looked for a moment as though he would come apart. He shook. He cannot stand logic and pressure. He veers off and tries to muddy the issue. At the end of three hours, he said that Krishnaji must retract all criticism, announce publicly that he was mistaken, that Rajagopal has done nothing improper, apologize, and then, perhaps, the right time could be set to discuss what should be done with KWINC and KFA. We left at 5 p.m. and went to the Lilliefelt’s for tea. Ruth was there, too. We were back in Malibu by 8 p.m.’ The following day, ‘Krishnaji dictated a letter to Rajagopal saying that he had come to try to find a basis for some contact with Rajagopal, and that it was up to Rajagopal to respond in deeds—that his action would be his reply. It was up to him. I spoke to Leipziger. After lunch, we went to the Truffaut movie Bed and Board. Home in time for a walk.’

On March sixth, ‘Krishnaji, Alain Naudé (who arrived yesterday for the weekend), and I had breakfast in the dining room. Krishnaji rested all morning. We had an early lunch. At 2:30 p.m., Krishnaji and I drove to Santa Monica for the first of Krishnaji’s four talks at the Civic Auditorium. It was full. We walked in the garden on our return. Krishnaji and I were alone for supper.’
The next day, ‘I cooked an early lunch for Krishnaji and Alain. Krishnaji and I drove to the Civic Auditorium just in time for the 3 p.m. talk number 2. He spoke of the violence of comparison, and as long as thought exists there can be no meditation. Afterward,   Frances McCann, Ruth McCandless, and the Lilliefelts came to tea. Krishnaji, Alain, and I had supper by the TV.’
On March eighth, ‘Alain, Krishnaji, and I talked at breakfast and Alain talked alone with Krishnaji during the morning. Krishnaji, Alain, and I drove up Coral Canyon and walked along the top of the hills.’
The next day, ‘Alain left for Berkeley. Krishnaji and I lunched alone. After his rest, we went to town for errands. Bought books at Campbells, etcetera, and came home to supper.’
On March tenth, ‘at 4 p.m., Peter Racz, a young man who had come from Brazil to hear Krishnaji, had a meeting with him. We walked in the garden. A copy came of Tapper letters to Loebl regarding Rajagopal’s abuse of trust.’

There is nothing more on Rajagopal matters until ‘a letter came to Krishnaji from Mima Porter dated March twelfth, hinting at “personal matters between Krishnaji and Rajagopal,” which Rajagopal was hurt by Krishnaji not coming openly to tell him squarely what had happened, surreptitiously that all this was the crucial matter Rajagopal wanted to clear up in private conversations with Krishnaji.” Hence, Rajagopal’s exasperation when Krishnaji wanted only to discuss KWINC affairs and not “that cadaver which is rotting between you and him.” And she added that Rajagopal is the victim. To this, Krishnaji wrote to her: “If there were problems between Rajagopal and myself, I do not see that it is anyone else’s business. The fact is there are no personal matters that need discussion between Rajagopal and me. The constant implications of something personal is a very obvious attempt by you, by Rajagopal, by others, to evade the serious issues of KWINC and your grave responsibilities to that trust.”’

The next day, ‘after lunch, Krishnaji and I drove to Santa Monica on errands. We walked in the garden. Rajagopal telephoned to speak to Krishnaji but hung up when I relayed Krishnaji’s message that he wouldn’t speak to him, but to write or give me a message.’
On March eighteenth, ‘we left at 10:30 a.m. for Ojai. Krishnaji had a treatment from Dr. Lay. Then we had a picnic lunch at Lake Casitas. It was a clear, hot, marvelous day. Wind from the lake kept us cool. Krishnaji was delighted. We went to the Lilliefelt’s, where Krishnaji rested. Then at 3 p.m., there was an open house for all and sundry to see Krishnaji. We were home by 6 p.m.’

On March twenty-second, ‘Krishnaji dictated book material and letters. A letter came from Rajagopal to Krishnaji saying that it was obvious that Krishnaji wished their personal friendly relationship to cease, but that he intended to continue his work for the teachings.’
On the next two days, Krishnaji dictated on the meditation book and also letters. And on the twenty-fourth, Krishnaji had me ring Rajagopal and say he wished to see him and Mrs. Porter next week, and that he had something very serious he wished to say. It was set for next Wednesday. It was subsequently postponed by Rajagopal by two days.’

On March twenty-sixth, ‘I went early to town on errands, including renting a Nagra tape recorder. I then met Alain and Professor Jacob Needlemen and wife at the airport, brought them to Malibu where a taped interview occurred between Krishnaji and Needlemen. At the end of that we had tea, and then there was a second discussion. Alain drove Needlemen to the airport and came back for supper and to stay. We all three watched a TV version of “Gideon” with Peter Ustinov.
The next day, ‘I recorded two dialogues between Krishnaji and Alain. Alain was in good spirits and behavior, helpful, relaxed, and nice.

Friday, the second of April. ‘Krishnaji and I, on a lovely day, drove after lunch to Ojai and Rajagopal’s house. Krishnaji had said that he wanted to be outside, so we sat on a balcony. Mima Porter was there. Krishnaji had brought notes in his handwriting of the points he wanted to cover.’ ‘He said it was a last attempt to bring order. He spoke of his reasons for the break; Rajagopal’s refusal to inform or consult, and the limited activities of KWINC; the systematic elimination of Krishnaji as the founder, and the plot by Rajagopal; the Vigeveno letters, and the Casselberry and Porter letters, all threatening; the lawyer saying that Vigeveno and Casselberry letters were extortion; Porter’s broken promise in Paris about the archives; the Noyes’ settlement offer which came to zero; Rajagopal using KWINC money to fight Krishnaji;

‘I said that the ending of all this, if it was so distressing, was through the open door of the settlement, a dignified reconciliation and joining of forces.’
‘To Krishnaji’s saying that KWINC funds were being used to fight Krishnaji, Rajagopal said, “Your funds were going to lawyers.”’
‘I said that that was not so. Not a single dollar of public donation had been spent for legal fees, only private and special money given for that very purpose.
Rajagopal was so insistent that only a public vindication would satisfy him and that reconciliation with Krishnaji wasn’t enough, that we said it was then fruitless to continue, and that he was choosing to push it to court. He said we did; that we offered a reconciliation with one hand and a gun with the other. We started to leave. Rajagopal said that he had wanted a private conversation with Krishnaji, and then the work, etcetera could be allocated in discussion between all of us. Krishnaji said he would do that, but that now he was too tired and had to leave. He went out to the car. I rose to follow, and Rajagopal said he had the Dodge papers I had requested for Krishnaji. These turned out to be a statement from the First National City Bank in New York and a checkbook on an account in Krishnaji’s name at Security Pacific in Hollywood. Rajagopal said he would ring me tomorrow about another meeting. I said that, if it concerned the work, that Erna Lilliefelt should be there. He said, “not now.”’

On Saturday, April third, ‘A hot day. Ruth Tettemer lunched with us. Erna and Theo went to town to lunch with Sidney Roth, and brought him here. Krishnaji napped while the rest of us discussed relations of Roth’s fund and KF of A. Sidney has given ten thousand dollars outright for legal reasons and ten thousand for filming. But part of the legal ten went into the filming so as to not miss the opportunities to record Krishnaji on film. He pledged $30,000 in total, but $20,000 is to be paid back out of the film income, if and when we get it. The formula for this was the subject of discussion. Also in dispute is Sidney Roth’s wanting us to pick up his expenses.’ Well, I won’t go on about that, but we said we couldn’t put them on our books. ‘We said that none of us, as trustees, are charging the expenses we incur, but are doing it in our personal tax return. The KF books should cover no personal expenses, even though incurred in the pursuit of KFA duties. Sidney Roth is emotional, touchy, but basically kind and generous. His unfortunate long-windedness wears everyone out and causes both Erna and me to push somewhat to get to the point. He feels, or felt, till today, antagonism in Erna, but today’s meeting cleared the air.’

‘A proposal to find an educational film company to put up funds to finance the film we have in storage, distribute them, might solve the above $20,000 problem. Theo took Roth back to town, and Krishnaji, Erna, Ruth, and I had tea. Krishnaji wondered out loud about what would be a proper response if and when they meet and Rajagopal admits his faults. Meanwhile, Rajagopal has not called about this next meeting.’ Krishnaji was always hopeful that the man would behave decently.  ‘It was a hot day’ on Sunday, the next day. ‘Ninety-three degrees in town. I rang Rajagopal about a meeting tomorrow at 3 p.m. I worked all day at the desk, except for weeding and pruning a little in the garden. And then a walk with Krishnaji around the lawn when it was cool. When I asked Krishnaji on whether he wanted to go to a movie, Wellington’—there was a movie called Wellington—[mimics Krishnaji’s voice] ‘“What! Go to see my favorite hero defeated?”’ He was a great fan of Napoleon! Which I found absolutely incomprehensible! He was a man who defeated all of Europe, who did nothing but wage war , and Krishnaji admired him.

‘As part of our ongoing feud about who was doing the dishes, Krishnaji said, “I’m carrying out the dishes, and if I can’t do that, I’m going back to Madanapalle!” I said, “Do you want to be the Rishi of Rishi Valley?” Krishnaji said, “Yes.”’
On the fifth of April: ‘We drove on a hot lovely morning to Ojai. At noon, we had a board meeting of the KFA: the Lilliefelts, Krishnaji, Ruth, and me. Then lunch. At 3 p.m., Krishnaji and I went to Rajagopal’s, and Krishnaji and Rajagopal talked on the balcony while I sat in the car. Mima Porter arrived at about 4 p.m. and sat with me in the car. We didn’t discuss anything serious.’
‘At about 4:30 p.m., Krishnaji called to us to join him. Rajagopal said they had completed a personal discussion, and I asked Rajagopal to repeat to me his proposition. Rajagopal said it was the offer he had made through Colonel Noyes in London in 1968 with some modifications. I asked why then he had withdrawn the offer, or denied it.’
‘Rajagopal said because Krishnaji had “demanded that the archives be turned over to him.”’
‘I said that request was made after Rajagopal had sent word to Krishnaji that he would have to go to court to get a tape of the talk he had given the day before in Ojai, and refused him his own manuscript.’
“I deny that,” said R.’
‘I said, “Don’t deny it to me. I came over to this very door with Alain Naudé, and asked you for it, and was refused admittance.” I said I could not remember the details of the Noyes memorandum. Would he have Loebl send it to our lawyers?’
‘He said he didn’t want to do it through Loebl. That he and Mima Porter would draw it up and send it to us. Then all of us and our lawyers could consider it with Tapper and, if we have an agreement, then all the lawyers could draw it up in legal form. All through this, Rajagopal was alternately irritable, ready to fly off the handle, or insistent; which irritated Krishnaji, and made him try to stop Rajagopal from hammering points. This, in turn, made Rajagopal madder. I tried to quieten it and get him to say what he proposed. He wants, of course, a statement from Krishnaji withdrawing accusations.’

‘We left, and Krishnaji told me the personal side of their discussions. The bickering in the past, past disputes, hurts. Krishnaji injecting himself into Rajagopal’s divorce dispute. Krishnaji told him of Rajagopal’s daughter’s visit to him and me. I don’t know whether Rajagopal knew about it, but probably yes. I also don’t know if Rajagopal had just secretly recorded Krishnaji’s conversation with him. My last words of warning to Krishnaji as we drove in the entrance were, “Remember, please, that he could.”’
‘“I completely forgot,” said Krishnaji. “I looked at the mountains and forgot everything.”’

On the way home Krishnaji said he felt free of a weight, the weight of Rajagopal. It wasn’t until later that he wondered if he had said too much. Said he had done everything he could to reach Rajagopal, to go far beyond halfway in trying to solve it all. He never wants to see Rajagopal alone again. He said, “I don’t know how to deal with people like this. I would be vague and agree to anything. That is what happened in the past.”’ That’s the only time they talked alone during all these years.
April sixth. ‘Donald Hoppen just arrived from Brockwood, and came to lunch. He feels Brockwood lacks vitality. It needs better staff but something in the atmosphere has kept some good prospects away. He showed a plan for a new dormitory and pictures of a model of it. It will go where the pavilion is. Krishnaji was tired and didn’t have his mind on Brockwood. He asked Donald to make a memo on it. Krishnaji went to bed after a short walk and supper.’
The next day ‘we went to the dentist, and Krishnaji had his teeth cleaned. A memorandum came from Rajagopal on the settlement basis he spoke of Monday. He proposes to “turn over part of the real estate,” but it is so poorly worded with assessor’s value and cash value that it is unclear whether he will give it or sell it to K Foundation. There was no mention of Arya Vihara. There was also no mention of K & R…’ That’s the K & R Foundation, ‘…or AB trust.’ That’s the Annie Besant trust. ‘He wants funds for salaries for KWINC and he wants statements clearing him. From all this it appears he will keep the assets transferred and the K & R, the archives, and some of the land. What KF would get is problematic. I read it to Erna and then to David Leipziger on the telephone. The latter will discuss it with Saul Rosenthal.’

The next day, the eighth. ‘Leipziger and Rosenthal do not think Rajagopal’s memorandum will lead to a settlement, but think we should reply in the form of a letter from Erna, Ruth, and me as trustees, keeping Krishnaji out of it; asking for clarification of his points while stating that we are continuing the lawsuit, because of the long delay in exploring “other avenues” of action. Erna is to draft the letter.’
The following day, ‘Erna, Theo, and Ruth came in the afternoon with the draft of a letter, much of it by Leipziger. Erna and Theo looked up assessors’ maps and discovered that an eleven-acre piece south of the Happy Valley School is part of the twenty-three-acre piece. Apparently he will keep most of the fifteen acres around his own house. Erna, Ruth, and I are on the committee for KFA to sign for this end. Krishnaji doesn’t want to have any part of the settlement negotiations. Erna retyped the letter with some small changes, and we signed it.’
On the tenth of April, ‘We packed. Sidney Field, and a Mr. Harry Wolfe, whom Krishnaji last saw in 1935, came for tea. We discussed Brockwood, and also the possibility of Alain Naudé being there.’

Sunday, the eleventh April. in the morning, Krishnaji felt he should telephone Radha Sloss because he had said he would. There ensued a tirade from her, hammering at Krishnaji. Her father might go to jail. Krishnaji said it was up to Rajagopal. He had been offered a settlement to wipe out the past, but he hadn’t taken it. If Rajagopal settled, Krishnaji said he would make a public statement of reconciliation.’
‘“You should make it first,” said Radha. “You care about money.” She repeated this over and over. When Krishnaji said it was up to Rajagopal, the way out had been offered, she said, “I don’t accept that. You told me three years ago you wouldn’t have anything to do with KWINC as long as he was head of it.”’
‘Like both her parents, she reiterates what was said in the past as though the present didn’t exist. Her blistering nag had Krishnaji shaking. It was worse than his meeting with Rajagopal. He was a wreck by the time he was able to end the conversation.’
‘An hour later, during lunch, she rang back and said that her father had offered a settlement and had no acknowledgement. Krishnaji said it would reach him Monday or Tuesday. Other people are busy, too. “But you’ll be gone. Who is he to deal with?”’
‘Krishnaji said he was out of it, and that the KFA would reply. At the end of this conversation, Krishnaji said that he would never ever see any of them again alone, that I must remember this, and remind him, and protect him from this sort of bullying.’
‘I asked if I had his permission to answer them immediately if they should telephone and handle it directly without going to him to ask what to do. He said to do it myself. It was monstrous to see him belabored this way. I felt bruised as if it had happened to me. Curiously, it was as though I felt what he felt, rather than the effect it would have had if it had been directed at me. Later in the afternoon, I went over to see Amanda and Phil, while they had supper. The peace of sanity there and the rare lovely quiet of the house and garden and place we love.’

The next day, the twelfth of April. ‘Amanda came at 7:30 a.m. and drove Krishnaji and me to the airport, while Filomena followed in a taxi with our pile of luggage. Krishnaji, Filomena, and I flew on TWA to New York, arriving at 5 p.m. A car and driver met us, and we went through the slow traffic to the Ritz Tower, where Krishnaji and I have taken Father’s apartment, and Filomena has a studio in the same building.’
The next day, ‘I did some marketing. We lunched in the flat, and went in the afternoon to the Hotel Lombardy, where Krishnaji had his hair cut. Then over to Doubleday to buy some detective novels, and Krishnaji chose a new Barzini book, From Caesar to the Mafia.

Narasimhan came to see Krishnaji. His new Mercedes 300 was stolen on the streets of New York.’ ‘We spoke of China opening up; the U.S. ping pong team has just been invited there. Sees rapprochement between U.S. and China and Russia in the future. Rajagopal received the letter from Erna, Ruth, and me today. We don’t know yet what happened.’
April the fourteenth. ‘After lunch, Krishnaji and I took the American Airlines flight from LaGuardia to Washington. It was a pretty day; daffodils were in the park, and they pleased Krishnaji. We went to the Shoreham Hotel where the American Society of Newspaper Editors is holding a conference, and where it had engaged rooms for us. Krishnaji didn’t want to go out for a walk, so we had supper in the rooms.’

The next day, ‘Mr. A.A. Smyser of Honolulu Star Bulletin was in charge of Krishnaji. We met him downstairs, also Mr. Newbold Noyes, editor of the Washington Star and the man who had invited Krishnaji, and also his assistant editor, a Mr. J. William Hill. Krishnaji was the last speaker after the others, who spoke on the future. Toffler, the author of Future Shock, was the first speaker. We had to wait downstairs for about twenty minutes. Krishnaji was to speak, but they only left him fifteen minutes. He spoke forcefully and to the point, but he felt afterwards that it was a waste. Theo had come down. He and Erna had arrived in New York from Ojai yesterday. Krishnaji, he, and I had a meager lunch at the Shoreham, and left for the airport. It is impossible for Krishnaji to eat in this country in restaurants [chuckles]. We flew back to New York and Theo came up for tea. Then we walked a bit down Park Avenue. He and Erna are at the Commodore. Krishnaji wonders if it had all been worth it.’
The sixteenth, ‘After lunch, Krishnaji, Filomena, and I walked up 57th Street to the Sutton and saw a movie,Little Big Man.’Krishnaji said it was very good. We shopped in the Bloomingdale’s food department, and came back in time to have Erna and Theo to tea. They brought a copy of Krishnaji’s latest book, The Flight of the Eagle, a Harper paperback, 1969 talks in Europe, and some Saanen discussions. Nice-looking cover. They also brought a book,The Quiet Mind by John Coleman, a former CIA Agent who has two chapters in it about Krishnaji. He came to Brockwood and had an interview with Krishnaji in September ’69, and had met Krishnaji in India previously.’
‘After supper, Krishnaji spoke of chastity. It must have an absence of ego, will. It is missing in most people.’

Saturday, which is the seventeenth, ‘Krishnaji felt sick to his stomach at lunchtime and ate almost nothing. He slept till 4:00 p.m., then had a cup of rose hip tea. Krishnaji showed no sign of weakness, but spoke in that deep other voice, almost from the beginning of the talk. There were difficulties with the sound, and an officious woman was clearing the aisles. The talk was videotaped. The audience seemed young in a larger proportion than usual. Afterward, Krishnaji was dizzy, far-off, and seemed almost faint, but wanted to sit at the card table where we eat, and even turned up the television. “It helps me unwind,” he said. He ate very little, and went right to bed.’
‘In the talk, he had said, “The worst crime is to be in conflict.” And later he told me to remember to tell him, “Knowledge is the basis of the mind being hurt.” During the talk, a man brought a brilliant red rose and put it at his feet on the platform. Later, when he seemed to cough, another one brought him a paper cup of water. Krishnaji put it on the floor and seeing the flower, tried to put the stem into the paper cup. He said later, “That man on the platform must know a great deal.” And we talked of pain, as opposed to suffering. Pain can be felt organically, or through sensitivity, but suffering is when the mind holds onto it.’
The next day, ‘at 5:30 p.m., Krishnaji gave his second talk at the Town Hall. During the day, he spoke of Rajagopal, Rosalind, and what makes people go wrong. I asked if there were ever a time when Rajagopal and he would talk about the teachings, about all the things he and I talk about, and he said, “Never.”’
On Monday, the nineteenth of April, ‘I did deskwork all morning. It was a bright spring day, and we walked to the Côte Basque and lunched with the Ingersolls. He thinks,’ [meaning Ingersoll] ‘that Krishnaji should talk only to a few influential people. Wonders if the young today are not a suicidally self-destructive generation. Mrs. Ingersoll mistook Krishnaji’s estimate of the world as cynicism. Krishnaji and I went to Mark Cross for my annual new wallet, and then went to Tiffany’s, where Krishnaji chose four twisted gold rings for me. We came back to the Tower and he took a nap while I went to see Natalie Davenport at MacMillan for fabrics for the living room in Malibu. I brought back samples for Krishnaji to see. We walked up to 70th Street and back.’
On the twentieth, ‘Mr. Clayton Carlson, the new religious book department head of Harper and Row, brought Mrs. Claire Rosen of TIME Magazine to interview Krishnaji. A nice, bright woman. In the p.m., we went to look for other fabric samples for Malibu sofas, and decided the first one was best.’

The next day. ‘TIME Magazine sent a photographer, who took about a hundred pictures of Krishnaji. He sat quietly as though it were part of the job.’ I never could get hold of those pictures.‘Frances McCann came for tea at 4 p.m. and talked to Krishnaji. We walked her back to her hotel.’
The next day, ‘While Krishnaji called on Mrs. Pinter, I shopped at Bergdorf, and then we walked back to the Ritz Tower. Then we walked to see a movie called The Andromeda Strain, science fiction, and Krishnaji found it exciting. Quite late, Krishnaji said, “Angels are looking after you. They will look after you after I am gone.” He repeated it.’
On Friday, April twenty-third, ‘Krishnaji asked me if I remembered what he had said. I repeated what he said about angels, and asked what he had meant. “You should have asked the man then,” he said. “Probably it meant you are protected, and will be after I am dead.” I felt and said my life’s meaning for me is usefulness to him. He said he had a marvelous meditation in the night.’

‘I went to Bloomingdale’s and bought him a new Tourister bag. After that, Jonathan Ward of CBS came and interviewed Krishnaji for radio, accompanied by Miss Margo B’—something—‘of Harper and Row. Ward seemed intelligent, and the interview, which will be used in segments on the CBS network, went well. Krishnaji again talked of the futility of external change.’

The twenty-fourth of April. ‘Krishnaji said that in the night his head felt as though the brain were being operated on. There was no pain but “the body was frightened.” Had I been awake, he would have talked to me and “gone off.” The unusual thing is that I was quite widely awake in the night. At lunch, he seemed “off” and remote, a little unconnected, and said he felt quite empty. At 5:30 p.m., he gave a very good talk, the third at the Town Hall, on relationship. “Corruption is absence of relationship,” love, and death. He spoke for one hour this time, and over half an hour on questions. An Indian woman, Susheela Deshponde, had an appointment to greet him backstage very briefly.’ I forgot to say that Narasimhan came by to see him in the morning. ‘Krishnaji looked exhausted, and for a short time, as we sat down to supper, he was still in the state of the talk. His hands were cold. And then he relaxed, and television, as usual, came like an aspirin for him.’
Sunday, April the twenty-fifth. ‘ It was another superb one on religious meditation. These four have been among the very best.’
The next day, ‘I went for Krishnaji’s French visa. Krishnaji and I took the Lilliefelts to lunch at Orsini. We decided to rent Carnegie Hall for Krishnaji next year. The Lilliefelts leave tomorrow.’
April the twenty-seventh. ‘I fetched Krishnaji’s French visa and got him the Netherlands one. In the afternoon, we went to a movie, Valdez is Coming, and walked back. David Leipziger telephoned that Tapper wants a copy of the complaint to go to the KWINC board before he calls them. There has been no reply to Erna’s, Ruth’s, and my letter by Rajagopal. I talked to Erna, who has gone to Connecticut. Theo flew home to Ojai.’

The next day. ‘Packed. Filomena and I rushed over to Bloomingdale’s to exchange Krishnaji’s new suitcase for another one. Our flight to London, which was to leave at 8 p.m., was merged with another and later TWA one. We ate a miserable salad in the TWA restaurant, and finally took off at 11 p.m. Krishnaji was appalled at a gross woman [chuckles] who had false eyelashes, a low-cut dress, and dyed wild hair. “An insult to women,” he said. We had little sleep.’
The twenty-ninth. ‘Dorothy Simmons, who had been waiting since 7 a.m., was there when we arrived at 11:30 a.m. In the Land Rover, we drove to Brockwood. Spring is just beginning. The trees are still bare, but the daffodils are bright. It is lovely to be here again. We were in time for a late lunch with the school. We took naps. Then, Krishnaji, Dorothy, Whisper, and I took a walk, which blew the staleness of travel out of our lungs. I slept profoundly.’

On May first, ‘Krishnaji and I drove to Blackdown for tea with Mary and Joe. Alain has just arrived from California, where he spent Wednesday night with the Dunnes, and was there for a weekend, and will be in London for a month. We all took a walk and saw the bluebells and came back to tea. Amanda Palandt  and her children, Anna, Nikki, and Adam were there. It was her seventeenth wedding anniversary and hard for her, as she and John are still separated.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji talked to the students, and I taped it on the Uher.’
On the third of May, ‘Mary Cadogan and the Digbys came down. We all talked before and after lunch, discussing all sorts of things, including what the Perrine building would be used for.’ This is the building that never came about. Mrs. Warren Perrine was going to build a building over where the pavilion used to be. It never happened. ‘Krishnaji said a dormitory for students and lodging for an ashram when he holds that. If the school had fifty students, it could break even.’ Oh, those were the days. Krishnaji mentioned to the Digbys the idea of Alain being invited for the ashram if the hatchet between him and Dorothy could be buried. The Digbys were enthusiastic about the idea, but questioned if it could come about.’ Then, on Wednesday the fifth, ‘Dorothy drove Krishnaji and me to Heathrow airport,‘Our Air France 3 p.m. flight took off at 4:45 p.m. We sat in the departure lounge and read. We lunched at Orly airport outside of Paris on our arrival, and took a taxi to the Plaza Athénée hotel, arriving at 6 p.m.
Then, the next day, ‘I went to Chanel and ordered some things. They are very expensive, but in the end should be better than money wasted on inferior things. I then walked to Charvet where Krishnaji met me, having come from the hotel in a taxi. We picked out material for four shirts and bought four ties. We returned to the Plaza Athénée, and with the help of Roland in the Régence’—that’s the maitre d’hôtel—‘I ordered lunch for Krishnaji and Marcelle Bondoneau, who were to go to a cinema.

All had gone well, and we went for a walk before having supper in our rooms.’
The next day was the seventh of May. ‘We packed and went quickly to Charvet for more ties, and got back to the Plaza at noon, where Moser and wife’—that’s the salesman of the car—‘were waiting with the new Mercedes 280 SE 3.5 coupe, which he had driven from Thun. I paid for it and Moser left. Krishnaji and I went into the Régence for a pleasant lunch. In the atmosphere of such a restaurant, his elegance makes him the embodiment of every aristocracy the past has ever produced. He was wearing his navy blazer, the best cut of all his Huntsman clothes, and looked superb. Also, as innocent as a beautifully mannered child. We felt festive: the new car, Paris, the delicate smells of a very good French restaurant, the ease, the fun, the expectation of the drive. There was that lovely sense of adventure, of our life together. For me, the fun of providing fun for him. The decorative embellishments to amuse him, to which he is as charmingly responsive, again as a child might be.
We were going back to Brockwood. ‘Krishnaji took the wheel for over an hour. We had to get off the autoroute for petrol, but arrived at Château de Montreuil by 7 p.m. Krishnaji kept me going only slowly to break the car in properly. He was absolutely severe about t hat. You couldn’t drive over, I don’t know what, thirty or twenty or something.

 ‘We had dinner, and felt very well. Later, Krishnaji said that he had a meditation in the night. For some reason he has had them in these old hotels, as if being away from people’s attention being focused on him is a factor. I was afraid the trip would be tiring for him, coming on top of all the rest, but he said, no, it broke the pressure of people. So, ‘we left Montreuil and drove to Boulogne-sur-Mer and took the hovercraft to Dover. It took thirty-five minutes, and it was the first time that I’d ever been on a hovercraft, or that Krishnaji had ever been on one. ‘Krishnaji stood looking out the window all the way, observing everything. He had that look that he so often has when he studies things when we’re traveling.’

We drove across southern England on a lovely sunny, warm day, stopping for a picnic lunch somewhere west of Hastings. Montreuil had made us sandwiches, which turned out to be a huge half a baguette with a good Normandy cheese inside and butter. We drove south of Chichester, through Arundel, near Portsmouth, and turned inland at Fareham to West Meon, and along the lane to Brockwood, where we arrived by 6 o’clock. On the tenth, ‘we went to London by train. Krishnaji had a Huntsman fitting on a topcoat he ordered two years ago, and a suit of grey-green tweed. He has decided to keep a complete wardrobe at Malibu and one at Brockwood so that he need never carry a lot of luggage between the two. So, with some excitement, he discussed what things he would need. Another grey flannel.’

‘We then walked to Brown’s Hotel. L’Aperitif is no more; the building is coming down and Ferdie’—that’s the maître d’hôtel—‘who had been there for thirty-five years, is now at Brown’s. Mary L. and Alain met us there for a happy lunch, but alas the food is not L’Aperitif. Krishnaji suggested going back to Mary’s to talk to her, so Alain went off shopping, and Krishnaji, Mary, and I went to Hyde Park Street. Krishnaji then told her the essential history of his years with Rajagopal and Rosalind in Ojai, which she had not known and which shocked her, as she still had a slightly schoolgirl memory of Rosalind as a nice person. “I had a crush on her,” she said. Krishnaji had me describe the atmosphere when I was there with him and Alain in 1966, and the reason for my estimate that both R’s worked together to dominate Krishnaji.’
Tuesday the eleventh. ‘After lunch, Krishnaji and I drove to Heathrow. Krishnaji had given the Mercedes its first wash in the morning.’  We met Nandini and her daughter Devi Mangaldas and the latter’s daughter, Aditi and son Arditia, who had been in Rome with Vanda for ten days. We got back to Brockwood in time for supper. I had fixed the West Wing dining room with three cots for Devi and the children, with Nandini in the spare room, but for some reason they all four slept in the dining room.’ That kept happening with Indian guests. The next day, ‘Nandini and Devi went to London for the day. Krishnaji rested, and I went to Winchester in the afternoon, and then joined Krishnaji and Dorothy on a walk. It was Dorothy’s birthday.’ on the fourteenth of May, ‘I went up to London alone and did the rounds of antique shops with Paul Anstee, looking for a table for the drawing room. Alain met me at Anstee’s at 1:15 p.m., and we walked to Au Pere de Nico for lunch. He told me that Yo de Manziarly visited Mary Links yesterday and was full of lies and slander about Krishnaji and about Alain. We discussed the books, and also I touched on the possible ashram matters at Brockwood in the future. The n ext day, ‘Krishnaji and I spoke to Mary L., but it was all about the KF of India wanting the freedom to edit Indian dialogues. We walked in the rain. On May sixteenth, ‘Nandini, Devi, and children left to fly to Toronto. Krishnaji held a student discussion at 11:30 a.m., a very good one. The weather turned cold, but we walked in the evening.’

The next day, May seventeenth. Krishnaji and I flew on KLM to Amsterdam. Anneke and Willie Perizonious met us. I rented a Hertz Ford Escort and we all drove to Huissen, where Dinneke’—that’s Anneke’s cousin—‘and Professor van der Veen have lent Krishnaji their house for his visit. They were there to greet him and then left. We unpacked, and Krishnaji, Anneke, and I had supper.’
The next day, ‘I drove into Bussum to get Krishnaji a Phillips electric razor.’ He was always buying electric razors. Anyway, we got a Phillips one—being in Holland it seemed appropriate, I guess. ‘In the afternoon, there was a meeting of the Stichting Krishnamurti. Anneke, Professor van der Veen, Tilly van Eckman, and Perizonious, with Krishnaji, and I were present. Discussed was the future of the Stichting and a documentation center.’ Anneke was always talking about how they must have a documentation center.

The next day, the nineteenth, ‘I went to Bussum on marketing errands. Krishnaji met Mr. Methorst and his son Erik about work with young people and vitalizing interest in the teachings in Holland. Mr. Verhulst came by and gave Krishnaji a copy of the latest publication, The Flight of the Eagle. I did deskwork after lunch, and then Krishnaji and I walked once again in the lovely wood near the farm we lived in four years ago.’ That was that magical wood with the little canals running through it, and the ducks.
‘In the evening, I watched on television some of the questions Krishnaji answered on film here in 1968.’
On the twentieth, ‘Krishnaji gave a taped radio interview, and I talked to Mr. Van Praag, who did the TV interview with Krishnaji here and in Gstaad. He wants to do another one, at Brockwood in June. It is tentatively agreed to. Van der Veen, Peter and Joyce Marenbreker, and Dick Richardson came for lunch.. ‘Later, Krishnaji saw a newspaperman, and I worked on correspondence before the walk.
.On May twenty-second, ‘Krishnaji and I drove into Amsterdam for his first talk at the RAI at 11 a.m. The crowd had overflowed into an extra hall. It was a very good, very long talk. We came back to lunch, rest, and then Krishnaji wanted to go into Bussum on errands. We then had tea and walked past the farmhouse where we were four years ago, and into the lovely little wood.’ After supper, Dutch television showed the BBC-filmed interview of Krishnaji by the religious affairs head, made at Brockwood last spring. I saw it in black and white, though it was made in color. It was very good. Best yet of Krishnaji.’
The next day, ‘Frances McCann came to lunch. I bought a Phillips cassette recorder, and I went with Krishnaji to the third Amsterdam talk held at 7:30 p.m. at the RAI—an evening one.’
May twenty-fifth, ‘Krishnaji gave his fourth talk.’ I don’t seem to say much about it.
The next day, ‘I did correspondence, ran errands in Bussum. At 5 p.m., Krishnaji, Anneke, and I were at the RAI where Krishnaji held a young people’s discussion with several hundred untidy, sad-looking young people.’

The twenty-seventh of May, ‘We packed. After lunch here, we drove to Schiphol and took a 2 p.m. flight to London. Dorothy met us. We got to Brockwood in time for a walk. ‘A new washing machine and dryer has been installed in the West Wing kitchen.’
Then there doesn’t seem to be much until the twenty-ninth, when ‘I met Suzanne and Hughes van der Straten at the train station in Winchester, and got back to Brockwood in time for lunch. Later, Krishnaji and I went to tea with Mary and Joe at Blackdown. Alain was there. He flies to Pretoria next week. Mary and I discussed the Indian dialogue book and then Krishnaji joined us for further discussions. He will read it.’

The first of June. ‘With Krishnaji to London by train. He had a Huntsman fitting. We met Alain for lunch at Claridge’s, and discussed future writings. We then walked down Bond Street, and Krishnaji had his hair cut at Truefitt, and Alain went off. He goes to South Africa, then returns to London on the third of July and then goes to Italy.

The next day, ‘Krishnaji worked on the Indian book revision. Jane Hammond came for lunch and tea. Dorothy and Jean-Michel came with us for the walk.’ ‘Students have been discovered using drugs,’  On the third of June, ‘there was a staff meeting on the drug situation; then the students and staff had it out. Two boys are to leave, and possibly a new girl.’ ‘TIME Magazine has an article on Krishnaji.’On the fifth, ‘Krishnaji held a meeting with the whole school in the morning, and went into responsibility and freedom. In particular, for Dorothy, who must be given room to do her job here, without being attacked as being authoritarian.’ The next day, which was the sixth, ‘Krishnaji rested, and in the late afternoon Krishnaji, Dorothy, Montague and I went to Bedales School at the invitation of the principal, a Mr. Slack,’ it looks like. ‘We were shown around the school, which was near Petersfield. And at 6 p.m., Krishnaji talked for an hour to the students. There was a ceremony of the students shaking hands with the staff. The staff all lined up, apparently, after their meetings or this sort of a meeting, and every student shakes hands with every member of staff, including us, on the way out. A very formal ceremony.’ I don’t know whether they do it all the time, but they did then.

On the next day, ‘Pupul Jayakar came. She stays till Monday. Doctor Chok talked to Krishnaji almost all day long. It was a cold, rainy day. We went out for a walk dressed for winter.’
Pupul left at 7:15 a.m. on the fourteenth. ‘At noon we held a Krishnamurti Foundation Trust meeting. Present were Krishnaji, George Digby, Mary Cadogan, David Bohm, Hughes van der Straten, Dorothy, and me. We continued after lunch. It is as cold as March, and the boiler is not working—no hot water, either.’

The next day, ‘Krishnaji had hay fever, but we went to London for a Huntsman fitting. Then met Mary L. and took her to lunch at a small restaurant near there, San Marino. Krishnaji went to the dentist, Mr. Campion, and I to get his Swiss visa. It was rainy and cold, and we went right to Waterloo and home.’
Then, on June twenty-second, ‘Krishnaji felt ill. He thought it was something he ate, but he had no nausea or other symptoms. He felt he couldn’t get up. He stayed in his room all day, sitting in a chair, or in the bed. He said that he felt that “if I went through that door I could die,” he said. “The wall between living and dying is very thin, and it always has been that way with me. Suddenly, it will be there. But not today.”’
‘He told me I must not be upset by his illness, or it would upset him, and then he will not tell me. He ate a fairly good lunch and supper in bed. We watched Wimbledon tennis and a Gary Cooper movie on TV.

The next day, ‘Krishnaji held a very good discussion with the students and staff on thought.’ On the twenty-fifth, ‘We both went to London and to Huntsman. I bought Krishnaji some jerseys. We lunched for the first time at Fortnum  ‘Krishnaji liked it! We bought books at Hatchards. Krishnaji went to Mr. Campion for the completion of three fillings. I fetched’—something—‘and we took the train back. Krishnaji coughed badly in the night. He has a touch of bronchitis. He had been free of hay fever in town.’

On the twenty-seventh, ‘Krishnaji had slept fairly well and was able to give a superb talk to students on what is most important in their lives. He said, “For me, it is to be nothing.”’ On the twenty-ninth, ‘We left Brockwood in the morning and drove via Midhurst, Petworth, on the A-272, then Uckfield, Tenterden, and Ashford to Dover. It took four-and-a-half hours. We found the hovercraft cancelled, so we took the 4:30 p.m. ferry, which left half an hour late, and finally reached Boulogne at 6:30 p.m. Brockwood to Dover was 141 miles. Then Boulogne to Montreuil and Château de Montreuil. We had the same rooms again. We dined nicely and slept well.’

The next day, ‘we left Montreuil at 9:50 a.m. and drove via Arras to the autoroute where Krishnaji did part of the driving. He said he had a meditation in the night. He feels the lack of pressure which is when he stays’—this is this strange thing about pressure, when people know where he is—‘in places where people concentrate on him, that’s what bothers him. We reached Paris by lunchtime, but coming down the Champs-Elysées, I bumped into a car and damaged the grill of the Mercedes. This is when I used to drive on these long drives with my shoes off. And as we were coming down the Champs-Elysées and getting near the Plaza Athénée, I was groping for my right shoe and a car in front of me stopped and I ran into it. But I barely broke his taillight only. Out got a furious owner who upbraided me: “How could I do such a thing?!” He saw it was a foreign car—it had Swiss plates in those days—so he thought I was Swiss. And my one thought was to get Krishnaji to the Plaza Athénée quickly and anything that had to be done in the meantime was fine. So, I expostulated a bit, but said, “Look, it’s not very much. How could I make this good?” You know, and so forth. So, I opened my purse and said, “What can I pay you?” And he took everything I had! I didn’t have all that much cash; it wasn’t that it was hundreds of francs, but it was more than for the taillight, and he went off still surly. So, this is the beginning of Krishnaji saying, “Never change your shoes in the middle of the Champs-Elysées.” And from then on, he would tell me, admonish me about this forever, whenever we drove! It was a sort of a joke.
We reached Paris by lunchtime, and the Plaza Athénée. I ordered Krishnaji some lunch, and went briefly to see my father, and got back to the hotel quickly.’

The next day, July first. ‘Krishnaji had a quiet morning. We had an early lunch in the hotel and left at 2 p.m., missing the traditional July first traffic exodus from Paris. We drove slowly, relaxedly south on the autoroute, not going over sixty except in spurts. It was a beautiful day. Krishnaji felt full of delight in the country and in slowly drifting along. We reached Saulieu in three-and-a-half hours from Paris. We had rooms at the Hotel Côte d’Or. Took a walk through the old part of the ville. Had a good dinner and were in bed early. Feeling much better than yesterday.’
The next day. ‘A lovely day. We left Saulieu at 10:45 a.m. and drove on 77 bis’—that’s the little tiny yellow road to Sombernon, then the N5 to Dijon and on to Dole for lunch at the Grand Hôtel Chandioux.’ ‘Then on via Saint-Cergue and Nyon to the autoroute, and to Geneva and the Hotel du Rhône. We walked to Jacquet, where Krishnaji ordered nine ties, and to Grand Passage, and to Patek, where Krishnaji looked at a new Naviquartz clock.’
So, ‘we had supper in the rooms, and telephoned Vanda at Tannegg.’
The third of July. ‘A relaxed morning. We went back to Patek and looked at the Naviquartz clock again [chuckles], shopped for sweaters for Vanda and Fosca, and had lunch at the hotel. Then drove along the Route du Lac’—the one he liked—‘to Lausanne and on up to Gstaad. Vanda, Fosca and Antonio, and Antonio’s cousin Silvana as their summer extra maid, etcetera, were there. Krishnaji’s hay fever worsened between Lausanne and Tannegg. We unpacked his things, and I did mine. He stayed in bed the next day, nursing his hay fever. And Vanda and I talked and walked.’

On the fifth, ‘Krishnaji remained in bed. I did errands in the village. Vanda showed me pointers on pranayama.’
On the sixth, ‘Krishnaji felt better in the morning, but less well after some yoga in the p.m. He has bronchitis. Vanda and I talked long about his health.
The seventh of July, ‘Vanda delayed her early train departure until noon to see how Krishnaji felt. I talked to Dr. Pierre Schmidt in Geneva who will send some palliative remedies. I took Vanda down to the train. Krishnaji got up for lunch and came with me to Moser’s in Thun to have the Mercedes repaired’—that was the grill that was hurt in the Champs-Elysées collision—‘and also have its three-thousand-mile service. We picked up Krishnaji’s SL Mercedes and drove to Beatus for tea and came back, Krishnaji driving all the way from Thun.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji felt very tired, with less energy than yesterday, but the congestion in his chest is less. He came to the table for lunch in his dressing gown. Vanda called from Firenze. I did errands for Krishnaji in the p.m. He wanted some thin trousers. The weather is still hot. Krishnaji had supper on a tray with me in the living room.’
July ninth, ‘Krishnaji is better, but stayed in all day. He’s taking the Schmidt remedies and bronchitis salts. Biascoechea came up to see him. I met Balasundarum at the station. He is staying in one of the rooms downstairs at Tannegg. Krishnaji ate in the dining room for lunch and supper. It was a hot day and Mary Cadogan arrived.’

The next day, ‘Mary Cadogan came up to Tannegg. She, Balasundaram, and I spent the morning and much of the afternoon discussing the Krishnamurti Foundation of India. Krishnaji joined us at lunch. Later he went for a very small walk.’

On the eleventh, ‘Krishnaji had coughed in the night. There is still some congestion in his bronchial tubes. He did no exercise and stayed in, reading. He was at the table in his dressing gown for meals. I worked at the desk all day and took a walk alone.’
On the twelfth, ‘Krishnaji felt better. I went on errands in the morning and deposited money for Vanda’s account at the Cantonal Bank. Krishnaji walked down the road before lunch and I drove him up. Mary Cadogan, Isabel and Enrique Biascoechea, and Mr. Faria came to lunch. Balasundarum went to Cheseaux to Kudelski with the old Nagra. We discussed the affairs of Foundation Krishnamurti Hispano-Americana. Later, after much thunder, rain! It changed enough for Krishnaji, Balasundarum, and I to walk down the road past Trois Ours and back.’

July thirteen, 1971, Gstaad. ‘Krishnaji was feeling well enough, though still some wheezing in his chest for bronchitis, that he wanted to come to Thun with me to fetch my car. So we went in the morning in his, he driving. He said “a marvelous meditation” had been in the night.’ ‘I asked what made it marvelous, special. Was it the intensity or content?’
‘He said, “Both.”’ ‘I asked if it had content, and he said, “Of course not.”’
‘I asked, “Is it a feeling without content, without words?”’
‘“Yes,” he said; it was in his sleep, but continued when he awoke and got up in the night, and when he went back to bed.’

‘My car was looking pristine again after the bumped grill from my idiot shoe-changing in the Champs-Elysées. Moser had a brochure for Krishnaji on the latest Mercedes sport model SL350. Krishnaji’s eyes lit up. We drove both cars, me following, back to Tannegg. He drove faultlessly. It was enormously touching to watch the little silver car winding precisely along the road, the head and shoulders just showing through the rear window. We had a 1:30 p.m. lunch alone as Balasundarum was out. At 4:30 p.m., a Mr. deMarxov came to tea and talked ponderously and interminably for two hours.’ He was the man who was Frances’ financial advisor; an old man who advised for the account called Alzina. I think I’ve mentioned it before. ‘Most of his decisions have been hesitant on getting out of his bad choices, and on the whole, Alzina has not been well-handled since the Brockwood money was so luckily taken out. At present, I am uneasy at continuing as is. I will write to Bud. Krishnaji walked with Balasundarum while I coped with de Marxov. Erna telephoned. She and Theo just arrived from Ojai. No news at all of Rajagopal, whose lawyers have till Thursday the fifteenth to show cause to the attorney general why we shouldn’t file suit.’

The next day, the fifteenth. ‘I drove with Balasundarum to the Geneva airport so we could meet Pupul Jayakar, and came back to Tannegg. It was a tiring drive. I walked with Krishnaji and Balasundarum.’
On July sixteenth, ‘there was an all-morning meeting of Krishnaji, me, Pupul, Balasundarum, Mary C., Erna, Theo, and Hughes van der Straten. Pupul wants copyright for India.  Long discussion. I finally suggested that the KFI be given permission to publish in India only in perpetuity, and it was accepted. She resisted Krishnaji being on their board but agreed in the end to some special title for him, such as founder. We had a buffet lunch. The Hispano Fundación in persons of Biascoechea and Faria came at 2:00 p.m. So the first four-Foundation meeting took place. They planned the second in Rishi Valley in December of ’72. Mary C. leaves tomorrow. Krishnaji, Balasundarum, and I went for a walk.’
The seventeenth of July. ‘I did errands, saw Dorothy, Montague, and Doris. They came in the Land Rover via the south of France. In the p.m., Yves Zlotnitska ran a BBC film and an NET film for Pupul, Balasundarum, van der Straten, Lilliefelts, Enrique Biascoechea, and Faria. Krishnaji, meanwhile, intently washed the car! And then a thunderstorm came. Krishnaji and I were alone.’

On July eighteenth, ‘I first took Pupul and Balasundarum to the tent (a new, very stately one), then drove Krishnaji there for his first Saanen talk. The tent was almost full. A good beginning talk on “What are you serious about?” He talked for forty-five minutes and took questions for half an hour. Mar de Manziarly came to lunch and stayed for the 4 o’clock showing of the NET film of Krishnaji’s discussion with Houston Smith at Claremont. It was most overwhelming to me. Everyone had tea. Erna and Pupul discussed ways to help India with films there.’
On the nineteenth, ‘Dorothy came in the morning to see Krishnaji and talk to Pupul and Balasundarum about Indian scholarship pupils coming to Brockwood. Pupul and Balasundarum had an early lunch, then left with Yves Zlotnitska for Lausanne, where Pupul took the train to Geneva, Paris, and on to Rome and India. Balasundarum went to Kudelski and fetched Nagra Three’—I think it is—‘plus new equipment to take to India to record Krishnaji there. Krishnaji and I had a quiet lunch, enjoying the quiet house. Later, we drove down and did errands. We went for an early ride to Gsteig, and took a walk when we came back. We saw a man with a twenty-year-old Mercedes beautifully kept.’ It was parked up above the road when you leave Tannegg and go up and around and it gets sort of flat and then it goes across the field. Well, up there, under some trees, was parked this beautiful old Mercedes, and of course, when we walked up there, Krishnaji saw it, and the man—I think he was English, I’m not certain—was polishing it, and tending it, and caring for it. Krishnaji was charmed [S laughs] and wanted to see the whole thing [chuckles]. He kept it parked there for some time, and every day he would come and polish the leather or polish the chrome or something. On the twentieth of July, ‘Krishnaji gave his second Saanen talk, on order. Dorothy, Montague, and Balasundarum came to lunch, after which I drove Balasundarum to the train, and he left carrying the old Nagra on his way to India. I went to see Erna and Theo. A letter from Leipziger says Loebl’s father died, so a further delay is allowed for a response by Tapper from the fifteenth deadline to the nineteenth, i.e., yesterday. e his third Saanen talk. Seeing with no observer. No subjective anything, but only objective fact. Seeing uncolored by any residue of time past, therefore without self. Sacha and Marcelle Bondoneau at lunch. Krishnaji was very absent, concerned with the car. I did some errands and coming up the hill met him walking down. We went to look at bags in a boutique.’ Don’t know what that was for. ‘Came back to tea with Sacha. Then we walked to Turbach. The talk had left him washed out mentally. He couldn’t read, and his body was hypersensitive. He dined at the table with Sacha and me. There was too much chatter.’
July twenty-third. ‘We left at 10 a.m., picked up Dorothy and Montague, and drove to Thun. We saw the SEL 350 Mercedes at Moser’s. I left my car for the replacement of…’ something. ‘We lunched at Beatus and returned to Thun on the steamer. We tried out the 350 SEL. Krishnaji was delighted by it. We made deal for delivery of one for him next year, using his present one as a trade-in. Then, in my car, we drove back. Sacha had supper with us and went to see the Krishnamurti films in the tent. Krishnaji and I stayed in.’

On the twenty-fifth, ‘Krishnaji gave his fourth Saanen talk. It was on relationship: If there is a center of self, there is no relationship. It was hot in the tent, and Krishnaji felt very tired afterwards. He lay down until lunch. Erna, Theo, and Warren Perrine came to lunch. Afterward, we discussed the pros and cons of a Saanen film proposed by Guido Franco ; we had endless trouble with Guido Franco. ‘I walked down for the paper in the late p.m., and Krishnaji met me halfway up and we walked back. We telephoned Vanda in the evening.’
At 4 p.m., Biascoecheas and Sendra came and saw Krishnaji for one hour, sapping his energy. We then walked to the Turbach Road, and Krishnaji treated me for my eyes.’
On July twenty-seventh, ‘Krishnaji gave his fifth Saanen talk, a continuation of his “thought-space,” a memo he gave me on Monday.’ Something about ‘can the mind inquire into the quality of the immeasurable? Can this be free of all distortion? Factor of distortion is fear and demand for pleasure. It was an intense talk, and it was very hot in the tent. Immediately afterward, he saw for an hour the Spanish-American Fundación: Faria, Biascoechea, Sendra, and another; then de Vidas, who is ailing; and finally for lunch Frances McCann, Pietro Cragnolini, and Malvina’—that was a friend of Cragnolini’s. ‘Later, Moser came with the contract for the new SL 350 for next year, and took away in trade Krishnaji’s present one. I did some errands for him and drove Krishnaji up the hill after he walked down.’
On the twenty-eighth, ‘Krishnaji treated Fresia and de Vidas. Mrs. Pamela Travers and Dr. Steven Schoen came to lunch.’

July thirty. At 4 p.m., the annual meeting for all the foreign committees. Fifty-six people came, and Krishnaji was present. George Digby presented various questions. Dorothy reported on Brockwood. Sybil reported for The Bulletin, George on publications, and I very briefly on the KWINC situation. Fruit juice afterward, and then Krishnaji and I went for a walk.’
The thirty-first. ‘A lovely, empty, quiet day. No one for lunch. Rest. We cleaned cars a little and took a walk. Watched the Apollo 15 astronauts, Scott and Irwin, on the moon.’ End of July.

August first, 1971 finds Krishnaji in Saanen, and ‘he gave his seventh Saanen talk, which was on intelligence—intelligence that comes when thought realizes it cannot go beyond itself, and is still. It was a very hot day, and Krishnaji said that he felt ill that day. He said he was as tired as though he’d been ill. And he said that he felt like disappearing after the talk. Instead of that, he treated people: de Vidas, and the Kossiakofs. Marcelle Bondoneau came to lunch, and we discussed doing an interview for French television.’ As a result of all of this, Krishnaji did a television interview in French for a Monsieur André Voisin, who was an interviewer on French television. We’ll come to that later, because we did go over to Paris for that.
We discussed also the dead-end of ''hippy-ness'' in the young, and their need to see that intellectual action is not against Krishnaji’s teachings, but lives alongside it. He said that he wanted to go into this in his next discussion. He was tired, too tired to walk, but dusted the car instead. And I went off up into the meadows, high on the hill for my own walk.’
The next day, the second. ‘He was still tired. He felt as if he had been sick, he kept saying. I went to the village on errands, and he met me at the station, and we started for a drive, but it was too hot. He was nervous for some reason that day. I don’t know why. Coming up the hill, something punctured the right tire on the car, and I somehow got it all the way up the hill and into the garage before it was literally destroyed. There was no tire left.’

‘At four o’clock, all the Ojai people came to tea. And Krishnaji spoke about what was going on.’ ‘Dorothy came at 5:30 p.m. and went for a walk with us to the river. Krishnaji persuaded her and Montague to move up to Tannegg to try to get some rest.’ When they were in the camping site, they didn’t have a moment’s privacy, and people were always dropping by unexpectedly, and it was wearying. ‘Later that day, we watched the Apollo astronauts, Scott and Irwin, take off from the moon and dock with the space capsule.’
‘The Simmonses moved in the next day to Tannegg downstairs. They had lunch with us. A new tire was put on the Mercedes, On Wednesday, the fourth of August, ‘Krishnaji held the first of seven daily public discussions in the tent. This one was on ' the conscious and the unconscious', and seeing the whole. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I had talked about new teachers for Brockwood.’

On the fifth of August, ‘Krishnaji gave his second Saanen discussion, a marvelous one, one on the old brain and the new brain.’ Thought is the ( mental activity of the ) old brain, and cannot find 'that' which is beyond itself, which is the new.’ “The perception of this is intelligence,” he said. In this perception, the old is quiet and in abeyance, but it’s there; it just doesn’t interfere. Then the new one can be, and this is intelligence. Intelligence can perceive the unknown, the new, and this can use the old when it is necessary.’ An interesting talk.
‘it was a talk that left me drained with its intensity. We came back, and at 3 p.m., Krishnaji came with me to the bank to close an account that Rajagopal had opened, and which he was co-signatory of. Also, we bought some detective novels and a Mao book, which I’m to read and report on to him later,’  The Little Red Book! And I never read it! Or reported on it, and I don’t think it was ever referred to again, but that was my task!

On the sixth, ‘Krishnaji held his third discussion in the tent. This one was for young people. A letter finally came from Leipziger saying that Rajagopal is trying to get a firm to represent him either with or without Loebl. Rothman’—that’s a member of the new firm—‘is to look into whether to take the case, and hence another delay. Erna and Theo came for lunch and we discussed all this. Sybil Dobinson also was there, and we discussed with Krishnaji material for The Bulletin. It was still hot, and Krishnaji and I were both too tired to walk.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji gave his fourth discussion. I fetched the Suarèses up to lunch. The Lilliefelts also came. Later, Mr. and Mrs. Sloss, the parents of Radha’s husband, came to tea. Mr. Sloss said that Krishnaji should take Rajagopal to court. He has no use for Rajagopal or Rosalind.
On the eighth, ‘Krishnaji gave his fifth Saanen discussion, mostly on fear. The audience seemed limp. At lunch were the van der Stratens, Topazia Alliata, and Frances McCann. Krishnaji was abstracted during lunch. The ladies talked heatedly about education and permissiveness. Topazia thought marijuana should be legally sold. Krishnaji said she didn’t know the dangers of it. They left, and Krishnaji went for a nap. At 4 p.m., Sybil Dobinson and the Lilliefelts came to tea with me to discuss The Bulletin and the German Publication Committee,’ and then it says here, ‘there really is none.
Erna, Theo, and Sybil Dob

This post was last updated by John Raica Mon, 03 Jun 2019.

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(...) Erna, Theo, and Sybil Dobinson arrived, and Krishnaji joined us. We had tea and went into some of this and then discussedThe Bulletin. It was agreed to condense business news and to make the rest of it Krishnaji’s material. Sybil, who had had no material given to her, could now have Indian discussions and possibly talks, the Australian ones, and discussions from the KWINC period. It was agreed to go ahead. If Rajagopal challenges, we will deal with it.’

‘Krishnaji and I told Erna and Theo of the meeting at tea yesterday, when Mr. and Mrs. Sloss, parents of Jimmy Sloss, came. Mrs. Sloss obviously wanted to find out the Rajagopal situation. Krishnaji asked them if they wanted him to speak of it, and Mrs. Sloss replied, “Yes, but before you do, I want to tell you, I’m on your side!” Krishnaji described ten years of Rajagopal’s refusal to let him know anything about KWINC, the necessity for the break, etcetera, efforts to find a settlement, and Rajagopal’s refusal to answer. Krishnaji said that he had gone three times to see Rajagopal. Mr. Sloss said that Krishnaji should get a lawyer and sue Rajagopal, that Rajagopal wouldn’t listen to anything else. Mr. Sloss also said that Rajagopal lied to him the first time they met. He repeated that Krishnaji must sue and “let the chips fall where they may.” He took me aside and said that he had no use for either Rajagopal or Rosalind Rajagopal, and that Jimmy had told him he wanted nothing to do with either of them. We reassured him that we had excellent lawyers and had gone to the attorney general and we had him on our side as a result of his investigations. Sloss left saying, “You go ahead.”’

On the ninth, ‘Krishnaji held the sixth Saanen discussion; this time on education. The questions were mostly poor. Madame Welser came for a treatment’—that was that paralyzed lady. ‘Peter Racz, the young Brazilian, and Bill Burmeister, a nice boy from California, came for lunch. At 3 p.m., Mrs. Henry Heller came to see me about the possibility of starting an Austrian committee. She’s a teacher of hatha yoga in Vienna and learnt it in India under a Raja yoga teacher, but she teaches only exercises. She also has classes in English for an atomic commission of the UN in Vienna .
Then I went for a back treatment’—I was having back treatments by a chiropractor. ‘Ran into Cragnolini, Pietro. He says the eclipse of the moon affected Krishnaji in his health because it was Aquarius or something. I met Krishnaji coming down the hill, and we went up. I paid a deposit on Tannegg for next summer. They have raised the rent by five thousand francs to eleven thousand for two months.’
On the tenth, ‘Krishnaji held his seventh Saanen discussion, completing this year. We had a quiet lunch alone. Then, Krishnaji spoke to six young, lost-looking people who want to start a school as a result of yesterday’s discussion. They haven’t the vaguest qualifications or plans. Suarès brought a Monsieur Bey, editor of Stock, to greet Krishnaji briefly.’

The next day, ‘Madame Welser came at 9 a.m. Erna came to lunch, Theo was in Zurich. They leave on Saturday for Majorca before going home. I had a back treatment; met Krishnaji at the foot of the hill, and we walked up together. I dined with Suzanne and ‘met parts of their vast family, the van der Stratens’ . ‘The car wasdrenched with rain, and when I got back, just after nine o’clock, Krishnaji came out and said it must be wiped dry, so we did it.’
On the twelfth, ‘Madame Duchet came to talk to me about a French committee. At noon, Krishnaji and I walked down the hill and met the Grafs at the new curling building, as a possibility for the talks. It is large and efficient, but looks like a factory. Krishnaji didn’t like it at all. So we will stick with the tent, which is a very good one this year, but costs Swiss francs $9,000 to rent. The Grafs lunched with Krishnaji and me at Tannegg. At four, Nadia Kossiakof saw Krishnaji. I invited her to stay in the West Wing during the September gathering at Brockwood. Bruno Ortolani and his lady friend came to tea.’
The thirteenth ‘was a clear, warm, beautiful day. Taking Dorothy and Montague, Krishnaji and I drove to Thun. We left the Mercedes to have its door lock fixed and walked to the steamer, where we boarded for the two-and-a-half-hour sail to Interlaken and back. We took a picnic and also ordered on the steamer to be able to use a table.’ [Chuckling.] You had to order some food to use a table.

‘The lake was a deep jade and the Eiger, Mönch, and Jungfrau were majestic in their snows. It was a peaceful, far away day. The car lock disgorged a piece of metal mechanism that Moser said might have been part of an attempt to break into the car. I arranged to store the car with him this winter. We drove back to Tannegg. Dorothy and Montague dined upstairs with me and we went to a concert in Saanen church. Maurice Gendron played the Bach unaccompanied cello pieces. Then Menuhin, in beard and kurta, sat on the stage with Ravi Shankar and Alla Rakha and played a raga. Lastly, Shankar played without Menuhin. Some of the usual audience left, and the hippies clapped wildly. Bad form in the church. I got noddingly sleepy.’

Saturday, the fourteenth of August. ‘The Simmonses left for Brockwood, somehow taking two of our bags in the Land Rover. This was Krishnaji’s suggestion; he doesn’t want the Mercedes to carry too much!’ Oh, dear! ‘How Dorothy managed that I don’t know’ Yvon Achard came to see me at eleven. He’s going to make an anthology of Krishnaji’s writings in French, which will give ( or not ?) much circulation in French academic circles. He teaches hatha yoga.’ He lived in Grenoble.

‘When he had gone, I opened the letter box and there was a three-page cable from Leipziger saying that he had met the day before with Tapper and Rothman (Rajagopal’s new lawyer), and at Rothman’s request discussed settlement along the lines of the memorandum we drew up: Rajagopal and the KWINC board to resign, and the KFA to have control, plus two or three others’—meaning on the board—‘with publishing or educational background.’ That was the project. ‘All property, archives, etcetera to be turned over. Rajagopal to do some limited editorial work, but copyright goes to KFA. Tapper wants only California residents on the board, suggests not having Krishnaji on the board because of his age and travel. And KWINC retained as an entity as the easiest way to accomplish things, rather than dissolve it. Leipziger wants a reply by Monday from us so that he can tell Tapper who will present it to Rothman. Rothman says that he will have a reply from his client’—meaning Rajagopal—‘within a week. Leipziger is due to leave for England a week from today.’
‘Krishnaji said, “I knew something had happened” when I relayed all this to him. Meanwhile, Erna and Theo had left Schonried this morning en route to Majorca. But I caught them at the Hotel du Rhône in Geneva and told them. Krishnaji wanted them to come right back, which they immediately did, moving into the room downstairs that the Simmonses had vacated. They arrived around 3:30 and the four of us talked for two hours, and then rang Leipziger in Beverly Hills. Erna took it all down in shorthand. The call lasted sixty-nine minutes.’‘Expensive.’

After that, we went down to the village and changed the shoes, bought the paper, and read that Nixon is 'floating' the dollar. Froze wages and prices for ninety days, etcetera. The stock market rose thirty-two points on a $31 million share day, and the dollar has dropped everywhere, and there is difficulty changing dollars in Europe We went for a walk.’
August eighteenth ‘is a hot day. We left at noon and drove through Cheseaux, where we picked up the Nagra from Kudelski. It had been serviced. Stopped along the autoroute for a picnic lunch and went to Geneva. Picked up Alain’s watch, which had been serviced, and then bought the Naviquartz clock for Krishnaji. Came back to Gstaad, with Krishnaji driving about fifty miles. The Lilliefelts were also back. They and I had supper and went to a Menuhin concert in Saanen—Schubert trios.’
August nineteenth, as Erna, Theo, and I were finishing breakfast, Krishnaji came in and began a talk that lasted until a quarter to one, when we had to go to the Biascoecheas for lunch. Krishnaji began casually by asking when we might have word from the lawyers on the results of the Tapper settlement proposal.’
‘Then he said, as he has so often, what went wrong with Rajagopal? He was intelligent, chosen for the work, able when young, chosen by Leadbeater, but never especially liked by Leadbeater, nor was Mrs. Besant close to him. He was the son of a district judge. His brother was like him. Krishnaji described seeing the brother in India, and thinking for a moment that it was Rajagopal. He sat just so, expecting to be waited on, had Rajagopal’s refusal to do anything with his hands. Krishnaji used to clean up after the dog in Ojai. Rajagopal always had reasons not to do the dishes. Has Rajagopal remained Theosophist at heart or has been in fact all these years? Did he go with Krishnaji to eventually lead him back to Theosophy?’
‘Krishnaji doesn’t think so. But Erna remembered an odd remark by Radha when discussing what might happen to Happy Valley School at the time when Rosalind was managing it, and was being possibly unbalanced. Radha said she didn’t think Erma Zalk would object’—Erma is the sister of Rosalind—‘would object to returning it to the T.S. Rosalind considers herself the representative of Mrs. Besant. Anna Lisa Rajagopal’—that’s Rajagopal’s second wife—‘joined the T.S. after marrying Rajagopal.

Krishnaji spoke of incessant quarrels with Rajagopal and Rosalind. He said it was surprising they had not shot him. Rosalind Rajagopal once taking a hammer and hitting him on the head in the car, taking a bottle and trying to hit him with it in India, witnessed by Sunanda, etcetera. Telling him to jump under the train once at a station’—that was in Santa Barbara. ‘And hitting him in the groin with her knee once so that he could barely walk for a day.’ ‘Why, I asked, had he not turned away from these people after all this?’
‘“I don’t know,” he said. Talk went to the protection of the boy when young. There were always with two initiates to accompany him, the right food, etcetera, etcetera. Necessity for the body’s protection. But if the body was attacked by Rosalind, why was she tolerated by him? And if there are some powers watching over him, by whatever they may be, why did no one else help him out of the situation until Alain Naudé and Mary Zimbalist and now Erna and Theo Lilliefelt came along? I asked him if the two Rajagopals had ever tried to influence him in his speaking. “Never,” he said. “I would not have tolerated that.” Suddenly it seemed clear, and I asked if it was that if he were attacked personally he would do nothing, but if an attempt were made to influence his teachings he would not have tolerated it for an instant. “What would you have done?” I asked.’
‘“I would have left,” he said.’

The twentieth. ‘Erna and Theo left for Frankfurt and California. Krishnaji and I are alone. Then Krishnaji and I went to the village, him to have his hair cut and I to the bank. The car wouldn’t start. Then it started. I drove to the post office; then it wouldn’t start again. It was towed to the Mercedes man in Saanen. It started, and we drove back to Tannegg. Must have it fixed by Moser. Later, it started perfectly. Krishnaji gave me a long talk on my face and hands, my restless habits that get on his nerves. The next day, ‘Packing, and Moser sent a mechanic from Thun who checked out the car and tightened one wire connection. I went to the bank, the post, etcetera. We lunched alone, and both walked down to the village for last minute errands. Then we washed the car and loaded it with almost all the luggage. Telephoned Vanda in Rome.’
On the twenty-second of August, ‘we got up at 3:15 a.m.!’ Heavens. ‘After saying goodbye to Fosca and Silvana’—Silvana was the girl helping—‘we left at 4:10 a.m. To Chalon-sur-Saône in four-and-a-half hours and 175 miles. We bought croissants on the way and had our picnic breakfast with fruit by the roadside.’At Chalon we took the autoroute, and Krishnaji drove for fifty miles. We stopped again for a picnic lunch, went through heavy showers and reached Paris and the Plaza Athénée at 2:30 p.m., 160 miles from Chalon, or a total from Gstaad to Paris of 385.5 miles.’ ‘We unpacked a little and then went to a movie, Big Jake, with John Wayne at 4:30 p.m. Supper in our rooms. While driving, Krishnaji said he had a meditation,’ it says here. ‘“Be empty and aware from within.”’

The next day was the twenty-third of August. ‘We lunched in the garden at the hotel. While Krishnaji rested, I went for a final fitting at Chanel. We both went to Charvet to order eight shirts and sport shirts! To have four at Malibu and four at Brockwood. [Then we went to a movie,’ ah, I can’t read my writing…it’s a French movie. It’s something Des Hommes. ‘We had supper in our rooms.’
The next day, ‘I went back to Chanel and looked at winter coats. Then I met Krishnaji at Charvet; he came back briefly with me to Chanel to look at the possibilities. We lunched at Chez Frances,’ wherever that is.

The next day, ‘we left Montreuil for Boulogne and took the 11:30 a.m. hovercraft to Dover. No difficulty with the car at the customs’ [chuckles]; that was the anxiety for me. ‘We drove the 145 miles to Brockwood via Ashford, Tenterden, The Hawkhurst, Cross In Hand, Petworth, etcetera. Everything looked beautiful. It is so good to be back.’

The next day, ‘Krishnaji and I went to London by train to Huntsman for a fitting, shopped for shoes, and met Mary L. and Alain at Fortnum’s for lunch. Krishnaji went to Mr. Campion,’ the dentist, ‘and then we took the train back to Alton and Brockwood.’
On September first, actually through the third, ‘Krishnaji dictated three essays, the first of which was on attention. People began arriving for the Brockwood Public Talks. I fixed flowers and the Digbys arrived to stay in the West Wing for the weekend and to bring lovely porcelain “Japanese porcelains for the drawing room.”’ They brought all those lovely things.
‘Krishnaji gave his first talk on the fourth in the tent at Brockwood marquee. ‘It was a lovely day, a big crowd; everyone ate in the tent afterward. We are seventy-two people at meals in the house. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I went for a long walk.’
On September fifth, ‘Krishnaji gave his second Brockwood talk. It was again a lovely day, and it was a very great talk’, it says here. ‘At tea time, Mr. Albion Patterson talked with Krishnaji, the Digbys, and me about the anthology he wants to make of Krishnaji’s published works from 1945 to 1968.’

On the September twelfth, ‘Krishnaji gave his fourth Brockwood talk—a marvelous one. We lunched in the tent, and I talked to Cadogan and Mr. and Mrs. Agashi’—I’m not sure that’s correct—‘an Indian who lives in Canada and who has written a book on the effect of Krishnaji’s teachings on himself. He wants the KFT to publish it. We explained that that was impossible. Then discussed with the Digbys, Cadogan, and Anneke a problem with someone in Holland who is a self-proclaimed authority on Krishnaji’s teachings. Krishnaji spoke briefly with Miss Helen Meyer’ of the BBC book review program on BBC radio. They will do a broadcast on the Urgency of Change using what Krishnaji said. We had the Digbys up for a brief tea. Then Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked across the lovely fields. In the evening, we ran a film of Krishnaji’s interview made in 1968. Felix Greene talked to me about doing an interview with Krishnaji, on film, for young people. Krishnaji agreed to do it.’

On the train, Krishnaji observed with horror three businessmen, commuters. “Society must change! Some other way to live must be found,” he said. We came wandering home from Alton via Selborne, Liss, Hawkley, Privett. Found a letter from Leipziger in which the Rothman-Tapper settlement was discussed.’ Doesn’t say what happened. Nothing happened

On September sixteenth, ‘at 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji held a meeting with the staff on what we are trying to do in the school. A new physics/chemistry teacher arrived from the U.S. and was present. ‘Students are arriving for the start of school on the Sunday. After lunch, Krishnaji and I telephoned Erna in Ojai as we had received her letter. We are all in agreement about the settlement terms Tapper should offer to Rajagopal. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I for a walk across the fields. ‘Krishnaji had supper downstairs. The Sherman twins have come in; Krishnaji took a particular interest in them.’ That was…oh, dear! They were two children that Krishnaji ran into down by the river in Saanen with their mother. Their mother was, well…but two beautiful children. And we took them on as students.

On September twentieth, 1971 Krishnaji talked to the students and the staff on the opening day of school. We had thirty-two students, of fourteen nationalities, and they looked like a nice group.’ On September twenty-second, ‘Mary Cadogan came to lunch and Krishnaji, she, Dorothy, and I discussed the building at Brockwood and Donald Hoppen’s  failing to return until possibly in December. We decided not to do a new building, which would cost almost as much as Brockwood did when we first bought it, but to remodel a bit in the house and convert remaining external buildings.’ So much for that.
On the next two days, ‘Krishnaji held a discussion with the staff and students. But also, on the twenty-fourth, my Tiffany clock disappeared!’ It must have been stolen because nobody could find it, and I searched my room minutely. Then I had the good idea, as it turned out, to get the students in to help me search. Perhaps they were better at searching. And lo and behold, it turned up in my room.  Somebody had put it back.
On the thirtieth of September, ‘I taped on the Nagra a discussion Krishnaji had with the students. Then, he and I caught the 12:50 p.m. train from Alton. We had a picnic lunch on the train, then Krishnaji had his hair cut at Truefitt & Hill. After that, we went, for the first time, to a new dentist,

On October third, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the students in the paneled study. I taped it on the Nagra. The Moorheads came to lunch and they spoke to Krishnaji later, and so did David Bohm at 4 o’clock. I copied the Nagra tapes onto the Uher. Then we went for a walk.’
Krishnaji gave a wonderful talk to the students on the vividness of awareness and a quiet mind. He showed them pranayama. We went to Winchester after lunch for the Normandy Ferry tickets, intending to go on to South Hampton to scout out where we would dock, but Krishnaji was tired after trotting around Winchester, so we came back. It was a marvelous, clear, sparkling autumn day: very exhilarating. We went for a walk and Krishnaji said, ‘This is better. Now I feel better.’ Later he told me he had dreamt he met Winston Churchill talking to a girl. Churchill said to Krishnaji, “Oh, it doesn’t matter if you marry a girl or not.” Krishnaji said to Churchill’ “If you’ll forgive my saying so, Churchill, you are naughty!”’ ‘To which Churchill replied to Krishnaji, “I love you, I love you.”’ End of dream! ‘Krishnaji said to me, “I’ve met very many distinguished people on the astral plane.”’

On the sixth of October, ‘we went to London. There was the usual visit to Huntsman, and then lunch with Mary and Joe at their flat. Afterward, we went to Mrs. Bindley’s for tea, and then came back to Brockwood.’
‘Krishnaji had another discussion with the students on the next day, and then on the eighth. Mr. van Praag of Holland, who did the film interview with Krishnaji in June, came back and did two nine-minute segments in color.’ . On the ninth, ‘Ian Hammond came at 10 a.m. and with Krishnaji, Dorothy, and me, went over our plans for enlarging the Brockwood dining room, and making the Cloisters where the kennels and potting sheds are.’
On October tenth, ‘Krishnaji talked to the students, and I taped it on the Nagra. The Digbys came for lunch, and we discussed publications with Krishnaji after deciding to go ahead with the Cloisters building plan. It is still lovely weather, warm and dry.’
The eleventh. ‘Dorothy and Doris drove me to the 8:50 a.m. train Monday to London. I went for Krishnaji’s Italian and French visas, and purchased his air tickets. I walked to Harrods, where I lunched with a friend. Then I went to the Digby’s for tea with Nelly. Changed at 6:30 p.m. and went with them to a preview of a Cecil Beaton exhibit of photos at the Victoria and Albert Museum.

On October fourteenth, ‘Krishnaji again talked to the students and the staff, and I taped it on the Nagra. It was a cold, clear, beautiful day. Krishnaji washed the Mercedes. He, Dorothy, and I took a long walk.’‘I was packing all day on the fifteenth. Jane and Ian Hammond came for lunch and brought drawings of the proposed Cloisters. It looks very nice. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked across and around the fields. How marvelously lovely it is. We had supper downstairs and then loaded the car with the luggage, and the school was there to say goodbye. Krishnaji and I drove off in a light rain to South Hampton, where we loaded the car onto the Normandy Ferry. We have state rooms, fairly comfortable. The seas were a bit rough in the night, but alright.

On the seventeenth, ‘the ferry docked at Le Havre, and we drove off at 7 a.m., going in the direction of Rouen. Stopped on the autoroute for a breakfast and were in Paris at the Plaza Athénée shortly after 10 a.m. It was an easy drive.
At 4 p.m., Mr. André Voisin and an aide came to discuss doing a filmed interview for O.R.T.F. Krishnaji said yes. On the eighteenth, Monsieur Voisin and his crew set up for a TV interview in the sitting room. Krishnaji came there at noon, and the interview was filmed. On the next day, ‘Krishnaji did the second part of the interview in French for O.R.T.F. They recorded four hours of interview.( but kept only 90 minutes ) And he was talking French through all that, you must realize.

On the twentieth of October, ‘Krishnaji flew on Alitalia to Rome. ‘A letter from Erna came, regarding the counteroffer from Rajagopal: he wants to keep  the K & R Foundation, and $400,000. This is unacceptable to Tapper. Tapper is to call in the KWINC membership as a last ditch effort to settle. If not, the complaint will be filed.’
On the twenty-first, ‘I telephoned Krishnaji in Rome and told him of Erna’s letter. Rosalind tried to telephone him at Vanda’s last night. She had postponed her trip to Israel in order to see him, “not about the dispute.” Krishnaji sent a reply via Vanda that he did not wish to see her about anything. Erna’s letter stressed that it was more important than ever that he not see Rosalind.’

The following day, October twenty-sixth, ‘I left the Plaza Athénée and went to Orly. Took a TWA plane and got to New York at 2 p.m. On November sixth, ‘I had a letter from Krishnaji. He has decided not to go to India. Not because of the war possibility between India and Pakistan, but because “the body is rebelling against it.” Needs a complete rest. He’s staying in Rome till the sixteenth, then goes to Brockwood, and then comes here’—meaning Malibu. ‘I feel infinitely relieved and happy. I cabled to him.’

On November nineteenth, ‘Krishnaji flew from Rome to Brockwood, and I had a letter from him.’ On the twenty-fourth, ‘I got an express letter from Krishnaji sent from England, Monday. Leipziger telephoned about Biascoechea doing a deposition and it being possibly taken here. Also, there are possibilities of protecting Krishnaji if he should be subpoenaed by Rajagopal.’
On the twenty-fifth, It’s Thanksgiving, and ‘Krishnaji began this day awakening at Brockwood at 3 a.m. He couldn’t sleep and so got up and did exercises and later left in the Land Rover with Dorothy Simmons and Doris Pratt for Heathrow, where he took a 10 a.m. TWA flight for Los Angeles. It was misty here. I made soup and left early for the airport. The plane wasn’t due until 4:15 p.m. Driving, I had that curious intense sense of awareness of every inch of the road and the other cars, because once again, I was on Krishnaji’s business. It is conscious, but more than that, it is as if something took charge and my actions become, as Krishnaji has so often told me, responsible to whatever his are. That was a very strong feeling. ‘So, sitting at the airport, waiting for him was for me a feeling of at once a very quiet intentness and the limitless feeling of joy at his coming. Again, most intensely personal and at the same time beyond and apart from any personal dimension. The plane came in precisely on time and through a window I could see him second off the plane, carrying his Gucci bag. In half an hour, his two bags were wheeled out of customs behind the porter. He was here! Somehow, his coming now, only five weeks from when we were last together in Paris, seems more momentous than it had been after the long weeks of the Indian tour. In some way, it is intently important that he has changed course and come here for, at last, a thorough rest.’

‘He looked bright and very well in spite of accumulated fatigue, and the very long flight of eleven hours. Once turning onto the freeway, I thought he was about to faint, but touching him lightly seemed to prevent it. It was only when we were unpacking in his room, and he had just given me a little bottle of eye drops, that he suddenly fainted toward me, so quietly that I could only break his fall. It lasted about two minutes. Then he was alright, took a shower, and insisted on having his supper tray in front of the television news. Then, quickly to bed. He is wound up from traveling, chattery, and full of sparks, but his very simple supper came up, as had the food on the plane. He brought me a letter he had written at Brockwood, and today, to me, written on the plane.’
‘He wrote, “There was a right action when the Order of the Star was dissolved. There was a right action when the castle and land were returned. There was right action when he broke with Rajagopal, and there is right action now. We are dealing with a crook, unscrupulous, utterly unreliable, and deeply antagonistic, with a considerable hate. Action, any action where he is concerned will have in it the elements of distortion. We are not concerned with him. He’s unbalanced and self-centered. It is not the money we want, nor the property, nor the manuscript, etcetera. I feel that money was given with great devotion, sacrifice, love. To those people who gave it, we are responsible. And what is our responsibility? People, including Signora,”’—he always called Vanda, “Signora”—“‘have said to me, ‘Is it not violence to embark on the path of lawyers?’ Signora was wild about it. Personally, money, etcetera is nothing. But to leave it all in Rajagopal’s hands seems and feels totally wrong and not right.” And then, “Right action under any circumstances is always true, and from that everything flows easily. It is like a flowing river. The flow of the river is not inaction. Its action is of itself from the beginning to the end. There is a right action in this.”’
‘And later, he said, “One must be a complete outsider, and so the most true revolutionary, and then action will be incorruptible. We must act as outsiders with Rajagopal.”’

The next day. ‘We just were home and he walked around the garden.’
On the twenty-seventh, ‘the Lilliefelts and Ruth Tettemer came for lunch. Krishnaji talked at length over what is best to do with the Rajagopal affair. What is right action in this? We came to the decision to proceed with the Biascoechea deposition and request for an injunction for a receiver…’ Oh, I had to have a receiver appointed for KWINC. That didn’t happen.
On November twenty-eighth, ‘Krishnaji slept all morning and after lunch Krishnaji and I watched the Walter Mitty movie with Danny Kaye on television, and Krishnaji laughed endlessly.’ He was a great fan of Danny…'Donny' Kaye, as he used to call him “Donny Kaye is the funniest man,” he used to say.
On the twenty-ninth, ‘we were home all day except for my going to the market. Leipziger telephoned about Biascoechea coming here for the deposition.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji and I drove to Ojai. We each had a treatment by Dr. Lay’—she was a chiropractor—‘and then we went to lunch with the Lilliefelts. Ruth was there. We held a KFA trustee meeting with Krishnaji, and Krishnaji temporarily withdrew from the board to avoid participating in the litigation. He suggested Theo Lilliefelt as a substitute member, and this was carried out.’ That’s how Theo became a member; we had to have one more.

The first of December was a quiet day at home.
The next day, ‘we went to town, had a picnic in the car under the trees.’ We used to find shady streets in Beverly Hills. There are lots of trees there, and we would sit in the car and eat our picnic. ‘We shopped for French records and books’ and went to Saks Fifth Avenue, where Krishnaji saw monstrous, devouring women shoppers!’ ‘He was horrified! We went to Bullock’s for a windbreaker. Bought a small record player. Krishnaji fainted leaving Veteran Avenue. Drove home safely. It rained a little bit.’
December third seems to have been ‘gardening. We had two gardeners come and help plant things. Krishnaji and I did a French lesson. Later we went into Westwood and saw the movie The French Connection.’ December fifth ‘was a lovely, quiet day at home. We did French lessons in the morning. Alain Naudé telephoned from San Francisco. He’s moving into an apartment. We walked on the beach road. Krishnaji dictated during lunch an article for The Bulletin on relationship.’
The next day, ‘we did a French lesson, and we walked on the beach. There was a cable from Balasundaram about hearing from Friedman in Bombay that Krishnaji was in a New York hospital.’ This happened all the time, rumors about Krishnaji.

On December eighth, ‘Krishnaji came with me on errands and to arrange to buy a Nagra 4.2. We had a picnic lunch in the car. Then we went to a movie, Man in the Wilderness, in Hollywood.’ The next day, ‘we did another French lesson in the morning. Sidney Field came for lunch. And we walked on the beach.’

December eleventh, ‘“No more interviews,” said Krishnaji. He said he awakened in the night with a sense of joy and felt the room was filled with people. Quote: “Eminent, holy beings who seem (to be present ?) there when something happens in his brain. My head felt enormous.” And in the afternoon we went to a movie in Santa Monica, Play Misty for Me. That was a Clint Eastwood movie. On December thirteenth, ‘Krishnaji said to me, “You must be 'cured', not corrected.”’ I guess that was my ailments or maybe my habits I don’t know which. It doesn’t say.
December fourteenth, ‘we went to Ojai. We each had a chiropractic treatment with Dr. Lay. Then to lunch with Erna and Theo, Ruth, and Albion Patterson. There was discussion of the origins of the Happy Valley School and dissident teachers there wanting to hear the facts of it from Krishnaji. Would he see them or not? He and Theo walked, and Erna and I met them on the road. Krishnaji and I drove home, seeing a marvelous sunset.’
The next day, ‘cold weather. Indian troops almost into Dhaka.’ There was a war.
‘We went early to town on miscellaneous errands. Went to get the new Nagra. Krishnaji had rested all day. He walked around the garden, and had met me when I drove in. Krishnaji remote, as if aware of other things in the house. “Something is going on in the head,” he said, but he slept throughout the night.’

On December seventeenth, ‘India and Pakistan officially end the war after fourteen days. Yahya Khan accepts the ceasefire. We were home all day, and we walked on the beach. Krishnaji’s head hurts.’
The next day. ‘The pain in Krishnaji’s head continues. He rested all morning, but wanted to go to a movie, so we saw the Disney Bedknobs and Broomsticks with Angela Lansbury. The pain stopped for Krishnaji, but resumed as we came out of the theater. He fainted in the car on the Pacific Coast Highway. We walked around the lawn on returning home, and at supper saw a TV program of the Indian war.’
On December nineteenth, ‘Krishnaji’s head was better. The Perrines came to lunch. Krishnaji talked to them about the purpose of a hot springs place they are thinking of having in the mountains in the back of Big Sur.’
The next day, ‘we had a beach walk. Krishnaji felt better. No pain in his head.’
On December twenty-first, ‘we drove to Ojai, and we each had a chiropractic treatment from Dr. Lay. We lunched with Erna and Theo afterward. Barbara Lama…’ Barbara Lama was Albion Patterson’s stepdaughter, I think, something like that ‘…and her husband. Albion Patterson and Mr. Sperry, a former teacher at Happy Valley, and the Essels came to ask Krishnaji about the background of Happy Valley, and under what condition he would be interested in the school. He said only if the trustees remove Rosalind. Krishnaji walked and talked for half an hour with Erna and Theo, and then we drove home.’

On December twenty-seventh, ‘Pouring rain. Took Alain and John Diegis to the airport. Shopped at Lindberg’s’—that’s the health food store—‘and came home. Krishnaji got a letter from Vigeveno. Dr.…’ somebody, looks like something ‘…Cotton and George’—looks like—‘Ariba of the Happy Valley School board came to see Krishnaji. It is clear that the school is in a total mess, and that the board is totally under Rosalind’s thumb.’
December twenty-eighth, ‘there was rain in the early morning and then it ended. Six inches had fallen. We were home all day except for the trip to the Pacific Palisades, and then we walked on the lower road.’ ‘Krishnaji dictated a reply to Vigeveno. I discussed it with Leipziger.’
On December twenty-ninth, ‘The rains stopped, and it was a clear, beautiful day. While talking to Erna on the phone, we heard there was snow on the mountains in Ojai. Krishnaji said, “Let’s go.” So, we took a picnic and drove to the Lilliefelt’s. Had our picnic there, and then walked with them three miles. The mountains are powdered with snow. We came home for supper.’ That was the twenty-ninth, so we’re almost finished with 1971.
On December thirtieth, ‘we had an early lunch and then drove to Hollywood and saw a movie, Dirty Harry, a detective one. We came back via Pacific Palisades and bought a twelve-inch Sony color TV. We discussed in the car, “what is it to be bourgeois?” It is self-centered, desiring ego. Material things, concepts, but more than that, an inelasticity. I asked if I were that. Krishnaji thought I am not attached to money or things, and I answered, “no” to deriving ego from them. We posted Krishnaji’s reply to Vigeveno.’
There was wind all night on the thirty-first. ‘It was a beautiful, bright day. Krishnaji dictated a piece on what the bourgeois mind is. The wind was less in the afternoon, and we walked at low tide on the beach a blessed way to end this year.’

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Tue, 04 Jun 2019 #162
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline

January first, 1972. ‘it was a clear and beautiful day. Krishnaji watched the Rose Parade on television, saying “These people are crazy.” ‘Later, he watched the start of the Rose Bowl football game.’ ‘I went over next door to see my friends, the Dunnes. When I came back, Krishnaji had had his nap, and then we watched the end of the Rose Bowl.’
The next day was ‘another beautiful day, and Krishnaji talked into the Nagra about the first of his reminiscences. He talked about the discovery of the boy in the early years. We walked on the beach in the late afternoon. And at night there were gale winds and the house shook with it.’
On January third, ‘the winds had quieted in the morning but began again at lunchtime. The Dunnes had part of their roof ripped off.’ Such were the winds.
The fourth of January, ‘there was news from my brother about my father, and Dr. Joseph Pollock, who is the son-in-law of the late Louis Zalk, and his son came to tea with Krishnaji.’  The Zalk house is the one above the KFA building on Besant Road, at the top of the hill. It’s now where there’s the Ojai Retreat. Zalk's wife was Rosalind’s sister, Erma, and their daughter married Dr. Joseph Pollock. He’s a, I think, medical doctor. They came for tea. The reason I’m talking about it at all is because he was on the Happy Valley School Board, and he was making overtures to KFA or to Krishnaji to somehow heal the breach or have some connection between Happy Valley School and KFA. He said he was not pro-Rosalind, and he wanted to hear what Krishnaji’s position was about the Happy Valley School. Well, Krishnaji didn’t want anything to do with it. It’s developed later, what Krishnaji said.  Yes, and it ceased to have anything to do with Krishnaji, although they used his name.
Now, Pollock and his wife were friends of Evelyne Blau, and Evelyne thought we could get back the Happy Valley land, and don’t forget, in these days, we had no place for a school, but there were intentions to start a school. And if we could have gotten the land back…

The fifth of January, ‘Sidney Field telephoned that his brother John had died suddenly the day before. Krishnaji spoke to him and asked him to come to lunch the next day. In the afternoon, Krishnaji and I went to a James Bond movie, Diamonds are Forever, in Hollywood.’ And it says here, ‘terrible movie.’ And it also says that ‘Krishnaji shouted a bit and didn’t sleep well at night.’ He used to call it “shouting,” you know, he woke up with…
I heard it my first time way back in Rishi Valley, when we were all about to go to, I think, Bangalore, and I got up early. It was dark, and Frances McCann and I were right under Krishnaji’s bedroom. I heard this cry and it sounded like distress. I didn’t know what to do, so I went to Alain Naudé, and said something’s wrong with Krishnaji, and I described it. He said, “Oh, no, no. Pay no attention, it happens all the time; Krishnaji doesn’t like to talk about it, and it doesn’t mean a thing.” This was the first inkling I had of, really, part of the process, in a way. Krishnaji called it “shouting,” and often he woke himself up by doing it.
 The next day, Thursday the sixth, ‘Sidney Field came for lunch, and there was talk between Krishnaji and Sidney, and I was present, about life after death.’
On January seventh, ‘Krishnaji did a Nagra dictation about Rajagopal.’
On the ninth, ‘we drove to Ojai and met the Lilliefelts, Ruth Tettemer, and Albion Patterson to record a discourse on the Nagra based on their questions to him on the concept of the World Teacher. We lunched there afterward, went for a walk, and then drove home.’
The next day, ‘Isabel and Enrique Biascoechea flew here from Puerto Rico. Theo met them at the airport and brought them to Malibu for tea, then took them onto Ojai, where they’re staying with the Lilliefelts.

On January thirteenth, the Lilliefelts took the Biascoecheas to see Leipziger the lawyer, and then they all came back to Malibu for lunch. After that, the Lilliefelts left and the Biascoecheas stayed here in the guest room. At 4 p.m., Dr. Pollock came to see Krishnaji again, and reported that the Happy Valley trustees want nothing to do with Krishnamurti.’ ‘But he got Krishnaji to say that if they reconsidered, he and KFA members would talk to them. I was upset that Krishnaji was appearing to woo them.’

‘The Biascoecheas told Krishnaji and me that Erna was on the verge of exhaustion from so much work, and I tried to get Krishnaji to see what adding a Happy Valley School controversy on top of all the other would mean to her. But, it is still in his mind,’ it says. ‘I drove the Biascoecheas to Leipziger’s office. Erna and Theo were there, too. Enrique gave a deposition with Terry Christensen representing Rajagopal. It went poorly.’
What happened was that years before, Biascoechea was donating some money to KWINC, and he wanted to know more about the finances of KWINC.
Rajagopal refused to give that information, and said that if there were any difficulty about it, he would reveal that Krishnaji had a relationship with Rosalind. And this so shocked Biascoechea, not the relationship, but the fact that Rajagopal would blackmail him. And poor Biascoechea was concealing this for the rest of his life, including through the deposition. So, this wretched Terry Christensen lawyer got him to lie, that Rajagopal had never done anything wrong about money.
Biascoechea had told Erna about it, but not me. I only knew about the purported “relationship” between Rosalind and Krishnaji from Krishnaji.
‘At lunch was born the idea of a Krishnaji Education Center in Ojai. We planned to hold meetings in Ojai. Erna, Theo, Krishnaji, and I took a walk. Erna told me of Rajagopal’s blackmail of Biascoechea in 1946.’

On January eighteenth, ‘we went to Ojai. Krishnaji had his hair cut, and we both had chiropractic treatment from Dr. Lay. We lunched with the Lilliefelts, Ben Patterson, and Ruth. We discussed the Krishnaji Educational Center meetings, and set them for four days, commencing March twenty-ninth in Ojai. Erna and I telephoned Leipziger, and discussed the Biascoechea deposition. Coming home in the car, Krishnaji said he is willing to make a deposition, but have we gone as far with the case as is necessary morally?’
On the nineteenth, ‘Sidney Field again came for lunch with Krishnaji, and talked to him about reincarnation.’ The recording that was eventually done was a reconstruction of one of these things.

On January twenty-fourth, ‘we drove to Ojai. Krishnaji held a discussion with about sixty-five young people at the Lilliefelt’s. I taped it on the Nagra. We lunched there with the Lilliefelts, Ruth Tettemer, Catherine Kieran, Albion Patterson, and KFA’s new trustee, Alan Kishbaugh. After lunch, we held a trustee meeting and discussed the education plan and publishing.’
On the twenty-fourth, ‘I met Alain at the airport, and went to the Volkswagen agent and bought a beige station wagon.’ ‘I left the Jaguar to have its 30,000-mile service, and drove home in the VW. Krishnaji was waiting by the gate, and approved the purchase. At lunch, we taped a discussion on reincarnation derived partly from Krishnaji’s conversation to Sidney Field last week. We walked on the beach.’
The next day, ‘we drove in the new VW to Rosenthal’s office. We met him and Leipziger and the Lilliefelts. We talked about possible future events in the case. The decision was made to go ahead. The Lilliefelts came back to lunch with us and Alain, and we discussed the education plan.’
‘Later, Krishnaji and Alain had a conversation on the supposed 'masters', which I taped on the Nagra. Krishnaji and Alain went for a walk while I rested a little.Krishnaji and Alain did another discussion the next day.’ And it says, ‘a marvelous one.’

On the twenty-seventh, ‘Krishnaji and Alain did another taped dialogue, starting with the Upanishads, and going on to emptying the mind of everything but fact as the ending of thought. A mind that is not empty can never find truth. We lunched at home and walked on the lower road.’

The twenty-ninth of January ‘was a lovely, quiet day. Krishnaji said there was “a fire of energy” in his head in the night. He said “memory is the source of the self.” We did letters and walked on the beach in the afternoon. A letter came from Marianne Borel about the de Vidases, having been threatened by Rajagopal in the past.’ Remember Marianne Borel, that sort of spinstery, spidery French lady; she used to go to Saanen all the time, and she used to put up the money for the barn where all the young people stayed.

 January thirtieth ‘was a windy, clear day, and Krishnaji and I drove to Ojai. He spoke again of extraordinary light burning in the mind.’ It says he was awake three hours with it in the night.
‘We lunched with Erna, Theo, Ruth, and Mr. Faria. Faria had read all the papers on the case and advised going ahead. We went for a walk up McAndrew Road and then drove home.’

February first, ‘Alain telephoned about some possible Zen experts for a discussion with Krishnaji.’ That was when we had the idea of getting people from different persuasions or disciplines to do taped video recordings with Krishnaji. Or audio recordings, either one that we could.
‘Krishnaji and I drove to the Lilliefelt’s for lunch. Faria was there but left later. We discussed finances a bit. I had a treatment with Dr. Lay while Krishnaji and Erna walked. Then we drove home in time for supper. Martha Longnecker telephoned. San Diego State University wants to film the discussions that Krishnaji might do with various people.’ That was the origin of all those videos that were done down there.
The next day, ‘Krishnaji dictated a reply to Marianne Borel’s letter. Sidney Field came and went for a walk with Krishnaji in the afternoon.’
On the third of February, ‘Rosenthal is to file immediately for a Rajagopal deposition. Talked to Sidney Roth, Erna, Alain, Martha Longnecker about Krishnaji’s videotaped meetings in San Diego. Krishnaji wants to give two public talks in Ojai in April.’ Sidney Roth put up the money for some of that.

The next day, ‘we went on errands in town. Passport photos and so forth. We bought books and silk lining for Huntsman gray flannel at’—well, a silk store I went to. ‘Krishnaji says he hasn’t felt so rested since the war,’ i.e., the ’40s.
It was marvelous for me, also, in spite of the case and all that goings-on—he was able to walk, to sleep, to just be quiet, more or less.The next day, the fifth, ‘we went to a movie in Santa Monica, Snow Job, with Jean-Claude Killy’—it was a skiing movie. It was probably because I like skiing movies and surfing movies. So, I guess that’s why we went. ‘Alain telephoned. He has found a Jesuit, Father Shallot, at San Francisco University to do a videotape dialogue with Krishnaji.’
‘Krishnaji told of waking last night and seeing for a brief moment that it was as if something were being done in his brain, his inner brain,’ it says. ‘It disappeared, that is the feeling, and he felt he mustn’t pursue it. It is part of what has been going on lately,’ it says.

 On February sixth, ‘I worked at my desk and Krishnaji slept. We watched the winter Olympics on television, and walked on the beach.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji wished to come with me to Inglewood to get new tires for the Jaguar. We tried to walk around there while waiting for the tires to be put on, but there was a sense of danger in that part of town, and we went back to the tire place. Krishnaji stood and watched the installing of the tires being fitted. He said, on the way home, that he shouldn’t have gone there.’ It was a part of town where gangs were beginning, and it really was a dangerous place; it wasn’t somewhere to go for a stroll…
February eighth, the Rajagopal deposition was filed for.
On the tenth of February, ‘Krishnaji slept in the morning and the afternoon. We had a beach walk. In the evening, Krishnaji was given a shock when I spoke to him while he was “far away” while watching television. It caused him to shake and he felt it all night, so sensitive has his body become.’ We were sitting watching television, and after supper, I remember it clearly, I casually spoke to him. I didn’t realize he was off and he came to with this jar. It was like waking him up, which he said, never wake him up, or if you have to, when I did, I would make small noises, so that it would gradually enter his consciousness.

On the eleventh, ‘we went to Ojai with Krishnaji driving. We lunched again with the Lilliefelts, Ruth, and Albion. We discussed the educational gathering in Ojai during Easter week, and whether to meet a Mr. Kern from the Kern Foundation when he and Joy Mills and Helen Zahara of the Theosophical Society come here.’ Mr. Kern, of the Kern Foundation, was then and still is publishing The Commentaries on Living. ‘They have a huge amount of money to spend on publishing.’ And in those days, we needed to publish.
We went to look at the Ojai Bowl as a possible place for Krishnaji’s talks in April, and to see a little house that a Ms. Gilman is giving to KFA. She is a little, bright-eyed old lady, shyly delighted when Krishnaji came.

‘It was a beautiful day, all the loveliness of California. I cooked all morning. Father Eugene Shallot and his assistant, a Miss Jacqueline Kelly, came to lunch. He will do a dialogue with Krishnaji in San Diego on Thursday. He’s a professor of sociology at San Francisco University, the Jesuit university. They left at 4 p.m., and we went for a beach walk. Television showed the first half of Ben Hur, and Krishnaji wanted to see it.’ That happened to be my birthday, but nobody mentioned that. I concealed it.
On the fourteenth, ‘I packed. We had an early lunch, and left at 1:45 p.m. for La Jolla, 140 miles away, and to Martha Longnecker’s house. She is lending it for Krishnaji’s stay. We arrived at 4 p.m. She and Sidney Roth were there. Dr. Alan Anderson came to call. He is a teacher of Religious Studies at San Diego State and will do videotaped conversations with Krishnaji on Wednesday.’ She had a very nice house.

The next day, Krishnaji rested while I marketed and checked motel arrangements for the Tibetan ChögyamTrungpa Rinpoche, and for Naudé and for Shallot, etcetera. I made our lunch and we went to San Diego State University, where Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche and his assistant, Marvin Kasbar, arrived. Krishnaji and Trungpa were videotaped in dialogue. The Tibetan was nice, but contributed little.’ ‘Krishnaji did it all, so very valuable. The Tibetan, Kasbar, and two followers came back to tea.’ I don’t remember that. ‘After they left, Krishnaji and Alain, who had arrived for all this with Trungpa, went for a walk, and I fixed supper for the three of us.’ .
The sixteenth, ‘Krishnaji did a videotape in the morning with Dr. Alan Anderson of religious studies, San Diego State. Krishnaji, Alain, and I lunched, and later went for a walk through La Jolla. Shopped at Tweeds and Weaves, and Krishnaji and I had supper alone.’
The next day, ‘in the morning, Krishnaji did another taped conversation with Father Eugene Shallot. There was trouble with the assistant, Miss Kelly, about signing the release.’ ‘We loaded the car, took sandwiches for lunch, and Krishnaji, Alain, and I drove to Malibu.’
‘Rajagopal is to make a deposition on March twentieth.’

On the eighteenth, ‘Father Daniel O’Handlin from San Francisco came in the morning and we taped on the Nagra a conversation between Krishnaji and him. He stayed for lunch and then left, and later Alain left for San Francisco. Krishnaji and I beach-walked and went over to the Dunnes’. We were quiet at last after a busy week.’
The nineteenth ‘was a quiet, gentle day. I did deskwork, and Krishnaji rested and slept. Leipziger called to ask if his wife Mary and infant son Charles could come by the house. They came for tea. Krishnaji and I walked later on the lawn. Krishnaji wonders if something in my past life causes my sometime mannerisms of tension.’

The twenty-seventh ‘was another quiet day at home with a lot accomplished. Because of my back, walking on the slant of the beach is difficult. We explored other places for walking up Serra Road. At supper, we watched on television Nixon’s return from China and a NET film The Restive Earth on the formation of continents.’
The first of March, ‘was a clear, warm day. We drove to Ojai. Krishnaji had his hair cut, then we lunched with Erna, Theo, Ruth, Albion Patterson. Afterwards, Krishnaji answered questions, mostly from Patterson, on the relation of his personal early history to the teachings for people without that background. Krishnaji said it had no relevance. “What happened to him interests people who are not really interested in themselves ‘“There is no path, no system. There is a quality of mind you cannot put into words that can go into the question of truth. There is a mystery which one must approach with extraordinary delicacy. The conscious mind cannot do this. The word is not the thing. If one comes to 'the thing', one never puts it into words, but can say it is there. I know it is there.” Krishnaji walked, but was tired and we drove home. Krishnaji wants to stay in Ojai during the educational meetings. Erna invited us both to stay at their house.’

March two. ‘A quiet day at home. Deskwork for me and rest for Krishnaji. He added a small bit to yesterday’s tape, saying he had no ill feeling towards the TS people who opposed him. He had no relationship at all to them.’
The fourth of March, ‘was another hot day. In the afternoon, Krishnaji wanted to walk on the beach. The salt air does him good, and I feel my back better since not walking on the slope. So he walked on the beach, and I kept parallel on the beach road. We both walked very fast to Puerco Canyon and back to the end of the beach road.’
‘Krishnaji read a report on some kind of research that predicts the collapse of the world economies in seventy years unless growth, birth, and pollution are drastically halted. Krishnaji asked what is the individual’s answer to such catastrophe? He said the response must come not out of the problems, or compulsion, but out of freedom. What matters is to live rightly.’
On the eighth of March, ‘with a pot of beans, we left at 9:30 a.m. for Ojai. There’s a meeting at the Lilliefelt’s with John Kern of the Kern Foundation, Joy Mills, and Helen Zahara (of the TS National Headquarters in Wheaton, Illinois), Erna, Theo, Ruth, and Albion Patterson. Krishnaji explained vividly why his books should not be published by Quest, the TS publishing house, and they left.’ David Young—he was mixed up in Ojai and Happy Valley things. ‘They came about Rajagopal’s dispute and talked for one-and-a-half hours, after which Krishnaji   recounted it all to the rest of us. He made it all very clear to them that if Rajagopal wishes to settle, it must be handled by lawyers and the attorney general.’
The next day, ‘Erna and Theo came down about Santa Monica Auditorium for Krishnaji to talk in. Sidney Field came for a walk with Krishnaji.’
On the twelfth ‘Krishnaji and I telephoned Dorothy at Brockwood just for fun.’ ‘Again we walked on the lawn. I was busy with income tax. Rajagopal has asked for postponement of his deposition for March twenty to the twenty-eighth.’
The next day, ‘we went to the dentist the next day and saw West Side Story on television. Krishnaji said meditation was so intense in the night that he wanted to get up. Also felt something evil outside so that he looked out the window, “as if when there is great good, evil attempts to come sniffing around.” He often said about that. . He’d feel danger, and he would also feel protected, but—I know I’ve said this in a previous discussion—but he spoke of it often, that evil would try to get at him through some others.
On the seventeenth, ‘Alain arrived just after lunch, having motored down from San Francisco. He brought ties for Krishnaji and a pretty scarf and a little bottle for me. He and Krishnaji walked on the beach, and I went over to see the Dunnes. They were playing Mozart. Before lunch, I went over the Nagra equipment with Alain, who will tape Krishnaji’s talks tomorrow.’
On the eighteenth, ‘Alain went to the Santa Monica Auditorium early with the Nagra. Krishnaji and I got there at 11 a.m. A process server handed Krishnaji a summons for a deposition backstage just before he went on stage to speak. It was a cross-complaint from Rajagopal et al. against Krishnaji, Erna, Ruth, me, and Sidney Roth.’
‘It had no effect on Krishnaji.’ He handed it to Theo and went in and gave a fine talk’ ‘for one-and-a-quarter hours. Erna and I telephoned Rosenthal, who was shocked at the service before the talk, but not surprised at a cross-complaint.’
‘Krishnaji, Alain, and I had lunch at home and Erna and Theo came by on their way to Ojai. Krishnaji was very sharp on analyzing Rajagopal’s actions, especially about the alleged oral agreement that Rajagopal says Krishnaji gave him on a trusteeship for life. Krishnaji said to me later, “Judas isn’t in it”—i.e., Judas was pale by comparison.’

Next day, the nineteenth, ‘Krishnaji gave his second Santa Monica talk with tremendous force. He based much of it on the questions asked in a letter handed in yesterday by a Bob Steven At 4 p.m., Krishnaji gave an interview to a physics professor, Dr. Mael Melvin.’

’ The next day, ‘we were home all day. Krishnaji saw Tara Singh at 4 p.m.’ Tara Singh is a Sikh. You can tell by the name. He left India ages ago, and he’s known Krishnaji for years. He was a man of mystery back in those days, who apparently could live in the United States without any visible means of support. Eventually, (he hadn’t yet at this point) he turned himself into a guru, and to this day, I think he has a some sort of a foundation. And he teaches people to do miracles, I think.

On the twenty-fifth, ‘Krishnaji gave his third talk in Santa Monica. He said, “order carries its own law, which is its own discipline.” We went back to the house for lunch. A woman called Ruth McCandless lunched with us, and so did Erna and Theo. And Leipziger has received some of the papers asked for from Rajagopal’—we’d asked for them. ‘No delay has been asked so far by Rajagopal for his deposition next Tuesday.’
March twenty-sixth. It says, ‘Krishnaji and I have been living on two levels for the last two days. He gave his fourth talk at Santa Monica, a superb one, on energy that comes when thought is ended. The first step is the last, and it is freedom.’
Alan Kishbaugh brought Frank Waters, an anthropology writer on Native Americans, and Giovanna d’Onofreo, a voice teacher, to lunch. Krishnaji and Waters are to do a taped dialogue tomorrow. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji gave interviews to five people. Later, Krishnaji, Alain, and I walked on the lawn.

The next day, ‘I had to do errands while Krishnaji held discussion with Frank Waters, which Alain recorded. At 12:40 p.m., Krishnaji and Alain met me at a movie theater, where we saw The Godfather with Marlon Brando. Krishnaji brought a picnic lunch, but didn’t eat it till afterwards in the car in the parking lot. Krishnaji and Alain bought some shirts and we came home. I listened to the discussion recorded this morning and spoke with Saul Rosenthal, who will do Rajagopal’s deposition tomorrow. Erna called later to say that Rosenthal wants her present at the deposition.’

On March twenty-eight, ‘Dorothy telephoned from Brockwood about the tenders on the building. We need £23,000 sterling more to complete the Cloisters. Krishnaji told me to say “Find out how much of it we can build doing the foundation of the whole. He suggested Dorothy write to Perrine, too. Krishnaji and I then drove to Ojai, arriving at 5:30 p.m. Erna had been all day with Rosenthal at the Rajagopal deposition. Rajagopal had done himself no good, she said.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji held the first meeting of the educational gathering, a discussion with thirty-odd invited teachers and others. I taped it on the Nagra. Alain, who had spoken in Los Angeles last night, came up from Malibu. Erna again spent today with Rosenthal at Rajagopal’s deposition. I marketed before the meeting, and did all the meals. Krishnaji, Theo, and I walked down the road and met Erna returning. All walked back and talked.’
‘Rajagopal is turning and twisting. Rosenthal was very good, Erna says. He went through Rajagopal’s complaint against us. Nonsense. Rosenthal bore down on Rajagopal about threats. Rajagopal said he had only seen Krishnaji alone for five minutes.’ I can say this because it doesn’t refer to his finances.

On the thirtieth, ‘Krishnaji held the second meeting of the educational gathering, mostly on comparison. I taped it on the Nagra. I cooked for Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, and me, then we went to Dr. Lay’—that was the chiropractor. ‘I did marketing and then met Krishnaji and Theo on the walk. I invented a new soup for Krishnaji ‘Swiss chard and various vegetables. We had supper alone as Erna and Theo were out. In the morning, Krishnaji came to me with almost tears and said, “Come, let me show you this place.” We looked down the valley and at the hills. He loves this place so much. The air was filled with the smell of orange blossoms, and he had me listen to a hum, which was the bees in the grove. I asked him if he would like to get a place here, that I would sell Malibu if he wished it. He wouldn’t hear of that, but came back later to thank me.’

March thirty-first. ‘Krishnaji held the third meeting of the educational gathering. It was a good discussion. Robert Gold, a lawyer from Blaisdell, lunched with Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, and me and discussed the case. He advised receivership for KWINC. Krishnaji, Theo, and I walked down the Thatcher Road. On our return, Krishnaji had me write down that he had, in the early morning, a feeling of meditation that he had never had before. “From my center, from my heart that filled the whole valley. It went on for a considerable time. From that, it went to my head, and was a most extraordinary thing. It has been pursuing me on all the walk and when I was talking to him”’—the lawyer Gold—‘“it was just a voice talking. There was no reaction. It was just happening.”’


Tuesday, twenty-seventh March, 1972, Malibu to Ojai. Lovely, bright morning. Dorothy telephoned from Brockwood. We have a building permit ‘she called about the tender estimates from the builders. It is £63,000 sterling and we have only £46,000 sterling.’ Doesn’t that sound familiar to you? ‘It was not a competitive bid, which the builder knew. It was a company which had given a low bid based on Hoppen’s plans for other buildings. To get other bids will cost us £1,200 sterling, delay of considerable time, and meanwhile the costs are rising. Krishnaji spoke briefly to her and we suggested asking Ian Hammond how much of the Cloisters can be done, including doing preparation for the foundation…’ Krishnaji wants to get on with what we can and hope to raise money for the balance.

 ‘We packed and did a hundred things before we left for Ojai. Then, Philippa comes by’—we’ll skip that. ‘Alain also was there. He was giving a talk at the Bodhi bookshop the next day. Krishnaji and I got off at 3:35 p.m. instead of 3 p.m., which made too much sun on him in the car, and he felt sick. We got to Ojai and the Lilliefelt’s at 5:15 p.m. Theo was there, but Erna only arrived later, having spent the whole day with Saul Rosenthal at Rajagopal’s deposition
‘At one point, ‘Rajagopal denied that the old office next to Pine Cottage was a KWINC office. “It was,” said Krishnaji’. ‘Rajagopal rambled, evaded, doesn’t listen to the whole question before replying.

On March twenty-ninth, ‘Erna spent the second day with Rosenthal at the KWINC office on Rajagopal’s deposition. I marketed and did all the meals. Krishnaji said that he had not slept too well. He felt psychic crossfire “of those two”’—meaning Rosalind and Rajagopal. ‘At eleven, he held the first of the educational gatherings. About forty people in all, mostly professors, and a few psychiatrists. I taped it. Alain arrived from Malibu. Alan Kishbaugh was there, Albion Patterson, etcetera. I made lunch for Krishnaji, Theo, and myself. Later, we walked down the road and met Erna returning from the deposition. I walked back and talked.’
My diary says, ‘Rosenthal bore down on Rajagopal about the threats to Krishnaji, but Rajagopal wouldn’t come out with it ‘It showed him that we knew what he had been up to and we are not responding to the threats. The cross-complaint was gone through and it said that the rest of us have sided with Krishnaji, that Erna had played the tape to someone and that I prevented Rajagopal from seeing Krishnaji. Rajagopal said that he hadn’t seen Krishnaji alone, and then said that he had only seen him alone for about five minutes. He denied that he had taped that meeting. He admitted to taping Krishnaji’s telephone conversation in 1966, the last call to Malibu before Krishnaji left California, and also taping a meeting they had face-to-face. He denied any other taping. Saul said that he felt Rajagopal might want to settle soon. There was to be another deposition meeting next week. Saul had to give the court stenographer a lift, and his comment on Rajagopal was that he is “a lying bastard.”’ This shocked Krishnaji because of the language, but as Erna told the whole story, Krishnaji again said, “he is a crook, he is lying.”’ I underlined that four or five times. ‘Erna and I sent a cable to Mary Cadogan, asking her to find out if Miss Dodge left a will in which Krishnaji and Rajagopal are mentioned.’
Now, Krishnaji was getting the, I suppose, generous amount—when it was done, but almost meaningless by 1972—amount of £500 sterling a year, which didn’t even buy him a pair of trousers in 1972 . Nevertheless, it was his entire income. Rajagopal’s was less, so he didn’t become independently wealthy via Miss Dodge. So, I’d asked Mitch to find out if her will was probated there and if there was any mention of Krishnaji or Rajagopal, and he said there was no mention.

April fifth, There was a good plain article in the Ojai Valley News on the talks in Ojai this coming weekend. At supper, Krishnaji brought up the subject he had raised with me earlier: What should be done by the Foundations when he dies? He spoke at first of support for people who might travel and speak, but the Lilliefelts and I too wonder how one would choose such people, even if there were any to consider? Only Krishnaji can judge that. Again, I had an idea that came, as it had about the Educational Centre while sitting in the same place at the Lilliefelt’s table, that a Krishnamurti library to house books, tapes, films, and people could come to study quietly would be part of the answer.’
‘The rest of the three of us felt the Foundations should pursue every current activity, i.e., continue publishing of all the books. Krishnaji then dreamt of what to do if KFA gets the land here from KWINC. He felt the Oak Grove and adjoining fields for parking should be kept while he continues to speak and that the rest be sold, except the McAndrew Road property. The office there becomes an archive office, always keeping the present one in town.’
‘Pine Cottage becomes rearranged into a library and discussion center, and Arya Vihara be fixed for his living place. When I spoke of the sense of contamination there a few days ago, he had said, “Oh, one night there and we will sweep it away. ‘“You must do the house, nobody else”’—he meant me. He didn’t go into all the changes we spoke of to the Lilliefelts, but did say the upstairs of Arya Vihara where Rosalind and Radha lived are poorly planned and cheaply made and should be removed. India should make Vasanta Vihar into a center for a library, etcetera, continue the schools and education; England should continue the publications and support Brockwood both as a school and as a center. He spoke about my having use of the West Wing for life, which I said I couldn’t possibly do. Krishnaji said, quote: “I say you must have it. What you do is up to you, but you like England and it should be your home there.” Erna pointed out that all of us have probably only about fifteen-something years to carry on. Krishnaji said, “I am going to live another fifteen years.” He mentioned cremation, scattering of his ashes, no ceremony, no churches, temples. Erna said that all these matters should be legally recorded as his intentions.’

‘We spoke then about the third deposition of Rajagopal tomorrow, the point that he may be a Theosophist. His wife is. Casselberry had joined the liberal Catholic Church, according to Sidney Field, and that others on the KWINC Board have shown open hostility to Krishnaji as well as acting counter to his teaching by those affiliations. I feel he should be asked under oath’—this is Rajagopal—‘if he is a Theosophist. He could be planning to turn KWINC over ultimately on his death to the Theosophical Society. Joy Mills, the present TS president, whom Krishnaji saw here on March eighth, in spite of telling Krishnaji she would withdraw from her election to the Happy Valley Board, accepted the membership.’
Thursday, April sixth, Ojai. ‘Erna went with Saul Rosenthal to the third day of the Rajagopal deposition. Fred Volz, the editor of the Ojai Valley News, interviewed Krishnaji about Ojai, what its quality was, the years Krishnaji has known it, and what will happen to it. The interview was taped by Volz. Krishnaji, Theo, and I lunched. The text of Rajagopal’s first deposition arrived, 170 pages. I read about half of it after lunch, and it reads very evasively to my mind; at times, hardly a sentence is grammatical English; gives ridiculous explanations for holding all the land, for forming the K & R Trust and the Annie Besant Trust; real estate transactions are very weak. He said his birth date was seven September 1900, born in Periyakulam, South India.’

‘Rajagopal did admit that he was a lifelong Theosophist’—it was about his money that he didn’t want anybody to read—‘and so was his wife, Casselberry, and Austin Bee. He declined to answer about the others, i.e., Porter, Vigeveno, Weideman. Krishnaji was visibly shocked by all this and said, “How could a man that had corrected the talks and been part of this be at the same time a Theosophist?” Saul talked a little to Krishnaji about his own deposition, this week. Krishnaji said he felt a little nervous. An important question is going to be why Krishnaji broke with Rajagopal and KWINC. At supper, Krishnaji talked more about how Rajagopal could have become so crooked. Erna and I both feel he is even more devious than we suspected and is so deeply antagonistic to Krishnaji that he is trying to destroy him and the meaning of his teachings. Does he really believe in Theosophy? Can he believe in anything except his own overweening sense of self?’

Friday, April seventh. ‘Another clear, warm morning. Krishnaji was out early looking at the mountains and down the valley. The smell of orange blossoms is like the warm sea. The morning dove and the bees are the sounds. Krishnaji again talked about making the eleven acres on McAndrew Road a center office, Pine Cottage the library/discussion center. Arya Vihara a private place for him during his lifetime, and then convertible for a quiet place to read, listen to tapes, etcetera. He also spoke again about Rajagopal being a Theosophist—is shocked and appalled by it.

Saturday, April eighth. ‘Krishnaji took me out to see the wonder of the lovely morning, the hills and valley. He had slept well. I prepared lunch, then took the Nagra to Libbey Park in Ojai where Krishnaji is to give two talks this weekend. I set it up and left it to Alan Kishbaugh to watch while I came back for Krishnaji. Erna has stayed at the house till I came, feeling uneasy at Rajagopal’s people doing…anything. I drove Krishnaji at 11 a.m. to the talk and it was videotaped in color by Ben Lewin arranged by Sidney Roth, who was there. A large, attentive audience. Krishnaji spoke of beauty, of the valley, of preserving it. Most of the talk was on thought. Erna said that Loebl was there with a tape recorder.’ Loebl was Rajagopal’s first lawyer.

. Sidney Roth and Martha Longenecker came with slides and the titles for the San Diego State University film of talks and videotaped dialogues with Trungpa, Anderson, and Shallot. They went over the rest of introductions, and the text of introductions, with Theo and me.

. At supper, Krishnaji talked of Rajagopal, his refusal of Krishnaji’s healing, his self-pity. Krishnaji quoted Rajagopal as saying, “People will always look after you.” Krishnaji made a gesture at me, “But me, who will care about me?” Erna said that Rajagopal told her that he and Rosalind had a shared spiritual bond. Krishnaji wondered how, with this extraordinary protection that has characterized his life, that those two’—Rajagopal and Rosalind—‘were allowed to come into it as they did.’

Sunday, the ninth of April. ‘We went out to look down the valley and listen to the bees and the morning dove, which sat on a tree and made its lovely sound. I gave Krishnaji his breakfast tray, started lunch, and then took the Nagra to Libbey Park, set it up, and left it again with Alan Kishbaugh. I came back to fetch Krishnaji to his second talk. A strong, superb one, tremendous energy in it. He said, “Order is not within the field of consciousness.” Bill Quinn, from past days in Ojai, spoke to him briefly after the talk, almost in tears. In the car, Krishnaji was shaking from the outpouring of speaking. It had been broadcast live on radio and was videotaped. He had worn a middling dark red knitted shirt, which came out well on colored video. We drove back very slowly, followed by a hippy. Krishnaji spoke to him. He was too choked up to speak to Krishnaji and later when we left, he was waiting by the gate to see Krishnaji again. Mark Lee and family came by for Krishnaji to touch the children’s heads. His wife brought idli[4], which Krishnaji, Erna, Alan Kishbaugh, Ruth, and I had with our lunch. At lunch, Krishnaji gave Kishbaugh a summary of what Theosophists believe, part of it very funny. I did a roll on the Leicaflex of him across the table as he talked.’ I have those pictures in the other room.
Krishnaji and I then left and drove home to Malibu in time for supper. It had been a long and full day for Krishnaji, but he wanted to watch High Noon, a movie on television, and it was a diversion from all that had gone on.’ At lunch, after reading Candles in the Sun, he spoke of “protecting the body”, how it is necessary. Crossing the beach road together, Krishnaji paused and a car came along fast with the sun in its eyes. I called to Krishnaji, who was just out of my reach, and he said, “I see it, I see it,” but he didn’t move. He has an odd tendency never to act quickly when there is danger from traffic. He says he sees it as though that was enough.’ I remember the first time crossing Piccadilly road with him: he was about to step into traffic and I, without thinking, grabbed him. And he said very casually, “You just saved my life.” And I was horrified, and he said, “Well, it wouldn’t happen if I were alone. Then I pay attention.” So, I thought, my god , I have to save his life every time we come to cross a road, possibly. And once he went—it’s probably in here somewhere—I left him for a fitting at Huntsman. We were going to lunch at Fortnum and when I came back, he’d gone on his own! I was in panic wondering which road he’d taken and rushed out, and he then reappeared. He not only crossed, but he crossed back, twice.

Tuesday, eleven April. ‘We took a picnic, did a few errands in town, ate in the car, and met Erna at the law office. We conferred with Saul Rosenthal and David Leipziger about Krishnaji’s deposition tomorrow. He was told to listen to the whole question, be sure it is understood, and answer what you know or remember. We came back to Malibu and spent the night.’
‘In the morning, Krishnaji asked me to write each day, “What is it like to be with a man from Madanapalle.”’ ‘He said I must be able to write well. He has been reading Out of Africa because of my suggestion and sees that it is a style which means much to me. He said to do this, and that it is more important than all those letters to spend “an hour or two each day.” This is something that I would like to do most deeply. Where that hour or two is each day is to be found, god knows! I am drowning in deskwork, hopelessly behind. There are days after days when I cannot even read some of the mail that I should be answering. But he is right. And if he wants me to do this, “do it!” as he would say. He is confident about tomorrow.’
Wednesday, April twelve. ‘Saul Rosenthal came at 9:30 a.m. Then, a Mr. Nevel, a court reporter, then came Terry Christen, Rajagopal’s lawyer, and his assistant, G. Gilbert. I suddenly looked out the kitchen window and, completely unannounced, saw Rajagopal, Nima Porter, and Annie Vigeveno. I met them on the driveway and walked ahead of them to the house to warn Krishnaji and Erna. It was a shock to Krishnaji and an angry one to Erna and me. We sat at the extended table in the living room, Krishnaji facing the ocean. I sat just behind him and tried to draw the baleful stares of Rajagopal. He looked like an angry ancient baboon, a tense mouth, heavy, decayed body, and hands clasped and twisting, and angry eyes moving as if at a tennis match to the questioner and back. He would stare at my stare, not wanting to cede, and I had the feeling of calmly sending what I thought of him along the wire of his stares. Porter and Vigeveno sat at the end sofa, old and endlessly ugly, Vigeveno tense and hidden behind very black glasses. Tense, pursed mouth. Porter in her crazy ranch-hand face’—I was really not very flattering when I wrote this—‘sat in frozen attitudes, twisted over with her hands over her face. They looked cold and dead.’
‘Krishnaji spoke in a deep, slightly hoarse voice, slowly, carefully. When he became tired in the afternoon, he had difficulty concentrating on Christen’s questions and asked often for their repetition.’
‘During the break for lunch, Krishnaji went into the dining room and his body shook from head to foot. He lay down in his room for half an hour, and it resumed until 4:30. In the morning, Christen had asked for long explanations of Theosophy and what had happened in the early years. It occurred to me that he was trying to tire Krishnaji before more pertinent questions. Krishnaji answered carefully, giving more than necessary and making no derogatory references to Rajagopal. It is so against his nature to speak critically of someone that even in this context, he cannot do it. He also, out of a politeness, gave us margins for doubt in some of his answers, as though not wanting to contradict Christen. After it was over, he looked drained. When we saw that Rajagopal and the others had gone, Erna telephoned Theo to come, too, and he rushed from Ojai. He accompanied Krishnaji on the beach walk, and Krishnaji came back looking much better. Erna and Theo spent the night here. Krishnaji was shivering a little when he went to bed.’

Thursday, the thirteenth of April. ‘Another even longer day of deposition. Again, Rajagopal, Annie Vigeveno, and Mima Porter lumbered in and sat as yesterday. These two days are the only times I have ever seen Krishnaji sit with his legs crossed. At moments of fatigue, he would sit that way. Rajagopal sat opposite at the other end of the table and again was silent but with an attitude of shrugged shoulders and unspoken indignation. Porter stared out the window with a vacant eye one sees on senile wards.’ Vigeveno was controlled, hidden, venomous, but she provided the only humor for us. Before the meetings, I had put a telephone in the living room and suspected that Christen might be instructing her to get the new unlisted number. I had removed the number, leaving the old number on the instrument. In late morning, Vigeveno asked if she could telephone and when she had finished she scurried back to her purse, opened it, and surreptitiously wrote on a scrap on paper inside it with Rajagopal looking over her shoulder. The old number! Which they already have!

Rajagopal asked for a break in mid-morning because Krishnaji had forgotten having seen Joy Mills, etcetera, last month in Ojai. This was corrected. Yesterday, before leaving, Christen had left copies of letters he wished to put in as evidence. We had read them; Krishnaji had not. Some were so sad, Krishnaji apologizing to Rajagopal and mentioning a betrayal. They were letters written at Rajagopal’s insistence. One in 1952 was written for Mrs. Bindley in London. Krishnaji was asked to identify his signature, but not the content, for he has no memory of them. Christen had shown us only about a dozen as he is supposed to by agreement.’

. Krishnaji lay down after lunch and I took Saul in to speak to him before the resumption. Krishnaji was sleeping in his bed like a child—infinitely touching. He motioned Saul to sit down on the end of the bed, and Saul told him that he was doing very well, 85 percent marks, he said, and Krishnaji listened as if he were taking an examination in school.’
‘We went back in and it was agreed to try to finish today. As the afternoon wore on, Krishnaji was looking so frail, his body in his jeans and blue shirt and sweater seeming to become smaller. And then he seemed to gain a different strength. He began to speak on his own level of trust and friendship in the early days, which allowed him to leave everything to Rajagopal, of how that trust was eroded by Rajagopal until it was gone and he had to break. Toward the end, Christen was asking if it would meet with Krishnaji’s approval, if Krishnaji could accept KWINC doing publishing of the already-published books, not by the TS Press. Krishnaji did not accede to this readily. He continued to speak of lack of confidence in Rajagopal. “Trust once broken is gone,” he said. Finally, Christen asked him if the court found that KWINC could do that and if KFA did the rest, would Krishnaji accept it? Krishnaji replied that one must accept the court’s decision, and if both organizations shared the work then that would happen, and “God help them both.” It was over. They left.’

‘Saul stayed on a little while. He had got into the record that Krishnaji repudiated a letter that Krishnaji wrote to Rajagopal years ago as a “will” that Rajagopal should carry on the work and appoint his own successor after Krishnaji is gone. But Saul wants Krishnaji to draw up a separate, more binding document to counteract this before he leaves California.’
‘We all felt euphoric that it was over. Saul told Krishnaji that he got 100 percent for the afternoon, and Krishnaji was both shaking and laughing, as the strain was beginning to come out of him. He asked Erna and Theo to stay another night, and after Saul left we locked the gate and all walked around the lawn. All through supper we felt a little giddy, at least I did, that the ordeal was over. Krishnaji watched Ironsides on TV and went to bed.’

I asked Krishnaji what was the so-called 'betrayal'; and Krishnaji said that it was an episode in Athens when they were both staying in a hotel and somebody had asked Rajagopal for an interview with Krishnaji, and Rajagopal turned the person down. Later, Krishnaji was in the lobby, or somewhere, and the person came up to him and begged him for an interview, and he agreed. Rajagopal was in a rage, and said this was a betrayal. This is what he dictated so he could use this as something about Rosalind.

April the fourteenth. ‘Several thoughts on awakening. The thing is not over. Much in Krishnaji’s testimony can be pulled down in court because he does not remember things, but his evident trust he gave and Rajagopal’s abuse is formidable. Erna and Theo left for Ojai and I went to town to fetch things. Krishnaji was very tired and slept all morning and after lunch. Sidney Field went with him on a beach walk.’

 April seventeenth. ‘Krishnaji and I walked on the beach road, and then he spoke of Kundalini, something that cannot be sought and is not a reward. He asked me if I am writing these things down. It’s my job.’
On the eighteenth, ‘Erna, Theo, Ruth came at noon. We held a KFA trustee meeting. Krishnaji drew up a statement to prevent Rajagopal or KWINC having anything to do with his work after his death. They left after lunch and we went for a walk.’
On the nineteenth, ‘I telephoned Mary Cadogan in London about a list of Foundation things. I went early to town. Then to see Saul Rosenthal with a copy of Krishnaji’s statement about the Krishnamurti Foundations, carrying on the work. Then errands. Krishnaji, when I got back, had rested during the day. He’d seen Mark Lee and the children and walked with Sidney Field.’

The twenty-first. ‘Up at 5 a.m., and Amanda drove Krishnaji and me to the airport. We had thirteen bags! to check. Good lord. We flew at 9 a.m. on TWA. Arrived in New York around 5 p.m. Very slow traffic going into town. TWA didn’t have Krishnaji’s black Anthony bag, but it came on the next flight and was delivered to the Ritz Tower during the night.’ In the morning, on the twenty-second, ‘ Krishnaji wants me to keep track of current thought, science, etcetera, and tell him. Then we should do dialogues about these things. Huxley used to inform him in this way.’ I’m afraid I didn’t…

April twenty-fifth. ‘I went to Carnegie Hall to speak to a Mr. Warkow, the manager, about the talks, the lights, the chairs, recording, etcetera. Walked back. Doing some errands on the way, and at 4 p.m. Krishnaji saw Joan Gordon’—that’s another woman who used to do things about television. ‘Mrs. Hesse brought me all the letters she’d done.’ Oh, she helped me as a secretary. She was a nice woman who worked as a secretary, and I was able to get some help with the correspondence.
‘Krishnaji said, “will is violence.”

On April twenty-ninth. ‘Krishnaji’s first talk at Carnegie Hall at 11 a.m. I had a car and driver. Everything went perfectly. Krishnaji spoke exactly one hour and then took questions. He said every form of conditioning is an act of separation. Theo came back with us to pick up the Rajagopal deposition and other papers to show Faria, who was here. After lunch, we each took naps and then went for a short walk. Too much wind and dust, Krishnaji said. He felt faint. We came back and he had a runny nose during the night. He took one Bufferin at 1 a.m.’
The next day ‘was Krishnaji’s second talk in Carnegie Hall. He felt alright and the cold symptoms stopped. After lunch I went to see a friend. When I came back, Krishnaji wanted to go to a movie, and we went to one called Ten Days.

May sixth. ‘Krishnaji gave his third talk in Carnegie Hall. After the usual conference last night on which suit, shirt, and tie to wear; he was in dark blue, his hair a little shorter after the barber visit Thursday. The barber refused to cut it short, long pieces on the side now fly…blow in the wind, like ears, and seem a nuisance to him, but he didn’t go as far as to cut them really short. I think it would look very nice and simple, but he must decide. The Carnegie Hall manager, Mr. Warkow, said when we arrived that Mr. Stokowski was in the audience and would like to greet Krishnaji afterward.’
‘It was a very good talk, beginning with the need for order; a new dimension must be first in the individual. Unfortunately, we usually try to bring order about from the outside. Order is not to be cultivated, it is not competition, not conformity. Order comes from observation and choice-less awareness. Only the man who perceives without distortion, who will have the energy to change, will then, with others, make a change in the world. Order comes without effort, sweetly. A mind that is completely in order is good. In this order lies our whole problem of living. We must stop the disorder which society accepts. The pattern of society is corrupt. Can you put that aside and bring about order in yourself? Knowing yourself is the ending of sorrow. There is sorrow in each individual and there is a collective sorrow. Fulfillment, changing according to a pattern, is a dissipation of energy because it is an avoidance of what is, and you need complete energy to change what is. Order can come about without any effort. Effort implies division and conflict; order is only possible when we observe what is and go beyond it. So there is an ending of sorrow when there is order, and this comes about when one understands oneself. How do you look without division? No observer, but only observation. The observer is only a fragment, it is the ego, the me, the past, the thinker, and the creator of division and conflict. The understanding of disorder is order. For us, love is a series of disorders. How is it possible to have love without a breath of disorder? Love is never to be in conflict in relationship—relationship means responsibility. Love in which there is total responsibility. Death is part of living. We have to understand that extraordinary thing called death, which means: Can I be free of the fear to look at it? The chaste mind has no image. You must find it. There is something permanent, not at the behest of time. That goes beyond death. Something not the product of time, physically or psychologically, not shaped by the mind, the environment, or experience, and therefore not touched by death.’
‘Time, a psychological process we call progress. We need tomorrow because we are lazy. We need to live a complete life without fear or death and with no tomorrow, dying every minute, dying to everything you hold dear, which is memory and to the past, which is the me, the me that says I must be. To die to the past is to die to oneself.’
‘Is there such a thing as immortality? Not me becoming immortal, which is such a small thing, which cannot love. There is only love when the me is not. So, is there eternity? That is what concerns man. If there is something beyond death, which is neither the continuity of what has been, nor seeking a heaven; to come upon that, which is not time or put together by thought as true.’
‘Immortality is where time doesn’t exist, and for this, the mind must be still. You cannot come upon this stillness without order. The really religious life is the life of non-self.’
‘After the talk, Krishnaji waited back stage until Stokowski came. They bowed and shook hands with great dignity. They mentioned how long since they had met. Krishnaji says it was first in Ommen, then in Ojai when he brought Garbo with him. Each seemed to give an appraising glance at the other as if noting how the years had touched each one. Stokowski is ninety now, still conducting. He has a concert in Carnegie Hall tomorrow night and Mr. Warkow said he had made a box available to Krishnaji and his friends. Erna and Theo will go.’
‘We came back to lunch, and while Krishnaji slept, I went to the Dray Gallery to see a Bourdelle watercolor done of Krishnaji in 1927–28, which is similar to the one at Brockwood given by Mar de Manziarly. The gallery tried to sell it to me for $2,500. Bought some shoes and came back.’
‘During supper, the television showed an English curate doing exorcism on people possessed. Krishnaji told of doing it in the past. We watched a documentary on climbing Everest.’

‘The next day, Monday the eighth. ‘Narasimhan came by and drove Krishnaji and me to his apartment for lunch with him and his wife.On the ninth, ‘Krishnaji was interested in Dr. Woolf.’ Dr. Woolf was an old German doctor to whom my family went, and I’d been to, and I had been to him during this time. Actually, it’s the Niehans thing— Niehans was a Swiss doctor, who invented the thing about implantation of cells from a fetus of a sheep.. I think they—“synthesized” isn’t the word, but didn’t have to kill the sheep to get it. Niehans’s theory was there were certain things that make the embryo grow and develop, and it’s not made after the birth of the creature, and those things Niehans felt would keep you healthy and your own body functioning well. A lot of famous people have had it; Winston Churchill had it; the Pope is supposed to have had it; So, ‘we went to Dr. Woolf and he took specimens from us to examine, and an infrared photo of Krishnaji’s lower lip, which is supposed to show the arterial conditions.’
He also gave Krishnaji a nose spray to desensitize his nose from hay fever, and ribonucleic acid tablets (cold pills) for the same. We got back to the hotel with plenty of time to do last-minute things, and say goodbye to Filomena, who is to fly back to Malibu tomorrow. And then we went to the airport, and at 8 p.m. took a TWA flight to London.’
 The tenth of May. ‘We scarcely slept on the 747, but arrived in London on time at 7:40 a.m. We were met by Dorothy in her new Cortina. The Digbys were there to greet Krishnaji. Krishnaji and I drove with Dorothy to Brockwood. It was a grey day, but the sun came out as we came up the lane. Spring is late this year, and the copper beeches are just unfurling their tiny leaves. Everything looked very well. The new stone path that Guy has made is splendid and looks as if it has always been there. The new serving room with arches into the dining room is an improvement.’ That’s where the food is laid out in the school. Everyone looked well. Krishnaji, Dorothy, Whisper, and I went for a walk across the fields and back by the lane. Slept nine hours in the marvelous quiet of Brockwood.’

The thirteenth and fourteenth seem to be family matters. ‘Continued unpacking and arranging things in order. Krishnaji slept morning and afternoon. And on the fourteenth, it’s another quiet day. The Bohms came for lunch. We walked. Krishnaji slept a lot, and after tea, I packed for Paris.’ On the fifteenth, ‘Dorothy drove Krishnaji and me to Heathrow. Krishnaji and I took the 12:40 p.m. Air France plane to Paris, and Michel met us’—that’s my father’s chauffeur—‘with the Rolls in which Krishnaji feels a little self-conscious, but also likes.’ ‘

The next day was Thursday the eighteenth, and ‘I had a fitting at Chanel, ordered a blue tweed suit, went to see Father, came back to the hotel, and found the Mercedes there, brought from Thun by Mr. Moser. He, Krishnaji, and I discussed Krishnaji’s car, the purchase of which is postponed until next year.’ Krishnaji didn’t like the current model. ‘He left, and Krishnaji and I had a pleasant lunch at the Plaza. At 3:50 p.m. we left in the Mercedes for Le Havre. About an hour out on the autoroute, the car stopped for no reason we could tell. After five minutes, it was alright, and we continued. We found the Normandy Ferry, but instead of boarding immediately, we went looking for a restaurant called Monaco for supper. We found it, had supper, and boarded the ferry. We had the usual neat cabins and a smooth crossing.’ The next morning, ‘we debarked in Southampton at 7 a.m., and drove to Brockwood in less than an hour.

June twenty-sixth. ‘It was packing all day. For once, not too rushed. We both had supper downstairs, and then some of the boys helped me load the car, and as usual, all the school came out to see Krishnaji off. We drove to Southampton and onto the Normandy Ferry. We had comfortable cabins and the crossing was so smooth that I couldn’t tell when the ship left the dock.’ On June twenty-seventh. ‘We disembarked at 7 a.m. at Le Havre. There was fog on the road. We stopped for breakfast at one of those autoroute places, which have copied all the worst of American coffee shops. Arrived in Paris, and at the Plaza Athénée by 10:30 a.m. ‘We had supper in our rooms. A crazy woman telephoned from Las Vegas for Krishnaji. I spoke to her. She wants money to make a movie to explain Krishnaji’s message.’ How did she find us at the Plaza? I suppose Brockwood told her.

According to Sacha’s excellent planning, on a small road that led to the Swiss border at Saint-Julien-en-Genevois, the Haute Savoie country was utterly unspoiled, fields of farms, treesand hills turning to mountains, the shape of the farmhouses massive against the winters is like the best of the old Swiss. At the border, I put through the papers, for the Chanel tweeds, saving many francs thereby. We came immediately down into Geneva and were once again in the little narrow efficient rooms at the Hotel du Rhône. We went out for a walk, watched the Jet d’Eau, and came back to supper in the rooms. During the day driving through the Savoie, there were signs “Jesus sauve” . Krishnaji pointed to the first and said, “Oh, Jesus!” Then we came to one that read “Jésus est là” said Krishnaji, “Bon, j’y suis.”’

. On July seventh, After supper, Krishnaji, Vanda, and I talked till quite late about the early days. Mrs. Besant, Leadbeater’s discovery of the boy, and the so-called instructions from Masters reported by Leadbeater on how the boy was to be cared for. Krishnaji was in high form, laughing, told most of it. “Listen to this, signora; when he traveled, there was to be always two initiates, one to have a compartment on one side of him, and one on the other, so if there were an accident, they would be killed.”’

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Wed, 05 Jun 2019 #163
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline

(...) July fifteenth, 1972.

‘Krishnaji then wanted to go to see the tent, and we went to the camping site and saw the Simmonses, who safely arrived last night after a rather limping trip in which the Land Rover had failed repeatedly.’
‘We went to the tent; I mean we went to the Simmonses, and then we came back, and I returned to pick up the Biascoecheas at Saanen, at the Saanerhof, and also Alan Kishbaugh for lunch. Before lunch, Krishnaji called Enrique, Isabel, and me to his room. Sitting in a Japanese orange silk kimono, looking suddenly very young and in his extraordinary beauty and speaking very intensely, he said he wanted to apologize for getting Enrique into the spot he was in when he gave his deposition. He said that if he had known what Enrique had been through with Rajagopal back then, he would have told Enrique not to try to protect him. Krishnaji said that he knows now that all that had happened was engineered by Rajagopal and Rosalind in order to hold onto him.

Sunday the sixteenth of July. ‘It was a clear day for Krishnaji’s first talk. Vanda went with Mrs. Walsh’—she’s the woman who lived downstairs—‘to the tent. She also took Frau Erkelenz, the owner of the chalet upstairs. Krishnaji and I drove via Saanen. The tent looked dignified, well ordered, and was nearly full. I sat in the last row where Vanda and Doris Pratt had saved me a seat.’
‘Krishnaji began with, “I wonder why you have all come. To be given something? To find something? And who is it that wants to get it?” Later, he said, “Intelligence is energy as application.” A very good opening talk and he stopped on the instant of an hour, saying he would continue Tuesday. He walked out and up the road, pursued by Guido Franco and a movie camera. He hadn’t bothered to wait for our answer or permission to film Krishnaji. I interrupted him with Alan Kishbaugh’s name and number and told him he was a trustee of KFA and to talk to him. Krishnaji had had a slight cough at the beginning, but did not seem too tired. He had lunch in bed. Vanda said he looked smaller on the platform, and she figured out it was his face because of the hair combed over the forehead. Combed back, it looked much better. It meant cutting the long side pieces and Krishnaji said we both agreed it would be done.’ ‘He wanted to do it immediately with narrow scissors but was persuaded to wait for a barber.’

The seventeenth of July. ‘Vanda left by train. Alan Kishbaugh saw Guido Franco about the filming. Krishnaji meanwhile said Franco had broken the agreement by filming him yesterday, and he doesn’t want him to continue. As Alan Kishbaugh had asked Franco to draw up a more realistic proposal, we will await that before replying. I asked Alan K. to use the room downstairs vacated by Vanda and he will move up tomorrow. The Mercedes refused to start. Krishnaji went down to the village by taxi to have his hair cut short. It looks very nice. No long ear-like pieces to bother him when the wind blows and now the shape of his forehead shows. Proportions are right, and there is a new glimpse of beauty. That beauty referred to in a review by Cyril Connolly in the London Sunday Times yesterday, and Jacob Needleman’s book The New Religions. “People,” he said, “who have seen Krishnaji inevitably speak of his extraordinary beauty to which is now added the fragility of age.” Krishnaji read this and seemed surprised at the rest of it, which speaks highly of him. Krishnaji knows who Connolly is; he says he’s a friend of Mary Links.’

Tuesday, the eighteenth. ‘Krishnaji had slept little because of congestion in his head, but this day was not lacking in energy. It was clear and warm, and he wore the brown linen Givenchy trousers with a new Charvet shirt that has a tiny pattern of checks that gave it a faint pinkish tone. With the hair, at last, cut, looking more natural and somehow much younger, he was looking marvelously. The Mercedes, which had not started yesterday, had spent the night at a garage, and was delivered at 8 a.m. I drove the garage man back. There was a carrot hazelnut cake for lunch; the village is clean and only a few people were in the shop at that hour. There was the pleasant light of a summer morning. Krishnaji and I drove again via Saanen to the tent. The trees make a shadow on the road, and Krishnaji said, “I like this way.” He gave his second talk, a truly great one. Spoke of insight, which is intelligence, seeing without conclusion; the mind without conclusions is without fear. The only security is that of intelligence and insight, a talk with many things in it and tremendous power. Again, he walked rapidly up the road pursued by Franco with his film camera. Kishbaugh is to tell Franco he may not shoot in the tent or otherwise, decided by Krishnaji and the Foundation.’
‘We drove to Gstaad slowly. “The body is too excited” to go back to Tannegg immediately. When we did, there were letters from Erna about the Ventura lawyer, Mr. Cohen, who will be the local attorney with Rosenthal, and another letter from my brother,’ well, it goes on about my brother.
‘After reading the mail, I went down and picked up Alan K., who moved his things into the downstairs apartment and also brought Radha Burnier up for lunch. This was Krishnaji’s first meal at the table since our arrival. He told her some of the Rajagopal case events and the background to it. In fact, he took no rest but talked till 4 p.m., when he went for a walk with Alan K., and I drove Radha—as she wishes me to call her—back to her hotel. She’s here till Saturday. After the walk, we had tea, and Krishnaji sat and talked with Alan K. and me until 7 o’clock, somewhat on  his sense of unease when doctors come and when he is outside at night. Once in Ashdown Forest, he was walking alone and it became dark, and he felt he was being followed, and he reached the house exhausted and had to be put to bed “for several days.” Last year in Madras, he came to a temple as the light was fading and felt the threat. He stood and watched, and “said something.”’
‘Then I asked, “a particular thing?”’
‘Krishnaji replied, “Yes, a particular thing. And gradually, it oozed away.” I didn’t ask him then what it was he said, but he spoke earlier of the Christians making the sign of the cross, the Hindus uttering the word “om” to ward off evil’—he had spoken earlier about those two things. He told too of being asked, when young, to heal a “possessed” woman. He went to see her, and she looked up at him and became quiet and normal. He told of Jayalakshmi going one night alone to a temple felt to be very holy, and feeling great danger there, so that she fled to her car and went home. Krishnaji said it is not supposed to be good to talk of “dark powers,” as it somehow gives them energy. He says these things as an “on dit”—gossip, but he says too one mustn’t tamper with such things, and he does have his unease about being out at night, and an extra precaution being necessary for those around him, as if we were his protection, in part, and therefore liable to attack by whatever is evil. Evil is attracted to goodness, wanting to destroy it. Alan K. talked of the odd sense of threat when he camped in an Indian burial ground and it ceasing when he put on a Hopi medicine man’s bracelet. Alan K. said to me at supper he feels the sense of being there to protect Krishnaji when he is with him.’

Krishnaji began his talk today, number three, by requesting no filming, taping, or taking notes, as it disturbs others. The talk was on thought, what are its uses, and its destructive effect in relationship. He spoke with enormous energy. Afterward, he wanted to drive, and we went to Saanenmöser and back, then picked up Radha Burnier, who lunched with us. Krishnaji asked her various questions on mantra, yoga, Hindu beliefs, immortality, etcetera. Afterward, I took her back to her hotel, did errands, and was back when de Marxov came to tea. Krishnaji walked alone. He came back physically tired but looking well. His hair cut is such an improvement, and today’s costume, faintly pinkish shirt, the buff-beige linen Givenchy trousers, cream-colored socks and brown Belgian moccasins, made him as well-dressed for summer as he is in all his Huntsman suits. There is a glow, a shine, to him. No news yet of the Lilliefelts, who should have arrived today.’
‘On the twenty-first, the Lilliefelts arrived and they came for lunch. We talked all afternoon. Isabel Biascoechea brought a Spanish woman who was hysterical to see Krishnaji. He calmed her somewhat by placing his hands on her head and told her husband to take her away from here, to take her to the movies, away from all this. They had been to some meeting before coming here, and people attempted some kind of prolonged meditation.’

The next day, there was nothing interesting. ‘Krishnaji went for a walk alone. Yvon Achard and Jean-Pierre Gaillard came to talk to me about French books being too expensive for students, and the need for resumption of the Bulletin. They are for Linssen doing it. I told them to talk to the French committee.’
On the twenty-third was ‘Krishnaji’s fourth Saanen talk. We drove to Lauenen afterward, taking Alan K. At lunch, there were the Moorheads and  Balasundaram, who arrived yesterday and is staying with them. He brought oil, pickles, and almond halva to Krishnaji. Told Krishnaji at lunch of going to Madhavachari, and talking to him about Vasanta Vihar, its ownership by the Stichting, and that this was all complicated by the lawsuit. It seems that for some reason, Vasanta Vihar is owned by the Stichting.’
KF India could facilitate getting the present caretaker out. KFA would have to bring suit to gain that position, now that the Stichting has given its ownership to KFA. Balasundarum got Madhavachari as far as Pupul’s door at Bombay to talk it over, but he wouldn’t go in.’ See, Madhavachari claimed that he had power of attorney from Rajagopal, therefore, he could only do what Rajagopal said. But, it was proved that Rajagopal didn’t have rights to Vasanta Vihar. It was endlessly complicated, but anyway, ‘Krishnaji asked Balasundarum why Madhavachari was acting this way. Balasundarum guesses it was his allegiance to Rajagopal. Krishnaji said the loss of his son’ had embittered Madhavachari, but Balasundarum said he was over that. From my view, Madhavachari has been consistently Rajagopal’s man all along and has been so even before the son died. But, Krishnaji realizes Madhavachari doesn’t tell the truth. Krishnaji brought up the bookTradition and Revolution, edited by Pupul and Sunanda, the 1970–71 discussions with Krishnaji, that Mary couldn’t edit

Monday, the twenty-fourth. ‘Krishnaji had a cable from Pupul Jayakar that her husband died. I sent a reply cable from Krishnaji, Balasundarum, and myself. Alan K. and I drove to Bern, to the U.S. Consulate, to have notarization of our signatures as trustees on escrow papers for the KFA sale of a little house they inherited in Ojai. Then, we drove over to the center of the city and lunched and waited for the shops to reopen at 2 p.m. I bought socks for Krishnaji and material for slacks for me. I drove back to Gstaad in time for Alan to walk with Krishnaji, and me to have an ultrasound treatment on my foot, which continues swollen and sore.’
Tuesday, the twenty-fifth. ‘Krishnaji’s fifth Saanen talk, and it was on suffering, conflict, and finally pleasure and joy. He spoke with almost explosive energy. We drove to Château D’Oex afterward and got back just before a letter from Sol Rosenthal on Vigeveno’s letter. Sol says Vigeveno’s letter could be a feeler for a settlement, and he advises how to reply if Krishnaji wishes to acknowledge it. Balasundarum and the Moorheads came for lunch. Pupul wants copyrights shared between the Foundations.
‘At 4 p.m., Nadia Kossiakof brought Mlle. Delachaux of Delachaux et Niestlé, the French-Swiss publisher, to see Krishnaji. She wants to do a livre de poche and a hardcover and wanted suggestions. Krishnaji came in dressed in jeans and a grey sweater. Mlle. Delachaux asked him if he was a mystic, and Krishnaji recoiled in distaste. “What is a mystic?” Krishnaji said it implied search, and explained the projections of the Catholic having mystical experiences of Jesus, of the Hindus of Krishna, or whatever; all is within conditioning; a religious mind must be outside all that. She asked about intuition, which Krishnaji always finds dangerous as a word. “That may be only a projection,” he said. “What is the subconscious?” Krishnaji replied,  “the repository of conditioning.” He said, “Thought, other than technical thought, divides,” and she couldn’t see that. He explained about nationalities, religions, etcetera, all products of thought, and so it went. Through all this, he sat with a relaxed grace of a young boy. Once again, I was watching the extraordinary beauty of face, posture, gesture, expression. Because he was tired, he was hesitant in his replies in French, in which the conversation had gone. But he addressed himself with total attention to her questions, and at the same time, he had an informality that enhanced his grace. Apart from all he said, there is an 'ascetic experience ' in seeing him that is limitless.’
‘I drove the two women down to the Bernerhof, went to get The Economist and some detectives for Krishnaji, and had the surprise of finding him waiting for me at the foot of the hill by the bridge, thumbing a ride with me. He had started on his walk up the hill toward the woods, felt tired, and so came down hoping to catch me. He had been there a minute when I came by, as if something neatly arranged it. We came back and had verveine tisane  and then he went to bed and I had supper alone and also went to bed early.’

Wednesday, the twenty-sixth. ‘Krishnaji, before breakfast, dictated a reply to the Vigeveno letter, keeping my and Rosenthal’s suggestions. It was on the whole alright, but to me, too long; and as Vigeveno’s letter was essentially insulting, it dignified it too much. Once dictated, Krishnaji kept revising it, toning it down, to be discussed with Erna and Theo when he sees them. I went for an ultrasonic treatment for the foot, to the bank for the new restrictions on foreign accounts,’ and it goes on about what they are.

The twenty-seventh of July. ‘Krishnaji’s sixth Saanen talk. Again, a blazing energy. He said later that he had no idea what he was going to say when he sat down. Seeking of security in various way “without happiness you cannot learn.”’ That’s a quote. ‘Death, insight to examine what it is to live without fear. Learning. He said, “there were some new things.”’ That’s a quote from him. Sometimes after a talk, he would say, “Did you notice there were some new things?” The Digbys arrived last night. The Lilliefelts, Mary Cadogan, Alan K. all came for lunch. Krishnaji said Olga,’—that was a maid we had helping Fosca—‘was too slow and he managed the lunch himself, passing plates, etcetera. We then had an all-afternoon rather epic meeting, in which it was decided, at last, that Alan K., now elected to the Publications Committee, should handle all negotiations with U.S. Publishers.
‘Krishnaji pushed for the decision and underlined every step of the procedure so that no misunderstandings could occur.

Then it says, ‘Erna explained once again the KFA’s position with regard to money sent to England.’ That was a problem. The English couldn’t get it through their heads that the KFA couldn’t just send its money to England, that the money donated to an American charity has to be used for the purposes of that American charity and not in a foreign country. So, that was awkward, for ages. They just couldn’t understand it, or didn’t want to understand it. ‘And it was finally decided to send $10,000 of the Frances McCann money, which will go ultimately to the Cloisters building, but is to be used temporarily for Brockwood school expenses until KF Trust has its assets freed.’ Tapes were discussed and the Indian books were gone into. The revelation that the Tradition and Revolution book being from notes made by Sunanda after the talks and not verbatim tapes increases the unwillingness to use it in the West.’

Friday, the twenty-eighth of July. ‘I had ultrasound foot treatment, and Erna and Theo came and we discussed the Vigeveno letter, amended the draft of Krishnaji’s reply, and it was sent. At 11:45 a.m., there was the annual meeting of the Krishnamurti Foreign committees and foundations. Krishnaji discussed their functions after his death, and mentioned the case with Rajagopal. Dates were set for next year at Saanen. Over my protest about hay fever in July and the number of talks, which was seven, Krishnaji insisted on keeping to seven talks and seven discussions, and the dates are about the same. At lunch were Anneke, Balasundarum, Erna, Theo, and Alan K. We discussed Vasanta Vihar, the Stichting will join KF India in suing Rajagopal for possession, as the gift of Vasanta Vihar has not been registered to KF India’—which didn’t exist at the time. ‘Balasundaram said what India (i.e., Pupul) wants for publications is to share in the copyrights, and rights to publish abroad, just what she pushed for last year, and against the agreement already made. Balasundarum seems to see the necessity of keeping the copyright in one place. Servire, in the person of Verhulst, and a new partner, an Englishman who embraced Sufism and changed his name to Inayat Khan, are here in Gstaad, and have tried to get rights to the Indian books, though they know KF India has an agreement with KFT not to publish outside their territory.
Saturday, July twenty-ninth. At 2 p.m., Mr. Verhulst and his new partner Fazal Inayat Khan came. The latter is a leading Sufi, and head of the Sufi publishing house. He was questioned by Krishnaji, and he told Krishnaji he could sell Krishnaji’s teachings, and Sufism, etcetera, as all are one, all are searching for truth. “One moment, sir,” said Krishnaji, and proceeded to disabuse him of this. There is no way, no method. Khan, as oily a character as one is likely to find, coolly yessed Krishnaji. No final answer has been given Verhulst on an extension of the old contract. There were pointed words between Balasundarum and Khan. The latter made it clear he was trying to establish himself in the U.S. through the use of Krishnaji’s books. At present, he has an outlet there. Verhulst and Khan left, and it was decided we should not extend the contract, but should consult Michael Rubinstein before giving our final reply. The rest of the day was devoted to the Indian publication problems. Balasundaram said Tradition and Revolution is not based on tapes or shorthand, but on notes made afterward from memory. Everyone is rather appalled by this. Balasundarum made a strong push to have India share the copyright; he didn’t succeed, but he was made a member of the Publication Committee. An exhausting day.’

Sunday, July thirtieth. ‘Krishnaji’s seventh Saanen talk on 'meditation'. ’

The thirty-first starts with ‘Alan K. to an early train on his way to California. I went to the doctor for treatment, then to the bank. The Biascoecheas came for lunch. Enrique will be president of the Fundación temporarily, on Faria’s resignation. After lunch, Mr. Martinaux Mirabet, a Spaniard of Mexican citizenship, came and gave Krishnaji $5,000 in francs and pesos. Krishnaji is giving it to Brockwood.’ He came every year to Saanen, and always brought money for Krishnaji personally, and Krishnaji always gave it right away to Brockwood.

August second. ‘Krishnaji’s first public discussion
On August third, ‘Krishnaji gave his second public discussion. It rained; it was very cold, fifty degrees. To lunch came Madame Duchet, Marcelle Bondoneau, and Mary Cadogan. Mary saw Krishnaji alone afterwards. Krishnaji gave interviews to Iphegenia Frangos, Peter Racz, Rosemary Sheppard, and Franklin Philip. I met Mr. and Mrs. Santhanam, friends of Narasimhan, and I took them to Hotel Bellevue.’
August fourth, ‘the third public discussion. The Narayans and Mr. and Mrs. Santhanam for lunch. I took the latter to the train. Krishnaji gave an interview to Mr. Silvius Rusu. The Bohms and Peter Racz came for lunch. ’
On August sixth, ‘there was the fifth public discussion, mostly on observing; images are easier, the lazy way.
August seventh. ‘Krishnaji’s sixth public discussion. We drove past Saanenmöser afterward, and came back to lunch with Erna and Theo. It was a hot day. No interviews for Krishnaji. We went for a walk, and I went down to the village on errands.’
On August eighth, ‘Krishnaji gave his seventh and last public discussion, completing the series. It was a hot day. We had a quiet lunch alone. No more activities, except that Krishnaji saw Topazia for her eye treatment.’ Topazia Alliata was an old, old friend from Italy.
On August twelfth, ‘the Grafs, Doris, and the Simmonses were at lunch. There was a long interrogation from Rajagopal’s lawyers, which was forwarded by Sol. I went with Krishnaji and Dorothy for the first walk that I’d been able to take, and my foot was alright. I went as far as the river. In the evening, I went with Dorothy to a Menuhin concert.’

 Sunday, thirteenth of August. ‘Nadia Kossiakof, when she was here, told Krishnaji that Suarès is venomous about him, and when I asked her about it, she said it was both about Krishnaji and his teachings. Nevertheless, Krishnaji said we must have them for one meal. I said it was his house, but on my own I wouldn’t. If it were about me, I wouldn’t care, but to be against him puts them beyond the pale, as far as I was concerned. So, they came to lunch today, along with Marcelle Bondoneau, and Dorothy and Montague to dilute things. I fetched Marcelle and the Suarèses up the hill. Everyone was very polite. Krishnaji came in with his eager smile and greeted them so nicely. The conversation ball was always kept in the air throughout lunch. Carlo Suarès, who looks like a grey rat’ nibbled away with gusto at Fosca’s spinach ravioli, etcetera. They were socially busy, but Krishnaji said later that they were not at ease with him. On saying goodbye, Carlo Suarès put his hands on Krishnaji’s shoulders as if in friendship, but it was so fake, I felt revulsion. Marcelle stayed on a little with Krishnaji and talked awhile. She, Nadia, and Mar de Manziarly see the Suarèses rarely, but when they do, Krishnaji’s name is no longer mentioned, or they could not get on. One wonders why they want to get on, in that case. It is curious how easily people turn against one another, and also how difficult it is to separate. Yo de Manziarly still winters with the Suarèses, and Marcelle said Yo has gone to India to see Sathya Sai Baba with Annalisa Rajagopal. I think this shocked Krishnaji. I felt sick that this dimension of an old friend and betrayal should be seen by him. “What is it with these people?” Krishnaji asks, and I wonder, is it that each one of them wants something from him, or something he is, and not getting a thing they can grasp and hold, they turn on him; cluster together; and reinforce each other’s resentment?
I drove Marcelle Bondoneau and the Biascoecheas down to Hotel Bel Air in the car. Marcelle spoke of Martha Crego writing to people in France about the case, people who knew nothing and weren’t interested. “Pourquoi fait elle du gossip, comme une concierge?” said Marcelle. It was repeated to Crego, who astonishingly didn’t know what a conciege was, and went around asking. Now, she cuts Marcelle, but she also goes about saying that she has become a great friend of Vanda, and therefore knows much more about things.
. ‘Later in a faint rain, Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked up the Turbach way, my second walk. The foot was alright, though I didn’t go all the way, but sat by the river and did pranayama while waiting for them to return.’
August fourteenth. ‘Krishnaji came into the dining room where Dorothy, Montague, and I were having breakfast, looking very beautiful, there is no other word, in his orange silk kimono. There are no lines in his face, no wrinkles. There are sunken parts and age signs under his eyes, but the surface skin is unwrinkled and glowing. I told him this earlier, and he said, “What am I to do?”’ and then, “It is pedigreed cucumber night cream. He was a great one for using all kinds of oily things, and at one point, there was a kind of cream that was made of pedigreed cucumbers. It was sort of a joke between us.

‘In spite of clouds, we decided to go for an expedition, out, at any rate, to give Fosca a rest, and it was too uncertain for a picnic. So, it was decided to take the new road from Diablerets to Villars. As we were leaving, Madame Duchet came by with a photocopy of a note from Jean-Pierre Gaillard to her saying, “Notre travail s’accomplit en parfait accord avec nos Maître Koot Humi et Djwal Khul avec qui nous sommes en contact permanent’
‘Afterward, Krishnaji, Dorothy, Montague, and I drove to the Diablerets and up the new road to the Col de la Croix, where we got out and walked a little. Then, down to Villars. It was too cloudy to see Mont Blanc, and the Dents-du-Midi, but Krishnaji guided us to Montesano, a hotel where he and his brother stayed in the early ’20s, when Nitya had TB. Then, in 1957 also, Rajagopal left him there alone for about two months, giving him just enough money to pay his board plus 50 francs so he could do nothing else. We lunched there in the dining room where Krishnaji used to have a table alone in the corner by the window. It is a family hotel with long tables, children and parents on holiday. The waitress, a lumpy girl in a Swiss costume, was English and uncomfortable, but the food was surprisingly nice—well-cooked carrots, potato puree, salad, cheese, and fruit. Krishnaji told us of Rajagopal having written to Vanda who was, at the time, in Gstaad not to communicate with Krishnaji.’ He left him there alone.
‘When Rajagopal left, after several days there, on one of which he was drunk in the dining room and called Krishnaji names in a loud voice, he told Krishnaji,’ [in a harsh voice] ‘“You say you are never lonely, well, now you’re going to find out what it’s like, what the rest of us feel.”’ ‘“But I was never lonely,” said Krishnaji.’ “I could have just stayed there.” He went for walks all day in the hills, never spoke to anyone, even when the hotel manager wanted to introduce him to some guests. He left when it was time to go somewhere he was due. He went by train, changing twice, to Chamonix, where de Vidas met him. I was close to tears at lunch, seeing him there, a place he had been happy with his brother, oh so long ago, and then left alone by the malevolence of Rajagopal.’
‘We had taken the table near the door. Unconsciously, I must have felt Krishnaji’s reluctance to enter the room of people and he sat turned away from them. There was a quality to his shyness that was different in that room. Little glimpses of recoil from people, the painful shyness of someone much younger. He looked so young, so utterly vulnerable, so very shy. I could see him then, behind a wall of his shyness, his far away-ness, and yet content to spend his days walking in the hills, as in Ojai, in his distant state. Rajagopal’s attempt to hurt him didn’t work. “But why did I put up with him?” he asked. “I just accepted it. I suppose because there was no one else to turn to.”’
‘It was raining when we left and drove down through Bex to Aigle. Krishnaji wanted to see the lake, but halfway there, the traffic was thick, and we turned back and went up the Col du Pillon. An accident happened ahead of us, a driver in a red car in a hurry side-swiped one coming down the hill; no one was hurt. Dorothy struggled with her fear of heights, and I drove very carefully and slowly. We came back in time for a walk in spite of the rain.’

The fifteenth of August. ‘Dorothy and Montague left in the Land Rover for England, taking Doris with them. Madame Yvonne Welser came to see Krishnaji. She has to be carried’—this is a crippled woman who used to come and he used to try to cure her. ‘She had written at the beginning of Saanen that she thought it served no purpose to see him this year; her health had deteriorated in spite of his treatment; he is incorruptible, but she is not, etcetera. But she left it to him to decide. Krishnaji made no reply, so she telephoned last week asking to speak to him. He told her to telephone yesterday. She is thinking of going to the Philippines for the weird cures they do there. The poor woman wept and Krishnaji had to come in to me for Kleenex. She is obviously emotional about him, as well as her horrendous difficulties. I walked in and talked to her a little bit afterward. There is a boy from South Africa she asked Krishnaji to see; he will come tomorrow. The day was quiet from then on.’
‘We lunched alone, and later walked up the Turbach Road. Krishnaji said again, “you must take care of yourself, as you must outlive me. I will live at least another ten years, till I’m ninety, probably. You must live beyond that. You do not belong to yourself anymore.”’

‘Mr. Moser came in the morning about the order for Krishnaji’s Mercedes, which was postponed from this year. A car has to be bought; the order is in abeyance. It could be got out of only by paying for it and then selling it immediately at a loss.’ Oh, that was the one we ordered that we didn’t want. ‘Krishnaji wanted to take it to the U.S. to replace the Jaguar, which he says is too old. I will have to buy it from him. Moser is getting the figures for export, and we will go on to Thun on Thursday.’
Wednesday the sixteenth. ‘I went on errands and to listen to part of a Menuhin rehearsal in the Saanen Church; the lovely lift of Mozart quartets. The sunlight was lovely on the wooden pew rail. I kept seeing Krishnaji in Villars and now up in his room at Tannegg: the infinite wonder of him; fragile, extraordinary, to be cared for, served, and cherished.’
‘At lunch were Topazia Alliata, Marcelle Bondoneau, and Frances McCann. At lunch they chatted, but he was far away, but he came back to the conversation when they touched on Buddhism, the hierarchy of masters in Theosophy, over them the Maha Chohan, the Maitreya, then the Buddha. He explained where some of it came from, mostly Tibet. Also at lunch, he kept Olga, the inconstant maid, out of the dining room [laughing], passing out everything himself. He is exasperated by her and worse, she smells. Later, the South African boy, Peter Raggitt, had an interview, and then we went for a walk. We talked of Jesus. I asked what difference did it make whether he lived or not? Wasn’t what he is said to have said to us either true or not? It wasn’t very original, said Krishnaji, just ''to love one another''. I asked, wasn’t it a way of saying, no self, which seems at the core of all religions in varying words. Krishnaji said yes and that Akhenaten had said it too. He has been reading a book on Egyptian history. I said that the religion that people grasp, like Jesus, gives people symbols to hold onto, whereas he takes them away.’

August seventeenth. ‘Vanda telephoned from Florence. Krishnaji had not slept well, and said meditation is so strong that the back of his head felt on fire, not pain, but a flame so strong he had to read to stop it before he could sleep again. Nevertheless, he wanted to come to Bern where I had to get his French visa. So, we went on this grey day. I had difficulty finding the entrance to the autoroute, but did reach Bern and find the French embassy before noon, only to be told he needed a letter from the Indian embassy. Everything closes at noon, so we found a parking garage by the Bellevue and found our way on foot, to a “vegetarian”’—Krishnaji remembered a vegetarian restaurant in a garden. ‘Only after eating downstairs did we learn that the garden was upstairs. But we had a nice meal, clean, quiet, and inexpensive. We found the Indian embassy by 2 p.m., got the needed letter, and went back to the French embassy, where they took forty-five minutes, and finally went off to Thun. We saw Moser about the SLC 280 3.5 Mercedes for next year’s delivery. The export price was far less. Krishnaji wishes to take it to the U.S. We ordered it in 'stone pine green'.’

And after hesitation between beige and black interior, we settled on beige. We drove back to Tannegg and tried 'Bambu', a fake coffee we had bought in the Reformhaus in Bern.’

On Monday the twenty-first. ‘It has been the first day of sun after cold, grey ones. The fresh snow against the clear sky makes the world look reborn. We walked all the way on the Turbach Road. In a pause in all my telephoning, Krishnaji came in and said, when I told him what was happening, “Are you worried (about your father) ?” he asked. I said, worry is when there is something that can be done to change things; this, it appears, cannot be altered. Krishnaji: “Do you feel something in this room, the atmosphere, and I don’t want this to impinge on you.” We went to his room, and he said, “Do you feel a difference?” And then he said, “Perhaps it is because you have been filled with this in here. We are all going.” Then I asked, “Tell me, oh Sphinx, when does one stop 'coming' and start 'going'?” Krishnaji said, “Oh, probably at ten to twenty years old. I have never seen someone die. I wasn’t there when my brother died. It would have been terrible. In a way, I am gone when I walk, or sometimes when I am reading, I am so far away. Not when I talk. Then, I am all there. But otherwise, I am getting farther away. That is why you mustn’t let them give me a general anesthetic; put me out. That would be the end.”’
‘“What if you are in pain, hurt?” I asked.’
‘He replied, “I don’t think that will happen like that. But then sedation, but not 'out —meaning unconscious. You must outlive me. I will live another fifteen years, or twenty, I don’t know. But I feel that. And when he (K) goes, you must not commit 'suicide', as you did, in a way, when your husband died. Should you go to Paris now?”’
‘“No,” I said, “we will go with our plan to go Wednesday.”’
‘Krishnaji: “I couldn’t drive the car alone; maybe to Bulle or Nyon, but the body couldn’t all the way.”
My father died the next day. Then I talked to Krishnaji about my father.’
Wednesday, August twenty-third. ‘We were in the car waving goodbye to Fosca and off from Tannegg at 4 a.m. We reached the border at Saint-Cergue by 6. In France, at Lons-le-Saunier, we bought croissants, hot from the oven, and had them with fruit for breakfast in the same edge of the road as a year ago. We got onto the autoroute at Chalon-sur-Saône, and Krishnaji drove for 100 miles or so. We reached Paris by 1 p.m., and ate our picnic lunch in the Bois ( de Boulogne) where we used to take our walks. It was warm and sunny. We went to Plaza Athénée, and I telephoned Father’s apartment. My brother and Lisa had arrived at 9:30 a.m.’ On the drive this morning, Krishnaji spoke of death. “I don’t like to speak of your father,” he said, “but what happens to a man like Rajagopal?” He talked of this and late in the evening, he said the following, which I wrote down verbatim. “Take a man like X”—meaning Rajagopal—“who is suspicious, jealous, secretive, concerned with his physical security. He is, after all, a product of his environment, his culture, his (self-centred) pattern of behavior. He may have peculiarities, his temperament, his so-called character. His mind is conditioned by the class he was born in, and so on. And when he dies, and that’s what we are talking about, what happens to him? He has not come out of his ‘environment.’ He has not made anything of life. He is merely reacting within his conditioning, which may be very clever, cunning, artistic, but he has not come out of it. He is part of the whole quivering mass. He may think he will reincarnate, be reborn, or absorbed into something greater, which is his hope and comfort, but basically, he is still a result of his tradition, of his forefathers, his environment. He has not come out of it, so he is absorbed into his basic conditioning. This sounds cruel, but as you observe, he is part of this ( collective consciousness of) humanity. As he was in his life, so he is in death. To live with death every day is to deny totally this ( collective ?) conditioning. So to die to conditioning every day is to live a life of a different dimension.”’He really was talking about most people. How wasted most lives are.

My father’s funeral took place on the twenty-fifth.’ I ‘We walked back after the funeral, which was in the morning, to the Plaza Athénée and Krishnaji joined us for lunch. My brother and his wife were going to return to the U.S. shortly, and Krishnaji and I left in the car at 4 p.m. for Le Havre, driving without haste. I was glad to be gone from Paris and its sadness. We had supper at a restaurant in Le Havre and boarded the Normandy ferry.’
On the twenty-sixth, ‘we arrived at Southampton early and were at Brockwood in time for breakfast. We unpacked slowly and walked in the afternoon with Dorothy and Whisper. It was peaceful, beautiful, and quiet there.’
The next day was also quiet, with long naps.
The next several days are just walking, Krishnaji washing the car, and things like that.
On August thirty-first, ‘it was another beautiful day. Krishnaji and I took a picnic and drove to Chichester Festival Theatre. We had a picnic lunch in the car, and then saw a matinee performance of The Lady’s Not for Burning. Tickets were got for us by Christopher and Phyl Fry. Afterward, we drove back to Brockwood through golden fields that had just been harvested.’
On September first, ‘we worked on the interrogatories’—this is part of a lawsuit, these endless written questions that the opposing force’s lawyers send you, and you have to fill out. ‘We walked in the afternoon.’

On September seventh, ‘the campers began arriving for the Brockwood talks.’
The eighth ‘was, again, preparations for the gathering beginning the next day. The house and cottages were full.’
On Saturday, September ninth, ‘Krishnaji gave his first Brockwood talk for that year in the tent. It was a rainy day, but a thousand people came. We had food set up in the adjacent tent. In the late afternoon, we walked.’ On the tenth, ‘Krishnaji gave his second Brockwood talk. The weather was nicer. Over a thousand people came, and we ate again in the tent.’

On September the eleventh, ‘I had a cable from the Dunnes that Filomena had had a slight stroke the day before.
The next day, ‘Krishnaji had a discussion in the tent, a very good one on thought and the mind. I finished the interrogatory letter and sent it to Erna.’
On the fourteenth, ‘Krishnaji held his second discussion at Brockwood. In the afternoon, after a walk, Dorothy, Elena Greene, Sidney Roth, Martha Longenecker, the Bohms, Yves Zlotnitcka, and I saw the four San Diego talks of 1970 that were videotaped.’
On September sixteenth, ‘Krishnaji gave his third Brockwood talk. We had lunch in the tent later.’ Most people who had come for the talks had left. Dorothy said we had enough money to do all the building..
The next day was the twenty-second and he had slept well and felt better, but his face was still swollen. He attended the first staff meeting of the term. In the afternoon, he, Carlos, and I washed the Mercedes. It was a lovely warm day. We had a walk later.

On October first, ‘Krishnaji talked to the school at 11:30 a.m. on language and communication.’ It says, ‘very good. In the afternoon, we went over and watched a cricket game between Brockwood and Mr. Morton’s sons and staff team.’ Don’t remember any of that. ‘Then, Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked to the grove, and pulled convolvulus out of the rhododendrons. Found a field mouse nest.’
On October second, ‘I telephoned Vanda in Rome about Krishnaji not having too many talks in Rome. She insists on my staying with her. I said I would stay in a hotel. I telephoned Filomena in Rome; she sounded a bit low. Krishnaji has a cold, so he stayed in bed all day. I took the Mercedes to Chichester for a 9,000-mile service, and spent the morning walking about Chichester pleasantly.
On October fifth, ‘Krishnaji is better. He stayed in bed in the morning, then we took the 12:45 p.m. train to London with a picnic lunch. For, naturally, Huntsman fittings’ [S laughs]. Mine was bad. Then Krishnaji had a new permanent right upper bridge put in by dentist Hamish Thompson, while I did errands, after which I picked him up and we went straight to Waterloo and home.’
The next day, ‘I fetched Mary Cadogan at Petersfield. Krishnaji talked with the school. The students asked what death is. After lunch, Krishnaji, Mary, and I had a meeting about the Digbys, etcetera. Then, Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked.’

On the seventh, ‘The Bohms came for the weekend. Krishnaji has a dialogue with David Bohm. Saral, Dorothy, Doris, and I were present, and George Carnes[9] taped it on the Nagra. They discussed what intelligence is - it is not thought, which is in time, etcetera. At one point, far into the discussion, Krishnaji put the question: “What is its source?” David was silent, and Krishnaji later asked me if I had noticed the change of atmosphere in the room when he asked that question. Then, at the end, he suddenly began to speak of another way to communicate something, to speak not to the conscious mind, but to the unconscious. “That is affection,” he said, “that is love.” To me, later, he said, “I’m going to speak to you that way about your habits of tension.” ‘He said that he has noticed that I have neglected my body, that for reasons he doesn’t want to inquire into it, I am highly nervous physically. It shows in an unquiet face, fiddling with fingers, etcetera. I have tried to correct it from the outside, through will, through the conscious mind, and when he has pointed out these mannerisms, I have responded with effort, will, irritation, or depression ‘all of which are superficial responses. He said, “I am now talking to a deeper level, out of affection. It is from this level, from the inside, you must listen and change. If you do, in a few days, you will be different. There will be an awareness of your body.” He said that after my husband died, for eight years, I abandoned my body, neglected it. Today, I have greatly changed and am aware in many ways, but still not in the well-being of the body. He will speak at this level to me, to my unconscious during the coming days.
Sacha de Manziarly telephoned and invited us to lunch in Paris on the sixteenth. Nadia Kossiakof telephoned that the first of Krishnaji’s two television interviews (from his series 'Conteurs') in French done last year ( with Andre Voisin ) will be shown on September the seventeenth, so we can see it as we will be in Paris then. (and in 2019 from anywhere on U tube )

On October ninth. ‘Last night Krishnaji again said, “I’m speaking to your unconscious mind. I feel it doesn’t feel it is important or you would’ve changed these habits during these five years. Do you know what it is to be quiet?” As he was saying this, I saw that the habits are offshoots of tension; I don’t feel tense or nervous, but somehow, to get things done, I build up this steam of energy, which has a quality of tension. It feels like being in high gear. This shouldn’t be necessary. It probably wastes the very energy I need. I see that, from the inside, a quietness is necessary, and that the core of these things cannot be done from without. It is a false tension. Quietness inside, I understand that. Later this morning, while doing dishes in the kitchen, Krishnaji said he felt a difference in me. Then late in the evening, he said, “You have taken the 'first initiation'. Do you know why you have taken so long? When you do, it will be the second initiation.”’

On October tenth, Vanda rang, saying that Krishnaji will give one talk in Rome on the twenty-ninth. Krishnaji and I went to London. He had his last appointment with the dentist for this year. We met Mary L. for lunch at Fortnum’s, after which Krishnaji had his hair cut. Then we went to Nelson’s for bronchial remedies, and then to see Mrs. Bindley. We caught the 6:20 p.m. train back.

On the thirteenth of October, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school and Mark Edwards took photographs of it. Mary and Joe Links brought Gollancz and Peter Day to meet Krishnaji. That was the first time they had met. Donald Hoppen, too, was at lunch. The Digbys sent a letter via Mary to Krishnaji, saying they were resigning from the Publication Committee and the KFT, “as he wished.” Krishnaji dictated a letter replying that he had not said that. Then, in the evening, he had me telephone George and say he hoped they would continue editing the talks. George and I spoke in a friendly fashion, and he said they would edit the talks but wished to withdraw from organizations.’

On Monday the sixteenth of October. ‘A clear morning, mist rising. Poplar trees etched their wintry twigs against the pale light. We drove swiftly, effortlessly, across the Tancarville Bridge on the autoroute, stopping for an execrable’ ‘breakfast at the usual cafeteria place. Next time we will bring our own breakfast. We were in Paris by 10:30 a.m., and true to K’s prediction, our rooms were ready. We unpacked, and then went to lunch in the Rue Jacob with Mar and Sacha de Manziarly. Sacha has not been well since a motor accident in the spring. Krishnaji put his hands on him. Mar talked privately to Krishnaji about the journal she and Yo kept when they were young. She will give it to Mary L. for the biography.’
‘We went to Charvet, and then I put Krishnaji in a taxi to the hotel and walked to Chanel for a fitting of my blue suit. Mr. Moser came to the hotel to take the Mercedes to Thun for winter storage. I gave him back bills for the scratch he put on the car in the spring, as my insurance has a 500 Swiss francs deductible. Moser is to send me the contract for Krishnaji’s new Mercedes in December when the new prices are known. We had supper in the rooms.’

‘Marcelle Bondoneau and Nadia Kossiakof lunched with us in the Régence. They had put together a new legal Krishnamurti entity in France, ''Le Bureau'', comprising four members, one of whom must be domiciled and own property in France, not rent. They are Mlle. Isabelle Mallet, Mme. Samuel, Mme. Lidie Banzet, and Mme. Betsy Debass. The object of the committee is strictly the dissemination of Krishnaji’s teachings through him, his books, tapes, and films. Nadia has worked very hard over this, and over publications and TV interviews. I sat up to see the broadcast of the half-hour TV interview of Krishnaji conducted by André Voisin a year ago, recorded here in the Plaza Athénée, over two days. It was all in French. It was superb. Krishnaji spoke clearly, eloquently, and his accent was good. The trips in gender or verb tenses didn’t matter. Voisin did an excellent job really listening, subtly smoothing words when Krishnaji didn’t get the ones he wanted and lightly leading Krishnaji to essential questions in his teachings. It was marvelous to watch Krishnaji in conversation. His face tells so much, so eloquently. I was moved and thrilled. The second part, another half hour, is to be shown on the twenty-fourth. Alas, I will miss that. But, copies go to KFT and we can see it later.’‘The film was in black and white, well and professionally shot. Excellent all around.’
The next day. ‘There were enthusiastic telephone calls about the television from Bondoneau, Kossiakof, and Mar de Manziarly, the latter taking credit for her family giving Krishnaji his good French accent years ago’ . Mar told me she had been to Ojai and seen Rajagopal, but, “we didn’t talk about anything, we just laughed.” She asked if we couldn’t just put in The Bulletin that Rajagopal hadn’t stolen anything; he had been doing his work since 1922 and hasn’t taken a thing. I explained we had a lawsuit going because Rajagopal refused information about finances, and about the settlement the attorney general offered, and that he and Mima were suing Krishnaji and the rest of us. She said she loved Mima, and didn’t feel in the middle.’
‘We packed and got to Orly for an Alitalia 10 a.m. flight to Rome, but it was delayed till 3:45 p.m. We lunched at Maxim’s at the airport. We were most meticulously searched before boarding the plane. Security has greatly improved since the hijacking. Then we were frisked, and women had metal detectors passed over their bodies. Every lumpy thing in my bag and briefcase was examined.’
‘On the plane, Krishnaji said “You must take care of yourself. Eat properly. Walk two miles a day. You must be well. You must outlive me. No unnecessary trips to Arizona.” I said I promised to go to see Philippa and Betsy. “Then, go quietly,” he said, “You must have no accidents.”’ Vanda met us at Leonardo da Vinci Airport. Mr. Barabino and his friend Mario Pia Vecchi were also there, and they drove me to the Hotel Rafael. Krishnaji is staying with Vanda. The next day, ‘To Vanda’s for lunch. Krishnaji and I went for a walk beforehand in Villa Glori.’ Villa Glori, this where Vanda had a flat more in the northern part of Rome, and down the hill there’s a big park. ‘Rosalind telephoned Vanda yesterday from Paris to tell Krishnaji she wishes him well. Krishnaji told Vanda of her going around telling others, i.e., Naudé, that Krishnaji is wrong and doing wrong things. I left early in order to get back to the hotel where I met Miranda and Filomena, and the three of us went to St. Peters, to Piazza del Campidoglio, looked at the Forum, the Coliseum, the Trevi Fountain, and Piazza di Spagna. They dropped me at Vanda’s and they went on to Filomena’s. I had supper with Vanda.’

October the twenty-third. ‘I did letters all morning, and lunched in the hotel. I did some shopping—a Braun shaver for Krishnaji and a steam iron for Filomena then went and did letters with Krishnaji, followed by a walk with him in Villa Glori. “Is your subconscious working?” he said.’ ‘I went to see Filomena at 6:30 p.m. and went over her finances. We had a long talk.’
On the twenty-fourth, ‘I went to Vanda’s for lunch. At lunch with Vanda were Giorgio and Margherita Signorini, a man who has talked about the pyramids and earthquakes being triggered by the stars. Went later to Filomena’s for another long talk. Krishnaji suggested she come for a visit when he is in Malibu. I told her, and we would see about this.’
October twenty-fifth. ‘I left the Hotel Rafael with Filomena and Mario, her son, and went to Vanda’s. Reporters came to interview Krishnaji, also some student who monopolized things.
Arrived at Vanda’s in late p.m. ‘She and Krishnaji had gone to a movie, African Elephant.’ The next day, ‘I spoke to Filomena, who had been to see a nearby doctor who will look after her. I went to the masseur, Ms. Goody,’ ‘on Vanda’s and Krishnaji’s urging. ‘I had a fine massage and got back in time for lunch. Later Krishnaji and I walked.’
On the twenty-ninth, ‘Vanda drove Krishnaji and me to the Teatro dell’Arte, where Krishnaji gave his first talk in Rome, a very fine one. The place was overflowing. Barabino came to lunch and discussed Krishnaji’s future talks in Rome. Krishnaji may cut India to two months or less another year. Walked with him in the Villa Glori later. Vanda had a young man, Arthur Patterson, to supper.’
October thirtieth, ‘Ms. Goody gave Krishnaji a massage and then me. I went with Mario to see Filomena, and saw the whole family. I came back for a lunch for thirty people at Vanda’s. Krishnaji and I walked in Villa Glori. He said, “Pay attention to your unconscious. It may want to tell you something now. Do not take too long to change. You are quiet inside now. Do not take so long to change. It will tell you something and you must be alert and quick to respond, otherwise it is harmful.” He has touched something that is now different, an interior movement. He talked of what is negotiable or not with Rajagopal. A letter came today from Noyes about Rajagopal talking rapprochement. Krishnaji dictated comments on this to me.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji said he had awakened at 4 a.m., and wished to tell me things. There was a discussion of about fifty people at Vanda’s. Krishnaji and I walked in Villa Glori. Had lunch. Filomena came with Mario in the car at 3 p.m. I said my goodbyes, then Filomena and Mario drove me to the airport. I took the 5:30 p.m. Alitalia flight to Paris. Arrived at Plaza Athénée by 8:30 p.m. November second, ‘Krishnaji telephoned just after 7 a.m. Rajagopal had rung him to say that he loves him, and whatever happens, he loves him as he did in the beginning. Krishnaji told him that he could settle things. Rajagopal said, “it is out of my hands.” I felt sickened and upset. Krishnaji said, “It’s no use being upset. It is done. It may mean something.” He is still as quick as ever to hope that this unspeakable hypocrite will behave decently. I was feeling low and went to Charvet with Krishnaji’s message.
The 5:30 p.m. Pan Am flight was two hours late taking off. I finally reached New York. To, there’s really nothing that involves Krishnaji for the rest of the year, because he’s in India.

On the seventeenth of November, ‘I got a special delivery letter from Krishnaji, his first from India. His Alitalia flight from Rome was delayed in Athens and the airline made him share a room in a hotel with a man who smelled and snored.’ . And I remember his telling me that when the bus took them back to the airport there was some American woman on the bus. They drove past the Acropolis and, he said with numbed voice, he said, “She never even looked up!” The Acropolis! He couldn’t believe it!
On the twenty-ninth of December. ‘Letter number six came from Krishnaji, written in Madras. He had been asked questions about Vasanta Vihar by Rajagopal’s lawyers. Madhavachari had given all of Krishnaji’s private letters to Rajagopal. The thorough betrayal I had suspected Krishnaji had been open and honest, and he wrote about the case, and what should be done, and asked his advice, and all the things we were talking about he wrote to Madhavachari, who promptly turned them over to Rajagopal.
So, that ends 1972.

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Thu, 06 Jun 2019 #164
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline


Krishnaji is in India so I’ll try to confine myself to things about Krishnaji and the work. The first such notation is January fifth, 1973. ‘Erna, Theo, and I went to the Ventura County Court for a hearing on various motions in the lawsuit, including ones to examine the KWINC books. Stanley Cohen represented us before a Judge Heaton. Somebody called Gary Gilbert was there for Rajagopal. Mrs. Casselberry and her son Austin Bee were present. The judge rejected Rajagopal’s claims for Rosenthal’s five-day-late reply on the interrogatories.’ Apparently, Rajagopal wanted everything thrown out on the technicality that the interrogatories came in five days late. So that was a slight legal point.
On the ninth, ‘Judge Heaton of the Ventura Court granted all our motions, including access to KWINC records. I cabled the news to Krishnaji in Bangalore. And I wrote to him all the details.’
On the tenth, ‘a letter came from Frank Noyes about having seen Rajagopal twice. Rajagopal had an accident with a dog knocking him over. Rajagopal doesn’t want to make an offer for a settlement. He says that Rajagopal claims that Krishnaji is “destroying him,” etcetera.’

‘There was a cable from Krishnaji that came on the thirteenth about the cable I sent him on the ninth, and my letter about the court hearing.’
‘Krishnaji left Bombay and flew to Rome on January thirty-first.’
On February fifth, ‘Krishnaji flew from Rome to Brockwood. At 11 a.m., I met Erna and Theo in the Beverly Hills office of an accountant. Rosenthal and Stanley Cohen were also present. We discussed what to look for in the KWINC accounts. I lunched nearby with Erna and Theo. It kept raining and raining and raining.’
On the ninth of February. It says here, ‘the house was put in as the last bit of order. Krishnaji had left Brockwood, and at 1 p.m. English time, he took a TWA flight from London, and I met him at Los Angeles Airport at 4:30 p.m., looking very well in spite of his long flight and all his work this winter. We came back to Malibu, unpacked, and had supper by the fire. Krishnaji was not sleepy and so he talked a lot.’
The next day, ‘it rained and we made breakfast together. He rested in bed all morning, but got up for lunch. Amanda came back from the hospital. Krishnaji slept all afternoon and we had supper by the fire and went early to bed. It rained all night.

‘Krishnaji rested in the morning. In the afternoon, I went over to the Dunne’s for a short visit. When Krishnaji finished his nap, we went back to the Dunne’s, and Krishnaji put his hands on Amanda for healing. Then, we took a brisk walk on the lower road.’
The twelfth, ‘there was more rain. On television, they showed the return of the prisoners of war from Vietnam. I got lunch for Krishnaji and myself. In the afternoon, we went to the Dunne’s for Krishnaji to treat Amanda again. The Jaguar refused to start and so I left it in the Dunne’s driveway, and we came back on foot and walked around the lawn. My bedroom roof leaked in the night right over the bed.’ ‘Erna and Theo came on the fourteenth in the afternoon to see Krishnaji and we talked at length. At 5 p.m., Krishnaji and I walked over to the Dunne’s. Krishnaji treated Amanda, and the Lilliefelts went on to dinner in town.’

The seventeenth, ‘was a beautiful day. We left at 9:30 a.m., taking a pot of creole rice…’ That was something he liked very much; It was basically rice cooked with tomatoes and onions and things. …and we drove to Ojai. There was snow on Topatopa and the other mountains. We met the other trustees at the Lilliefelt’s at 11 a.m. It was a meeting to discuss most everything. Krishnaji wants to give four Ojai talks in April on seventh, eighth, fourteenth, and fifteenth. We took a walk later and then drove home at 6 p.m., had supper and went to bed early.  Now, on the following day, which was the twenty-first, ‘we were awakened at 6:45 a.m. by an earthquake 5.75 magnitude, centered thirty-four miles west of Santa Monica in the ocean. Not as strong here as in 1970. Krishnaji’s temperature was normal, but he felt weak and stayed in bed all day.’
On the twenty-third, ‘Krishnaji’s fever was gone, and he got up for lunch. At 3 p.m., Sidney Roth, Martha Longenecker, Erna and Theo, Ruth, Albion Patterson, and Alan Kishbaugh came to discuss filming a course with Krishnaji at San Diego; how to do it and with whom. We tentatively planned to do it with all of us asking questions during the week of March sixth.’ This, of course, became the Anderson series.
The next day, ‘Sidney Field came for lunch. Then, Krishnaji and I went to see a movie, Sleuth, with Laurence Olivier and Michael Caine. Krishnaji fainted gently as we came home along the Pacific Coast Highway, and then he half-fainted again a few minutes later. He said, “I felt far away.”’

The twenty-seventh, ‘I had trouble with the Jaguar, which I had to take in. I got back in time to lunch with Krishnaji. Felix Green came to tea and for Krishnaji to treat him.’ He had cancer, too. Everybody had cancer. ‘Then we went to see Amanda later, and took a walk down into the canyon.’
On the twenty-eighth, ‘Frances McCann arrived in Malibu. She is staying in a motel, and came for lunch. Krishnaji talked at length to her later. I drove her back to her motel, and Krishnaji and I went to see the Dunnes. Krishnaji asked if she’—meaning Amanda—‘had noticed anything special. She said only that she felt better. We walked in the canyon, through the Dunne’s gate and along the lower road.’

The first of March. ‘ Krishnaji dictated the first of what he intends to be fortnightly messages to Brockwood and the India schools.’ I think it’s what became The Letters to the Schools. It isn’t called that here, but says only, ‘the first of fortnightly messages to Brockwood and India schools.’
The next day, ‘I took the Jaguar to be checked. In a rented car, I took the Nagra to be serviced, and then bought silk nightshirts for Krishnaji and left them at a place to be made. Meanwhile, Krishnaji had had Sidney Field to lunch. We went over to the Dunne’s. Krishnaji treated Amanda, and then Krishnaji walked with Sidney while I sat with Amanda and Phil, and talked.’
The third. ‘We had early lunch in the kitchen and picked up Frances McCann and went to a movie, The Getaway, in Santa Monica. When we came back, Krishnaji and I went to the Dunne’s. Amanda was looking suddenly much better. Krishnaji and I went for a walk down the canyon along the beach road.’
The fourth, ‘was a beautiful day.’ There were family things for me. ‘The Mark Lees brought their twins for Krishnaji to treat. Alan Kishbaugh came to lunch and later walked with Krishnaji.’
On the seventh, ‘we were ready to leave at 7:45 a.m. The Jaguar was packed and backed out of the garage and then got flooded. The Auto Club got it going and we left at 8:22 a.m. We were to meet the Lilliefelts and Kishbaugh at Wheeler Ridge by 9:30 a.m., but we missed them. Later, while we paused on Route 5, Kishbaugh came by and followed us from then on to San Francisco. Krishnaji and I reached the Huntington Hotel at 3 p.m. Alain Naudé came for tea.’
March eighth. ‘Alain Naudé came to the hotel at 12:30 p.m., and with the Lilliefelts, the five of us lunched at Trader Vic’s. We walked up to the Masonic Center right next door to the Huntington. Their handsome hall seats 3,165. Krishnaji liked it. We did microphone and light arrangements while he was there. We came back to the hotel and Krishnaji rested, and I made our supper.’ We had a nice flat there with two bedrooms and two bathrooms, a sitting room, and a kitchen. Very convenient.

On March ninth, ‘Krishnaji rested quietly. I did letters. We lunched in the sitting room. While Krishnaji napped, I walked down for supplies—the health food store, and came back on a cable car. At 4 p.m., we drove to the Golden Gate Park. We met Naudé at the tennis courts, and went for a walk around the lake. We came back and Alain dined with us in the sitting room.’
The tenth, ‘we walked across the street to the Masonic Center Auditorium, where at 11 a.m. Krishnaji gave his first San Francisco talk, which was mostly on relationship. The hall was 90 percent full. Naudé taped it on the Nagra. Kishbaugh came for lunch and stayed to talk after Krishnaji took a long nap. The rain kept us in. Jacob Needleman telephoned wanting to see Krishnaji about interviews. I questioned him on his Esalen connection. I suggested he send Krishnaji an outline of the plan he has in mind.’
On the eleventh of March, ‘Krishnaji gave his second San Francisco talk’ in the Masonic Auditorium. Erna and Theo lunched with us in the apartment. In late p.m., Krishnaji and I drove to the Golden Gate Park and took a good walk.’
On March twelfth, the Monday, ‘Krishnaji rested. Frances McCann and Alain Naudé came at 12:30 p.m. Krishnaji, and they, and I went to the Cannery…’ It’s a complex; it used to be a cannery in San Francisco, but it been converted into lots of little shops and restaurants and things. ‘…and lunched in a crêpe restaurant. Then we went to Muir Woods, and took a long walk. We were back by 5 p.m., had a rest and supper.’ Muir Woods is across Golden Gate Bridge, and John Muir Woods is full of redwood trees. Very nice.
On the thirteenth, ‘I spoke to Amanda, and also Elfriede.’ Elfriede was the German housekeeper I had in those days and she said that the hill has slipped a bit more after more rain. Krishnaji saw Mrs. Mathias. Then he, Alain, and I went to Ghirardelli Square to lunch, in a Mexican place.’ There’s the Cannery and there’s Ghirardelli Square, both are old manufacturing places that have been made into shops and restaurants. Very nice. ‘Later, we went to see Alain’s flat and he played for us on the piano. I drove us back in time for Monica Phillips to tea.’ Monica Phillips was Ruth Tettemer’s sister, and had known Krishnaji forever.

She was an elderly lady who’d known Krishnaji from way back when. She lived in a very elegant apartment on Nob Hill looking out over Golden Gate Bridge and everything. She was almost blind, and she was a widow by then, and she was also an old close friend of the Rajagopal family.
On the fourteenth, ‘A Dr. Rockman of Argentina came to see Krishnaji at noon. Then Donald Ingram Smith came. We lunched in the rooms. Krishnaji dictated a To the Schools’—you see, now the name comes—‘the first of a series he wants to do. This one on freedom and responsibility. I went out to market and then we walked in Golden Gate Park.’
On March fifteenth, ‘there was a meeting at 11 a.m. of the Lilliefelts, Kishbaugh, and Naudé about taping different discussions. The Lilliefelts, Naudé, Krishnaji, and I went to the Cannery to lunch, at the crêperie again, after which I shopped a little. Krishnaji rested, and then Jacob Needleman came to tea. Later, Krishnaji and I walked in Golden Gate Park.’

On the seventeenth, ‘Krishnaji gave his third talk at 11 a.m. in the Masonic Auditorium on suffering and death, a very fine one. The audience was HUGE,’ it says. ‘We lunched with the Lilliefelts, Naudé, and Kishbaugh at Hong Kong Garden. We had a vegetarian Chinese meal ordered by Naudé and Kishbaugh. Rested till 5 p.m. Walked around the square outside the hotel. Then Monica Phillips came to tea.’ Right outside the Huntington, up on Nob Hill, there’s a little, very small park. And if we didn’t go to a larger park a drive away, we’d just go out the door, across the street, and walk round and around and around.
Next day, the eighteenth, ‘Krishnaji gave his fourth San Francisco talk on the religious life, meditation, and enlightenment. The hall was full. Afterward he saw’…some family, whose name I can’t make out. ‘Then, we took Ruth McCandless, Frances McCann, and Alan Kishbaugh to lunch at Hong Kong Garden. At 4 p.m., David and Felicity Hall came to tea. We discussed a meeting of scientists at Brockwood. A possible topic is a total view of things, wholeness. I invited them to Malibu. We will have discussions next weekend. When they left, we did ten laps around the little park! And then had supper.’
He had a wife and several children, and they looked perfectly normal, except that he liked to wear women’s clothes.

Now comes the nineteenth. ‘It rained, and I went back to Dr. Cho for my back. I photocopied To the Schools. Krishnaji went again to see Mrs. Mathias.’ She adored Krishnaji. She’s the one who gave me those photographs of Krishnaji by that great photographer, Edward Weston. I have them in Ojai. Mrs. Mathias left them to me in her will. She was a very nice woman, and she was very friendly to me. She was also close to Rosalind and Radha. She felt the legal case was regrettable, but she didn’t take sides in the dispute.
On the twentieth, ‘we left the Huntington at 9:05 a.m., and drove south. The Big Sur route was closed, so we came down 101 through rain, hail, and sleet. We stopped for a forty-minute picnic lunch at Pismo Beach. Krishnaji drove from the Pleasant Valley bypass to Malibu, arriving at 4:45 p.m. ‘I looked at the earth slippage. The water pipe is broken below the vegetable garden. I

March the twenty-first. ‘A lovely morning. It is good to be home. Krishnaji spent the day in bed resting. He had his lunch on a tray in bed, but had supper in the living room as usual.’ and the television was in front of us. Some geologist contacted me about the slide.
On March twenty-third, ‘Krishnaji resumed his morning exercises and got up for lunch. I trimmed his hair.

Now the next day, which was a Sunday, ‘Krishnaji held the second Malibu discussion with the same group as yesterday. It was on education, and he spoke of a school here in California being necessary because we are in a time of violence, a “Dark Age.” He also said, there is a residue of both good and evil that exists in itself. Then he said, “I am not speculating. I know this.” We must bring up children in goodness, an umbrella of it sheltering them. How are we to have it? We already are in this goodness or we would not be here. Extraordinary turn to this discussion. Sidney Field and Leslie Stephens left. I had asked the Halls only to stay to lunch, but we ended up being nine for lunch, all trustees met and the Halls joined in talking of a school. Erna says the Happy Valley School is rumored to be closing. She wonders if perhaps it can be recuperated for Krishnaji. The Halls are willing to join in running it. Krishnaji asked if we are all willing? Yes.

On the twenty-seventh, ‘we took the Jaguar to be serviced, and a new’ wire was put in because a pack rat had chewed the old one.’ Pack rats were another hazard of life in Malibu. While waiting for the Jaguar to be fixed, we went to Marine Land in a borrowed car, had a picnic afterward in the car, came back and shopped in Westwood—books and a jersey for Krishnaji. Then we went to Lindberg’s’—that’s the health food store; he liked to go there. ‘We returned the borrowed car, picked up the Jaguar, and came home.’
The twenty-ninth, ‘was a beautiful day. I did deskwork. We lunched alone. Bill Angelos had an interview with Krishnaji. Sidney Field came and we walked with him, and afterward Krishnaji saw Amanda. In the evening, we played Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, and Krishnaji was very moved.’

The next day was April first and ‘we had another discussion with the same group as the day before, and it was on creation. We lunched alone and went to the Dunne’s.’
On the third of April, ‘Krishnaji dictated another To the Schools.’
The next day, ‘ Krishnaji spoke of a sense he has that the Lilliefelts and I have been sent by 'something' to look after him, and we must be responsible and keep control of the schools and also be prepared to handle whatever this coming tide of energy will bring. We three must keep things in our hands.’

On Saturday the seventh of April, Krishnaji gave his first Ojai talk for the year in Libbey Park. There was a large crowd. He and I lunched alone. At 3 p.m., all trustees met with Mr. and Mrs. Robert Ellis about the Ellis’s suggestion for an expansion plan for the work—a “Friends of the KFA” to be formed. They also suggested a Finance Committee, and an office manager; and they suggested the creation of materials for groups. Later, Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, Alan Kishbaugh, and I walked. At supper with Erna and Theo, Krishnaji described the horror of his life with Rosalind Rajagopal and Rajagopal.’
On Sunday, April eighth, ‘Krishnaji gave his second Ojai talk in Libbey Park, a special one; the place of knowledge. Frances McCann, Alan K., and Theo were at lunch. Krishnaji wanted to see Sulfur Mountain as a possible place for a school.
On April ninth, ‘there was a KFA trustees meeting about the dates for U.S. talks and about a school. “It should start small,” Krishnaji said. Krishnaji is back as trustee of KFA.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the students at Thacher School. Ingram Smith taped it on our Nagra. from Krishnaji.
The next day, ‘I went to town for Krishnaji’s French visa and income tax things, but was home in time for lunch. Then we drove to Ojai and the Lilliefelts to spend a second weekend for Krishnaji’s public talks. All four of us took a long walk around by Thacher Road.’
On the thirteenth, we read the interrogatory put together by lawyer Cohen and sent to Rajagopal, and met with Ruth and Albion about the school. Afterward, we walked in the late afternoon. Krishnaji now is talking about a cottage we could build in Ojai, pull down Arya Vihara and build a new one on that land.’

The next day, ‘Krishnaji gave his third Ojai public talk of that year in Libbey Park.
On April fifteenth, ‘Krishnaji gave his fourth and final Ojai talk. In the afternoon, Krishnaji held a meeting about a school. Present were Erna and Theo, Ruth, Albion, Alan K. Felicity and David Hall, and Robert Ellis. There was a great deal of discussion. It finally ended after 6:30 p.m., and Krishnaji and I drove home to Malibu, followed by Alan K., who stayed for supper.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji’s head was hurting. He stayed in quietly all day. The David Halls came by at 4 p.m. to discuss a school brochure, and a scientist meeting at Brockwood.

On Saturday, April twenty-first, ‘I started packing. We lunched alone. At 3 p.m., Erna, Theo, Ruth, Albion, and Kishbaugh came. The Stumbo article is in tomorrow’s Times, and it’s rather trashy. We discussed the school and fundraising, etcetera. Evelyne and Lou Blau joined us at 4:15 p.m. and we continued the discussion of work until almost 7 p.m.’ On April twenty-third, ‘We took a TWA flight, which was delayed an hour for a tire, but finally took off a little after 10 a.m. We got to New York, where a car met us, and we reached the Ritz Tower by 8 a.m.’
‘We lunched at Lafayette.’ That was a very good restaurant, French restaurant, then. It lost business because it made a terrible mistake. It wouldn’t let women come in trousers, and it turned away Jacqueline Kennedy. And pretty soon, Lafayette was no more. But it was nice. It was small and very good food. I bought Krishnaji a Vuitton bag to carry on the plane. Krishnaji had his hair cut. ‘We had lunch at Giovanni’s, which is an Italian restaurant and is nice. Erna telephoned that Rajagopal has sent us a fifty-four-question interrogatory. Erna will send it to Brockwood.

At 7 p.m., we took an Air France flight to Paris.’‘We landed at Orly at 8:30 a.m. Took a taxi to the Plaza Athénée, where we had our usual rooms. As we’d had no sleep on the plane, Krishnaji rested all day. Krishnaji has severe cramps in his right lower leg muscle, so severe that he had almost fainted. I put hot wet towels on it, and it subsided. We had supper in the rooms.’
The next day, the twenty-seventh of April, ‘I went with Krishnaji to Lobb and Charvet. In the Régence, we had Marcelle Bondoneau and Mar de Manziarly to lunch. There was much talk of the early days with Mar’s family. Krishnaji was asking what the young Krishnamurti was like. Krishnaji said to me “Never let me be in a hospital. I would rather die quietly at home.” This was the first time he has been in a hospital in many years. The atmosphere disturbed him. We met Nadia Kossiakof at the hotel and talked awhile. Then Krishnaji and

We were staying at the Plaza Athénée briefly, ‘At 1 p.m., Mr. Moser delivered the Mercedes to us from Thun. We discussed Krishnaji getting his new one, which must be taken this year in July. So, after he left, we joined my brother Bud and his wife Lisa at Chez Conti, the Italian restaurant that Krishnaji liked. We talked about the proposed new Krishnamurti school in Ojai, raising money, etcetera. Back at the hotel, we put all the luggage in the Mercedes, and then it wouldn’t start. ‘It had come all the way from Switzerland but it wouldn’t start’ and the man had gone. So, the doorman got a cable and got it going.’
‘I bought the cable to take along in case we had this adventure along the way, and we set off for Le Havre at 5 p.m. We stopped for petrol en route, and it started up. At Le Havre, we put it in a queue for the Thoresen Ferry, and we walked to a restaurant called Monico, where we have had dinner before. Luckily, the car started when we got back and we were able to get it onto the ferry. The Plaza Athénée had managed to get us both a state room on the new ferry, and Krishnaji had one with a bath. We got to Southampton in the morning, but ‘the car wouldn’t start!’ ‘And it humiliatingly had to be pushed off by hand, while I jumpstarted it. Then we motored off from Southampton, on a lovely misty morning, and got to Brockwood by 8:30 a.m. We had breakfast and talked all morning with Dorothy, and then Krishnaji slept all the rest of the day.’ ‘I went to the garage because of my car sometimes not starting, and they found that one cell of the battery was gone, which is why it was happening. So then there was unpacking’ and all of that.
On the second of May, ‘we took the train from Petersfield and lunched with Mary at Fortnum’s after a Huntsman fitting for Krishnaji. Mary and Joe were about to leave for Canada and California, a business trip for Joe

On the third, ‘Krishnaji resumed dictating To the Schools.’ Then there’s written ‘“Nitya!”’ with an exclamation point. ‘The way Krishnaji said the name gave me the sense of a brother’s relationship.’
On May fourth, ‘Saral and David Bohm came for lunch, and spent the night in the West Wing. We talked to them about a scientist meeting at Brockwood, and David Bohm said he would write to David Hall,’ who seemed to be in on all this, although I don’t know if he came.

On the twelfth, ‘it was Krishnaji’s seventy-eighth birthday, but we don’t mention those things around him.‘Krishnaji dictated a letter to Dr. Pollock about the Happy Valley land for use as a KFA school.’ After lunch, Krishnaji talked for a while to the Digbys and I joined them. It was our first meeting since the fracas in October’—that was when Nelly wouldn’t go to talk to Michael Rubinstein if I went. ‘Things went fairly smoothly. As trustees, Nelly, Dorothy, and I discussed the conveyance of Brockwood from the old Foundation to the KFT.’
On the thirteenth, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school in the dining hall. And he gave an interview to Alex Cadogan. I sent a letter to Dr. Pollock from Krishnaji formally asking the board of the Happy Valley Foundation to make land available in Ojai for a school.’
On the sixteenth, Krishnaji, Dorothy, Doris, and I drove in the Mercedes to the New Forest and had a picnic there, and went on to Buckler’s Hard.’ ‘We drove on to Christ Church and then back through Lyndhurst. Krishnaji was tired; the drive was too long.’

On the seventeenth, ‘Krishnaji decided to stay at home and rest, so Dorothy and I went by train to London. We did errands, and I went to the Digby’s for a meeting of the KFT trustees and members of the Publication Committee, which lasted till 6:30 p.m. What we decided is subject to a further meeting with Krishnaji, Mary Links, and Alan Kishbaugh.  The KFT is to be kept informed via minutes of the Publication Committee meetings, and in case of disagreements in the Publication Committee, the Foundation is to decide. George resents not being consulted before the suit was brought against KWINC.’

On the twentieth, it starts with a quote from Krishnaji: ‘“I had an odd dream last night. There was a certificate that the mother, probably our mother, was dead. And I sat down on the bed and put my hands on her, and gradually I felt the warmth return to her and she sat up. Then I woke up. Probably it is symbolic.” Then, Krishnaji talked to the school in the dining room. He questioned why the students are so silent in meetings with him, and don’t discuss, also why there isn’t a fire and energy in them. Are they bored, listless? Some said because there is no pressure, i.e., grades, and other demands of study, there isn’t a prod to do things. One must supply one’s own interests, energy. There was then a discussion of authority: “If X doesn’t come to the morning meetings, how does a staff member deal with him?”’ “‘I would describe to him the reasons for the morning meetings, the coming together quietly in the sense of unity. And if he refuses, what do I do? I tell him twenty times; but he still doesn’t come. I leave him alone on this subject but talk to him at meals here and there. I give him the sense that I care about him. I point things out. Then I go back and ask him to come to the morning meetings again. I have talked this way for fifty years. Do you know why? Because I love you. You are my son or my daughter.
On the twenty-second. ‘Krishnaji again talked to the school, but without visitors. The students spoke up more,’ it says.

On the twenty-fourth ‘we both went to London and had an early lunch at Fortnum’s, and then he went to the dentist, Hamish Thompson, and I did errands while he was there. Then, we went to Huntsman where Krishnaji ordered a light-ish grey suit and to Sulka, where we both ordered shirts made of Indian silks that Krishnaji brought back from India. Krishnaji inspected Maxwell, whose shoe shop is on Bond Street and is now owned by Huntsman. We looked at picnic baskets at Asprey’s and bought one at Fortnum’s’. ‘Then we went to a craft center gallery to look at Peter Collingwood rugs and caught the 4:20 p.m. back to Petersfield.’

‘It was a warm summer day’ on the twenty-sixth, ‘and the start of midterm holiday for the school, also a bank holiday. Krishnaji washed the car in the afternoon while I weeded’ a section of the rose garden. It was too hot for the usual walk, so we sat and wandered about in the grove.’
On the twenty-seventh, ‘we planned a picnic, but for fear of Krishnaji’s hay fever this season, we didn’t have it. We had a nice quiet day.’
May twenty-ninth. ‘A letter from Erna saying the pre-trial court meeting was on the twenty-fifth, and resulted in postponement to June fifteenth. Other postponements on both sides’ interrogatories.

On the first of June, ‘Krishnaji met with the staff. At 6 p.m., I met Mar de Manziarly at Petersfield train station. She is here for the weekend, staying in the West Wing. I spoke to Mary Links, who arrived last night from Malibu.
On the third, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school, and again we had walks,’ the same kind of walks.
On June fourth, ‘Mar showed Krishnaji and me letters written by Nitya to her in the early ’20s. Very moving. They seem so alive, and there was such humor and irony, and somehow sad, as though much of that world they occupied was tiresome to him. “Theosophy is the most boring thing of all.”’ That’s what Nitya wrote. ‘Krishnaji was moved by the letters, and said, “I saw what it was like, but he was much more mature than I was.”’

The fifth of June. ‘I drove Mar to Petersfield station, where she got the train to London, and she spent the day in London with Mary Links on material for the biography Mary is writing before returning to Paris. It was a marvelously lovely day. I drove back slowly through East Meon. The countryside ravishing—totally beautiful. Krishnaji talked to the school about what is distraction. He then said how he would teach mathematics. “I will show you.” Begin by asking the students if they have habits, any habits. So you see that if you have a habit, you are unaware of it, and that will lead to habits of mind? Discuss that. Then with that mind discuss mathematics, he said.’

On June tenth, ‘Krishnaji talked to the school.’ ‘Egyptian dancers in afternoon then Swami Venkatesananda and his admirers dropped by to see Krishnaji.’ ‘Eventually we got out for a walk.’ That reminds me of the scene in the doorway here in the West Wing when the swami was arriving. Krishnaji was with me at the door, and the swami insisted on prostrating himself in the doorway, a most awkward spot to have chosen, and Krishnaji didn’t want him to do it, and sort of tried to get him up, and it was kind of a humorous struggle.
June twelfth, ‘we walked as usual. Krishnaji has hay fever, but the tulip extract from Dr. Wolff seems to be helping.’

On the eighteenth. ‘Intense work all weekend to ready the Cloisters. The builders’ men went off on Friday, leaving piles of debris in the courtyard and no way to remove it except by hand and barrow. Ian Hammond and Robert Wiffen just looked helpless, but when Dorothy sent out word that she would pay a pound an hour for anyone who would work on the cleanup, by this morning, after drudgery by older boy students, and Billy Bud and his family and friends, four tons had been removed. The courtyard was smooth and Amanda Palandt ’—here to help out—‘had borrowed green shrubs in tubs to catch the eye here and there. Each little room was neat, clean, bright, and ready. Three quarters of the quadrangle is complete. The work continues on the fourth side and sitting room, but the deadline was met. Similarly, in the West Wing, things came down to the wire. The man from Heal’s came for a third time, and with the necessary parts, installed a wardrobe in my upstairs office’—temporarily another bedroom—‘bought five weeks ago. It was finished an hour before the Indians arrived. The Chinese bird paintings Krishnaji and I bought at Mallett’s on Friday were hung this morning and the Persian rug we bought the same day is in front of the drawing room fireplace. It does look pretty. Suddenly the school group is alive and pulled together, and Krishnaji is really pleased, which is my fun.
‘Albion and I discussed the agenda for the meetings. He has written a good letter of suggestions, which Krishnaji wants distributed. It is strong on the need for archives kept at professional standards. The standards of authenticity for future scholars.

June nineteenth, ‘Krishnaji talked to Pupul alone and then with the other Indians. He then held a school discussion in which a question was asked about what 'love' is. He explored it, in part drawing it out of the students. He again repeated the fact mentioned by David Bohm that in the Eskimo language, “thought” and “outside” are the same words. . Then, at 3:30 p.m., Krishnaji held a meeting to discuss the agenda with the trustees present. Krishnaji, Ruth, Albion, Alan, Dorothy, Pupul, Balasundarum, Sunanda, and Achyut Patwardhan.’

June twentieth ‘Krishnaji talked to the Lilliefelts and me. The Digbys arrived for the opening meeting, but Mary Links and Mary Cadogan were late. We agreed with the agenda discussion before lunch, and then at 4 p.m. with both Marys there, Krishnaji opened the meeting with moving words on trust and working together. Then we discussed whether the Foundations should continue and in what form. He spoke for two hours.

On June twenty-first, ‘We met all morning on the agenda. After lunch, the Publication Committee and the KFT met with Krishnaji on the new structure, i.e., the Foundation is to call annual meetings and be ultimately responsible and we came to an agreement on proceedings with the Verhulst matter. Krishnaji then went out with Ian Hammond and decided on wooden benches instead of a wall for the Cloisters. At 4 p.m, the Foundation meetings resumed. Hughes arrived and with the Publication Committee Members present, we went into the thorny matter of world publications. India, again, made a play for sharing the copyright. It was exhausting, but tentative agreements were made. I talked to Hughes about a French gift for a French Bulletin.’
On the twenty-second, ‘there was a morning meeting of the Krishnaji Foundation’s Publications Committee and Doris. Mary C. and Balasundarum had hammered out statements that we had agreed on yesterday, and it was gone over sentence by sentence, giving definitions. India accepts the copyright situation as is, solely England’s, but the KFI has new and permanent publishing rights for its own territories. There is a much better feeling today, more trust and cooperation. In the afternoon, we went on with the agenda and made progress. There was a late walk. The weather is turning lovely.’

The next day, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school. The trustees met again in the afternoon and finished the agreements. Mary L. urged that all of Krishnaji’s ashes be given to the Indians. The Americans thought this to be sectarian, but didn’t speak up. Krishnaji says Indians have told him they will scatter his ashes in the Ganga. Mary L. left with Joe.’
June twenty-fifth ‘was a day off. The Indians cooked the lunch. Saris were worn by many students. I took time to go to Petersfield on errands, and felt poorly in the afternoon Sinus problems.’

The next day, ‘Pupul’s daughter, Radhika, and her children left with Sunanda. I still felt sick. I worked at the desk all afternoon. Krishnaji suggested saltwater douches in the nose, which helped. I had a liquid diet all day.’
Later, Krishnaji called KFA members together to speak of being open and letting things develop with the school and center in Ojai.’
The next day, ‘I still have a cold. Erna and Theo left to go to see Anneke in Holland about papers for both the Ojai and the Vasanta Vihar cases.’
So, the KFI had to have papers from the Holland Stichting to present in Madras to the court, etcetera. So that’s what they did. ‘I went to fill a prescription in Alresford and took Ruth, Albion, and Verna Krueger along for the drive. We met Krishnaji, Dorothy, and Whisper walking along the lane as we came back.’

On the first of July, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school, and I began packing.’The next day, ‘When I woke up and I realized that I needed to get Krishnaji’s Swiss visa, so I rushed up to London and got it. Came right back.’
The third was ‘more packing. Then I discovered that the British dockers are striking for the week against French boats because of the French atomic bomb tests in the Pacific. So our Normandy ferry for tonight had been canceled. I quickly called Thoresen Townsend, which has accepted our car reservations. We walked in the afternoon Krishnaji and I had supper downstairs. The car was loaded, we said goodbye to everyone, and left at 9 p.m. We drove to Southampton and onto the Thoresen Ferry. After the ship sailed, I got the purser to provide a cabin for Krishnaji.’
‘We arrived in Le Havre the next morning, and disembarked at 7:15 a.m. We stopped in Bourg-Achard for croissants, and had a picnic breakfast using the new hamper, and reached Paris and the Plaza Athénée at 11 a.m. It was very hot in Paris. I bathed, changed, and lunched nicely in the hotel garden. Krishnaji was very splendid in a brown birds-eye suit. He took a nap afterward, after which we went and bought a new Phillips razor. I had a fitting at Chanel and met him at 5 p.m at Charvet, where four new shirts were ordered. Came back, hot and tired, to the hotel. Bathed again. Supper in rooms and early to bed.’
The next day, ‘we left the Plaza Athénée at 9:30 a.m. on another hot day and drove south on the autoroute to Chalon, which took four hours. Krishnaji drove for one of those hours. At Chalon, we took Route National 78 through Louhans and Lons-le-Saunier. We finally found a shady quiet lane and had a late picnic lunch, then drove on through Morez and over the Col de la Faucille into Switzerland. We arrived at Geneva and the Hotel du Rhône at 6:30 p.m., hot and tired. I telephoned Vanda, who had just arrived at Tannegg. We had supper in the rooms and Krishnaji said, “No more of these long motor trips. It’s too much!”

On July sixth, ‘we went to Patek and to Jacquet. Krishnaji ordered seven ties and some socks. It is not as hot as yesterday. Narasimhan lunched with us at the hotel, then we drove along the lake to Lausanne and over the hill, stopping for gâteau at Bulle.’ ‘We drove through streaming rain up the valley. Arrived at Tannegg, Vanda and Fosca had everything in order. We also have Madame Walsh’s apartment downstairs this year. The other apartment’—I guess that’s the one in the middle—‘is being remodeled.
July ninth, ‘No special mail, no news. Krishnaji rested. I did letters. After lunch, Vanda and I drove to Château d’Oex to find some miso for Krishnaji. Meanwhile, he had his hair cut by the good barber Nicola now in the new barber shop. We picked him up on the way back.’
On July eleventh, ‘There was a letter from Erna written on the fifth. The court meeting was again postponed until the twentieth. Christensen,’ that’s Rajagopal’s lawyer, ‘is to have submitted a settlement offer okayed by Rajagopal on sixth. Krishnaji worked on a statement for the Bulletin about the international foundation agreements made at Brockwood.

The next day, the tent (for the 1-st Saanen talk) was almost full, and there seemed to be a lot of new faces. Krishnaji did his usual thing of sitting and looking at everyone very slowly, which makes some people nervous, I discovered, that he might not know what he’s going to say!’ ‘They’re soon disabused, and on that day, he asked, “Can knowledge bring about a psychological change?” My impression was that he put a lot into the first talk, to really get people going, and perhaps bewilder the newcomers. In the middle of it all, it began to rain, but after the talk Krishnaji, as usual, walked rapidly up the road. And people kept trying to offer him umbrellas, but he kept going’ ‘I caught up with him as quickly as I could in the car, and we went up to Tannegg.’
On the seventeenth, ‘Krishnaji gave his second talk. It was on the subject of time, and it was a wonderful one. On seeing the action of thought. I was exhausted at the end. He put enormous energy into it, and there was just ourselves at lunch.’ That’s Krishnaji, Vanda, and me. ‘We discussed the school that Barabino’—that was that Italian who came into the picture in Italy’s Krishnamurti world—he ‘wanted to start a school, and so we talked about that.’  The whole Barabino thing turned out poorly. He absconded with the mailing list and started his own organization, which was rather, um…well, never mind describing it, but it had nothing to do with Krishnaji. ‘So, Vanda went to Florence on the eighteenth, and Felix Greene came and saw Krishnaji. Also Pascaline Mallet came, whom Krishnaji had not seen in years, and I met her for the first time that day. She came to lunch with Marcelle Bondoneau, and now Pascaline at that point was the head of the French Committee. Then, Gisela Elmenhorst came in the afternoon, and talked about German teachers.’

On the nineteenth was ‘the third Saanen talk, another great one, in my view. The Bennetts, Mavis and Reg, came for lunch. A letter came at last from Erna. It was incomplete so we telephoned her.’ This was about the case. ‘Christensen (Rajagopal’s lawyer) had sent a draft of a settlement. There had been notes of a meeting on the eighteenth of June with Rosenthal/Cohen/Christensen, and we were fairly okay for substance, but Christensen came back with an agreement that was entirely different from what was expected.’ Those things just never came to anything at that point.
Next day was ‘a quiet day. Krishnaji on that day said, “One day I will see Rajagopal and tell him what he has done. It will be good for him.”
The twenty-second was ‘the fourth talk on what is the meaning of life? The Simmonses and Anneke Korndorffer came for lunch and Krishnaji put his hands on Anneke to help her with her ailments. He gave an interview to the Mexican representative of the Fundación and the Biascoecheas. He saw Mr. Mirabet and Mr. Salvador Morales-Franco, Mrs. Colvera. Mrs. Arane came to tea.’ These were all people in the Fundación  in those days.
On the twenty-third, ‘there was an hour’s discussion with some students of Grenoble, and then that day, a letter came from Dr. Pollock.’ He was also on the board of the Happy Valley School, and so he offered something that I say is an insult both to Krishnaji and the rest of us. He offered, I think, one hill, and we wanted the whole place.

Krishnaji gave ‘his fifth talk on July twenty-fourth, and again it was a superb one. “What is the action that is not of will, ideals, etcetera? Non-action is the expression of the non-me. Wisdom is the daughter of truth, and intelligence is the daughter of wisdom.”’ It was a wonderful statement.. Krishnaji and I went for a nice quiet lunch at the Park Hotel. We walked in the rain as usual.’

July twenty-sixth. ‘It was very cold and with fresh snow on the mountains. Krishnaji gave his sixth Saanen talk on sorrow, love, and death. It ended without any questions.
The next day, was the twenty-seventh, and ‘it was still cold and grey. Then at 3:30, all the foreign committee members, over fifty of them, came for the annual meeting with Krishnaji.’
‘Later we walked and Dorothy, who had been sick but got up today, was at the meeting.’
On the twenty-eighth, Krishnaji saw Anneke in the morning, and told her that it was not the moment for her to see Rosalind regarding her documentation center.
Krishnaji was tired, so he slept the rest of the morning. We lunched quietly alone. At 4 p.m., the Biascoecheas, Mr. Morales-Franco and the lady president of the Mexican delegation and Mr. Calles came to see Krishnaji. Calles discusses school project in At 6:30 p.m., Swami Venkatesananda came to call, and, with some woman,’ I don’t know who she was. ‘And then,’ it says here that ‘Mary Links sent Krishnaji letters that Jamnadas wrote about the 'King John' ((horseracing) bet by him and Nitya in 1919 and the car they bought with the money they won, Annie Besant made them give it back. And this was a letter about that Poor Jamnadas; and Nitya was also crushed.
Tthe next day was the twenty-ninth. It says here, ‘I dreamt vividly of Nitya: he had been allowed to come back once, and I held onto him lest he vanish for Krishnaji to see him.’ ‘

Krishnaji gave his seventh and last of these Saanen talks on meditation, on looking without thought, without any reaction.’ Then a lot of people came for lunch.
Krishnaji gave interviews to Madame Baud, Mr. Russu, and Mr. Sendra.

The next day was the first of August and ‘the first of the Saanen public discussions, questions mostly on the observer and observed.
On August second ‘was the second public discussion. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji gave an interview for a Lausanne newspaper, Vingt-Quatre Heures, with a reporter called Francine Brunschwig.’
On the third ‘was the third Saanen discussion on loneliness and relationship, and ambition and wanting to change what is. Afterward, Krishnaji again saw Felix Greene. Mrs. Pamela Travers, and Dorothy and Montague came for lunch. We walked in steady rain.’
The next day was the fourth discussion, ‘a profoundly moving one. Edgar Graf and Doris Pratt came for lunch, after which we had the annual Saanen Gathering Committee meeting. We had received enough donations, about 50,000 Swiss francs, to cover next year.’

‘The sixth Saanen discussion was the next day, and it was on death. “If you really know life, you will understand death, and love. They are one; not separate.” It had a profound effect. Very hot day. Took a few more photos. Bill Burmeister’—he was a nice young man, who used to come to the talks—‘and the Wolffs, Renata and Rudiger, came for lunch. They brought me kefir milk.’ I was making kefir from then on for ages. They brought little, like, little cauliflower pieces and you kept them in water and then when you wanted them to work, you put them in milk, and they made kefir. It was rather good, a little culture thing. On the seventh, ‘Krishnaji he gave his seventh talk and that was the end of them for the year.
So, the next day, it was a lovely day, and accompanied by Montague and Dorothy, we drove to Thun to Moser’s when it was time to take delivery of Krishnaji’s new Mercedes 450SLC that we ordered two years ago. He drove it back to Tannegg with Moser. The Simmonses and I came back in my car, and then Moser drove back to Thun, taking my car for winter storage. Krishnaji is pleased in every way with the new car and the way it drives. The look on his face delights me,’ it says here. On the next day, ‘of the car, Krishnaji said, “It’s like a crouching tiger.”I did errands in the morning, and then we washed the crouching tiger.’

August twelfth ‘was a warm, lovely day. The Simmonses left in the Land Rover for Brockwood, taking one of our bags. We lunched alone. I worked at the desk, and later we took our usual walk. Krishnaji is feeling remote—“off.”’
The next day ‘was a hot day. We had lunch alone, finished packing and loaded the car. We took our last Swiss mountain walk of the summer, the usual way to the river. The car was all ready to go before bedtime.’

Tuesday, the fourteenth of August, 1973. ‘Krishnaji and I left Tannegg at 4 a.m. in the new Mercedes, 450SLC. There was a golden moon lighting the valley, and then an orange ball of sun took its place as we drove along the Lausanne autoroute. Krishnaji drove that part. He said, “Now, I know I can drive this car.” We stopped to rest in a wooded area for a while, and Krishnaji said, “I could have wandered off in the forest. The body is off. I’ve never felt it quite like this.” There was a delay at the border because we couldn’t find the chassis number on the car for the Swiss customs.’ It had to be checked out of Switzerland. ‘We finally did’—it was on the windshield—‘and we bought croissants in the same village in the Jura and ate our picnic breakfast at the little side road where we have done the last several years.’ Krishnaji would always remember where it was. He said, “We’re coming to it now.” Then we went through Lons-le-Saunier to Chalons and joined the autoroute to Paris. I had slept less than two hours, so when Krishnaji wished to drive, I dozed. There was a heat wave all over Europe and the air conditioning in the new car meant a comfortable drive. We had a picnic lunch, but didn’t care for the parking spots as we neared Paris, so wound up, as last year, eating our lunch in the Bois de Boulogne, near to where we used to walk. There were prettier places, but Krishnaji wanted a familiar one. We sat a long time under a tree. Paris is very hot, ninety degrees. We reached the Plaza Athénée by 5 p.m. A long, cool bath, delicious supper of fruit and soup made, the waiter said, of puréed rice and carrots.

Wednesday, the fifteenth of August, in Paris. ‘It was a holiday in France, and I woke up after almost eleven hours of sleep to a delicious sense of nothing to do. Krishnaji slept well too, and we floated through the morning in complete relaxation. The weather was hot but not uncomfortable, and that added to the floating feeling. We lunched in the garden under umbrellas in the hotel, luxuriously and quietly. There were very few guests here. At 4 p.m., we walked to the Champs Elysées, where a Burt Lancaster Western was playing.’‘The usual nonsense, but Krishnaji observed the southwest desert mountains and his head pains stopped. “I didn’t know what was happening. I just watched.” We walked back to the Plaza. Each did some breathing exercises. Had supper, and went early to sleep.

The next day was the sixteenth of August. ‘Krishnaji, about his head pains, and that faraway feeling, said, “These people usually remain in one place surrounded by their disciples. The Buddha walked eighty miles, but that wasn’t very far. This body was made sensitive and it rebels at being pushed around in strange places.“If you mean Brockwood, no. It may come to that, but not now.”’
‘It was another hot day. Krishnaji stayed in while I went to the bank and to Lobbs, now moved to Hermès, for shoe polish for Krishnaji. Then to Courrèges to get some jerseys. When I got to the hotel, Krishnaji said he wanted to go to Givenchy, so I could get some trousers that I could have copied in London, but they had none. We went to Phillips for a razor. We lunched again in the Plaza’s garden, and at 4 p.m., left in the Mercedes to drive slowly to Le Havre, Krishnaji doing about half the driving. It lessened the pain in his head. He kept the car’s temperature low by slow driving, and varying the speed. Inside the car, we were cool with the air conditioner. We reached Le Havre at 7:30 p.m. It was cool there. We dined at Le Monaco, and I checked a new Chanel suit through customs before boarding the Normandy Ferry, the Dragon, on which we had a smooth crossing.’
The next day, ‘we debarked from Southampton at 7 a.m., and drove to Brockwood. The Simmonses had not yet arrived. Annette and Richard Cooke and Jim Fowler have been the caretakers all summer. It was a cool and misty morning. We unpacked quietly most of the day. Krishnaji cleaned the Mercedes engine and worried at it standing outside because Dorothy’s Cortina is stored in the Mercedes garage. “It will rust. We must cover it! ‘But Dorothy and Montague and Doris arrived in the Land Rover at 8 a.m. The Cortina was moved and the Mercedes was saved from the night’s dew.’ ‘Krishnaji’s head was hurting him; his face looked drawn.’

The eighteenth of August ‘was a day of unpacking and sorting out and putting things in order in all of Krishnaji’s cupboards. His head continues bad. He, Dorothy, and I walked in the p.m. Krishnaji has decided to increase the walk: go to the grove, across the two big fields, along the footpath, behind and around the half-timbered house to the lane, and back along the lane.’
The nineteenth ‘was another warm day, and I went on with cupboard straightening and we together washed the Mercedes and the floor of the garage all in the p.m. Dorothy brought Whisper the dog back from Wales, where she had been while we were all away.’
On the twentieth, ‘Krishnaji came with me to Petersfield to inquire about floor mats for the car. After lunch, Krishnaji, Dorothy, Whisper, and I went on the new walk. Krishnaji’s head was bad, except when doing something or watching TV. “I wonder how long it will last?”’
On the next day, ‘we went over the draft of the settlement done by Stanley Cohen.’ That’s all it says.
On the twenty-second, ‘Mavis and Reg Bennett arrived to stay through the gathering. I put them in the West Wing guestroom.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji and I went for a drive. The tent went up for the gathering. Ian Hammond and Robert Wiffen came in the afternoon to inspect the work on the Cloisters and the dining room addition. He and I discussed his headaches, as if the tremendous energy of the talks, when it subsides, the body protests, fatigue comes later when he is on a more superficial level.’ He thought that’s why he had the headaches.
On the twenty-sixth, ‘in the afternoon, Krishnaji and Carlos washed the car. Then, Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I cleaned bracken and dead branches in the grove.
On August twenty-eighth, ‘Saral and David Bohm came to lunch and discussed plans for a scientist discussion meeting next year. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I worked hard at the tree pruning in the grove.’
The next day, ‘Dorothy drove Krishnaji and me to Petersfield and we took the train to London. We lunched at Fortnum. Krishnaji went to the dentist and had a tooth extracted. We went to Huntsman, Asprey, and Mr. Hewitt the tailor at Rowe’s for slacks for me. Then back to the dentist for altered denture. Then to Waterloo train and back to Brockwood.’
On the thirtieth of August,  ‘Krishnaji’s mouth was sore. I prepared rooms for guests, and there was maximum preparation in the house and the tent for the coming talks. Dorothy was not too well, but she was on her feet and came for a short walk. Krishnaji in the night fell briefly sick; sweating, feeling faint, followed by trembling. It lasted only briefly.’
On the thirty-first of August. ‘A letter from Erna saying that Mrs. Blau had seen the Happy Valley land with the Pollocks and later saw Rosalind. The feeling of the Blaus, Lilliefelts, Ruth, and now Krishnaji, is that we should drop any idea of the Happy Valley land for our school. Rosalind and Beatrice Wood are building houses there.’

On the first of September, ‘Krishnaji gave his first Brockwood talk of the year. Afterward, I gave him lunch upstairs and then he went back to the tent where lunch was being served. The weather was fine; we had about 920 people at meals.’
The next day ‘was the second Brockwood talk.
On September fourth, ‘Krishnaji held a discussion in the tent, after which he had lunch upstairs, and then went back to the tent.’
On Thursday the sixth of September, ‘Krishnaji held the second public discussion.’

The eighth was the third talk, and on the ninth was the fourth talk. ‘There were easily 1,500 people at the last talk. It was a warm, beautiful day, and Krishnaji feels that there’s too much of a 'holiday atmosphere' at these talks, and not enough seriousness. Next year, it should be more austere. The pool will be empty, and there will be no entertainment. The camp is disliked around the community as they disturb pheasants and pick mushrooms. The guests began to leave.’
On the tenth, ‘the Bennetts left. Almost all the campers and Cloisters guests have left. The house is becoming quiet. One can feel it happening. There was a good letter from Ruth and Albion Patterson about teachers for the Ojai center. I had deskwork and much laundry. Krishnaji spoke to Calles, who was booming with criticisms and later Krishnaji gave an interview to Ted Cartee, a serious young American who has been through much Zen.’
On the eleventh, ‘Marcelle Bondoneau left, so did a few remaining guests. At noon, Krishnaji, Dorothy, Montague, Doris, and I took a picnic lunch and ate it by the mill in Alresford. It was a lovely day. There was an exquisite garden by the mill. Then we went to Winchester to the see the movie Day of the Jackal. Krishnaji enjoyed it.’
On September thirteenth, ‘We went to London by train. Doris lent us her Mini as Krishnaji does not want the new Mercedes to sit in the Petersfield station parking lot.’

Mary Links met us at Fortnum’s for an early lunch. She is working on the second draft of the biography. I brought in the dummy of photographs of Krishnaji, some of them bad, of the Indian book put together by Pupul and Sunanda of Krishnaji’s Rishi Valley talks to students and teachers. I also brought the text, which Mary had asked me to read. Should it be printed in the West, too? Questionable. On the train, I read to Krishnaji parts of the book that Mary questions. Krishnaji was impatient at Pupul’s and Sunanda’s editing and dictated revisions to me. He said the book can’t be published as it is. We discussed it at lunch, and Krishnaji decided that I should go through it and consult him on parts I think need editing, or elucidating. He will correct them, and when we get it done, it will go to Mary for her editing. This will irritate India, who wants to rush it out as-is, but Krishnaji said he will deal with that. How do I do this before Krishnaji goes to India? The book is 200 pages. I don’t know but I will get on it.’
‘At the end of lunch, Mary spoke of the beauty of Krishnaji’s letters, their originality, and asked him if he would keep a notebook in which he would write a word, a line, anything each day. Krishnaji told her of the curious thing that happened before the first Brockwood talk two weeks ago, August thirty-first. He woke in the night feeling as if a ball of light were being placed in his head. He stayed awake observing it for about an hour. Krishnaji said he would write each day.’

Mary dropped Krishnaji at the dentist, and I walked to a fitting at Rowe’s, stopping to buy Krishnaji avocado oil at Jackson’s and some blueberries from the U.S., and then a notebook for the writing. I met him at Mr. Thompson’s (the dentist), and he went to Huntsman for his fitting, then to Sulka, where they are making those shirts with Indian silk that Krishnaji brought on his last trip. Then we went to Asprey’s for our watches, and bought two Lamay pencils for the writing. Krishnaji wanted one with thick lead and one with fine lead, and was pleased with what we found. Putting down our shopping bag was a self-conscious act; it isn’t a bomb, said Krishnaji to the clerk. London and other cities have been harassed by the IRA with bombs, usually left in shopping bags. We went on down Bond Street to Maxwell’s new shop. Huntsman has bought Maxwell’s, and Krishnaji ordered a trial pair of shoes, which went so well and so quickly he had time to have a haircut at Truefitt across the street. And so to Waterloo and back to Brockwood by 6:30.’
On the fourteenth, ‘Krishnaji wrote a whole page in his new notebook with his new pencil. A description of the grove and the feeling of silence and something holy there.[2]Frances McCann, who has been staying in the Cloisters, was invited to stay in the West Wing guestroom, where the Reg Bennetts were. Krishnaji is putting hands on Frances to try to help her; she is hearing voices. I talk to her and sometimes can persuade her that it is subjective, but then she lapses back into delusions; otherwise, she is quiet and pleasantly herself. Krishnaji has forbidden her to do any yoga or pranayama and will not hear of her delusions. I felt she would feel more secure and cared for here in the West Wing rather than in the Cloisters, which is almost empty now.’
‘Krishnaji wanted to drive before lunch, so we took the Mercedes to West Meon, East Meon, and around through Privett. Another marvelously lovely day; warm, but not too hot; delicious air.’

‘Barabino telephoned from Rome about confirmation of the date October twenty-eighth for Krishnaji’s talk there, and wanted to know if we were still coming in spite of the recent cholera outbreak in Italy? Krishnaji hopes it will be over by then. What we are wondering is whether to go first to Venice with the Linkses. Salviamo Venezia, as Krishnaji said, when he saw that on an Italian stamp in June.’ That means, “Let’s save Venice”; Venice was crumbling at that point. ‘He thinks it would be fun to go, and Mary and Joe are eager. I must check on cholera shots requirements with various embassies. At 4 p.m., a Polish professor’ of Oriental philosophy and psychology came with his father and two people to see Krishnaji. He was a very emotional man who asked no questions, but kept repeating, “We are one, we are one” over and over. Krishnaji found it tiring. We walked around the grove later, waiting for a fitter to come to measure the Mercedes for brush mats.’
On September sixteenth, ‘I left at 10:45 a.m. after many admonitions on careful driving from Krishnaji and drove sixty-nine miles’ to have lunch with a friend. I got back at 6:15 p.m. Krishnaji had seen the Bohms about the proposed scientist discussion meeting next year. A letter came from David Hall. Krishnaji also had done his now daily notebook (K's Journal) writing, descriptions of leaving Gstaad in the silent dark. And criticisms of a visitor.

On the nineteenth, ‘Krishnaji wrote and I worked at the desk. In the afternoon, Krishnaji held a staff meeting. Later, he, Dorothy, and I walked and cleared fallen branches in the grove.’
On the twenty-first, ‘Krishnaji wrote all morning and held a staff meeting in the afternoon. Then, he, Dorothy, and I walked. The weather is getting cold.’
On the twenty-second, ‘Many of the students have arrived. I went to Petersfield to pick up Mrs. Prima Srinivasan from Madras, who lunched at Brockwood, talked to Krishnaji, and later I drove her back to the station. We walked as usual.’
The next day, ‘All the students have arrived.’ There were forty-eight students in all who arrived. Krishnaji wrote and I typed, almost all day. Frances McCann is much better with Krishnaji’s treatment and may go to India to continue. She is quieter and very helpful here. I tried unsuccessfully to telephone Vanda. On a walk, Dorothy suddenly had an odd feeling in her head. It happened again later. Krishnaji put his hands on her before retiring. She is overworked.’
On the twenty-fourth, ‘the school term began. Krishnaji spoke to the school in the afternoon, and we telephoned Vanda about the dates.’ He was going to go to speak in Italy.
On the twenty-fifth, ‘I worked all day on typing Krishnaji’s notebook. He does two-and-a-half pages a day. In the afternoon, he gave an interview to Jean-Loup Lopez. Dorothy saw her doctor because her blood pressure is up a bit. Krishnaji gave her treatments and Wobenzym - that’s a remedy he was taking.

On September twenty-ninth, ‘Krishnaji wrote in the morning, and in the afternoon held a discussion for guests invited for the weekend, as well as students and staff. We held it in the West Wing hall using folding chairs and the stairs to sit on.’
October first ‘was a most lovely day. Krishnaji began to write, but felt like a drive. So we wandered in the car through the lanes south of Brockwood. The sunlight coming through the leaves, and lovely places we haven’t seen. Then back to deskwork and a walk
On October fourth, ‘at 3:30 p.m., Krishnaji spoke to the school in the West Wing hall again, during which I took some photos. Afterwards, Krishnaji spoke to some staff members who were troubled.

On the fifth, ‘Dorothy drove us to the Petersfield station, where we caught a train to London. On the train, we worked on the correction of the Indian educational book. Krishnaji went to Huntsman and I to Rowe’s, where we had fittings. Mary L. met Krishnaji at Huntsman, and they met me at Fortnum’s for lunch. I picked up my watch and Krishnaji’s Naviquartz clock at Asprey’s. Then Krishnaji and I went to John Bell and Croydon, and then to Mr. Thompson. Krishnaji had a tooth with an abscess, which was drained. We caught the 4:50 p.m. train back to Petersfield. A nice man gave us a seat. We worked some more on the book on the train.’
For the seventh, ‘Krishnaji and everyone at Brockwood planted a cedar of Lebanon, given by Joan Wright and her husband, on the front lawn and also an English oak near the driveway, supplied by me.’
 The next day, I drove Krishnaji’s Mercedes to London, got Krishnaji’s Italian visa, and then took the car to the Fisher Shipping Company, for shipping to Los Angeles. I walked to the Royal Academy and saw the Chinese exhibition.’ That was wonderful; it was all those horses that were discovered somewhere…  ‘I bought a sweater present for Vanda and then to Waterloo and the train to Petersfield. Doris had left her car there for me. Krishnaji had spoken to the school.’

The fourteenth is packing, and packing. ‘Krishnaji spoke very briefly to Carol Algood in the afternoon. He, Dorothy, Whisper, and I walked in the late afternoon along the usual path.’
On the fifteenth, ‘We left Brockwood at 10:45 a.m. The whole school came out to say farewell. Dorothy and Doris in the Land Rover drove to the airport, where Krishnaji, Frances, and I took a BEA flight to Rome. Vanda and Barabino met us. Somehow, Vanda, Krishnaji, Barabino, I, and eight bags all got into Vanda’s Lancia and to Via Barnaba Oriani.’ That’s the street where Vanda had an apartment. ‘Filomena had left flowers and grapes from her garden. I spoke to her on the telephone. In the morning there had been a letter at Brockwood from Erna about the responsibility of the Zalk house and thirty-eight acres for a KFA school. Christensen’—Rajagopal’s lawyer—‘is avoiding Stanley Cohen’—that’s our lawyer—‘on the telephone and hence on any settlement.’

The next day, ‘Krishnaji spent the day in bed resting and reading. We listened to the news of the war in Israel. Much fighting continues.’

On the eighteenth, ‘I went with Filomena and bought socks for Krishnaji to take to India. When I came back, I went over this morning’s writing by Krishnaji. In it, a Sanskrit prayer, which he said he mostly made up.’ ‘Barabino and the Signorinis came for lunch. Krishnaji and I walked in Villa Glori after his nap. War in Israel continues heavy.’
October nineteenth. ‘Frances came to see Krishnaji, then she, Vanda, and I took a bus to the Corso and went to Veruska pant store, where I bought three pairs. To Hausmann with Krishnaji’s Patek and fetched mine, then to the Daily American to put in an ad about Krishnaji’s upcoming talk. I bought him some books and notebook paper, and came back by bus. Vanda and I, Cragnolini, and Topazia for lunch. Krishnaji said Italy must have a committee, not just Barabino. They didn’t want that. Shrill resistance. They don’t listen. Krishnaji had to battle to get them to understand. Later, we went for a walk as usual.’
The next day,   ‘I spent the morning with Filomena but came back in time

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The next day,   ‘I spent the morning with Filomena but came back in time for lunch. October twenty-first. At 8:30 a.m., Ms. Goody came and gave me a massage.’ Wonderful masseuse. She gave us wonderful Swedish massage. ‘Krishnaji, Vanda, and I lunched at Villa Medici with Comte de Roland and his Japanese wife. Also, there was a Madame Cassad?, also Japanese, the widow of the cellist Cassad?.’ Cassad? used to play in the Menuhin concerts and I’ve heard him play quite a number of times in Saanen. He had died. ‘They discussed Krishnaji’s possibly being in Japan in November 1974. Madame Cassad? goes there tomorrow and will write to me about it. We came back and rested. Krishnaji went for a walk by himself.’
On the twenty-second, ‘Israel and Egypt accept a ceasefire. Syria, Jordan refuse. Fighting continues, but less. Barabino and friend Mr. Rivella came for lunch. He owns Lima products and has lent Bisla Villa for a school. Krishnaji and I talked privately with Barabino, saying there must be a committee to do the Bulletin, etcetera, in Italy, and also to run any school. Also the school is not to use Krishnaji’s name. Barabino not to claim he is a Krishnamurti Foundation in his announcement, as he now does. After lunch, I went by taxi to see Filomena. She doesn’t want to go to Malibu for a visit. She may come instead to Brockwood in the spring. I got back in time to go for a walk with Krishnaji. Electricity cut out in the evening, so we couldn’t hear the news.’

October twenty-third, 1973. A partially videotaped discussion between Krishnaji and Silvio Ceccato, director of the Center for Cybernetics at the University of Milan. About thirty people were present. It was also taped on the Nagra by Yves Zlotnicka. There was confusion and non-listening by Ceccato. It took terrific effort on Krishnaji’s part to talk to him because Ceccato didn’t listen. He was superficial and interested mostly in repeating his own views over and over. After this, it was a stand-up lunch for everyone. That was about it. I went off and did some errands and I got back in time for the walk.
The next day, the twenty-fourth, ‘the truce between Israel and the Arabs seems to be holding. Worked on the education book in the morning. Krishnaji wrote in his notebook. The Indian ambassador Mrs. Pandt came to lunch, also a Ms. Rosa Talamonti, ’‘It was a cold day. Krishnaji and I walked in Villa Glori. I asked him about meditation at night. He said that it’s less at Brockwood because so many people are in the house.’

The twenty-fifth. ‘Very cold in the Rome apartment.’ Romans and maybe other Italians put on the heat on a certain date and you could get chilblains, but no, it doesn’t go on till the right date. And also the Rome apartments feel twice as cold because of the dampness in Rome; the walls get cold and damp. ‘Another cyberneticist called Grazia Marchiano came to lunch, and various people came to talk to Krishnaji. Krishnaji had supper after 8 p.m. because of all this. He spoke briefly to Yves Zlotnicka about a message Yves had passed along from Guido Franco, who is still after Krishnaji to do the film which he wants to put on French television.’‘It seems that Franco’s film shows Sai Baba and U.G. Krishnamurti, but has little of Krishnaji, so he wants to film some more. And Krishnaji gave a firm “No”’—he didn’t want to be mixed up with all those things.
The next day, the twenty-sixth, ‘worked all morning on the educational book. Krishnaji rested in bed all day.

On the twenty-eighth, ‘Krishnaji gave a talk at 11 a.m. at the Teatro Eliseo on Via Nazionale. There were about 900 people, 600 of whom used translation devices. Krishnaji put a great deal into this talk, his one public talk here. In the afternoon, I finished going through the education book. Later Krishnaji and I walked in Villa Glori.’
The twenty-ninth of October. ‘At Krishnaji’s suggestion, Filomena and I went shopping for more undershirts from Schostal.’ ‘I also got more books for Krishnaji. We had lunch with Pontecorvo, the film director - Krishnaji asked Pontecorvo why he was making a movie about Jesus. He suggested that it would be much more interesting to show why the mind falls into superstition.’ ‘Later, Krishnaji and I walked in Villa Glori, and he again cautioned me not to do unnecessary things and not to take chances, to not go on unnecessary travels, to drive with care, also to train my body as I would a dog.’
On the thirtieth, ‘Krishnaji held his first discussion at Vanda’s. It was on the difference between 'recognition' and 'seeing'. In the latter, there is only seeing, no center, no self. Filomena was there and stayed to lunch. Krishnaji and I walked in Villa Glori. Krishnaji didn’t like the last chapter of the education book and wouldn’t correct it, so my work on it is finished, and he will take it to India.

October thirty-first, ‘Krishnaji held a second discussion at Vanda’s. Also a good one. At lunch were Barabino, and a niece of Vanda and her husband. Krishnaji and I went for our usual walk. A small moon was in the sky.’
November first. ‘Filomena came in a new car to take me to the airport. Krishnaji was very dear at saying goodbye. He leaves tonight on Alitalia for Bombay. He waved to me from the hall windows. I took the 1:30 p.m. TWA flight to New York. Krishnaji must have been taking off for India as I was landing in New York.’

On November thirteenth, I flew to Los Angeles . Balasundaram telephoned today from RishiValley about a cable received by Krishnamurti from Rajagopal. It said, “I can forgive.” Cohen counseled us to make no reply. The telephone communication is interrupted, but I telephoned Sunanda to relay a message, and called Krishnaji of my arrival with the lawyer’s advice.’ To let him know I was in Malibu.

The eighteenth of November, ‘Krishnaji went from RishiValley to Bangalore. And on the next day, Krishnaji goes from Bangalore to Delhi.
On the twenty-third, I got letter number two from Krishnaji, written from November thirteenth to the sixteenth, when he was in RishiValley.
On the twenty-ninth of November, I received letter number three from Krishnaji, sent from Delhi. December first, ‘We received a draft of a settlement agreement from Mr. Cohen.’
The next day, ‘the Lilliefelts and I went over the settlement draft again and talked at length. We want to see Cohen about it. I wrote to Krishnaji, telling him what had happened.’
This is December sixth. ‘A cable from Balasundaram: All activities at Rajghat have been canceled. Krishnaji will go to Madras tomorrow. He will be at Jayalakshmi’s house through December.’
There was a 2 p.m. meeting at Stanley Cohen’s office with him, Erna, Theo, Ruth Tettemer, Albion Patterson, and me. We went over the draft of the settlement agreement, finishing at 5 p.m. When I got home, I found letter number four from Krishnaji waiting. It had been written from November twenty-fourth through December first, and sent from Delhi.’
On December seventh, it says, ‘today Krishnaji should’ve gone from Delhi to Madras, staying at Jayalakshmi’s.’

December thirteenth, ‘Letter number five from Krishnaji arrived, written from December second through the fifth, from Delhi. In it he said that the Rajghat visit was canceled because not only were the airlines on strike, but there was uncertainty with the trains, and he had a cold. He told the Indian trustees that he cannot speak in so many places.’

On the sixteenth of December, ‘letter number six came from Krishnaji, written in Delhi and Madras between December sixth and tenth.’ ‘On the seventeenth, ‘Erna sent the settlement draft to Krishnaji, and I sent a letter about it from here, from me. And I also sent a settlement draft to Mary Cadogan for KF Trust to accept.’ For the eighteenth, ‘Evelyne Blau telephoned to say that the Pollocks visited Brockwood and enthused. Spoke of renting the Zalk house ( now The Ojai Retreat) to KFA for school use.’

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Third of January, 1974. ‘Mary Cadogan telephoned from London. The English Foundation trustees agree to the settlement with minor suggestions. The KFT office has heat and light for only three days a week. Brockwood is alright because of its being a school.’ ‘Erna received a letter from Balasundaram with Indian lawyers’ text of what is necessary for Rajagopal to give a quit claim to Vasanta Vihar. They have given power of attorney to me to sign for KF India.’ See, I was a trustee of KF India in those days.
 On the fourth of January, ‘a letter from Krishnaji, written in Madras, after he had received the settlement draft. Then, I received a cable from Anneke authorizing me to sign the settlement on behalf of the Stichting.
On the tenth, ‘letter number ten came from Krishnaji, written in Madras, RishiValley, and Bangalore, giving his travel plans. He goes to Rome on the thirty-first, to Brockwood on February second, and then on the fifth, he had arranged a ticket from London to here. He has sent letter to Cadogan to arrange for his U.S. visa. I had to supply letters inviting him,’ so that was done.
On January sixteenth, ‘there was a meeting between Stanley Cohen and Christensen in the judge’s chamber in Ventura. Cohen rejected “picayune demands” by Rajagopal. Cohen wants to see us at the Lilliefelt’s on Saturday to go over that. I cabled Krishnaji in Bombay, telling him what had taken place. Nothing decisive.’
On the nineteenth, ‘I met Erna and Albion Patterson at Stanley Cohen’s office in Oxnard at 9:30 a.m. We were there till noon going over Christensen’s demands for changes in the settlement draft. Some are minor, etcetera, others we rejected.’
On the twenty-second, ‘Erna telephoned. The meeting scheduled for February first with Judge Heaton, Tapper, Christensen, Rosenthal, Cohen, and us is postponed because of Tapper, to the sixth, just as Krishnaji is due to arrive. I rang Cohen to try to change it. Letter number eleven from Krishnaji in Bangalore arrived, saying that the acreage and guest house there pleases him. A cable from Joe Links said that the Mercedes Green Beauty will be shipped next week.’
January twenty-third reads, ‘I did an inventory of Krishnaji’s clothing here and sent it to Brockwood to help him decide what to bring from Brockwood. Erna telephoned that Christensen is not going to Ojai today to make the KWINC asset list and to receive Krishnaji’s manuscript because Rajagopal says he’s sick. Another stall.’ Everything was constantly postponed, always at Rajagopal’s maneuvering.

The twenty-ninth of January. ‘Erna telephoned Cohen. His assistant, Mr. Reynolds, had gone to Rajagopal’s house and was given by Christensen, who was there for the purpose, 363 pages of what is supposed to be the manuscript Krishnaji wrote in and around 1961, and that Rajagopal had Vanda bring him; the one that Rajagopal refused to give Naudé and me back in 1966. Erna saw the manuscript, but Cohen has custody of it until we, in turn, turned over the “Blackburn tapes” made in ’68 in Gstaad.’ Now, I’ll explain about these tapes again. Albert Blackburn lived in Ojai and was a Krishnamurti admirer for years and years. When Krishnaji in 1968 broke off from KWINC, it was announced at the Saanen talks. Krishnaji had people from Ojai, who were close to all this, come up to the Chalet Tannegg, and he explained why he had to disassociate himself from Krishnamurti Writings. On his own initiative, Al Blackburn brought a tape recorder to that meeting and taped it. It wasn’t Krishnaji’s idea, and I wasn’t present, so I didn’t witness this, but anyway, he did. And Rajagopal was wild about this thing. The recording didn’t say anything that wasn’t already known, but Rajagopal just didn’t like it to be taped and for people to hear it. So, one of the backwards and forwards in this settlement agreement was that he finally agreed to swap the manuscript of what was to become Krishnamurti’s Notebook in order to get the tape, and as it says here: ‘Cohen keeps the custody of it until the settlement was made. He couldn’t give it to us, and eventually, it will come out in all this that we agreed to destroy all copies of it that we knew of And we acted in good faith. But, as it turned out much later, Blackburn kept a copy for himself.
On the thirtieth, on the California calendar, ‘Krishnaji left Bombay early in the morning, which was the thirty-first on the Bombay calendar.’ My diary says that he should have arrived in Rome at 10:30 p.m., California time.

On February second, ‘Krishnaji flies from Rome to Brockwood. I came home from doing some errands to find two letters from Krishnaji written in Bombay.’
Tuesday, the fifth of February, 1974. ‘The day began with a telephone call as I stepped out of the shower from Dorothy at Brockwood. She had a worried voice because Krishnaji had been refused a visa by the U.S. consulate in London. It was a poor connection, and I couldn’t quite understand why, but it seemed to be something to do with my letter of responsibility for him being on official KFA paper. Would I ring the legal people? I did and got someone other than the head of the department. I explained etcetera, and was told suddenly that the visa was being granted at that very moment. I telephoned Dorothy the news. The Indian embassy should have vouched for Krishnaji, but people at Brockwood didn’t know the present high commissioner. Krishnaji had tried to reach Mr. Pandt, the former high commissioner in London and who is now in Rome, but he was in Canada on a trip. Dorothy called back in a half an hour and said Ingrid had the visa. .’
‘At 12:15 p.m., I drove to Ventura, and met Erna at the courthouse. We went over points of the latest draft drawn up by Stanley Cohen, which only reached me, Rosenthal, and the deputy attorney general, Laurence Tapper, yesterday. At 2 p.m., we saw Rosenthal; Cohen and Tapper arrived. Tapper had telephoned Erna out of the blue this morning; his son, whom he wants to go to Brockwood, has turned up among the Jesus freaks, but is now getting interested in Krishnaji. Erna brought some books, and some tickets to the Santa Monica talk for him. But all this has given us an opportunity for her to talk to Tapper. Annie Vigeveno came to the courthouse and sat on the far side, away from Erna and me. Then, Judge Richard Heaton took Rosenthal, Cohen, Tapper, and Rajagopal’s lawyer, Christensen, into his chambers, where they remained for three hours.’
‘Sol came out first and told Erna and me that he thought a settlement is going to occur. The judge insists that, if this went to court, it would be a long four-month case. Tapper was very helpful; he called Rajagopal “a crook” said Sol, and Tapper is only willing to consider a settlement because the length and expense of the case might outweigh the monies Rajagopal has taken by “self-serving.” Tapper is going to insist on yearly audits of K & R Foundation. Cohen came out with a draft of a statement announcing the settlement, which would be given to the press and published in the Bulletin.’ Rajagopal was very fussy about what we said about it,  so, there were always fusses about how we announce things. So, ‘Cohen came out with a draft of a statement announcing the settlement, which would be given to the press and published in the Bulletin. Erna and I edited it, removing references to “working together in friendship and cooperation.” We kept it direct, plain, and factual. Christensen and Vigeveno left. Sol, Cohen, Tapper, Erna, and I talked for a while. Tapper as relater is rarely in such a position and made it clear to Christensen that he was such with us because we’re trying to right the wrongs that Rajagopal has committed. He will insist on things like the audit, which Rajagopal would never accept from us. There is talk of making Rajagopal personally pay for the $40,000 vault built for K & R (in other words, with K & R money) in his own house.’
‘By 6 p.m., everyone was too tired to go into things further and wanted it finalized with another meeting, which will occur on the twentieth and again on the twenty-second. Sol is leaving the Kaplan firm and becoming a partner in another Los Angeles firm, to open a special entertainment branch in CenturyCity, which he will be the boss of. But, he will continue on our case as long as we want him.’ He was the Los Angeles lawyer we went to; that Mitchell Booth sent us to Sol who was a very nice, youngish man who was in charge of our case. But, it was thought that because all this was going on in VenturaCounty, that we should have a VenturaCounty lawyer, and that was Stanley Cohen. So, Cohen carried everything, but Sol was always in the background, knowing what was happening.
‘I drove home with care, feeling that extra length of responsibility to Krishnaji in handling these matters and as his arrival is tomorrow.’
The sixth of February. Krishnaji left Brockwood and then Heathrow at 1 p.m. London time on TWA, a twelve-hour flight to Los Angeles. I finished putting the house in order, fetched fresh fruit and vegetables at the Brentwood Market, had the car washed, and went to the airport. A thankful, smiling feeling as the white aircraft wheeled up. I saw Krishnaji’s head as he was second out and down the steps to the customs entrance. There was quite a wait, and then he stepped out, carrying his Vuitton bag, elegant, tired but wonderful. “Travel is hell,”’ ‘he said.’
‘We came home, talked, unpacked, and talked some more. He had supper in bed on a tray and I on a chair in his room. He wanted to hear Walter Cronkite’ ‘We telephoned the Lilliefelts. It was a clear, brilliant night, a full moon, the wind blessedly gone. Krishnaji was too mixed up in time to sleep well. “Things have been going on, exploding in my head. Something is going on.” He told me of the plans for the Bangalore headquarters for KFI, and the school plans there. Mary Links has finished the biography. She says it is good. Krishnaji is too tired to sleep, but he is here and wants to rest here for the month of May.

The seventh of February. ‘Krishnaji spent the day in bed resting. Still disoriented in time. He has difficulty sleeping, but it was a lovely, quiet day.’
The next day, ‘we drove to Beverly Hills, had lunch in a crêperie, the Magic Pan, which Krishnaji liked, but their fare of 'spinach crêpes', etcetera, was not a proper lunch for him, and he felt slightly sick later on. We went to Phil’s barber, Sid Steinberg in the Beverly Wilshire, and had a satisfactory haircut. During this, I had his passport photocopied to send to Mitchell Booth, with whom I have discussed finding a way for Krishnaji to have some status as a resident in this country, avoiding visa difficulties. Krishnaji likes my Earth shoes’ ‘so we went and got him a pair and came home. The trip tired him. Too much wear and tear from people and moving about. We had supper, and he went early to bed.’
On the ninth, ‘Krishnaji slept better and spent all the day in bed sleeping on and off. He taught me new pranayama and a back exercise and gave me Aryuvedic medicine prescribed for me by Dr. Parchure; a purpley-black powder to be taken with ghee also some oils and herbs to rub on my sore leg, etcetera. I am to put eight drops of milk in Krishnaji’s nose each morning and oil at night.’ He always came back with these things…

February tenth. ‘Another quiet, lovely day, warm, beautiful, and restful. Krishnaji slept and read out of a string of new detective novels waiting for him, including a new Nero Woolf, which he is saving.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji rested. I did housekeeping, and took the car after lunch to have the exhaust pipe repaired. Sidney Field fetched me back to Malibu. He and Krishnaji went for a walk.’

February thirteenth. ‘I forgot it was my birthday until Alain Naudé telephoned with wishes. Krishnaji spoke to him. I invited him down during Krishnaji’s Santa Monica talks. Krishnaji dictated letters, but remained in bed all day except in the afternoon when, in his blue jeans and Earth shoes, he did twenty laps around the garden.’ ‘Then we walked over to the Dunne’s. Walking in their driveway, the red-tailed hawk was high and utterly motionless over the canyon. Three quick wing flaps and they mathematically stay in one spot. The clear, clean ocean air came across the canyon. The lovely afternoon light and small blue sight of Krishnaji briskly walking on the lawn was the sum of happiness to me.’
The next day. ‘Another lovely day. We drove to Dieter’s Import Cars in Oxnard, and signed all the papers for the Green Beauty, which is due in San Pedro from England next week. Dieter will fetch it for us, and we arranged it all with him. Dieter asked Krishnaji about a special license plate, one you can pay extra for, with the money going to ecology and the plates being permanent, what to put on it? Krishnaji said “KMN” for Krishnamurti, Mary, and Nitya. When Nitya was alive and they were in London or in Paris even, they were very elegant and had things made with their initials on it.

‘We went to the Ranch House and bought bread and a casserole of nut-loaf and took it to the Lilliefelt’s for lunch and a trustee meeting with Erna, Theo, Ruth, and Albion. Krishnaji reported on Indian activities, Brockwood, and the Assembly Hall building going ahead. Then we talked about the Anderson dialogues that were coming up, then the educational center plans, and then the case. Krishnaji asked if Barbara Lama can handle being the principal of the proposed school.’ Barbara Lama was Albion’s stepdaughter, I think, and she was a teacher. She worked at HappyValley, but she didn’t get on with Rosalind, and the thought was that she should be the principal. And then Krishnaji asked, “How will you judge a student? Will it be because of your prejudices, likes, dislikes? Will you be aware of these; of choosing with your own ego? It is a sin to turn down a child who comes to you, who may be the right one. It is a tremendous responsibility. If you feel that responsibility deeply, you will act rightly.” It was 6 p.m. when we left. All gas stations were closed on the way back. We will need a full tank to get to La Jolla Saturday. Krishnaji said the body was tired from all this. He must get to bed early. Last night he slept almost nine hours.’
February fifteenth. ‘I was able to fill the gas tank. Then I sent the papers to clear the Mercedes Green Beauty. Krishnaji rested. I did house and garden things. Later, Krishnaji packed, but mostly slept. “I don’t know what is the matter with me,” he said, “I’m sleeping so much.” He is relaxed and needs it.’
On the sixteenth Krishnaji and I left relaxed at 3 p.m. and drove at fifty-five milessedately’ [S chuckles] ‘to not use up more gas than necessary. We drove 141 miles to La Jolla, arriving exactly at 6 at Martha Longenecker’s house. Sidney Roth was there. Martha checked me out on how the house works. Tibbet, her cat, welcomed us. Then, Martha and Sidney left. Krishnaji and I had supper and went early to bed.’
Sunday, the seventeenth We had supper entrées by the television. A program came on, Religion in America, showing Baba Ram Dass (Richard Alpert and Timothy Leary’s old partner in LSD at Harvard University) at the Baba Ram Dass ashram; scenes of pompous, beaded turban types doing what was billed as kundalini yoga’ ‘“God bless, America,” said Krishnaji, “They embrace anything.” Later we watched a little ofUpstairs/Downstairs, and was hoping Sara the scullery maid would disrupt the dinner for King Edward the seventh’ ‘Bedtime intervened.’

The next day, I was up at 6 a.m. I did breakfast, laundry, and prepared lunch while Krishnaji did his exercises, etcetera, and we were ready to leave at 9 a.m. Martha and Sidney guided us to San Diego University and where the TV department is. We met Paul Steen, who was in charge, Paul Hartman, the director, and Professor Alan Anderson, with whom Krishnaji did the first of the ten days of dialogues, generally on what is the place of knowledge and the transformation of man. There were three color cameras. A girl, Doris Bently, who had written asking to see Krishnaji and saying she had permission from Anderson to sit in on the discussions was there. Anderson doesn’t know her.’ ‘Steen said no one could get in, but my dim view of being excluded amended that decision for me. The girl sat in a viewing room.’
‘Krishnaji spoke of fragmentation causing division of man and nations, etcetera, sorrow, conflict, and violence. Revolution isn’t revolution, he said, because it is gradual. This was all in the first hour. Then, there was a half-hour break and they resumed for a second hour. They went on, on freedom and knowledge. At one point, Krishnaji said, “Religion is a gathering together of all energy to be attentive” and “Freedom means complete austerity and total negation of the observer.” We came back at 1 p.m., and lunch was ready fairly soon. Krishnaji slept in the afternoon and at around 5 p.m. we went for a mild walk, then supper on trays by the television. Early to bed.’
‘I got a full tank and was back as Krishnaji was starting breakfast, which I’d left ready for him. Here, we eat breakfast at the table, as he says he will get woolly’ ‘and be late if he stays in bed. “Art is to place what is in order,” he said suddenly’ . ‘We were about to leave when the dishwasher overflowed, so I threw towels on the floor to mop it up. Martha and Sidney had car trouble on the way to the university, but a patrol car got them there. Krishnaji told me Anderson is not challenging enough and said, “I will have to do it myself.” But he had a word with Anderson and today’s dialogue numbers 3 and 4 were more intense and went well. I am bothered by the gold background color, so I watched it all on a monitor, where I couldn’t take notes but was absorbed by the dialogue and the way it was coming over in this medium. These may turn out to be unique and effective, our most important record so far. The color of the background is too green a yellow; they called it gold. It’s not a becoming background to Krishnaji’s skin. We came back to a quiet lunch and a small walk in the rain. We carried some shopping, each holding a handle of the shopping bag.’
On the twentieth, ‘Krishnaji slept less well and efforts to try other background colors delayed the start of the recording for an hour, which tired and upset him, but once launched into the dialogue, he didn’t want to stop after one hour, and they did full two hours. They discussed freedom and responsibility, what is order and freedom. On the way in, in the car, Krishnaji said to me, “Energy is not thought. Remember to remind me.”’

‘He went into what is disorder…’ and then it goes on again about all the things he said. ‘We came back after 1 p.m. but soon had lunch, and Krishnaji slept all afternoon. A very short little walk. I spoke to Erna; she hadn’t heard whether the lawyers met today as they were supposed to.’
On February twenty-first. ‘Krishnaji is more rested and as I have accepted the gold background, they were able to start dialogues immediately on arrival, and 7 and 8 were done. Pleasure and fears, desire—what is it, control, pleasure.’ And then again it goes on about all the things. ‘So we were back earlier and stopped for eggs and a few things at Safeway. Krishnaji wanted an omelet. He has been off eggs for some months. He slept in the afternoon; we walked up the hill, saw a shepherd puppy. Erna telephoned. Cohen and Christensen met for three hours yesterday. Cohen walked out twice, but was persuaded to return and continue. Two major sticking points: the archives—where they should be kept. Christensen says they should remain at K & R; Cohen says they are an asset of KWINC and should go to KFA. Possible compromise might be in the attorney general’s custody. And Rajagopal wants the rights to republish all material published by KWINC and its predecessor entities up to 1968. Erna says that would give him early rather Theosophical-sounding works in the Star Bulletin. She, Theo, Ruth, and Albion went over a total list of KWINC publications, and thought a possible compromise might be post-1933 materials with the exception of the ’47–’48 Indian talks, which are recorded from Madahvachari’s notes of recollection. She is sending a résumé of all this to us to consider before she has a meeting with Cohen on Tuesday. The judge, the attorney general, and lawyer meeting is postponed from tomorrow to March eighth. Cohen says Christensen accepts more difficult things like a yearly audit of K & R because they are insisted upon by Tapper, the deputy attorney general. Erna has the so-called 'Scaravelli manuscript' that Krishnaji has sought for so long.’ That’s The Notebook. She read lines from it to me, and I repeated it to Krishnaji. He won’t speak directly on the telephone as it rattles him. Erna says she will transcribe it herself.’ So, it was Erna who transcribed it. I thought I did. And yet it’s right that she did it, because it would’ve taken me a long time.

February twenty-second. Dialogues 9 and 10 at San Diego State on beauty, passion, understanding of suffering.’ And then again, I review all the things that were said. ‘We came back to lunch, and telephoned the shipper. The Mercedes Green Beauty ship docked today. It should clear customs Monday or Tuesday. We got Erna’s letter about the lawyer’s sticking points, that is, where to keep the archives, and Rajagopal’s demand to republish anything pre-’68. We walked in the village later, bought a book on sharks by Peter Benchley for Krishnaji and a new Helen MacInnes for me.’
The next day was ‘a day of rest with a late breakfast. I walked to the health food store, inquired about oil at the Shell station and wound up being able to fill the Jaguar with gas, too. After lunch, we walked to a movie, Chariot of the Gods. Krishnaji felt tired before dinner, said “We mustn’t go to Japan, it’s too much, I’m 79.” We agreed again not to motor any more to Saanen; the long drives are now too much for him.’
Sunday, the twenty-fourth. ‘It was a hot day, with Santa Ana winds  in Malibu. Spoke to Amanda, who said that gas was very tight there. Krishnaji stayed in all day. I marketed in the late afternoon. We watched an appalling Guru Maharaj Ji film. “People are crazy,” said Krishnaji.’

The next day, ‘On way to San Diego State, Krishnaji said, “I think I will take charge of the discussion.” Both dialogues 11 and 12 went very well. It began with religion. Krishnaji was very tired after all this. He slept and we walked a few blocks, and for the first time he said his head hurt as we came back in the car. He has definitely decided not to go to Japan in the autumn.’
On February twenty-sixth, ‘Krishnaji spoke in the car of immortality as a subject. Then Krishnaji held dialogues 13 and 14 on consciousness, living, love, death, immortality, and reincarnation. Alan Kishbaugh came to the taping, and then lunched with us. Krishnaji slept and then he and I went for a short walk. Bought some presents for Martha Longenecker. Telephoned the shipper; the Mercedes cleared customs. Then spoke to Erna about her meeting with Cohen. Rajagopal in return for the letters he has of Krishnaji’s wants Krishnaji to revoke his statement that Rajagopal is not to represent him. Cohen and Erna think we should forget the letters.’

February twenty-seventh. ‘Krishnaji wants to finish the dialogues tomorrow. We will decide after tomorrow’s taping. He did  video tapes15 and 16 today on education, death, religion, experience, authority, obedience, teaching. The next day, ‘Krishnaji did dialogues 17 and 18 mostly on meditation and decided not to do anymore. So we went back to the house, had lunch, loaded the car, said goodbye to Martha Longenecker, and left at 2:45 p.m. to drive all the way back to Malibu, part of the way in a light rain. We arrived at 6 p.m. Elfriede had the house clean and neat. It was good to be home. Both Krishnaji and I are tired, but especially Krishnaji. The dialogues are more tiring than talks.’
March the first. ‘I went early to get gas. Elfriede has a cold so I sent her to rest. Asit Chandmal, nephew of Pupul, a new KFI member, came by the house on arrival from India, with a Mr. Cook, from Burroughs Corporation. Krishnaji saw him. The rest of the day was quiet.’ The next day, ‘Krishnaji and I fasted, taking only fruit juice all day. I worked at the desk and Krishnaji stayed in bed. There was heavy rain in the night. The newly fixed roof leaked right over my bed.’
March third. ‘Dieter fetches Mercedes from the shippers and takes it to his garage in Oxnard for a checkup. There is no damage.’

The fifth of March ‘was a beautiful day. Krishnaji and I drove to Oxnard and saw the Green Beauty. We asked Dieter to get some special personalized license plates for it—KMN. We then went on to Ojai and met at the KFA office with Asit Chandmal, and an Indian friend, Shree Bedaker. We took them, the Lilliefelts, Ruth, and Albion to the Hooker’s Ranch House Restaurant for lunch in the garden. Afterward, we walked up on the land adjacent to the Oak Grove. It was beautiful, but too close to Meiners Oaks and the proposed highway for a school, in Krishnaji’s view.’ Went to see the McCaskey forty acres on McNell Road. Krishnaji likes that. After the Indians left, we had a long talk about where the educational center should be and Krishnaji pushed strongly for buying the McCaskey piece. They are asking…’ looks like $700,000. ‘It was decided to go into it. We drove home.’
On the sixth, ‘Krishnaji dictated letters, which I dictated onto tape and later took the tapes to the secretarial service for typing. I am swamped by mail.’

March eighth. ‘At 11 a.m. Ruth, Albion, the Lilliefelts, and Kishbaugh came with about ten possible teachers who might be involved in the school, and Krishnaji discussed what it would be about. Two Dr Siddoos sisters, who are starting a similar school in Vancouver, Canada, were also there, and Asit Chandmal. The latter and Kishbaugh stayed to lunch.’
‘Erna and Theo brought Krishnaji his manuscript written in 1961, brought by Vanda to Rajagopal and held by him refusing to give it back to Krishnaji except in exchange for the Blackburn tape. It was given to our lawyer Cohen. Krishnaji asked me to read it. It is in pencil in Krishnaji’s hand, a daily journal of process within him, pains, pressing, and strange action of whatever it is.Immensely beautiful and moving.

The next day, ‘At 11 a.m., there was a similar meeting on the school. The two Siddoos and Asit Chandmal stayed to lunch. I read more of the manuscript in the afternoon.’
On March tenth, ‘there was a third meeting, and more people came. Kishbaugh lunched with us, and Krishnaji let him see the manuscript. Then all three of us went to see a movie, The Poseidon Adventure.Krishnaji said he had a sudden feeling that he would live another ten to fifteen years. “The body must last, and I must outlive him.”
The next day, ‘Erna heard from Cohen. Rajagopal asks for Krishnaji’s personal reasons for control of the republication of pre-1933 books, so she gave a substantive draft of a letter on the telephone.’
‘Krishnaji rewrote the letter about the pre-1933 material republication, and we had it ready by 11 a.m., when other trustees came for a KFA trustee meeting. We went over Christensen’s draft of the settlement. We all had a quick lunch, and then Erna and Theo drove Krishnaji and me to Cohen’s office in Oxnard. We went over the settlement draft with him. It is the first time Krishnaji had met Cohen, and he liked his spirit of getting things done.’ ‘The next meeting is in Judge Heaton’s chambers tomorrow. Then Erna and Theo drove us to Dieter’s car place, where the Green Beauty was ready and shining! We drove it home at last to Malibu, Krishnaji at the wheel half the way. . “We accomplished a lot today,” he said.’
The thirteenth of March. ‘I began dictating Krishnaji’s 1961 manuscript into cassettes to be transcribed by the local secretarial service.’Krishnaji and I listened to a TV broadcast of the Bill Moyer’s interview of Marcuse. At the end, Krishnaji said, “I know what I will talk about on Saturday.”’
March fourteenth. ‘Krishnaji and I drove the Green Beauty to the auto club to be registered and get the license plates. We also took some film to have some prints made, and shopped for car soap and went to Lindberg’s.’ Lindberg’s is the health food store. Krishnaji liked to go there. ‘Erna spoke to Cohen regarding Rajagopal’s balking at the pre-1933 publication control by Krishnaji, and Cohen is holding firm. The archives are to be housed in the K & R office, not Rajagopal’s vault. We get a lean on the $40,000 vault value if Rajagopal sells his house, or on his death. Cohen is putting the agreement into legal form as soon as possible.’
On the sixteenth of March. ‘Krishnaji gave the first talk at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium. An unserious audience.’
On the seventeenth, ‘Krishnaji gave the second at Santa Monica. The audience was larger, quieter, more attentive. We returned to Malibu and had lunch alone. Then at 4 p.m. came the Lilliefelts, Kishbaugh, Ruth, Albion, Evelyne and Louis Blau, and Mr. and Mrs. MacQuiddy. The latter brought a Mrs. Styles, but she and Mrs. MacQuiddy sat outside while the rest of us discussed the forty-acre piece in Ojai for an educational center. Krishnaji is determined to buy it, so we proceed to see how we can. The Lilliefelts decided against the Yosemite trip in May that Alain Naudé had investigated for us.’
On the eighteenth, ‘we washed the Green Beauty.’
The next day, ‘I called some people I knew to suggest an architect, which we would need if we are to build a school. They suggested a man called John Rex, so I made an appointment with him for Thursday. Krishnaji gave an interview to Alfredo Calles. I felt a sense of something present in the evening while we were talking about the school. Krishnaji felt it for a while, and then when it was gone, he said that feeling means something—'they'—it is right to do what we are doing.’

On the twentieth of March, ‘at 6 a.m., I did an hour of reading Krishnaji’s 1961 manuscript onto a cassette. I went into town for errands, and was back at 1 p.m., as Krishnaji came up the driveway to meet me. He could tell, he said, “I knew you were coming. I’d been gone all morning, but he sensed it. ‘In the afternoon, Krishnaji gave an interview to an Italian girl…something Jemma, her companion Barry Gordon, and Ava Berner.
On the twenty-first, ‘I worked on manuscript dictation and other desk things. As it was such a lovely day, Krishnaji and I drove the Green Beauty up to CabrilloPark and back. At 2 p.m., John Rex came and we discussed an Ojai education center most usefully. He knows the region, people there, etcetera and made a satisfactory impression on Krishnaji. In the evening, we played records: Krishnaji’s Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.’
The next day for me started with typing. ‘Frances McCann came to lunch, after which I drove her back to Santa Monica and did errands. Again, as I came back, Krishnaji was walking up the driveway to meet me.’
On the twenty-third, ‘Krishnaji gave the third Santa Monica talk. I had lunch alone afterward while Krishnaji slept.’
On the twenty-fourth, ‘Krishnaji gave his fourth talk, completing the Santa Monica series. Erna gave me a copy of the letter to KFA from Mima Porter and the Vigevenos, Weidemans, and Austin Bee refusing the settlement. Christensen has told Cohen they were in a furor over Krishnaji’s wanting control of the publishing of the pre-1933 materials. ‘Kishbaugh came back after the talk, lunched with us and Erna and Theo. We discussed the case, and also the offer we are about to make on the forty acres of the McCaskey land for the educational center. Evelyne Blau came at 4 p.m., but first Krishnaji gave us a blinding challenge on whether to go ahead with the offer in spite of the settlement blowing up. “If it is right, it will come right,” he said. But we had each to feel that it was right, apart from any other consideration. Erna and I signed the offer for $250,000 for the land.’
The twenty-sixth, ‘there’s a light rain. We drove the Green Beauty to Ojai, lunched with the Lilliefelts, Ruth, and Albion, and spent the afternoon discussing the pre-1933 publication rights for K & R in the settlement, and the architect’s suggestion for the educational center.
On the twenty-seventh, ‘there’s something about an aunt of mine who died. She left me about $150,000, the exact amount we would need for the rest of the purchase of the forty acres if we get them.’

March thirty-first, 1974 ‘was a clear and beautiful day. Krishnaji gave a public discussion in LibbeyPark in Ojai. We were staying at the Lilliefelt’s.’
‘The Vigevenos and Casselberrys were in the audience. Afterward, Krishnaji saw Blackburn briefly and then the Mark Lees. Then Krishnaji, Kishbaugh, and I lunched. At 2:30 p.m., the Blaus, Ruth Tettemer, with Albion and Russell MacQuiddy came and we discussed the McCaskie land purchase and what to ask for in zoning change. It was decided that John Rex be the architect. The Blaus and MacQuiddy left, and the trustees discussed the school. Krishnaji brought up Mark Lee to head the school, and Ruth and Albion were rather hostile. They are committed to Barbara Lama and have perhaps gone too far in an unauthorized way of committing to her.’
‘In the early morning, seeing the beauty of the valley, I told Krishnaji that perhaps he put up with Rosalind and Rajagopal all those years because, in a way, they were minor to the other quality of life for him in a valley which he loved and found beautiful.’ It was his relationship with the hills, the mountains, and the look of the land. And, of course, in those years he spent so much time by himself climbing in the mountains and being alone and it was as though that’s where he lived, and all the sordid quarreling and bickering and pettiness of it that went on in relation to and between the Rajagopals and both of them toward him, he just endured it. But what was real to him was whatever he experienced by himself in the mountains.I remember that morning and the beauty of it, and the light and his total absorption in it, the sort of ecstatic delight he took in it.
When we got back to Malibu, Krishnaji said I was right.

The next day, April first, ‘we telephoned Mary about color photos in Brockwood. Too expensive, it says. But yes on expenses in Saanen for the Simmonses…’ it must have been a financial discussion ‘…and an increase for Yves Zlotnicka’s film. I was told by Mary Links about the photo in Sybille Bedford’s biography of Huxley.’ Sybille Bedford is an English writer, and ‘We got air tickets for New York and then London.’
The next day was the second of April, and ‘Erna said that Albion had written to Barbara Lama giving her the total directorship of the school.’ That was a bit much. ‘Krishnaji hit the roof, and we go to Ojai tomorrow to discuss all this.’
‘Swami Venkatesananda and five followers came to see Krishnaji at 4 p.m.’ . That always produced a sort of battle of Indian manners because the Swami would hurl himself at Krishnaji’s feet, and Krishnaji would try to prevent it. And it always happened in doorways and awkward places . It caused quite a sort of confusion. Don’t remember what else happened, but I do remember that. It would happen to him at Brockwood, too.
On the third, ‘we drove in the Green Beauty to Ojai, on a most marvelous day. The country never looked lovelier. We lunched at the Lilliefelt’s and then with Ruth and Albion. Krishnaji went into the school matters, and he wants others to talk to Mark Lee, and possibly he and Barbara Lama could share the responsibilities. It turned out to be, in the end. a good meeting.
The fourth ‘was a warm day. Sidney Field came to walk with Krishnaji, but Krishnaji had a sore calf from his jumping exercise.’ I don’t remember what his jumping exercise was for, but he was inclined to overdue his exercises. Dr. Parchure wasn’t there to control, so he had a sore calf.
The sixth seems to be concerned first with family matters. ‘Then the geologist came to evaluate the property slide. I cooked two pots of food, and Krishnaji and I drove in the Mercedes to Ojai and the Lilliefelt’s, taking the hot food. When we arrived, Krishnaji took a nap, and at 4:30 p.m. gave an interview to George Shedow. The Lilliefelts, Ruth, Albion saw Mark Lee and his wife yesterday and liked him. It was agreed that he should be the director of the school. We will discuss it tomorrow. We went for a walk up McAndrew Road and saw Ms. McGarrity.’ Ms. McGarrity was a little wisp of a woman who was obsessed with Krishnaji and she used to come out and stand endlessly by the bridge on McAndrew Road hoping that she’d catch sight of him going for a walk. She was in her dotage by this time, and a little bit mad. Anyway, we saw Ms. McGarrity, who told Erna that Rosalind Rajagopal is moving out of Arya Vihar on May first.

On April seventh, a Sunday, Palm Sunday, it says here, ‘Krishnaji held the second public discussion in LibbeyPark on a lovely day. He spoke of intelligence, awareness, and then took questions. Kishbaugh taped it and lunched with Krishnaji and me. Ruth and Albion came afterwards and it was agreed by all that Mark Lee would be offered the directorship of the school, and Barbara Lama would be the assistant director. Mark and his wife Asha came at 3:30 p.m., and Krishnaji made the offer, which Mark accepted. David somebody, math teacher, who was at Malibu educational meeting last month is coming too. And Krishnaji went into what the school should be about, and we’ll continue this on Tuesday and Thursday. We drove back to Malibu in time for supper.’

On the ninth, ‘we went back to Ojai in the Green Beauty, and there was a meeting about the school at the Lilliefelt’s. They, Ruth, Albion, Kishbaugh, Evelyne Blau, Mark and Asha Lee, David…’ whose last name begins with an L ‘…were there. Krishnaji said, “If the school is your baby, then you will make something of it.” He applied his irresistible force again. Most of the afternoon was taken up with the education center. We got home by 7 p.m. Each drove about halfway.’
On the tenth, ‘we were back in Malibu. We went to Kishbaugh’s shirt maker’ , ‘using the Jaguar. Krishnaji was impressed by the care of the shirt maker and ordered four, using silks that Krishnaji brought from India. We came back along Mulholland Drive. Krishnaji was pleased with the outing.’
On April eleventh, ‘I telephoned Filomena in Rome for Easter, and invited her to Brockwood in June. She sounded well. I cooked till 11 a.m., when the same group as Tuesday came to discuss the school and have lunch. “The education center is to be a place where we are not a part of any idea, theory, or image,” said Krishnaji.’

On the twelfth, ‘Erna phoned to say that our offer on the forty acres in Ojai was rejected by the owner Mr. McCaskie. We offered $250,000 and they want $300,000. Louis Blau, our lawyer friend, and Russell MacQuiddy, a real estate man, are to consult on what to do next. I went over to see the Dunnes for an hour in the late afternoon. Krishnaji walked twelve times around the garden; his sore calf muscle is still tender. We had supper as usual on trays and watched “Washington Week in Review.” Then Krishnaji watched Ben-Hur on television. I came in several times to remind him it was getting late, and when I came in at 9:45 p.m., he was sitting with the sound turned off and a far-off look. He said, “Sit down quietly.” He looked as though something were happening—intent, listening, aware of something. I was unable to feel it, distracted by deskwork I had been doing away in my room, in avoidance of Ben-Hur.’ I didn’t want to see it. ‘Soon he left the living room and told me it had been extremely intense, a “precipitation,” something so strong in the room he had been prepared for it to become “manifest” in some further way “visible—I don’t know how. I’ve never felt it like this. Something is happening.” He said later that it continued when he was in bed so that he stayed wide awake and had to sit up. His head was bad.’

The next day, ‘Krishnaji got up later than usual. The “thing” continues. He said to me, “You mustn’t be attached to me or anything.” He thought I had been upset by Ben-Hur last night. I said, “No, but that inevitably the picture was different for me to see” than for him, a story, a diversion for him; but to me, it is something that was too costly to Sam.  It is not worth what it helped to do. I do not suffer seeing the movie, but there is nothing to make me want to watch it. I had finished the attachment in pain before coming to this life with Krishnaji. I am not “attached” anymore.’

April sixteenth. ‘It was a lovely, clear morning. I was up early to wash my hair and finish packing. For once, I was all ready and relaxed at departure. Alan Kishbaugh drove us to the airport. Krishnaji and I took the noon TWA flight to New York, arriving at 8 p.m. We took a limousine that the porter rustled up into town and the RitzTower. There were yellow tulips from Bud and Lisa. I spoke to them, then made supper with a few things I had asked Joan Gordon to send ahead of time. We unpacked and went to bed.’
The next day was April seventeenth. ‘Krishnaji stayed in and rested all day. I went out to market, and had a room service lunch that was adequate.’ Well, then it lists all the things that I found: food. We don’t want to go on with that.
‘In the afternoon, I was back for a meeting with Mitchell Booth. He came to discuss Krishnaji’s visa for the United States. It got complicated this year because of my letter guaranteeing financial responsibility for him in which I also mentioned his public talks. This put him in the B-1 category of a business man, and hence the fuss. Booth explained that an H-1 status, which is for people of special distinction and unique abilities, might be had. Actors, dancers, etcetera coming to the U.S. to work for a short time and indispensable to whatever is being done, get it. With that status, no consul can refuse a visa. But it means cabling immigration each time, etcetera. As Krishnaji earns nothing here, Booth advised asking for an ordinary tourist visa each time and when announcing his talks in the Bulletin to phrase it “the KFA has requested Krishnamurti to speak in the U.S. He has graciously accepted to do so, etcetera.”’
The eighteenth. ‘Bud lent us his car for a drive so that Krishnaji and I could see Dr. Wolf in White Plains. As the trees are flowering and shrubs and new leaves are appearing, Krishnaji’s face lit up in that clear-as-a-child’s-delight look that is my own delight. Wolf examined him with care and says the spot in his throat is a thickening on the vocal chord and is not a tumor. His blood pressure is 110 over 69. His weepy eyes of blocked tear ducts are very common. Swelling in the ankles indicate a lessened circulation, as happens after flying, but he will know more after blood and urine test results. The tremor in his hands is not Parkinson’s, and he will know more after the tests. He is to continue to take two Wobenzym tablets twice a month, take 600 to 1000 units of vitamin E emulsion. He found Krishnaji generally very well. There is a small hemorrhage in the right eye but nothing serious, and a slight hardening of arteries.’

Friday, April nineteenth, ‘Krishnaji was quiet and stayed in all day. Erna and Theo arrived last night and came over this morning. The red tape of getting a school, etcetera, use permit for the forty acres in Ojai is endless. The uses we would make of the land may have to be restricted to a small school of young and mostly day students, plus an educational center where adults do not live but assemble in small groups. Krishnaji questioned each of us on whether we should proceed nevertheless, and Erna, Theo, and I said “yes.” Then only Krishnaji said he thought we must try to get it anyway. Erna had spoken of some attempt to get Arya Vihar land, but Krishnaji said Rosalind Rajagopal’s hostility to him and to all of us make it highly unlikely. “I cannot do it. I will not talk to Rosalind Rajagopal.” I then said I felt very much that we must start clean and create what Krishnaji wants without any strings, any beholdenest us to anything or anyone. It is contaminated by the Rajagopals. Theo agreed eagerly.’

Saturday, April twentieth. ‘It was Krishnaji’s first Carnegie Hall talk. We went in a car with a driver. The stage entrance had three police cars in front, and the entrance was full of police. A telephoned bomb threat had been made by a “man with an Indian accent” who said something—a bomb—was to go off when Krishnaji began to speak. All people with packages were being stopped. Krishnaji was unaware of all this. Gave an excellent talk. The only difficulty was the inadequacy of the sound system. It wasn’t until afterward that Erna told me what had happened, though the sight of the police made me guess. I didn’t speak of it to Krishnaji. I am often uneasy when he is front of a large, unknown audience. But as I thought about it all day and at night, there was a curious sense of hovering protection and reassurance. We had lunch in the apartment and later Krishnaji saw Mr. Riesco, who is to be the secretary of the Fundación, and then Louis Biascoechea, the son of Enrique.’
On the twenty-first, ‘the second Carnegie Hall talk went smoothly except for feeble sound system and many complaints. Afterward, while Krishnaji napped, at Ruth and Albion’s request I saw George Arden and his wife, would-be teachers, and well-meaning. Erna and Theo came in before they left, and Krishnaji popped up prematurely so they met him for one minute. Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, and I met John McGreevy of Canada Broadcasting Corporation and a Miss Pancher about Krishnaji doing a half hour for a series called In Persona bout serious people talking on matters of concern to them. It is tentatively set for the first week in October at Brockwood. Krishnaji talked to me about, “The necessity of living without shock and strain.” Erna told him about the bomb threat, but he brushed it aside and said “I must live at least another ten years.”
When Krishnaji woke up the next morning he said, ‘“marvelous meditation last night.”
I asked if it were the “new process” he was so full of in Malibu before we left. Yes, it was different. “I must find out what to do to live ten to fifteen years, there is so much to do.”  Dr. Wolf gave a report of the tests. There is weakness; his adrenal is a little low in energy. The larynx are hard, healthy but a little weak. He also talked about the possible cause of Krishnaji’s swollen ankles. Prostate slightly enlarged. His enzyme level is 2.3, which is good. Wolf suggested a cellular implantation and Krishnaji agreed. In the afternoon, we went to a movie, Conversation about Surveillance.’ ‘I felt shivery in the night.’
On the twenty-third, ‘I felt very weak, and could hardly stand in the shower. Narasimhan came at 8 a.m. to see Krishnaji. Then at 11:30 a.m., the Indian Don Moraes came with his young son and Leela Naidu for a taped question and answer meeting that will result in something printed in a UN publication, a book edited by Moraes. Mrs. Naidu spoke to Krishnaji afterward. After lunch, my cousin Lorna came to see me for an hour. I felt very weak but alright, with no other symptoms. I hope Krishnaji won’t catch anything from me. My cousin left and Krishnaji gave an interview to a young African-American man, Charles Steel. I slept after supper so hard all night that it was like being out cold.’

April twenty-fourth. ‘I felt better, though I had waves of weakness. We went to the Cooper-Hewitt, where Lisa lent a room in which Krishnaji met a group led by Adam Crane. Twelve of them asked questions. They taped it and are to give a copy of the tape transcript and a donation, plus they’re using the tape only for their own listening. This lasted one and three-quarter hours, and then we walked to my brother and Lisa’s for lunch. At 4:30 p.m., Krishnaji saw David Barry, who turned out to be not the man Krishnaji thought he knew, who also brought along his niece, a nineteen-year-old who wants to go Brockwood.’
April twenty-fifth, ‘Krishnaji and I drove in Bud’s car to Dr. Wolf in White Plains. Both had implantations, Krishnaji for the first time. Wolf swore it could have no adverse effect. We also received Wobenzym tablets for Krishnaji to use two or three per day for three weeks to remove the larynx thickening which, though benign, should be eliminated. After returning to the city, at 4:30 p.m., Krishnaji saw Frank McLaughlin, who taped a question and answer session for a magazine article, then Leela Naidu came for a second time.’
April twenty-sixth, ‘Krishnaji rested in the morning. I did errands, made lunch. At 4 p.m., we went to the movie Day of the Dolphin, which had an absurd plot but the dolphins were very winning, and Krishnaji, carried away, cried out in alarm for them. Then to me, “Oh, it’s a cinema!” as if he’d just remembered it.

The twenty-seventh of April. ‘Krishnaji’s third Carnegie Hall talk. They gave him a new microphone. It was better, but not good enough, or the hall is simply not suited to speech. After lunch I saw Mr. and Mrs. David Nortebaert, who want to move to Ojai to put their seven-year-old son in our school: nice, serious, and earnest. Krishnaji and I went for a short walk, bought books at Doubleday, including Mary L.’s novel Cleo.
The next day, ‘Krishnaji gave a fourth talk at Carnegie Hall on meditation and very fine. We took the Lilliefelts to lunch at Sun Luck East, the only restaurant we know of open on Sunday. Later, Bud brought Daisy, Lori, and Lindsay to see us.’ Those are his children. ‘Krishnaji was sweet to the children, but looked far away and sat quietly reading while Bud and Daisy hung a Japanese screen over the sofa.’
The twenty-ninth. ‘A hot day. I did some errands. Narasimhan came and drove us to his place for lunch with him and his wife. She watches silently without a smile or word. Narasimhan dropped us at Caswell-Massey where we laid in a supply of pedigreed cucumbers!’ It’s a cream that supposed to be good for the skin, and they advertise that it’s only made from 'pedigreed' cucumbers. It was sort of a joke for us, but he always said we should have some pedigreed cucumbers. Then, ‘we walked to the Belgian shoe store, where it was verified that the brown suede moccasins that Krishnaji wears are a size 7 AA. Then across the street to a barber, where Krishnaji had another excellent haircut. Al Bruku, the barber, is the best he has been to. To the hotel and packing. My brother came while we were having supper and sat with us for a while and said goodbye. Later we watched Nixon on television announce he was releasing some transcriptions of some tapes tomorrow.’
Tuesday, the thirtieth. ‘ We took American Airlines, and Krishnaji was pleased by a quieter atmosphere and space in front in the new first class seats. He didn’t care to watch the movie, The Way We Were, Barbara Streisand and Robert Redford. We landed at 2:40 p.m. in Los Angeles, a lovely afternoon. We both felt immediately better away from New York, back in California, and home in Malibu. Everything looked green and beautiful, clean and peaceful. Elfriede had done the rose garden as a present, with Lori’s help.’ Lori was the gardener. ‘It looks very nice. It is wonderful to be here. We kept feeling it. The pains and swelling in my foot and leg disappeared on arrival. Krishnaji said he had felt “far away” on Sunday, and cautioned me about using a personal term in speaking to him at such times. We went to bed early, and each slept deeply and well.

: May first. ‘It was lovely to wake up at home. In the evening Krishnaji and I watched a CBS program on the Nixon tape transcripts with Cronkite, Sevareid, Dan Rather; the utter sordidness of the Nixon world.’
On May second, ‘I did letters in the morning. In afternoon, we went to fetch special license places, KMN1—Krishna, Maria[2], Nitya—for the Mercedes, and to Lindberg’s. I spoke to Alain Naudé in San Francisco; he hopes to get a job in Stanford research. Today there is supposed to be a meeting between Christensen and what Krishnaji calls the “mafiosi,” Rajagopal and company, on their response to the settlement draft.’
On the fourth of May, ‘Krishnaji said, “I think I will live another ten years. There is so much to be done.” We spoke of perhaps less travel and talk and more time in centers. Erna telephoned. No news from the lawyers, and the McCaskey forty acres we offered to buy went to someone else, who offered $285,000 cash and no conditions. They want it for agriculture. The Lilliefelts are very disappointed. I told Krishnaji, who said, “That’s too bad. Well, that is that.” He had me ask all trustees here Tuesday to discuss what we should do. He kept saying to me as we walked around the garden “You mustn’t be disappointed or depressed.” So we went to a movie, The Sting. “What is it about?” Krishnaji kept saying, and I really couldn’t make out much of it much of the time.’ He was quite funny in movie houses. He would speak up and ask me questions, not realizing there were people around. On May seventh, ‘All KFA trustees met here at 11 a.m., and stayed for lunch. Krishnaji asked, “What is it that is blocking us, losing us the forty acres, etcetera? Everywhere else—Brockwood Park, India, etcetera, it is going ahead, but here we seem to be blocked.” He said we have put too much dependence and hence strings to Rajagopal and Rosalind, the outcome of the case, getting KWINC or HappyValley land. We must go ahead without that. The Lilliefelts will comb Ojai for other land. He went into why Ojai. The pro reasons are his affection for it, the feeling that it was meant to be, the trustees are living there. Erna pointed to my feeling about the HappyValley land, an area poisoned by the Rajagopals and that we should start anew and clean on our own. Krishnaji spoke of a center where he would spend more time. Also, we’ve had no response from Christensen. I telephoned Cohen for all of us and said that we are all together and felt that if there was not some response in the next few days that he should sum up these events to Judge Heaton, ask for a hearing to set a trial date. I said the same to Sol Rosenthal.

May tenth, 1974, ‘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.’
the fourteenth ‘Krishnaji and I and Lori Smith’—that’s 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 and I drove in the Mercedes to lunch with Erna and Theo. Beforehand, I had telephoned Cohen who said that Christensen is stalling on a reply to the draft of the settlement and doesn’t return his calls. In view of this, he is to go ahead and sum up where we stand to Judge Heaton and ask for a hearing to set a trial date. At lunch, Krishnaji asked Erna, Theo, and me what it is that is blocking us.’ We have discussed 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. Ruth and Albion came after lunch and we all went to see a place on McNell Road near the mountain. It was a tacky house, really messy place. Both Krishnaji and I disliked it. He said to me, “You have spoiled me. I couldn’t live in a place like that.” Then we went to the other side of the valley, behind the town, off the back road, climbed a hill, and looked down on a beautiful, 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 Rs. 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 said he would be able to call the Dunnes. He said he wouldn’t know how and would be too shy. I realize I must never go out unless there is someone there to protect him. 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?’
On the sixteenth, ‘Cohen sent letters to Judge Heaton and Christensen saying that due to no reply by Christensen, an agreement was not possible, and his clients had run out of patience. He requested a hearing at which a trial date should be set. Krishnaji cleaned the Mercedes engine. We walked and weeded the lawn.’

The next day, We lunched at the farmer’s market, where we had cheese enchiladas, but Krishnaji was appalled by the sloppy people everywhere. We went to the shirt place for his second sitting, but it was such a mess that we canceled the order. In the evening there was a horrendous television coverage of the Symbionese shootout with the police in South Los Angeles and the burning of a house they were in. Patricia Hearst mayhave been in it.’
On the eighteenth, ‘India exploded its first atomic device and the Hearst girl was not killed.’
On May twentieth, ‘Krishnaji and I met Erna at Cohen’s office at 2 o’clock. He has heard from Christensen with revisions of the draft agreement. Some are the replacing of points only to please Rajagopal’s vanity. One of them was about making thirteen acres of land permanently empty around his house even after his death, thereby enhancing the value of his place. We agreed to a few things, not to others. Krishnaji signed the successor trustee document by which he names successors to himself as trustees of K& R Foundation as specified in the settlement if it goes through. In order, they are myself, Erna, Theo, Kishbaugh, and Ruth.’ And it doesn’t say here, but each one when appointed was to appoint the others to the board. So, I would have appointed the others immediately to a board, and if I was gone, Erna would’ve done the same.

On the twenty-third, a wonderful thing that happened! How could I not have written that up? ‘I woke up in the morning and I’d pulled the curtain back in my room that looked out at the lawn and then a flower bed and a big brick wall across the lawn, and after I had, suddenly I looked up and there was a beautiful doe, a female deer on the terrace, and I stood absolutely still, and apparently she couldn’t see through…there must’ve been some reflection…she didn’t see into the room and she came up and she breathed on the window, so I knew it was not an hallucination and then she turned around and I crept out of my room, went down to Krishnaji’s room, because I knew he’d be up, it was getting-up time, and got him to come in, and we saw this lovely, lovely creature.’Mmmm.
How she got in, I don’t know, because there was this eight or nine-foot brick wall between the end of the lawn and the flower bed and the canyon beyond, but she was there.
So, we stood there, and then she started to walk around to the wide part of the terrace, around the house, so we went through the house to the dining room, which was the other side of the house. She came around, and then she went over to the fence that separates us from the next door neighbor’s place, and disappeared. Nobody was living in the house next door…the woman who owned it wasn’t living there; it was empty. So she must’ve jumped the fence. It was an extraordinary sight. Beautiful. And it thrilled both of us.

On the twenty-fourth, ‘we went to a 12:15 p.m. movie, The Black Windmill, at the Chinese Theater in Hollywood. Then, we had a picnic lunch under a shady tree in the car in Beverly Hills.’ We used to do that because neither one of us liked to go to restaurants much in Beverly Hills. So, we would take a picnic and there were lots of trees in Beverly Hills back roads, and we’d find a nice shady street, park under a tree, and have our picnic.
‘We then each had our teeth cleaned. Then I fetched some things being made at Van Cleef, and then we returned to Malibu.’
The twenty-fifth ‘was a hot and beautiful day and Philippa Dunne and David did pruning work all along the driveway. I spoke to Alain in San Francisco; he has been for two days with Mary and Joe in New York. He is optimistic about a job offered at Stanford Research, or San Francisco Symphony Orchestra. Krishnaji spoke to him. We went over to the Dunne’s at 5 p.m., then came back for supper.’
On the twenty-sixth, ‘I worked on papers most of the day. Krishnaji washed the Mercedes. Philippa and David worked some more on pruning. Then I worked on the manuscript in the evening.’
For the twenty-eighth, we can go back to the big book. ‘I telephoned Mr. Cohen to say from Krishnaji and all of us that he should make it clear to Christensen at today’s meeting in court that if there is no settlement now, we will not accept a settlement on these same terms later. Among other things we are willing to agree to now, but not after further delays and effort and expense of preparing for trial, is the matter of letting Rajagopal’s legal expenses be paid out of settlement funds. I packed, and dictated more of Krishnaji’s manuscript onto cassettes all afternoon and finished it with a hoarse voice at 5:08 p.m.’

‘At 5:12 p.m., the typist came with everything she had typed to date, and I gave her five more cassettes to do. So the whole book is done, and will be transcribed as Krishnaji urged me to do before leaving. At 6 p.m., Cohen telephoned saying, “I think we have a settlement.” Christensen was acquiescent except for some minor word changes, none unacceptable. Next week, Cohen will send in the exhibits which accompany the settlement. It is likely there will be a battle over their wording. I relayed all this to Erna. Krishnaji and I walked in the garden. Malibu was beautiful, cool, clear air and sunlight with birds flying. We went to bed early but it was hard to sleep. After 3 a.m. the subconscious kept serving up question Have you packed the Swiss checkbooks?” Etcetera.’

The twenty-ninth. ‘Up early. Krishnaji and I took 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. The green of England, the May trees, the blossoms and the chestnut trees, joined all the loveliness of Malibu in a blessed continuity. Krishnaji wanted to see immediately the addition in the dining room, the Cloisters plantings, and the look of the assembly hall now twelve feet high and of octagonal splendor. It will be handsome. In a surprising ration of energy, I kept going and unpacked all morning. 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. How marvelously lovely it is. How good to be here. How fortunate I am.’
Friday the thirty-first

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Fri, 07 Jun 2019 #167
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline

(...) Friday the thirty-first of May. ‘With misgivings, because of Mary Links’s pessimism over our position, I roused enough energy to take Doris’s little Mini to Petersfield and the train to London in time for a meeting in Michael Rubenstein’s office of Mary Links, Mary Cadogan, George and Nelly Digby, Mr. Verhulst, and Mr. Gellman of Servire. The purpose was the settling one way or another of the interminable two-year dispute over the Servire contract refused by Krishnaji in Gstaad because of Sufi affiliations and general shifty and unsatisfactory behavior by Servire. It had been impossible to get out of some renewal of the expired contract because George had compromised the situation by withdrawing The Impossible Question after proofreading by Servire, and giving it to Harper. Fuss over this led to taut attitudes by the Digbys towards me in the autumn of 1972. Verhulst and Gellman have rejected our scaled-down offer of a five-year contract on the old books and have demanded new titles utterly unacceptable to us. The outlook was not promising but two things went well. Michael Rubenstein handled it very well and when told in response to their question about what Krishnaji wanted, that he wanted to end the contract. They accepted an ending of the six old titles, the ones with talks and dates.’

‘Later, they said they would agree if we bought up the existing stock.’ That was the quid pro quo. ‘This was according to the terms of the original contract and will cost us about £930 sterling, which we should, in time, recoup through sales of these books ourselves. Then, they want their costs, and an indemnity for profits not realized on The Impossible Question. Altogether, both things will cost The Krishnaji Foundation £2500 sterling, less than we feared. They are to keep You Are the World until present stocks are exhausted, when the rights revert to us. All in all, it is acceptable and is being ended, and that is a boon. The Digbys took their host, Mary C., and me to lunch at 2:15 at a nearby Italian restaurant, The Forum. Then I caught a cab to Waterloo, and so back to Brockwood with the good news for Krishnaji. Then, it says…sleeeeeeeep.’

On June first, ‘I put things in order. Krishnaji slept all yesterday. And we both took long naps today and a walk. It is cold woolly weather…’ that means sweaters. ‘Frances McCann arrived. She’s staying in the Cloisters.’
On the second, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school on the softness, at Brockwood. I slept in the afternoon. Then a lovely walk. The weather is warmer, a little.’
On June third, ‘I made reservations for us at the Plaza Athénée in July and arranged for our travel tickets. After lunch, I took Frances on errands. In Petersfield, we met Joan Wright at the train station, came back to Brockwood, and I walked with Krishnaji and Dorothy. A very warm day.’
June fourth, ‘Doris lent her Mini, and Krishnaji and I drove to Petersfield and the train to London. There was something festive and warmly familiar about coming up to London with Krishnaji, especially the first time of the season. Waterloo is so exactly the same. Krishnaji’s immaculate elegance making his way toward the taxi rank, pigeons scuttling, people cutting straight lines to various gates, the satisfaction of seeing there are enough cabs, neat, clean, spare, and deft London cabs.’ ‘We get in. Krishnaji says “Saville Road, I’ll show you where.”’ ‘And off we go across Westminster or Waterloo Bridge. We began, of course, at Huntsman’s where Krishnaji had a fitting. And then walked through the Burlington arcade to Fortnum, where Mary L. lunched with us. She told us about the biography. Murray is to publish it here, and by now Roger Strauss should have the manuscript in New York to read. Krishnaji says he wants to read the beginning part of it about the childhood, the early days. After lunch, Krishnaji had his hair cut at Truefitt’s, and

On June fifth, ‘I got through to Vanda in Rome and told her we would arrive on the fourth of July. It was a quiet day. 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, ‘I telephoned Filomena in Rome. She is well, but Mistica’—that’s her niece—‘is in the hospital for diagnosis. I couldn’t make out what is wrong. Krishnaji spoke to the school on being hurt, and is there a part of the mind that is empty.’
‘The balance of Krishnaji’s manuscript arrived from the secretarial service in Malibu, typed from the cassettes that I did. It runs to 309 pages double-spaced in total. Ian Hammond, who has been ill with rheumatic fever, and is now retired, came with Robert Wiffen, and we went over the Assembly Hall, which has handsomely risen to over the twelve-foot windows. Krishnaji wants to go ahead with the garage and pave the driveway properly and to finish it all up. We will need £13,000 sterling more.’
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. They asked me to read the manuscript and comment. Also, we discussed Edgar Graf’s wish to resign from Saanen Gathering. I gave a report of the case against Rajagopal. Krishnaji asked George to become chairman of the publication committee. Mary L. and Mary C. are very much for this. Ian Hammond agreed and as George is now retired from the Victoria & Albert Museum, and Servire is at last settled, it was felt by all that it would be nice if he were offered the chairmanship again. George turned peony-colored and said he would like to think about it. Later, he left a little note with Krishnaji saying of course he accepted. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked. It was cold; woolies were worn against the wind.’

June eighth. ‘Krishnaji dictated a letter and I began checking the transcripts of his manuscript, so it can go to Mary L.
On the ninth, ‘Krishnaji talked to the school. I repeated the history of the case against Rajagopal to David Bohm. Then I continued work on proofreading the transcription of Krishnaji’s manuscript.’
On June tenth, ‘Doris lent her Mini, in which Krishnaji and I drove to Petersfield, and then London by train in time for a 12:30 p.m. lunch with Mary at her place. I gave her the rest of the pages of the manuscript. She showed us the many photographs she has collated for Krishnaji’s biography. One is supposed to be of his mother, which can’t be, or else it is in line with my notion that exceptional people don’t derive from their parents.’‘Krishnaji had an appointment with the dentist Hamish Thompson for a filling. Thompson said that three of Krishnaji’s teeth have a little pus under them, but because Krishnaji is so healthy they may give him no trouble, but if they do, he will need dentures. Said Krishnaji, “The body must be deteriorating slowly.” We went to Huntsman for a fitting and then Maxwell for the experimental pair of shoes they’re making for him. “I’ll wear them traveling.” Then to Sulka, where he was able to order some socks in his size. We stopped in at Mallet on Davis street, but saw nothing we wanted.’ That’s the antiquaire where I bought a lot of the furniture down in the drawing room, including the tree embroidery. ‘Stopped too at an exhibition of Andrew Wyeth, and Krishnaji liked his things. One we would have liked, but it was too expensive. $85,000.’

June twelfth: ‘Pipe ailments in the scullery prevented lunch from being made, so we took a picnic to old Winchester Hill near West Meon. Krishnaji, Dorothy, Doris, Frances McCann, Joan Wright, Whisper, and me. It was hot in the sun and we sat looking out at the rolling green land. It emptied everything from my head. I could’ve remained there till it was dark without thinking. We took a short walk, but it was too warm, and we came back and took long naps. The usual walk later.’
Thursday, the thirteenth of June. ‘Mary L. and her daughter Amanda came for Krishnaji’s talk to the school and to lunch. Mary, Krishnaji, and I discussed the manuscript and its publication. Mary at first thought of bringing it out privately printed by the K Foundation, but is veering toward a wider field.’ I wonder why she wanted that? ‘If the K Foundation published it, it would be offered only to the mailing list, but from my point, that would result in devious booksellers managing to bootleg copies and selling those to the general public.’ That used to happen. Some booksellers used to get Indian printed books. They’re not suppose to be sold in the West, and they would just buy them and sell them.n 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. I felt a wave of all is well at this decision. Mary’s way of working is scholarly, no interpretation, using the original text to tell the tale, which isthe way to report on Krishnaji. The point of this second part of his life is his teachings, and not the personal events, and the focus on it will be well handled by Mary, I feel sure, even without having read a word of Volume 1. She wants Krishnaji to read that only when it is in galleys so we must wait.
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 and Mary fell to talking of Leadbeater and 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. Perhaps reading Mary’s biography will bring it back.’ I think, I don’t know whether reading it brought it back, but at some point, 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.

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?’
June twenty-first. ‘Krishnaji, coming out of his room to where a Western was playing on his TV, said, “I’m going to Missour’uh to be a dirt farmer. Like everybody else.”’ ‘
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. When he got up this morning, he said, “I’m off to Tibet with Mistinguett.

June twenty-third, ‘Krishnaji held an absorbing discussion with the school. After lunch Krishnaji had an interview with Frances, who asked to be allowed to stay for September, October, and November. She works well here in the kitchen, efficiently, quietly, fitting in, and is liked by all. I suggested she stay in the West Wing during that time.’
‘Then he 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.” He was happily full of these ideas.’
‘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.”’
‘This evening when I said how good his talk was this morning, he said,  “I knew something was going on in the brain the last few days.” When I spoke of the manuscript he wrote, he said, “It’s not my book. I didn’t write it.”’

On the twenty-fifth of June, ‘on the train going up to London, Krishnaji asked me to tell him again what Erna’s letter had said. One obvious advantage is the land is suitable and the cost is nil. Rosalind Rajagopal had said we were “greedy” last year and “had asked for all of it,”’ which isn’t true, ‘but the impending settlement must be a factor. Erna Lilliefelt talked to Louis Blau and asked him to ask George Uribe, the ex-student, and present lawyer for Happy Valley, who once came with Dr. Pollock to talk to Krishnaji in Malibu. Krishnaji dictated a cable to be signed by us both and sent to Erna. “Please gladly proceed with what you propose in matter of land.” 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.”’

We went to Sulka to have Indian silk shirts made and then to Fortnum’s, where Mary and Joe lunched with us. I gave the remaining pages of Krishnaji’s manuscript to Mary. She will now edit it. We will consider how it will be published. Krishnaji and I then went to the bookshop, and then to Waterloo and back to Brockwood.’
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.” And he said, “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.’
On June twenty-ninth, ‘I went to Winchester to fetch a repaired lamp in time for the Digbys coming to spend the night. Krishnaji had me tell them about the manuscript and let them read what they could of it.
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.
Krishnaji and I took the 3 p.m. BEA plane to 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. Too sadly, many tall ugly buildings mar the sky line of Paris now. 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. The luxury is what one must take to have all those other essentials. “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.’On the second of July. ‘We had a leisurely breakfast, then we went shopping. Krishnaji, immaculate elegance, first to Charvet, where I left him briefly looking at shirtings while I walked down a few doors to Morgan Bank. Krishnaji ordered four shirts, and I ordered two. One of pale green, like one of his, and one with tiny orange lines on white.’ That was the nicest shirt, and something awful happened to it, I’ve forgotten what. ‘From even a few feet, it gives an effect of gleaming cream, an Indian color. We walked to Lobb and saw a Mr. Ellis, in place of ailing Mr. Dickinson, who took Krishnaji’s order for a pair of black brogues and a brown pair. We went back to the Plaza, where Marcelle Bondoneau met us for lunch in the garden. Nadia Kossiakof came for coffee. She has negotiated publication of The Awakening of the Intelligence by Stock, translated by Madame Duchet. Krishnaji had me tell them of the manuscript and left while I was describing it. Both were very moved. Krishnaji rested and we went out later for a small walk, stopping at rue François 1er at Courrège, where we bought Krishnaji a navy pullover and then on to Givenchy Gentlemen’s store where our credit was finally put into another pair of trousers for Krishnaji, thin summer ones, cream-colored silk.’ We came back to supper in the rooms, and watched a TV documentary of the 1939 Nazi war, and then the Nixon/Brezhnev meeting in Moscow. “People are mad,” said Krishnaji. 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.”’

The third of July. ‘After weeks of trying and unable to get through by telephone to Filomena in Rome, I succeeded and learned that Mistica had an operation but came home yesterday. Krishnaji’s throat is slightly sore, so he spent the morning in bed. I went to Vuitton for a handbag replacement and then to Vase Etrusque for more of our Brockwood china. Mar de Manziarly lunched with us at the Plaza. She asked Krishnaji about Sai Baba whom Yo’—Yo is her sister, Yo de Manziarly—‘thinks is marvelous. Krishnaji gave a vivid picture. Mar justifies it by saying that most people can’t do what Krishnaji says. They need to be told and given something. This argument always puzzles me; as if a false medicine is better than none. While this went on, we had the best tarte aux framboise ever eaten.’
‘Krishnaji then rested for an hour while I walked over to Dior and bought something for Fosca, a scarf and some eau de cologne. Then Krishnaji and I walked to a movie on the Champs-Elysées, Scorpio, with Burt Lancaster and Alain Delon. Nonsense but done with style and suspense. Krishnaji was pleased.’

The fourth of July. ‘We packed and with all the valises went to the Gare de Lyon, where Mar came to see Krishnaji off. Krishnaji said that the last time he was at that railroad station was with his brother. My last time was June 1, 1965, when I made the same train trip to Lausanne, and had, on the train, my last non-vegetarian meal. We were in the last wagon and Krishnaji quickly found a window at the end where he could watch all the scenery. We went to the first serving and had an interminable lunch, only a bit of which we could eat. Krishnaji sat opposite me next to an old woman with bright rouge cheeks. He and I watched the fields of France go by. Again, the barley was beautiful; green stalks, golden to orange heads, poppies coming through, and the wind twirling it all into moving colors. Krishnaji stood all the way 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. He remembered the Gâteau Bullois we bought last year on arrival, but the shop was closed. Coming into Gstaad, Krishnaji spied two women walking ahead. “It’s Ms. McCann and Tapas” he said.’ ‘it was Tapas. Never before in all her many years was she ever out of India and, here she was, brought by the Doctors Siddoo. We stopped and Krishnaji walked back with them, Tapas prostrating herself to touch his feet, startling a passing Swiss person.’

The next day, ‘I did some letters. Brought Krishnaji’s travel fund up-to-date. I slept long after lunch. Krishnaji remained in bed. I walked down to the train station for the Herald Tribune, up the hill, puffing a bit. I never was any good at climbing.’

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. Krishnaji had lunch in bed. Graf lunched with Vanda and me. There was a telephone call for Krishnaji from Madras. Balasundarum was calling from the lawyer’s office there. Krishnaji spoke, and I spoke. They fear that if we settle without an agreement about Vasanta Vihar, and KWINC is dissolved, it will be much harder for them to get Vasanta Vihar. They also said that Rajagopal has claimed to the high court that Vasanta Vihar belongs to KWINC Ojai, which Christensen (Rajagopal’s lawyer), quoting Rajan, denies. I asked Balasundarum to send evidence of Rajagopal’s taking this position to Erna as quickly as possible and said I would telephone her. The international number here in Gstaad was busy until after 9 p.m. and it wasn’t until 10:30 p.m. that I was able to read her the message and said to wait for papers from Balasundarum. She said rather guardedly that the “meeting” of the Happy Valley Foundation was on the sixth, and she was hopeful we may get land. She was waiting for conditions to be set forth by Uribe, the Happy Valley lawyer. He thinks if we get this that eventually we will be able to have all of Happy Valley. He was always the optimist.’
‘We walked up the river way in the late afternoon. Earlier, Yves Zlotnicka came by, and we talked a bit politely till Dorothy gets here about the Brockwood film he wants to do. Seems he wants it as a start on a film of Krishnaji all over the world. Guido Franco, the other filmmaker who has plagued our summers for three years, is not coming this year, happily.’ ‘Vanda says he shot footage on Sai Baba in India and when he got it back and looked at it, he could see how Sai Baba was faking the miracles he claimed he was doing. It was all a sleight of hand thing.’

The eleventh ‘was a beautiful day, but Krishnaji is feeling his hay fever and is rather weak. He stayed in bed all day and did no exercises.’
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.”’
‘A letter came special delivery from Erna telling us of the Happy Valley situation. Rosalind Rajagopal drafted a letter before their meeting was even held, not to say a “ no” to us but a “yes” that was in effect a “no.” Erna got Alan Hooker to speak to Dr. Rudd’—he’s another trustee of that foundation, I think—‘urging support of the KFA application. Evelyne Blau spoke to Dr. Pollock, and Mark Lee to a Mrs. Iyer on the board, and Erna telephoned Rosalind asking if members of KFA should be available on the day of the meeting, the sixth. Rosalind said “no,” and brushed her off. The meeting, however, went in our direction and will wait for Uribe’s letter of conditions.’
‘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.’ ‘He said that if we got the use of the Happy Valley land, he should fly to Ojai and meet everyone interested, including all the Valley people to ask for their support. This somehow in September. We would start building immediately. I pointed out we had no funds yet to even pay Mark Lee’s salary. “You’re always talking about money,” he said impatiently.’ ‘I said I would never speak of it again.’
‘I wrote all of this to Erna, and Krishnaji got dressed and came with me to post it and to visit the tent. A young boy was sitting behind the bushes as we came out, watching the chalet. His face shone shyly when he saw Krishnaji, and he stared until we drove off. We went into the tent. This year the space in front of Krishnaji where those who sit on the ground has been extended all the way to the sides of the tents on the shady space. Krishnaji was pleased at that.’

‘We went to the camping to see Dorothy and Montague, and they’d just arrived in the Land Rover. Doris came with them and is in her flat.’ She took a flat that year.
‘Krishnaji had lunch in bed. I went on some errands for him and bought Swiss hiking boots and wore them on the walk. In the woods, Krishnaji said suddenly, “I woke up early and something extraordinary happened. It was as though this”’ “‘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.” We walked to the river only. He climbed up the masonry bank to look at it, and then we turned back. He asked me to walk ahead and leave him alone to walk more slowly. He said, “I must work.” In the wood, by the small stream, he called ahead to me, saying he would sit there awhile. I went on to where the road ends and the open hillside begins, and one sees the splendor of the two valleys and the glaciers. I sat on the bench there for about twenty minutes, and he then passed me and went on to Tannegg. When I returned, he was coming out with rubber gloves to clean the Mercedes engine.’ ‘Full of energy! I had been wondering and when I mentioned it to Vanda whether there is something in the fact that just about every summer before his talks here, he has a low period, a sick week, and then zooms up for the talks, as if some unknown something puts the body into low gear in order that some other force gathers in him. I may be spinning fancies.’
On July thirteenth, ‘Edgar Graf came to see Krishnaji for a personal interview, and Mr. Mirabet came to greet Krishnaji and make his annual donation. Graf came back to lunch with Vanda and me. I got car washing equipment and started washing the Mercedes while Krishnaji was on the walk with Peter Racz. Vanda brought a young American boy, a sculptor home, and after Krishnaji was finished washing the car, he went with him for a short walk. Frances and Tapas came for a short visit.’
On July fourteenth, ‘the mountains were invisible in cloud, a light steady rain. Breakfast at 8 a.m., and there was that slight tension before a first talk. Vanda went to the tent with Mrs. Walsh…’ she’s the woman who rented the flat downstairs. ‘I got out the Mercedes, which I began to wash yesterday, while Krishnaji was walking, and which Krishnaji finished with the help of Ted Cartee and Terry Saunders, and I had it by the door ahead of time. 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.” Again he said, “God didn’t make man in his image; man has made god in his image.” 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. Ted came for lunch and Terry Saunders, too. Krishnaji questioned Ted about his seven years of Zen discipline. Ted answers well and factually. Krishnaji had his lunch in bed.’
Monday, July fifteenth, ‘I went down to the town for various things Krishnaji wanted, including twenty-four boxes of the plant calcium for himself and me, measuring it out on a spoon twice a day. I think it does something; my nails are hard, and I think osteoporosis is less. At lunch there were Frances, Barabino, and Ortolani and his lady whose name I never know.’ Her name was Ulca.’ Krishnaji was with them before lunch and after for coffee’—Pionier, a coffee substitute. ‘Part of the talk was about where Krishnaji should speak in Rome. Vanda feels the talk would be a target for bombs if it is announced publicly too far in advance. Today a bomb blew up a part of the Stazione Termini in Rome. The talk was light. Una bombezza, said Vanda’ , ‘but then there was an endless talk about it, and nothing was settled. 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.” After, when I went to put the usual eight drops of milk in each of his nostrils…’ [chuckles], the anti-hay fever treatment prescribed by Dr. Parchure in India, ‘…he said, “If there is a bomb in Rome, I must tell you what must be done.” At my recoiled shock, he said, “Shall I write it down, or tell you?” Then, his tray was brought in, and he said it wasn’t the moment to discuss it. At supper with Vanda, I asked how real the talk was of bombs. “It’s always possible now in Italy,” she said. And on the TV news came pictures of the damage in the Termini in Rome.’ That’s the station.

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Sat, 08 Jun 2019 #168
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline

(...) On 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 that he was talking, “to you 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. He had again spoken of thought being matter this morning and, now sitting on the bed, he said the following: “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. Prototype is result of mentation. Form is the cause, the cause is a result of time, etcetera. Everything is in terms of matter: gods, Jesus, etcetera. The symbol is created by thought. In the West, matter is the most important material 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 deep feeling of ?) 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.”’
‘“Form and matter are considered two different things. We need form to build a house. It is dictated by culture, economy, etcetera.”’

‘He spoke about food: “Starvation is a not a concept. Food produced needs no form, but it needs distribution. If the distributor has a concept (nationalism, for instance) there is chaos. It must be done not according to idea, concept. Organization should not be according to politics, but according to physical facts.”’
‘“One may ask, what that has to do with my little life, but daily life brings in implications of all this.”’
‘He spoke about matter. Is there anything beyond matter? “One sees all 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 (through ?) 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.”’

‘Later we walked to the river. The reply to the KF application for HappyValley land had come in the morning mail, a copy of it forwarded by Erna Lilliefelt of a letter signed by Rosalind and Rajagopal, saying the offer would be considered. Krishnaji asked me to report what it said. They may ask why we want this land when we are going to get KWINC land in settlement. Then he tentatively wondered if, since Radha Sloss had made an overture toward him by asking to see him in Bombay, he might write to her to push the land thing. I felt perfectly sick at this. The haunting notion that in his eagerness for the center, he would ignore the ugliness of these people, and again admit them to his life. I said little, as he calls it, “a reaction,” which it is, a retching one. It began to rain and we came back soaked.

Vanda had made a tea party. Graf, Terry Saunders, Frances, and Simonetta—once a couturière and for the past four years a follower of Chidananda living at the Divine Life Society ashram in Rishikesh, where she worked with lepers and organized weaving for them. Krishnaji questioned her about the place. ‘He talked quite a long time about India, the people who come to him, the heavily traditionalism, the very few who are real, all the circus that goes on, the disintegration of the country. She gave the impression of not knowing where to go after four years; a life of being out of her old ways, but not knowing where to go. She seemed to have accepted traditional ways through her devotion to Chidananda. For him, she did the leper thing. It was 7 p.m. when they left. Vanda had Terry stay to supper. He wants to know about teaching art at Brockwood. Vanda is leaving for Florence tomorrow.’
July seventeenth. ‘Vanda left in the morning. I saw her off at the train, then did errands. We had lunch alone, Krishnaji on his tray in his room. Four young people came tapping on the front door wanting to see him. I tried to say the inevitable as nicely as I can. I did letters. There was a cable from Balasundaram that the KFI lawyer, Ramaswami, had telephoned from Madras to Stanley Cohen in Oxnard. Balasundarum said further that it was rumored Rajagopal’s man, Rajam, was planning a long, drawn-out litigation over Vasanta Vihar, and the KFI wanted an extra push in their anxiety to have it settled by us in our case. Erna writes that Rosenthal or Cohen (our lawyers) call Christensen (Rajagopal’s lawyer) every other day.’

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. We walked in the rain and chamois-ed the car dry. Krishnaji was pleased that we would keep the Mercedes with us now and take it back to England. In the evening, I was finally able to reach Erna in Ojai. The letters about Vasanta Vihar only reached there today, so there is no news. She sounded weary.’
July nineteenth. ‘There was a cold, light rain, but Krishnaji wanted to go ahead with the day in Geneva. We left at 10 a.m., picked up Dorothy and Montague, and reached Geneva by 12:20 p.m. The car drove beautifully. We lunched at the Hotel du Rhône in the corner by the window. Krishnaji was pleased with lunch, and ate a lot for him. “I will have ice cream,” he said’ ‘Fraise ice cream has become a favorite dessert in restaurants. He ate it all.’
‘Dorothy and Montague went off on their own, and Krishnaji and I hurried across the Rhône to Jacquet. Going to Geneva is a ritual, and somehow the repetition each year is part of the enjoyment. Old, nice ways. Jacquet: “Bonjour, Monsieur Krishnamurti” from a plump saleswoman as he came in.’ ‘The order book appears, and his orders from the past years are there, snippets of the tie material pasted on the page. The new ones chosen as possibilities pile upward in a heap until all are seen, and then we go through them and select. Today seven were chosen. I seem to have reliable taste to him, for my advice is sought and followed. So, can they make them by next week? Of course,’ ‘and they will send them to Gstaad. We leave. He is very pleased. We hurried back across the bridge, pass Vacheron Constantin, and go in to find a travel clock for Krishnaji, one with batteries, and it must show in the dark. It is found, a Looping, and I buy it for him. We skitter across to the hotel to meet Narasimhan, who has some Nixon stories, and who is also pessimistic about the problems of the world.’ Narasimhan used to hear all these funny stories. Apparently, at least from my point of view, the UN has become what the New York Stock Exchange was for my father, because of all the funny stories that would emanate in the old days from there. That’s where he got a lot of those stories, the religious stories about Saint Peter, and all the 'heaven and hell' stories. ‘The UN is becoming too big, and it’s close to being out of hand. May 1975 will see improvements. But his manner is cheerful and lighter than usual. Krishnaji has me tell about the application for British citizenship, that it looks as if Krishnaji can only get it at the discretion of the Home Secretary, now Roy Jenkins. Narasimhan says that Roy Jenkins is his friend and he will go especially to London in September to ask him to act on it. Very good news. We go out to see his new Mercedes. He is coming to Gstaad to spend the night and hear Krishnaji’s talk on the twenty-eighth.’

‘We left, and we walked back to look at a Uher cassette recorder. They haven’t got the new model. We passed a health food store and bought some cereals, olives, and fruit sticks that Krishnaji likes. Then, irresistibly, he thought of a reason to go to Patek, the ritual. Krishnaji is very ‘feathery’ while talking to the man who is checking his watch. It is the gold one Mr. Logan gave him, which he seldom uses, but the steel one has gone to Hausmann in Rome with Vanda to be cleaned because Patek here cannot do it in July. The world is getting too unwieldy for expensive possessions, but the tie choosing, and Patek, and Mercedes rituals are Krishnaji’s fun, and I enjoy it vicariously. Also, the repetition of our yearly sallies, retracing our path, deepens the groove in something dear, something light and fun and very much a part of him. “Those are very nice ties,” he said, as we whisked along past the rushing Rhône. He was buoyant and pleased and not tired when we met Dorothy and Montague at the hotel, and didn’t tire on the drive back. “Have her go 100,” he said on the autoroute. I did, and the car did—briefly. We stopped for the newspaper at the Gare in Gstaad, and were back in the house by 7 p.m. Going to bed, he said, “Those are very nice ties. I will give the others away.”

On the twenty-first, ‘Krishnaji gave the fourth talk, more on... 'materialism', and it was a magnificent one. The tent was overflowing. Suzanne and Hughes, and Marcelle Bondoneau to lunch. Terry came by to wash the car, but went for a walk with Krishnaji, Dorothy, and me. Dorothy, Montague will move up here from the camping tomorrow.’
On Monday, the twenty-second of July. The Grafs, Edgar and Allema, saw Krishnaji. Also in the afternoon, he saw Axel Ferrand and his brother Patrice, nephews of Suzanne van der Straten. During this, Terry Saunders and I washed the car, and Krishnaji came out to finish it. Dorothy and Montague moved downstairs. I spoke to Mary Links in London about questions in the citizenship application, which Krishnaji must fill out; the dates of the parents’ births and deaths, his mother’s name, etcetera. Mary said Roger Straus’—that’s the publisher in New York—‘wrote about publishing her biography, but not clearly. She has revised and tightened it.
Tuesday, the twenty-third. ‘Krishnaji gave his fifth Saanen talk; very fine. In the afternoon, he held a Brockwood educational meeting. Shrinivas, Philip, Joe and Carol, Doris, Carol Allwell, Sofia and Carlos, Verna Krueger, Kathy, the two Dr Siddoos, Tapas, Rudi Melnicker, a boy that Bohm was enthusiastic about, but he never actually joined in anything.
. ‘Krishnaji was almost scathing about Brockwood Park, spoke of the need to bring about “another” quality in the school. “How will you do it? It is your responsibility.” Dorothy was hard hit, defensive about the school, and said she didn’t know how to meet it. She is very obviously depressed.’

‘Mary Cadogan, Dorothy, and I met Yves Zlotnicka and discussed the film he wants to make of Brockwood. He has raised £1,000 toward it, but £3,000 minimum is needed, and the Krishnamurti Foundation can’t afford it. We explained this to him. Also, Dorothy said after yesterday’s meeting with Krishnaji, which Yves taped, she wouldn’t know how to go about the Brockwood film. Yves accepted the decision, but not easily. Whether he will be resentful remains to be seen.’
‘There was no one for lunch, and it is blissfully quiet.’ 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; the history of the Indian ones, etcetera. I gave a vague, brief, but slightly optimistic report of the Rajagopal/KWINC case.

‘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.’
Saturday, the twenty-seventh. ‘A young Los Angeles couple, Bob and Trish Duggan, who introduced themselves to Krishnaji on the street yesterday and want to help with the work, came to talk to me in the afternoon. He is in three companies that he helped build up and has become successful, and he wonders how his abilities could help. I told him the outlines of the Foundation’s history, where we stand, and the plans for an Ojai school. The wife designs weaving, etcetera, and has two small children. They heard Krishnaji for the first time at Santa Monica and Ojai this year. I suggested they see Erna.’

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.’ My diary says in parentheses that ‘Carlos and Sophia were not there as they decided to leave Brockwood. Tapas, Terry S., and the Dutch woman Bep were there. 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.” I learned. It was hard then to have to listen to Terry afterward on the people who are so critical. They are getting cold feet about the Monday meeting. Yves, who taped the meeting, confessed to Mary Cadogan earlier and to me that he had told Madame Duchet about the dissidents meeting and invited her to come and didn’t know why. He now doesn’t want to criticize and won’t be there. I took both tapes, today’s and last Tuesday’s, from him. Later I dined with the van der Stratens, and their lovely children, who are interested in everything, articulate, intelligent, and graceful. It was a pleasure to be with them all. Little toddly grandchildren are bundled off to faire dodo ‘Patrice and Axel Ferrand and their father, Suzanne’s father, were there. I talked apart with Hughes, and brought him up-to-date on the case.’
The twenty-ninth of July. ‘There was the Saanen Gathering Committee meeting, attended by Krishnaji, Edgar and Allema Graf, Mary Cadogan, Doris Pratt, and me. Krishnaji gave us a talking to on the need for leisure. We all are too busy. We need leisure to listen, to be aware, less work, more time to be quiet. They and Anneke stayed to lunch’.

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.’
‘Krishnaji held the third meeting about Brockwood It was less withering than the first meeting. He spoke of good and evil, morality and violence, A and B, both areas we know and live in, both emanate from man’s thinking and action. Both are “on this side of the river.” Any striving to reach the other side, another quality, is still an action from A and B. This he spoke of before, but today he spoke of seeing, looking at the A and B, and in really, really seeing it, one is out of it, and across the river. Then, as people, as teachers, in that “Other,” we create an atmosphere the student feels, and will be changed by it. Krishnaji was putting it dizzyingly. “How will you communicate this to the student so that he is immediately out of conditioning?”’

The thirty-first. ‘Krishnaji commenced the first public discussion in the tent. Nadia and Nicolas Kossiakof came for lunch. Krishnaji saw Mr. Sendra at 4:30 p.m. We walked.’
Now, the first of August. ‘Krishnaji held the second public discussion in Saanen. Topazia came to lunch.’ Topazia was a Sicilian noblewoman. She was a duchess in Sicily, and she was a friend of Vanda’s, and had listened to Krishnaji for ages.
On the third, there was the fourth Saanen discussion. ‘It was about attention, why the mind functions in tradition.’ ‘Reneta Wolff and a painter friend, Hilloo Sanke, a German girl, came to lunch. ‘Mr. Sendra came to discuss with Krishnaji the Fundación Latinoamericana doing a film’ ‘of Krishnamurti answering questions from South American students. Sacchet, the radio man, delivered the UR 210 cassette recorder that I had ordered.’
The fourth of August. ‘Krishnaji held the fifth and final Saanen discussion for this year. Rudiger Wolff came to lunch. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji held the fifth Brockwood discussion, with eight from the German group attending; also Hughes van der Straten.’
‘On the evening news, we learned that Nixon is to speak on television to announce his resignation. Dorothy, Montague, and I got up at 2 a.m. to watch it live on television here. The resignation becomes effective at noon Friday, when Vice President Gerald Ford takes the oath of office as president.’
On August ninth, ‘at noon, Ford became U.S. president. Nixon goes to San Clemente. We saw the swearing in of Ford on television.’

‘At 7 p.m., I telephoned Erna in Ojai. The settlement still hangs on the Indian Vasanta Vihar resolution. Cohen and Christensen are in agreement on everything else. Blau insists we must go ahead with the settlement without a Vasanta Vihar quit claim, and let it come to KFA in the remainder of the settling things where it is named. It unlikely anything will be signed before Cohen and Lilliefelt return from holidays on September third.’
On the tenth. In the evening, Dorothy and I went to the Menuhin concert in Saanen. He and Alberto Lysy and others played an all-Vivaldi program.’

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. You will have no one; the Lilliefelts and the Simmonses have each other; the Dunnes, the same. Ruth has her children; Patterson, a son, but you have no one. 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.”’
Monday, the twelfth of August. ‘I spent most of the day at deskwork, and walked in the afternoon with Krishnaji, and Dorothy. Dorothy and I went to another Menuhin concert. I was able to talk to Dorothy as Krishnaji wished me to. I asked her if she minded my being a sort of telephone wire to her from Krishnaji; not giving her my views, but his. I told her he suggested she take more time to go into things he had been talking about in these discussions here on Brockwood. In the afternoon, Krishnaji saw Topazia, who tried to get him to let Guido Franco film him. Krishnaji said “no.” Later, he told me that on the walk that he “felt like almost disappearing.” He is physically hypersensitive at present, almost sore, his head is bad.’
On the thirteenth of August, ‘Dorothy and Montague left in the Land Rover to pick up Doris and set off for Brockwood via Holland. Topazia came to lunch. She brought her load of others’ and her own criticisms. Krishnaji explained that he doesn’t intend to give interviews and talk in various places anymore, but she doesn’t listen, keeps talking and thinks of things from everyone’s point of view except Krishnaji’s. She is nice, I think, but it is wearing. Krishnaji and I went to Saanen to the good shoemaker, Mr. E. Kohli for walking shoes. Came back and walked as usual and talked of the house we may build in Ojai.’  This was before we got Arya Vihara

The fourteenth of August. ‘It was a warm, clear day. We drove to Thun. Krishnaji wanted the Mercedes gone over by Mr. Bill at Moser’s before we take it to England. In Thun, we walked to the ferry steamer, but it had just pulled off. So I suggested we take a taxi to Merligen, where we were to lunch at the Hotel Beatus. Krishnaji countered with, “Let’s take a bus.” So we did. A new transportation.’ ‘Krishnaji’s narrow ankles in beige socks in his Swiss walking shoes were propped on the side of the bus. In his total grace and dignity, he has the stance of a young boy. We lunched on the hotel terrace and Krishnaji observed the people. Two sparrows alit on a yellow cotton chair cover. Krishnaji surreptitiously, delicately threw them crumbs’ . As we finished lunch, the steamer came by and we went across to Spiez on it and back to Thun. The Eiger, Mönch, and Jungfrau were clear and splendid. “Goodbye till next year,” said Krishnaji to them. The car had been found in good order and we drove back through the valley. 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’—however you pronounce that—‘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 AshdownForest 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 Park , 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,” he said.’

‘Krishnaji had a haircut in the afternoon. Madame Duperex came to see me. Krishnaji went for a walk in spite of the heat, but I didn’t. In the evening, he said that the story of Rajagopal should be written down, all that he has done. Perhaps he will do it a bit at a time. He said earlier that if we do the house in Ojai, he wants to make a document “as chairman,” insuring my being able to live there for my lifetime. Also at Brockwood.’
On the seventeenth, ‘the heat wave continues, slightly less, but it is hot all over Europe. I posted packages to the Dunnes, cassettes of the Brockwood discussions to KFA, and a pair of hiking boots to Malibu. Then I fetched Krishnaji’s new walking shoes, and filled the car with gas, etcetera. Tapas walked up the hill with little delicate handkerchiefs for me and Fosca. Krishnaji persuaded her to stay to lunch. Talked of magic in India, which is not religious to me. She was in the Ramakrishna movement when she was young. She is a Bengali, and walked 500 miles as a sannyasi, so she doesn’t wear saffron. Suzanne and Hughes came by in the afternoon.

‘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. That is why I must consider carefully this matter of building in Ojai.”’
‘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.” This morning he had me send a letter to Evelyne Blau, asking her to keep in confidence what I had written yesterday about our thinking of building a house in Ojai for Krishnaji’s use. Until we are sure of getting the land, it might cause added antagonism and prevent the settlement.’
‘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. We hope the weather cools. We both got quite a bit of packing done.’

The eighteenth of August. ‘We packed in the morning. We loaded the Mercedes with all the luggage before going for a walk, ready for the departure early tomorrow. The weather broke as we were coming back from the river. Rain began, thunder and lightening. It should be cool, luckily, for our drive. 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. ‘The alarm clock rang 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, and when we left and drove past her, we were both shocked to see she had a misshapen face. 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. At his urging, and before fatigue closed in, I went around to Courrèges on the Rue Francois 1ere for winter woolen slacks, and luckily was able to get three pairs hemmed in time to take them tomorrow. Krishnaji bought some toothpaste, etcetera, and came back to rest. We had supper in the rooms, and went early 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 style’ ‘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 Assembly Hall seems hardly advanced since we left, and Dorothy’s office and Ingrid’s and Doris’s rooms are all torn up. Dorothy joined us for breakfast in the West Wing kitchen. Then, slowly unpacking, rest, and a walk with Dorothy and Whisper in the late afternoon. To the beauty of this place, there is the added sense of return to a place one loves.’

Tuesday, August twenty-second. ‘Krishnaji’s eyes tear and there is swelling around his nose. We made an appointment for Doctor Riley at the Alresford Clinic to come to see him tomorrow. I went to Winchester for a chest of drawers to be used in the West Wing dining room when we use it as a guestroom during the Brockwood Gathering. I finished unpacking. Krishnaji stayed in bed instead of going for a walk. The new IBM typewriter, which corrects, like the one in Malibu, was delivered in July, and what a difference it makes.’
On the twenty-third. ‘Dr. Riley saw Krishnaji for the first time and thinks Krishnaji’s symptoms are allergic and maybe he has a slight sinus infection. He recommended Krishnaji recommencing Dr. Wolf’s Actar pills, since they have helped him, and he added some eye and nose drops. He also said to discontinue milk in the nose, which Krishnaji had been doing so carefully and faithfully since Dr. Parchure prescribed it in India last winter.’ ‘Dorothy and I walked to the field and back, and did some pruning in the grove. Krishnaji sat up to see  Kojak on television.’

August twenty-fifth. ‘I fixed flowers in the West Wing and finished changing the dining room into another guestroom. Frances McCann and Tapas arrived in the afternoon. Frances is in the spare room. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked. Pruning is too tiring for him. We went the whole walk.’ That means all around the grove and down by the lane. ‘The tents were partly up in the field. Ted and others have erected very nice wooden lavatories and also a cooking tent for the campers. We watched the movie The Quiet Man on television.’ That was a lovely movie.

The twenty-sixth of August. ‘Krishnaji said there had been “a marvelous meditation.” He looked happy and well. There was much work in the tent preparations.
On the twenty-eighth of August, ‘Mary Links came down by train and I met her at Petersfield at noon. We talked before and after lunch with Krishnaji. 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.” We went over with Mary questions on his citizenship application form; his mother’s name was Jiddu.’ That means maiden name. ‘She was a first cousin of his father.’

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. We luckily had her on a tight leash when we ran into Mr. Morton. I asked him if I could rent space in his garages for the Mercedes during the winter.’

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. George Digby signed Krishnaji’s application for citizenship. Mary L. sent me suggested wording for some replies on Krishnaji’s citizenship application.’
September third. ‘Krishnaji held a public discussion in the tent in spite of heavy showers and gales. Krishnaji said it was a good discussion.’
The next day, ‘I went to Winchester on errands and to buy a cardigan for Krishnaji. The weather is still raining. We walked as always in the late afternoon.’

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. I spoke to Burt Greenberger, who wants Krishnaji in a film on aspects of death he is making for ColumbiaPresbyterianHospital in New York. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji and I went to Winchester where, before a commissioner for oaths, Krishnaji signed his application for British citizenship. We came back and walked in the rain. Ian Hammond says the cost of pushing the Assembly Hall to use for the scientists’ meeting is prohibitive. He also says he will help financially with the cost of rewiring found to be necessary in the house. Krishnaji is tired after all the day’s activities.’

The seventh of September. ‘Violent winds uprooted two large beach trees. Krishnaji gave his third Brockwood talk in spite of gales. Lakshmi Shankar, her daughter, and a drummer gave a recital in honor of Krishnaji in the tent. There was rain and mud and wind, and we walked in spite of it all.’
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.’

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 September thirteenth. Both Drs. Siddoo, Jackie and Sarjit, arrived from Vancouver for a continuation of Tannegg/Brockwood discussions on schools. Also four people from the German-speaking would-be school group, Dr. Neusiedler, Rudiger Wolff, Mudler, and David Rodriguez.’
On the fourteenth, ‘At 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji held a follow on Tannegg/Brockwood discussion on schools. He saw the German-speaking school group alone after lunch.’
‘The German-speaking school group plan to have their school in Austria. At lunch, Krishnaji told the Siddoos I should be on their committee. This without telling me in advance!’ I didn’t want to be on their committee! ‘Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked.’
‘The next two days Krishnaji held two more of the educational meetings.’
Also on the sixteenth, ‘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.’ ‘Krishnaji and I with Whisper went for a walk. Dorothy is not feeling well. In the evening, Krishnaji talked to a Brockwood teacher who was having problems.’

On the seventeenth, ‘Krishnaji held the fourth discussion on education with the same group. “Action of listening.” Right after lunch, I went to Petersfield on errands, and then drove to East Dean to see my friends’—Phil and Christopher Fry. ‘We talked, and had tea. It was very pleasant. I was home in time to get Krishnaji his supper. Krishnaji had walked with Whisper. Krishnaji gave an interview to Dr. Neusiedler, the head of the German school group.’
On the next day, ‘Krishnaji held the fifth and final discussion on education with the same group. I did deskwork after that and then went for a walk with Krishnaji in the afternoon. It was a sunny day. I talked to the Siddoos regarding the constitution of their educational center. Anneke left for Holland.’
September twentieth, 1974 K had an interview with a mother and her daughter
The mother felt she was possessed, and the daughter brought her to Krishnaji. As nearly as I can remember, 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 with him for a few days, kept it on his bedside table, and periodically touched it. Then he sent it back.

The next day, ‘it is still cold and rainy, and Krishnaji talked to the Siddoo sisters and Tapas in the afternoon about their center and its constitution.’Tapas and the Siddoos left for Canada.’
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. It can be played on the portable player that has been sitting in a cupboard.’
‘We then went to Mr. Thompson’—that’s the dentist—‘who warned that Krishnaji might have more tooth troubles, needing extractions. I was worried, but he was prepared, he said later, to have them out all at one terrible swoop today. I waited outside and then was called in to help decide to pull one upper left molar next to the eye tooth. It is infected. Yes, said Krishnaji. Thompson said it would come out fairly easily, so Novocain and x-rays and then a firm pull, a horrid noise, and it was out. I was again awed by Krishnaji’s hands, his fingers open through it all, not clenched.’ You know, he sat with his hands relaxed.Not holding onto the arms of the chair for dear life.
Thompson commented on the rarity of this, and how it makes the muscles relax. Then Krishnaji had to lie down for ten minutes. He said he felt fine. I have trained it,” he said, (referring to his body). 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 twenty-fourth the students are all here for the start of the new term. Krishnaji says he has no pain from the tooth that was pulled. I had a book subtitle conversation with Mary L. on the telephone. ‘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, as it turned out, so is John Murray.’ That’s the publisher. ‘The new title had arrived just in time to be printed instead of The Years of Unfolding. 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, but sent word via Amanda that John Murray had accepted the change of the subtitle The Years of Awakening. Amanda also said that Naudé had telephoned Mary that his father is dying in South Africa, and he may go there, stopping in London.’
The twenty-seventh of September. ‘I took an early train alone to London on errands. Bought records for Krishnaji and shoes that lace for my hurting left foot at Ferragamo. Got back to Krishnaji, who had given an interview to two of Brockwood’s staff members.’
On the twenty-eighth, ‘I discussed a good hi-fi for Krishnaji’s room with Harsh Tankha. He will get it and install it. I went over the details of the scientists’ meeting with the Bohms.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji gave his first talk of the term to the students and staff. The Hamish Thompsons came and stayed to lunch.’ That’s the dentist and his wife. ‘Harsh is to go ahead with the hi-fi in Krishnaji’s room.’

Monday, September thirtieth. There are family things. Then, ‘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. I telephoned the home office for any news of Krishnaji’s citizenship application. They said it has gone 'higher up'.’
Tuesday, the first of October. ‘At 11:30 a.m., 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.’

October tenth Krishnaji and I went to London for fittings at Huntsman and Rowe. We lunched at Fortnum, where we had ice cream for dessert. His face lights up when we order it. We had strawberry. We bought cheeses at Jackson, and then went to Mr. Thompson who said Krishnaji’s canine teeth have slight pus but can wait till the spring for extraction. He is to use salt water meanwhile to wash his mouth out. We went to HMV’ —that’s the record store—‘and bought twelve records, and came home by train in time for supper. A cable came from Erna saying the agreement to settle the case is on the way to Krishnaji and me for our signatures. I feel nothing about this until we know the other side has also signed. Krishnaji said today, “I don’t know why I’ve been dreaming for the last two days. Long ago and far away.”’
Nothing much on the eleventh except that we moved all the furniture around in the drawing room to set it up for the scientists’ conference; long tables, etcetera. We walked.
On October twelfth, . ‘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.’

Monday, the fourteenth of October. ‘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 fifteenth of October ‘was the second day of the in the morning and afternoon. Drs. Pribram, Shainberg, and Sudarshan gave their talks.
On the sixteenth was ‘the third day of scientists’ meeting. In the afternoon, the scientists and some Brockwood people went to Stonehenge , Krishnaji did a taped conversation primarily with Dr. Sudarshan. Dr. Shainberg and Joe Zorsky were there, too.’ Dr. Pribram discussed the brain with the school in the evening.’
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. I heard about it late in the evening from Nicolas Besnier.’ Do you remember him?

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 afternoon session discussion ended the meetings.
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. I did deskwork, and there was a walk. Krishnaji asked Dorothy to come to Rome and talked her into it. I made reservations for her to fly with us on Friday, and Frances McCann arranged a room in Pensione Svizzera for her to stay in.’
October twenty-second. Krishnaji and I to London by train. We went first to John Bell and Croyden, then to lunch with Mary L. at Fortnum’s. Then to the U.S. consulate to have notarization of signatures of both of us on all the settlement papers. I mailed them to Erna while Krishnaji visited Mrs. Bindley. We got back to Brockwood at 7:15 p.m. Krishnaji on the train told me of Annie Besant telling him he had two angels to protect him, but don’t be over-demanding of them.’ 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.”’
The twenty-third of October. ‘Krishnaji held a meeting with the staff, after which I did deskwork.
On October twenty-fifth, ‘For once I was not hurried.’ I seem to be saying this a lot at this time in my diaries. ‘All was in order’ ‘Krishnaji, Dorothy, Frances McCann, 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’

The twenty-sixth. ‘Krishnaji dictated a memoranda to me about living and building in Ojai, to look at the whole matter. Krishnaji stayed in bed all day resting. Frances and Dorothy to lunch, also Topazia. I walked down for the newspapers and went early to bed.’ God, it was cold in that place.
On October twenty-seventh, ‘It was cold but there was some sun. Krishnaji got up for lunch. The Indian ambassador Pant and his wife were there, and their daughter, and Dorothy and Frances. Krishnaji, Dorothy, Frances, and I walked in Villa Glori. Alberto appeared in the evening.’ That’s Vanda’s son.

October twenty-ninth, ‘Mario’—that’s Filomena’s son—‘came to drive me to see Filomena. We talked all morning. She had two heart pains this summer and her arthritis is a rack, but her spirit is the same—clear and courageous. It was a joy and sadness, both at once, to see her as though we were in Malibu. Mario drove me back. Dorothy, Frances, and Bill Burmeister and Barabino came to lunch. Bill is involved in Barabino’s school—The Biella School.’ Biella, that’s the town where it is. ‘Dorothy and Frances stayed to go on the walk. They have done enormous sightseeing. Letter from Erna written Saturday. Sidney Roth has signed. No news of Rajagopal and company doing so, but Christensen’—that’s Rajagopal’s lawyer—‘says he will be “ready” by the fourth.’
The thirtieth. ‘For me, deskwork in the morning. Ambassador Pant came at noon to take Krishnaji and me to the Indian embassy north of Rome to lunch with his wife and daughter. It is a large sixteenth-century house. When we got back, Krishnaji said he had a sore throat.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji’s throat is sore. He stayed in bed. At lunch, there was Dorothy, Frances, and the actor Terrance Stamp. In the evening Krishnaji had a ninety-nine-degree fever. Barabino brought in Dr. Filipo and his assistant, and they roughly examined Krishnaji’s throat and said he has a laryngitis virus. The doctor prescribed a cortisone inhalation and aspirin. Krishnaji is supposed to give his first talk tomorrow. He looks ill and touchy.’
The first of November. I took Krishnaji’s temperature at 7 a.m. It was 100 degrees. His throat is very sore. He had pain in his right ear in the night and felt too ill to talk. I told Vanda. We didn’t go on with the inhalator, but stuck to homeopathic remedies and Lycopodium and Apis prescribed by the said-to-be-leading homeopath here, Casella. The talk was called off only for today. Dorothy, Frances were here most of the day. Krishnaji’s ear pain has disappeared and his throat is slightly less sore, but by 5 p.m. his temperature was 101. Still, Krishnaji looked a little better. He is less debilitated by the fever than usual for him. Cragnolini was here at lunch, too. Everyone wants to cancel the remaining talks, but Krishnaji forbade it.’
The next day. ‘Krishnaji’s temperature is ninety-eight. He looks and feels better, much better, but he has hardly any voice. He is determined to talk tomorrow, though Vanda and I are strongly against it. He said, “The body is getting ready. I’ve my job.” I went to see Filomena in the morning. Mario taking me to and fro. Barabino lunched with Vanda and me. Mary Cadogan telephoned from London. Erna had telephoned her about a quit claim to the pre-’68 copyright by KF Trust. Erna said others had not yet signed but all is “going well” with settlement.’
November third. ‘Krishnaji’s temperature was ninety-eight degrees, but he still had hardly any voice. He got up, washed, tried the voice, and with Vanda and I silent to not influence him (though we were strongly against his speaking), he made his decision not to speak either today or tomorrow. He went back to bed. Vanda and I went to Eliseo, where a cassette of the July twenty-fifth third Saanen talk was played on my Uher cassette recorder hooked up by Yves to the Teatro amplifiers and speakers. Afterward, a translation of it was made from the tape. It was the usual restless Roman audience; walking about, chatting, smoking. Dorothy and Frances were there, and they came back for lunch.’
The fourth of November. ‘Dorothy heard from Montague that Enrique Biascoechea is dead.’ Poor Enrique. ‘Krishnaji recoiled when I told him. He was surprised at how soon it came. He said later he kept thinking of him all day. I went to Ms. Goody for a massage, but was back for lunch. Filomena came, also Dorothy and Frances. Dorothy returns tomorrow morning to Brockwood. Filomena and I sat and talked, and afterward I walked her down to a taxi. Krishnaji decided to do a filmed interview for Italian television tomorrow.’
November fifth. ‘A cable to Krishnaji from Erna that “Christensen’s clients have all signed.”’ That means Rajagopal and company. ‘As soon as the quit claim by Mary  Cadogan for the KF Trust arrives about the pre-’68 copyright, the settlement will be formalized before the court in Ventura. So, at last this long case is over. Krishnaji discussed what to do with the land, Arya Vihara, etcetera, at length with me, so I can bring his views back to the other trustees. He did filmed answers to questions put by Dr. Modugno. The questions were in Italian, and Krishnaji answered in English. Dorothy went back to Brockwood.’

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.’ Well, that was very funny. 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, I think, or the equivalent in size, and he turned and waved and disappeared inside. Then, suddenly, down the middle of the airport came a procession. First of all there was a carabiniere, those sort of Napoleonic 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, and this we found out later, I guess it’s been discussed here and there. 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 , giving it 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 tiger skin, 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 that they did in some Arab country in those days 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. Well, that’s the end of the story. Vanda and I found it hilariously funny that the two of them would obviously be in first class, and what would happen; because everything about them were at such polar opposites.

Now on the eighth. ‘Krishnaji should have arrived in Delhi early this morning and I took a TWA flight to New York at 5:45 p.m.’ Well, then it goes on about what I did when I arrived, and we don’t want to hear all this.
‘I cabled Krishnaji at Pupul’s in Delhi after speaking to Erna. Tapper, the attorney general, has not yet signed the agreement, but when he has, the court hearing will formalize it all.
I flew to California on November twentieth. ‘There were no letters yet from Krishnaji, but I cabled him that I had arrived in Malibu. I spoke to Erna Lilliefelt. There’s no word yet on whether the attorney general, Tapper, has signed the agreement.’
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.’
The next day, ‘Alan Kishbaugh came with me to Ojai for a trustee’s meeting and lunch at the Lilliefelt’s. With Theo and Ruth, we went to look at the HappyValley land we want to lease.
On November twenty-seventh, ‘Krishnaji’s first letter arrived. It was written from November ninth through the seventeenth, and posted on the eighteenth in Benares, arriving in nine days.’

The first of December. ‘I left at 8:30 a.m., and drove in Krishnaji’s Mercedes to Ojai and the Lilliefelt’s. Balasundaram had telephoned from Rajghat before Krishnaji and he left for Madras inquiring about news of the attorney general signing the settlement. With  Erna and Theo, I walked over to the HappyValley acreage east of the 100 acres we want to lease. The land is said to be for sale. Is this a possible site for Krishnaji’s house? Lunched with Erna and Theo, talking at length, then drove home.’
December ninth. ‘Erna says that the court meeting of tomorrow before Judge Heaton with Tapper, Christensen, and Cohen is canceled as “necessary.” A date of a formal hearing to end the case will be set.’
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.”

On December eighteenth, ‘Erna rang in the afternoon. Cohen says the final court hearing to end the case is set for December twenty-sixth. I cabled the news to Krishnaji in RishiValley, where he went today from Madras.’
On the twenty-sixth of December, ‘Evelyne Blau came at 9:30 a.m., and drove with me to the Ventura County Courthouse, where we met Erna and Theo. We sat in Judge Heaton’s court, while he went into chambers with Rosenthal, Cohen, the deputy attorney general Tapper, and Christensen. Then, 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 would be at the real estate office in Ojai after he had spoken to Rajagopal.’ ‘We went to the real estate office. There were no keys, and no telephone call had come. Lunch with the Lilliefelts. Ruth, Albion, and we went to Pine Cottage, Arya Vihara, etcetera. The caretaker knew nothing and telephoned Rajagopal, who refused us entry without speaking to one of us. We telephoned him and left. Later, after I was home, Erna said that the real estate woman gave the keys, and Rajagopal telephoned her that we could have them.’

The next day, I wrote in full to Krishnaji about all this.
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. Talked at length, and I drove home.’ That was the day we finally got the property.

This post was last updated by John Raica Sat, 08 Jun 2019.

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Sun, 09 Jun 2019 #169
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline


At the beginning of 1975. Krishnaji was in India, and I was in Malibu,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. Evelyne Blau telephoned. Dr. Pollock was dropped from the HappyValley school board during his absence. Rosalind Rajagopal says he is on the KFA board, representing KFA.’ The next day, ‘I drove to Ojai, and spent the morning repainting Krishnaji’s room and other things to Pine Cottage and seeing the contractor, Mr. Ojacks. I also did some work in the office building. I spent the evening with the Lilliefelts discussing money things.’

On the fifteenth, ‘Alan Kishbaugh came to my house in Malibu, and at 8 a.m., we drove to Ojai. We looked at the Oak Grove and the land adjoining it. I then showed him the Arya Vihara houses. Then, ‘I talked to Mary Cadogan about the tickets, and I went out about the curtains again. Alan Hooker had azaleas and camellias planted next to the cottage,’ which was nice of him.
‘I came home to find two letters from Krishnaji sent from Bangalore on the eighth and ninth. He went for three weeks without any of mine reaching him. My letters numbers fourteen and sixteen have not arrived.’
On January twenty-second, ‘Balasundaram telephoned Erna from Bombay about the legal papers. He said to tell me Krishnaji has had fever for three days, but is over it.’
I drove to Ojai on the twenty-fifth. ‘I met Erna, Theo, and Evelyne Blau. We walked all over the land near the Oak Grove and down to the main road. It is beautiful land. We showed Evelyne the Arya Vihara houses, and at 4 p.m. in Arya Vihara we ran the Canadian film of Krishnaji for a few people. There was a letter from Dr. Parchure, written on the seventeenth, in which he says that Krishnaji had a fever on the fifteenth and his Bombay talks on the eighteenth and nineteenth had to be canceled.’

On the sixth, ‘I took all the furniture to Ojai. Cleaned the cottage and put things in order all day. Curtains were installed in Krishnaji’s three rooms. I was there till after 8 p.m., then drove home. Mark Lee says the fire department and the building inspector will not allow Arya Vihara to be either a school or a center.’
The next day ‘was a quiet day at home putting Krishnaji’s room in Malibu in readiness,’ ….On the eighth of February, ‘Krishnaji, after four days at Brockwood, left Heathrow at 12:30 p.m. on TWA 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.

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. RishiValley 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 Balasundaram 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'. Sunanda and Achyut are to spend more time at Vasanta Vihar to see to things, and probably Sunanda will do more of the secretary of the Foundation work. He said Pupul has deteriorated too, intellectually, etcetera. She is to leave her 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 Balasundaram 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. ‘It was a lovely, clear day. 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 we will sell.’ ‘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.” We went to the Lilliefelt’s with Ruth and Albion. Later, with Mark Lee, we discussed at length. Krishnaji now thinks the west end (Oak Grove ) is good for the school. He asked, though, if any of us wish him to try to get the HappyValley land. None of us did. So, it is to be the west end. Krishnaji will speak in the Oak Grove on April twelve, thirteen, nineteen, and twenty. We left at 6 p.m. Coming home in the car, he said he felt the houses were contaminated and had an idea that, if he lived in the cottage, it would be for good. I said it was fixed up only for use for a few nights this year. We were home in time for supper.’

Wednesday, February twelfth. ‘Krishnaji slept in the morning. After an early lunch, we drove to Lailee Bakhtiar’s office, where Krishnaji had his first appointment and checkup.’ She was then our (family) doctor. She said his blood pressure was 130 over 80, and had excellent circulation in his extremities. We will get blood chemistry results next week. He had a cardiogram. While this was happening, I told her of his wishing never to be in a hospital. She said she understood and respected that, and if ever he is ill, we will manage at home. Later he told me he must never be given anesthesia that would make him unconscious, only local anesthesia. “I might not come back,” he said with a small laugh. Lailee wanted a chest X-ray, so we went to Dr. Jafer’s office, and Krishnaji had that. Then, in Westwood, we found two pairs of loafers, size 6D, just what he wanted. Then we saw Winkey’— friend who worked in a bookstore—‘and ordered a book, bought some ice cream, and came home. Accomplishing day. Krishnaji had me cable the Drs. Siddoo in India that he cannot visit Vancouver after San Francisco.’

‘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.’
Friday the fourteenth of February. ‘We drove to Ojai. Met John Rex’— the architect—‘Erna and Theo, and walked again over the Oak Grove area. Rex is enthusiastic about it for the school. It is the best place we could find in California, he said. We showed him the three houses on McAndrew Road. The Lees had lunch for us all, including Ruth and Albion. We then went to the Lilliefelt’s and discussed what is needed for Rex to make a tentative master plan to be able to show people at the April talks. After Rex left, Krishnaji spoke of concentrating everything in the west end, keeping McAndrew property private. He said he didn’t like the cottage or office building, and if he were to use Arya Vihara, it would have to be pulled down and begun all over again. But later, in the car going home, he spoke of trying the cottage and using it part of the time, spending the rest of the time in Malibu, i.e., keeping Malibu as our main place.’
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 (smell) 'cedary'. Krishnaji was interested in the clothes but wants to give most of it away. We went to town and saw a movie Chinatown.’

The nineteenth of February. ‘I spoke to Erna. She just discovered an easement made by Rajagopal and the Vigevenos last summer that runs through the land between Rajagopal and (the TS propery in) Krotona , making it more or less un-saleable by us.’ ‘No end to crookedness. Krishnaji stayed in bed all morning. After lunch, I went to town and saw Lailee Bakhtiar about Krishnaji’s tests. All are excellent. The lung X-rays show all is clear. There are some old scars which she surmised are probably from TB in his youth. His cardiogram is normal, liver/kidneys normal, blood count normal, cholesterol 200, blood sugar normal. There is nothing wrong. She thinks his only difficulty is his allergy, the hay fever. She gave me an antihistamine cough syrup, similar to Benadryl, to take during hay fever season. Also Dimetapp, tablets which are a little stronger. In spite of these, if he develops bronchitis and fever, or green sputum, he must take Tetracycline—which has the least side effect of antibiotics and reduce fever with aspirin, ten grains, and put baggies with ice under his armpits and at the back of the neck.’ That’s how she felt one should reduce fever.  ‘I reiterated my admonition that if ever I am seriously ailing, I expect her to tell me all underlying facts and the decisions are mine. I do not wish to be kept alive at all costs. She agreed. I got back and found that Krishnaji had dusted in and out of the Mercedes and walked sixteen turns around the lawn.’
The twentieth. ‘The Lilliefelts, Ruth, Albion, and Alan Kishbaugh and Mark Lee and Evelyne Blau came at 3 p.m. to discuss the scope of the school for John Rex to use in the plan. Later, Lou Blau joined us and discussed the Rajagopal and Vigeveno easements that snake around KFA land, and also to discuss fundraising. Blau described vividly the amounts of funds we will need as beyond what we can raise from the present mailing list. Krishnaji listened and said to Blau, “Should we not have a school?” Blau said that we should and we will, but we will need professional fundraising help.’

 The twenty-sixth of February. ‘We left at 9:30 a.m. for Ojai. Elfriede’—that was my housekeeper—‘followed in a truck with rugs for different rooms in the cottage; the dining room, the porch, and part of the sitting room. The Lilliefelts, Ruth, Albion, and both Lees came to the cottage, and at 11 a.m., we went over articles on the meaning and function of the school, which Krishnaji wrote yesterday. Erna stayed to lunch with Krishnaji and me. It is our first meal in the cottage. I had cooked a pot of Spanish rice and vegetables at 6 a.m. and brought it along. During lunch, Krishnaji asked Erna and then Theo, “What is the right thing for Maria about a place to live in Ojai?” I was a listener, not a participant in this; Krishnaji silencing any comments.’ ‘His feelings about the cottage are quite different today. When we arrived, he went in and out, walked off among the trees, and during the meeting he kept looking at the room and exclaimed at the comfort of the director chairs, for the first time noticed the curtains, etcetera. The feeling is changing, he said. The building inspector says we could start the school temporarily if it’s very small, using Arya Vihara for no more than five resident children, and maximum ten in classrooms, using the annex to the cottage and ground floor of the office. This would rule out Krishnaji’s using the cottage until the school could move to Oak Grove. Krishnaji seemed to be saying that the McAndrew property be kept for KF A use, and if I move to Ojai, it should be a new piece of land at the east end.’ ‘The others were not part of this discussion, but when they came back, we went on with the meeting. Albion made some suggestions to alter Krishnaji’s article about what the school was about which would only replace Krishnaji’s style and language with clichés.’Rajagopal’s name came up, regarding the zoning—the easements he, the Vigevenos, and Zalk got last July that run through the land KFA now has, east of Rajagopal’s house.’ They apparently put it in at the last minute when they knew they’d have to give it up. ‘Cohen has written a stiff letter about it to Christensen. Albion said that Rajagopal had been “behaving better lately,”.
‘On the way home, Krishnaji kept exclaiming over the curtains, which he finds very pretty. The atmosphere there is changing, he said. It was after 7 p.m. when we reached Malibu, but he wasn’t too tired. He said the body is now feeling relaxed. He’s sleeping better. Meditation again. It didn’t come in India, his body was too tired.’

On the third of March, ‘we drove up to Ojai in the afternoon and moved into Pine Cottage for the first time. I made supper, but first we took a walk up toward Thatcher School. People passing in cars recognized Krishnaji and smiled to see him here again. 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.
On the fourth of March. ‘I gave Krishnaji breakfast as usual on a tray. Yesterday on the way up, Krishnaji said he felt suddenly like writing. The sight of the wild, bright yellow flowers that grow on the slopes by the beach sent him off. We stopped in Ventura to get a notebook and also a nightshirt and bathrobe, which we forgot to bring.
‘Mark Lee came after lunch, and first, Krishnaji told him the outline of Rajagopal’s history and then went into the question of wives interfering; the responsibility of the director’s position, vis-à-vis the Foundation, etcetera.’

The fifth of March. ‘Krishnaji slept better last night. It rained all day. I interviewed a seventeen-year-old girl who had wanted to go to Brockwood because, “People are friendly.” Then, she was kicked out after one term for smoking. Empty, not very bright impression. Krishnaji and I lunched at Arya Vihara with the Lees, Lilliefelts, and Bruce and somebody Meyer, a couple, who will join the school venture with their two small children. Krishnaji and I redid the announcement of the school plans for The Bulletin. Krishnaji slept all afternoon.’
The sixth of March. ‘It rained lightly in Ojai, one inch in Malibu. Theo came over to tell me that he and Erna wanted to lend Krishnaji their house if the cottage is not right. Mark came to speak to Krishnaji. I made lunch, and Erna and Theo joined Krishnaji and me. 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.’ I seem to have had the idea early, didn’t I? That’s news to me! ‘There should be tapes and books available if they seek them, but not served up in a program.’ 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.’

March eighth. ‘We went to choose ten dwarf navel orange trees, and also various shrubs to plant along the large wall in Malibu. Elfriede and Fred’—Fred is her husband—‘came in their truck and brought them to Malibu. Krishnaji and I had a picnic in the Jaguar and went to a 2 p.m. movie, The Towering Inferno. When it got harrowing, I asked Krishnaji if we shouldn’t leave, but he shook his head and we stuck it out. Later at home, he said, “The temple does me good.”’ Going to the movies was one of his 'temples'.
Monday, March tenth. ‘A gentle rain commenced the day. Cooking at 6 a.m. as Elfriede is off. The Lilliefelts, Ruth, Albion, and Kishbaugh and Mark Lee came at 11 a.m. for a day-long discussion with Krishnaji about the center, school, arrangement of buildings on the land, etcetera. There was much on the center’s activities. The need for a place where people can come to explore Krishnaji’s meetings and the teachings. 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 three words to me. “But it is much more, something tremendous, and it has to do with 'That'.”( That is the 'Other') 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 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.”
Alright, now we’ll go to the little book for the fifteenth, which is doubtless uninteresting.

The seventeenth of March. ‘A lovely, clear morning. People came to plant some things. Krishnaji and I finished packing. Amanda and Phil came over briefly to say goodbye and see the plantings. Krishnaji and I had lunch, and then Elfriede drove us to the airport. 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.’
Naudé came at 1 p.m. and we all went to Ghirardelli Square, decided on Chinese food, and lunched at the Mandarin Inn looking out over the bay. We had an excellent vegetarian version of Chinese spinach broth and bean curd, pea pods, and water chestnuts, bean sprouts, rice, almost raw asparagus sliced bias lengthwise.’ ‘Krishnaji liked it. We bought an Aubrey Menen book. Then, Alain took Krishnaji back to the hotel to rest while I walked to the Cannery for some groceries and returned by taxi. He was walking up the block when I went to meet him. It is extraordinary to see him walking toward one, the whole meaning of the world seems to be centered in that advancing grace. We walked six times around the small square gardens across from the hotel and came in. At supper there was a call from Dorothy and Montague, who had arrived at Kathy Harris’s  from London and staying in Atherton with Kathy’s family. There was another call, this from Frances McCann, saying Carol Allwell came on the same plane with her. 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'—discord and it is caused by organized belief. For instance, Christians say Jesus is the only one, our god is the only one. It excludes everything else. Krishnaji had a stomachache before going to bed. Took Nux Vomica and it stopped.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji at breakfast said, “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.’ ‘Krishnaji walked alone to Mrs. Mathias’—that was just across the street—‘to help her eyes. I waited for Dorothy, Montague, Kathy Harris, Erna, and Theo. Dorothy and Montague are looking very pleased to be here. We went downstairs and Krishnaji came along, carefully crossing with the light as he said he would when alone. ‘We all went to Ghirardelli Square and had lunch again at the Mandarin. The Lilliefelts brought Krishnaji and me back, and we looked at the Masonic Hall. Krishnaji very struck by the one chair in the center of the hall.’ It was a curious hall which I don’t think shows on video. It was a big hall and it had seats in a horseshoe shape, and the stage came out into the middle of the audience. ‘We came back and rested and later walked down and up a hill. At supper there was a curious Otherness in the room, or something I felt, like a '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, ‘Krishnaji stayed in and rested all day. I marketed in the morning. We lunched in the rooms. I walked down in the afternoon and stopped at the Regent Hotel and saw Frances McCann and Carol Allwell. Then, went back to the health food store, bought two shirts at Brooks Brothers, and a book at a bookstore, and came back on the cable car.

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.’ It was most convenient as the hall was across the side street, just thirty feet away from the hotel.
 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. “Are people hurt or is it their 'image' of how things should be?” ‘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.”’ ‘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. I told her that Krishnaji was not involved in this, but was brought in when Rajagopal and company countersued and served papers on Krishnaji as he was about to give his first talk in Santa Monica.’
‘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.’

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. I cooked. Krishnaji slept all afternoon, and walked around for forty-five minutes 'in lieu' of going out.’ We had a nice flat there, with a good kitchen, a sitting room, and two bedrooms with two baths. 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. Krishnaji had practically no rest before he saw Dr. Feldman from Argentina, who is becoming a psychiatrist and might head the Fundación. He is thirty-four and enthusiastic. He has been reading Krishnaji since he was seventeen, but never heard him speak until today. We went for a short walk around the square and came back to watch TV of Mike Wallace interviewing Haldeman. Supper and Kojak.

Tuesday, March twenty-fifth. At 10:30 a.m., Krishnaji saw Narayan’s brother, G. Krishnamurti , who came here for the talks and is an electrical technician. There is no resemblance to Krishnaji but the thin build and certain delicacy of bone. I went down the hill to cash some checks for Dorothy and Montague’s trip to Yosemite, Carmel, and air tickets for LA in a week. At 6 p.m., Krishnaji gave the fourth talk, completing this series at the Masonic Hall. It was on meditation, a very fine one.
March twenty-sixth ‘was a bright, clear day. Elfriede met us in Los Angeles. The garden is looking lovely. The lawn sections that were replaced look very handsome. New planting, shrubs, and oranges look at home, and Elfriede had planted a row of yellow and orange marigolds as a border. Krishnaji said, “This is a nice house,” and was eager both to see the barn owl, who looked down on us owlishly on our arrival, and the garden.’ ‘He seems to like being here, more now than in the past. Talk of selling and moving to Ojai has disappeared for me. We had supper on trays. I have a sore throat, and the beginning of a thorough cold.
Friday the twenty-eighth. ‘My cold is heavy. I worked at the desk all morning. At lunch time, Erna telephoned that Cohen says he doubts Rajagopal will listen to Christensen about the easements, and he wants a meeting of all of us to discuss the matter. Erna wants Blau to be there. 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…what are those places when you sit in a car…”’ He means 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 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. Krishnaji and I got home after 7 p.m. Krishnaji in the car said, “Why was ‘the boy’ sensitive to 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. ‘Tree pruners came to do the pepper tree and three stone pines and the coral tree. Krishnaji observed, with great interest and approval, through the windows. It rained faintly in the morning. After lunch we went to Beverly Hills and Krishnaji had his hair cut and Dr. Christensen took a little more off his dental bridge where it made a sore. I went for special lined paper for the notebook. 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.

‘He told of the time some years ago when Kitty Shiva Rao was with him on a flight from Delhi to Benares and the plane came into thick fog. Kitty, sitting beside him, got panicky, and Krishnaji took hold of her hand and said, “If we are going to die, we are going to die. Let’s do it happily.” She calmed down, but pretty soon as the plane lost altitude, she began to get hysterical. Krishnaji spoke to her again and then the pilot got below the fog and was able to land.’ There’s another anecdote with Kitty, too, when he said, “Nothing will happen because you’re with me.” He always thought that if he was in a plane, it would be safe.’
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.’
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 say, “There’s no sense reading it to me because I’ll change it.” And of course, The Notebook and all that, as Mary said, it’s without erasures. It’s just written.

April second. ‘Krishnaji wrote again, this time in ink. “The skill of intelligence is to put knowledge in its right place.” Intelligence “comes out of the understanding of the whole consciousness of man; yourself.” And “freedom from the known every minute is the essence of intelligence.” He did this before a meeting at 11 a.m., and later said he wanted to keep on.
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.” Krishnaji stayed in bed all morning and read a book about whales and dolphins after he had written his number three notebook piece.

April seventh. ‘We packed in the morning, had an early lunch, and left for Ojai at 1:45 p.m. in the Green Beauty, with luggage, etcetera. Krishnaji drove as far as Dieter’s  in Oxnard, where we picked up a brochure on a Volvo. The latest notion is for us to get a station wagon to replace the Jaguar. We met at the Oak Grove  with the architects, Reibsamen and Nichols, as well as the Lilliefelts, the Simmonses, the Lees, Ruth, Albion, Alan Kishbaugh, Evelyne Blau, and her daughter Eloise and grandson Aaron, and also Professor Rush. Krishnaji spoke apart to Professor Rush, who hadn’t understood Krishnaji’s proposal to join us in creating the school, and is committed to his present setup for at least two years. The architects showed a revised plot plan. It was an arctic cold day. Krishnaji and I moved into Pine Cottage, and I made our supper. The Simmonses are in the office upstairs flat. Krishnaji again wanted me nearby, and so I used the sofa in the sitting room.’

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 Namaste. Rajagopal looked more than ever like an angry simian with the glare of disturbed, dark-ringed eyes. He talked resentfully for forty minutes: Why did we want to see certain things? “The case is over.” He interpreted the settlement as being over and past, but he had been held up to vilification all over the world. He was friendly, but we were not. I had refused to talk to him on the telephone. He couldn’t say when the archives would be ready. He was very busy. Why did we “want to see discussions edited by Mima Porter?”’ These were things that Krishnaji had specifically asked for.  ‘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, that Jinarajadasa  had agreed to send him letters, etcetera, that were in the Theosophical Society, but never did. He wanted the rights to go into our archives since we wanted to go into his. He went on and mentioned the Indian case still pending . Neither Erna nor I said the obvious, as the purpose of all this seemed to be to talk endlessly and show us nothing. 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.” He then crossed the room and went out the door.
‘“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'.
‘In the afternoon, Krishnaji did a videotaped interview on the school plans and education for a local station. Dorothy came with us on a three-mile walk.’

The tenth of April. ‘Krishnaji called a meeting about the announcements of the school to the public, and about the announcements of it at the upcoming public talks. He, Erna and Theo, Ruth, Albion, and Mark, and both Simmonses came to the cottage. Erna had walked over the land with Cohen and Ashton, a surveyor, to look at easements. Cohen says there is no basis for them. Krishnaji talked about the center, what it is or will be. It doesn’t exist now, as Patterson claimed when he and Ruth discussed it as being in their own homes with various people. I brought up the matter of Verna Krueger , who Mark asked to join the Ojai school, to Dorothy’s distress, swiping her from Brockwood to another school. Krishnaji also alluded to David Bohm, whom, it is said, Albion wants to live over here. Later we walked down McAndrew Road and back.’
April eleven. ‘ Krishnaji also wants Erna to telephone Rajagopal that Krishnaji wishes to see the archives without Rajagopal being there. He doesn’t want to even see or speak to Rajagopal. Erna wants to delay the call until after this weekend’s talks.’

‘Reginald and Mavis Bennett arrived from Australia. They are nice as ever. Reg had a coronary eighteen months ago. Such kindly people they are.
The twelfth of April. ‘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, and Mr. Nichols, the architect, had brought drawings to put on an easel; a very handsome rendition of the plot planned for the school. Mark Lee made the announcement about it. Casselberry was there, but none of the other 'mafia'. 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  - something she wrote as a report for Rajagopal, and he made her not keep a copy. At first he said he didn’t have that, and then, well, he couldn’t remember; then he said that Tuesday was not convenient for him, and he hung up.’
‘Erna rang back and said, “We must have been cut off,” and that it wasn’t necessary for him to be there. He got very angry, and said it was a personal thing with him—he had to be there.’
‘“Supervision is not required,” said Erna.’
‘“I will be the judge of that,” said Rajagopal. “You must write and give me the time, and I will think about it.”’
‘Erna said, “We are giving you notice now.”’
‘Rajagopal replied, “You can’t come Tuesday.”’
‘Erna: “You are refusing?”’
‘Rajagopal: “You can bring a sheriff and break down the door.” And then he hung up.’
‘So Monday we get Cohen to act legally. Unless we exercise the settlement rights, we are setting a precedent and giving in to the demented, scoundrel behavior of Rajagopal.
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. 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. . Krishnaji had a longish nap at 4:30 p.m. He saw the two Dr 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 on Vancouver Island, in the autumn of ’76. 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. ‘Gray skies and drippy rain. Krishnaji rested in the morning. He then gave a taped interview to Donald Ingram-Smith for Australia Broadcasting Corporation . Mark played five of the Krishnaji and Anderson dialogues on videotape, and the Kornfelds were among those who watched. I left before the end because Krishnaji said this morning that it was perhaps healthier to eat supper at 6 p.m. instead of 7 p.m. We made it by 6:30 p.m. At supper he 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, the fateful day. ‘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.”’ - quotes from the account, Pupul’s account.
But what developed was, 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. Reading it, I felt drained, as happens when there is something deeply moving to do with Krishnaji.’ 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. There was a back and forth on his copying them, versus our taking them to be copied. He suggested Erna and Byron Casselberry go together to the photocopier, but apparently Rajagopal doesn’t trust Casselberry either, as he prefers to copy them himself. He questioned me on when we were leaving’—that means Krishnaji and I leaving—‘and was Erna going then, too? We left. Being firm was the effective move today. We came back to the cottage for lunch. Krishnaji asked how those people’s minds possibly worked. Bee, for instance, with his rudeness. Bee is a thorough Theosophist, the Lilliefelts say.’ He just sat there. He never got up or spoke, but just gave a surly glance at Krishnaji and the rest of us.
‘At 3:30 p.m. there was a meeting on the school; Krishnaji went into the relation with parents, the participation of trustees, etcetera. It lasted till after 6 p.m. His stomach was still hurting from the morning. I made a very simple soup, and it felt better. At Arya Vihara I saw the TV interview that Krishnaji gave the other day for the local broadcast.’

The sixteenth. ‘The weather had cleared in time for Krishnaji’s 11 o’clock public discussion on education. It was cold in the Grove. Krishnaji wore a heavy cardigan, and I was glad of my brown coat and gloves. People were not asking questions to the point; voicing their own theories. Krishnaji, as always, drew it into a whole. He wanted to sit quietly in the car and have me do marketing, so we had a fairly late lunch in the cottage. Dorothy came by and joined us for fruit. Krishnaji slept deeply for an hour. I napped, too, and then we took a long walk with Erna and Theo around Grand, McNell, Thacher Roads. 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. I typed. We lunched at Arya Vihara with the Lees, the Bennetts, the Simmons,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. We walked with Erna, Theo, and Alan Kishbaugh down Grand Avenue, and it was after 7 p.m. when we got back.’
The eighteenth of April. ‘Warmer with sunshine. Krishnaji rested all morning. I went to fetch our air tickets. In the afternoon, Krishnaji saw the Blackburns with their annual complaints. Then we went for a walk down McAndrew Road, and came up again for an early supper. We talked of how to redo this cottage, make two bedrooms, two baths, and keep the front sitting room where Krishnaji is now writing and said is a good place for that. On the north side, we could make a good living room and kitchen, also a guest toilet and a very small office where I can type and keep papers. Early to bed and early to sofa.’ That was my bed.
Saturday, the nineteenth of April. ‘A lovely day, driving through the valley to the Oak Grove, 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. Alan Kishbaugh had lunch with us and sat and talked with me afterward. He was born in 1938. He told Krishnaji how the Gurdjieff group in New York is run. He was part of it for a few years in the early ’60s. I had about a five-minute rest and then Krishnaji, who had had a nap, came in, and it was walk time. We stopped for the Lilliefelts and went around the block. All kinds of people are coming forward to help with the school. Mark is deluged with people responding to the appeal. The architects have given us approximate figures; to shoot for $3 million would do nicely as a beginning.’

Sunday, the twentieth of April. ‘A beautiful morning, cloudless, the smell of orange blossoms, the warmth of beginning. Krishnaji gave his fourth talk in the Grove on the religious life: “You must be nothing.” Something opens in me to this; it is like the resonance of a 'bell of truth', the sound empties me—''to be psychologically nothing''. He stood for a while by the car, Alan Kishbaugh standing guard and walking him through the crowd. Blackburn distinguished himself. He sits behind Krishnaji, supposedly seeing to the PA system, but as we have a professional, he does nothing. Krishnaji doesn’t want him there, and says he is getting delusions that he should be talking.

‘We had lunch alone. There was a tea party at Arya Vihara, and Krishnaji came. Later, we went for a walk, but only a hundred yards down the hill; he said the body is tired, so we came back. 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. Dorothy and Montague came in to the cottage on their way back to next door.’
April twenty-first. ‘Packed. Put the cottage in order. Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, and I went to the K&R office at 11 a.m. Krishnaji remained in the car. Erna, Theo, and I went in as Rajagopal opened the door. Austin Bee was at the typewriter and looked up, and this time I made him reply by saying “Good morning, Mr. Bee.” Erna did the same, so he muttered a good morning without rising.’
‘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.’
‘I said that he kept very orderly records, how could he not be sure what had happened to such an important archive?’
‘He didn’t wish to answer questions. He said that he hadn’t come to answer questions. We had come without friendly spirits and all sorts of interpretations of the agreement. The court would have to settle it, or we could bring the sheriff. There were things that had to be settled about Harper & Row, a reference to their putting KFA as the party to be written to in the new edition of a KWINC book. He implied that Krishnaji had broken the agreement in telling him to resign.’
‘I said that we had shown considerable politeness and forbearance in the face of his tirades which he offered instead of our seeing anything. The word forbearance registered.’
‘We said that he had repeatedly jibed at Krishnaji for not speaking to him, and that finally when he did it again, Krishnaji had said “I will speak” and said that if Rajagopal really wanted to be in their old state of friendship he must resign from everything and do penance. I said that Krishnaji now wished me to tell him that until he renounces everything and establishes a relationship with Krishnaji that is not based only on the legal settlement, that Krishnaji didn’t wish to see him and that, if he had anything to say to Krishnaji, to write to him directly and not through other people “like Mr. Vigeveno.”’
‘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.’ That’s The Notebook.
‘We asked, did that mean he had nothing else?’
‘He said he would say nothing more and wouldn’t answer questions.’
I said he was both refusing to show us things or to answer questions. Erna turned to Bee and said, “You’re a trustee. Do you concur in this?”’
‘Bee said, “Whatever Mr. Rajogopal says, I agree to.”’
‘Erna: “And the other trustees?”’
‘Bee: “They agree with Mr. Rajagopal.”’
‘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. Further, he wanted signed acknowledgements from Erna and Krishnaji. We refused for Krishnaji, but Erna signed. He said his lawyer had told him to make these available and he was doing so as a favor to Krishnaji. We took these and said we should leave, he would not speak further to us. Somehow, in it all, I said that we had no wish to discuss anything with him and had wished to see various things without his supervision. On this, he said angrily that he would not allow it. We left in a blast of his anger and semi-hysteria. His rages have the uncontrol of weakness, a tantrum quality. We were in there probably no more than fifteen minutes. There was probably more, but as I write this in the evening, I cannot think of it now.’

‘We found Krishnaji down the hill a ways, and went back to the cottage to try collectively to remember all that was said. Erna made notes. We telephoned Cohen, and told him what had happened. He wants to go with a photocopy machine and copy everything, but that would be endless and not include things we want. What is required is that he account for missing things and produce them. This business of his deciding what constitute archives is untenable. Cohen will begin by telephoning Christensen.’
‘Dorothy and Montague left for Los Angeles and a flight to London. We had packed the car and drove to Dieter’s place, where we tried out a Volvo station wagon and didn’t like it. Krishnaji talked at length to Dieter apart from me and came back to me saying I should get a diesel Mercedes. Another Mercedes!’ ‘I am tired of car preoccupations. All that is needed is an economical small car that can carry things the Green Beauty won’t hold. But Krishnaji is sold on Mercedes 'excellence' and of it being unsafe for him or me to go about in too small a car. We put off further talk about cars.’
‘He took the wheel on the coast road to Malibu. Driving, he asked me if I was too tired for a question. I said I was tired only of the car subject.’ ‘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.”
‘But the talks had an extra stretch of something in the Grove, something about it seems to open one to his words, and I felt that. The school seems to be rising, and things are beginning to happen. Staying in the cottage, I had liked, and explained that I react to a place, to beauty and character, more than to the people around. He listened to all this, but said he felt that there was more, something had happened to him. “I haven’t been tired,” an added vitality, and he felt something I was perhaps not aware of, was happening to me. Nothing was to my mind, but I said that what had meant most to me in his talks was his speaking of 'nothingness. “That is it,” he said. “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 twenty-fourth of April. ‘Desk, etcetera. Sidney Field came to see Krishnaji in the afternoon. The gossip is that Rajagopal is saying in Ojai that he offered the present settlement to Krishnaji five years ago, that he could’ve ruined Krishnaji, but he didn’t want to, etcetera.’
April twenty-fifth. ‘Began packing. Erna and Theo came to lunch, and we discussed the making of a resume of the case. First by fact, then by event as a record. Rajagopal is already spreading falsehoods, and we should have the factual record. Albion, Ruth, Mark, and Charles Rush, and Alan came. We discussed “patterns of architecture” for the school. Then John Rex, Reibsamen, and Nichols came and asked us their questions about the school buildings. Krishnaji had the idea that there should be no classroom building, but that each house should have an extra room for study. They showed us a sample of bricks, and Krishnaji liked a beige one. They all left after 6 p.m. The Dunnes gave a donation to the Foundation.’
April twenty-seventh. ‘A beautiful morning in Malibu. Krishnaji drove with Alan Kishbaugh and I with Amanda to the airport. Krishnaji and I flew at noon on TWA to New York. My brother had arranged a car to meet us, and put the makings of supper and breakfast in the RitzTower apartment.’

‘Krishnaji, my brother, Lisa, and I had lunch at the Lafayette restaurant. We talked of the Cooper-Hewitt museum where Lisa works, and of our intended school. Lisa suggested to try to get Mobile Oil to fund a public broadcast of Krishnaji’s, which in turn would generate donations for the school. Krishnaji and I went to see an Antonioni movie, The Passenger.’
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 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?’
‘After the meeting ended, Krishnaji and I had supper, and on television watched the final ending of the Vietnam War, as the U.S. completed its evacuation of an circled Saigon. The North has won, and the long, wretched U.S. involvement is over.’
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.
May first. ‘ went to the airport and took the 8:45 p.m. Air India flight to London, a very nice plane, attractively done, with excellent service, and a quiet atmosphere. There were vacant seats so each of us could have two and lie down.’

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

This post was last updated by John Raica Sun, 09 Jun 2019.

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Sun, 09 Jun 2019 #170
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline

(...) The lack of tile in the Long Hall and its new floor is a considerable improvement. There’s new electric wiring in the West Wing. Dorothy said all was chaos when she arrived and only this morning was everything in place. I unpacked almost all of our bags. Krishnaji went right to bed. I slept ten hours and spoke to Mary L.’
The third of May. ‘Finished unpacking, and put things in order. Water leaked through the ceiling to the lower hall. Krishnaji got up for lunch. Later he, Dorothy, Whisper, and I walked across the fields, through the grove, around by the lane. With a pedometer, it comes to two miles. We discovered that today. Krishnaji now has his supper tray at 6 p.m. A lovely day and a happy sense of being in this beautiful place again.’
The fourth of May. ‘Telephoned Filomena in Rome. She’s uncertain when she can come here. We walked in the afternoon. In the evening watched Shane on television, Krishnaji’s favorite, and it looks as good as ever.’

The next day, ‘I went over to Morton’s garage with a garage man to awaken the gray Mercedes. It looked alright after its winter hibernation. At 11 a.m., Krishnaji spoke to the school in the new Assembly Room. It was used for the first time. It looked and sounded well. Mary Cadogan was there and stayed for lunch. She and I talked all afternoon until it was walk time. Afterward, Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I drove the Mercedes to see how it was and to see a field of yellow in West Meon.’ Mark Edwards took photos of Krishnaji and some of the students. In the evening, Krishnaji was delighted to find Kojak on the BBC, and it didn’t matter that it was one we had already seen.’ We sat up till after 10.’
The sixth of May. ‘Dr. Parchure was to arrive today, but Dorothy received a telephone call from Balasundaram 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.
The seventh of May. ‘A quiet day. Did work putting the West Wing in order, and Krishnaji, Whisper, and I walked in the rain.’
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 manuscript and the introduction she is writing to it. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked later.’

The next day, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school in the library. It was a good discussion on authority, are we influenced, etcetera. During lunch, Mary and Joe came in on their way to stay the weekend with her sister Barbara Agar, 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.” And then he added, “I just thought of it''
‘I asked “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 reluctance—''embarrassment'', 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.” (Next Monday is his birthday.)’

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. There is an Indian boy here now whom Krishnaji thinks should be sent away, and his parents are simply using this place.’

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.” 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. It rained a bit, and I slept after lunch. Dr. T. K. Parchure arrived from India, his first trip here. A small, bald man with bright ferret eyes’ ‘ 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.’
Tuesday, the thirteenth. ‘Krishnaji and I took the Petersfield train to London. In our pleasant groove’ ‘we went right to Huntsman, where everything was pleasantly just the same. Krishnaji disappeared into the fitting room. I read Country Life, then Mr. Lintott brought out patterns—a lightweight tweedish material for a suit and trousers for Krishnaji,  and trouser material for me. Mary lunched with us at Fortnum’s. We talked all the way through about the book. Krishnaji is reading it in pickings at breakfast. He reads a page here and there. He is pleased about it and showed that he was to Mary. I gave her a copy of the notes Erna Lilliefelt took as I read Pupul Jayakar’s account in the K&R archives of the 1948 events at Ootacamund. I also gave her an envelope for Filomena in Rome that Amanda Dunne gave me. Amanda Pallant is going there to spend a week with Vanda. Krishnaji and I went to Hatchard’s and then came back on the 4:20 p.m. train.’
The fourteenth of May. ‘We had a medical review between Krishnaji, Dr. Parchure, and me of Krishnaji’s health matters. 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 seventeenth of May. ‘ Krishnaji spoke to the school in the afternoon, and did a taped conversation with David Bohm on what is reality and what is truth. Krishnaji is enthusiastic about it and wants to go on discussing with David each weekend.’
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.’

The twenty-first of May. ‘‘We drove on through lovely country, warm and smelling of spring, fertilizer, and growing things. How beautiful it is. I am floating in delight to drive through such loveliness with Krishnaji. It was less lovely near Esher, where road building is going on. Then we came to Wimbledon Common, where we had our picnic lunch sitting on a bench under trees. Krishnaji looked as young as when he walked there fifty years ago, and lived at West Side House with Ms. Dodge. We went on to the PutneyHospital. Mrs. Bindley has been there. She had fallen on the stairs, broke her hip, and lay there all night until the woman who cleans came in the morning. That was a month ago. They have operated on her hip and said she is convalescent. She was asleep when we came in. I took her hand and said that Krishnaji had come to see her. In her sleep, she said “lovely, lovely, lovely, lovely,” touchingly responding to the words, she must have understood subconsciously. Krishnaji took her other hand and looked at me with distress, wondering if she were perhaps only half-conscious now, but then she woke up and was her old bright self, delighted to see him, eager with questions and banging her hearing aid to make it work. We told her a little about the Ojai school plans, the visits to the archives, and the meetings with Rajagopal. She said she will be able to go home as soon as her son Jack returns from Spain and gets someone to live-in and take care of her. We left, Krishnaji saying we would come to see her at home. “I would rather die quietly than be put in a hospital,” he said when we were outside. It was a considerable thing for him to visit her in the hospital, as he normally will not go to one. This is a convalescent hospital, and relatively less distressing, but one can see his repugnance.’

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 the doing in the instant.
May twenty-fourth. ‘ 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. There were many things in this discussion. Jane and Ian Hammond were at lunch. At 4 p.m., Dorothy, Krishnaji, and I talked to Tungki about his being able to continue to live at Brockwood without compulsion to study. Then Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked and got back in time for Dorothy and me to go to the staff meeting.’

The next day. ‘ 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.”’
The next day, another dialogue between Krishnaji and David Bohm.
June third, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school and said, “I will teach them in spite of themselves.”’

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Mon, 10 Jun 2019 #171
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline

(...) On the first of June 1975 ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school in the morning on "silence" and "seeing", and then I spoke to a man from Leeds, a transcendental-meditation type, and told him that it has nothing to do with Krishnaji’s teachings. At 6 p.m. there was a staff meeting. David Bohm was there. It was proposed and accepted that Saral attend.’ I presume for the scientists’ conference that is coming up.
On the second of June, ‘it was cold, and it snowed in London for the first time in June since records were kept.’ ‘I did letters in the morning. Mary Links and Amanda Pallant came for lunch, and we all walked very bundled up. They 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.” Dr. P. gave me another lesson in giving Krishnaji a massage. I gave Dr. P. a copy of the biography to read.’
The next day, ‘It is a little bit warmer. I typed letters all morning, and after lunch went to Winchester for errands, taking Frances McCann and Carol Allwell. I was back in time for the walk.’
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 'Scot' 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. Krishnaji went to the dentist, Mr. Thompson, while I fetched remedies at Nelson’s. We caught the 4:20 p.m. train back. Today is the first referendum ever held in Britain on remaining in the common market. They say it is a heavy vote. Results will be counted tomorrow. 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 seventh, ‘there was more of the scientific conference in the morning and the afternoon. In the afternoon, late, we walked. It was a hot and lovely day. There was a staff meeting.’
The next day, with the scientist conference. ‘Dr. Julian Melzack and his wife Dr. Elisabeth Ferris joined the group, and once again, Melzack slowed it all down. Michael Rubinstein came as an observer.’ I remember Mr. Melzack, who I think was something to do with logic, disrupted the meeting, as far as I can remember, over and over. He was difficult.
On the tenth, ‘Krishnaji rested all day. Krishnaji had hay fever again after his walk. Dr. Parchure gave him Actad. Earlier he had had lacto-something, which is to work on the probable milk allergy, which Parchure thinks Krishnaji may have had since childhood. By treating this allergy homeopathically, Parchure hopes to affect his hay fever.’ Sorry to say, it didn’t work.
On the thirteenth, my diary says, ‘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…” he was on his back with his legs slightly bent at right angles, “…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.” Dr. Parchure gave Krishnaji a second dose of homeopathic lacto-something this morning, and said that Krishnaji’s feeling tired is a reaction to it. 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.’ 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. 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!
On the eighteenth, ‘I went to London, for visas, French and Swiss visas, but was back in time for his supper. I also got a book on elephants for Krishnaji.’

On the twentieth, ‘I went with Krishnaji to London. Krishnaji had a Huntsman fitting, while I bought a cardigan for Vanda and Lobb shoe brushes. We lunched at Fortnum’s. I bought two records of Segovia. Then, went to Krishnaji’s dentist where a broken crown was replaced. Pupul Jayakar met us there, and we caught the 4:20 p.m. from Waterloo. Pupul and Mary Links are staying in the West Wing.
June twenty-first. ‘There was a morning meeting of Krishnaji, Pupul Jayakar, Mary Links, Mary Cadogan, Ian and Jane Hammond, Sybil Dobinson, Dorothy, Doris, David Bohm, and me. We discussed the publication rights of KF India. Tentative agreement on Western publication, alternate years, Indian and Western books.
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. ‘Mary Links, Amanda Pallant, Pupul Jayakar, and I went to see the gardens at Hinton Ampner house, which are open to the public one day a year. It was lovely.’
‘Krishnaji’s energy lately is astounding. He talked, in all today, over four hours.’
‘Pupul left with Mary Links for London.’
The next day is the twenty-third. Krishnaji watched the opening matches of Wimbledon on TV.’ On the twenty-fourth, ‘There was a letter from Erna about a hearing at which Dr. Kelly of the Radix Institute got a permit to have the Institute in the Zalk house on the hill. Rosalind and Rajagopal testified for them, and against our protests. There was also a letter from Mark Lee about a HappyValley meeting. It sickened Krishnaji, literally. Later, he said the explanation of her hatred’—this is Rosalind—‘is an old one, “the fury of a woman scorned,” and that goes for Rajagopal, too. Erna says the stories circulating are that Rajagopal feels he was harassed by us during the archives visit, and had to be looked after by Austin Bee and his wife.’

June twenty-fifth. ‘It is hot and clear. We washed the car, then Krishnaji dictated letters. I spend most of the next day at my desk. ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school. Dorothy and Montague went to see…’ someone ‘…about Krishnaji’s citizenship.’
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.’

June thirtieth. ‘The school were all out in the driveway to say goodbye to Krishnaji. I quickly got in the backseat, but he refused to get in the front!’ He wouldn’t sit in the front seat. And so, to the laughter of the students, I gave in. Dorothy drove us.
We got to Heathrow by 2:30 p.m. We flew to Paris on British-European Airline, coming in by taxi from Orly and passed all the old familiar site Port Orléan, Port 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.’ ‘In this chaotic world, it was amazing to hear someone reassure everyone, and make the assertions he did.’ I remember that evening!

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. She didn’t want to lunch, so left, and 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.’
‘Krishnaji napped, then went to Mar de Manziarly’s in Rue Jacob for a meeting with journalists arranged and chosen by Nadia. Also, the head of Stock, publishers of the L’Éveil de l’Intelligence, and a Mr. Christian de Bertillat, and André Bay, director of Librairie Stock. 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. 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” and another energy when it does. He left them with just that hint’ ‘We walked to the rue de Beaune, and taxied back.’ 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 Hermès tried to find him a ready-made pair of moccasins, but they were all too big.

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. We went downstairs afterward.’ That means to the flat. ‘It’s the first time that I’ve been in the apartment since just after Father’s death.’. ‘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. Then, I rang a friend…’ It has nothing to do with all this.
Thursday, the third of July. We left the Plaza at 10 a.m., and taxied to Orly. 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. Bureaucratic faces, and a grey monster building—rather depressing. After lunch, Krishnaji and I took the station wagon into the center of town, parked underground, and walked to Patek for the annual watch regulation. And then to Jacquet, where about eight handsome silks were chosen to be made into ties. Krishnaji was very pleased. One more old grace and skill that is still possible to enjoy. 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, ‘I took the station wagon to Hertz, and got instead a small Peugeot 104. I stopped in the village for various necessities, and spent the rest of the day getting settled. Krishnaji stayed in bed. It rained, and cleared the air and his hay fever symptoms.’
The fifth of July. I finished errands. Frances McCann and Carol Allwell came in the afternoon. Carol brought the kefir which I forgot in West Wing kitchen.’
On the sixth, nothing happened—‘rested, read, Krishnaji stayed in bed.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji continues to rest. Mar de Manziarly, here for the talks, came to lunch. Krishnaji takes all his meals in his rooms, but he “put his hands” on Mar. She had a heart attack during the winter. Krishnaji walked down to the barber for a haircut, and we drove back. Mar feels that too much is put in the biography.’
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.’ That’s Mrs. Gandhi. ‘The prices of food staples have been lowered.’

July eleventh. ‘The Simmonses just arrived in the Land Rover. 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.’
‘Isabel Biascoechea came to lunch. It is the first time we have seen her since Enrique’s death in November. I took a nap in the afternoon, and later Krishnaji and I walked to the river and back.’
July fourteenth, Krishnaji and I walked to the river. There was a letter from Erna about a $100,000 donation obtained by Evelyne for the school. The court ordered Cohen, Christensen, and the trustees of each side to meet July thirtieth to iron out the remaining difficulties about the easements with Rajagopal and the Vigevenos, archives, and certain changes in the K&R charter. Krishnaji wants OjaiEducationalCenter activities to be decided upon by himself, plus David Bohm and me.’
On the sixteenth, ‘the Siddoo sisters brought more Indian mangoes to Krishnaji, and diagnosed my neck swelling as mumps. Prescribed vitamin C. My left side is also affected, but not as severely as the right. Krishnaji talked to the Siddoos about the architecture of the school, while Mary Cadogan and I went in another room and discussed Foundation matters.
July seventeenth, ‘Krishnaji gave a tremendous third talk in the tent. More on 'suffering' and 'love'; a very special talk; blazing energy. Vanda’s brother and sister-in-law, Passigli and David Bohm to lunch. Krishnaji talked briefly to David about our settling policy and direction for the Educational Center. I took Vanda to the village on errands, and deposited half the Tannegg rent for this summer to her account.

‘In the afternoon, Krishnaji and David Bohm did a dialogue. Dorothy, Vanda, Saral, and I were present. 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.’

Now, the twentieth of July. ‘Krishnaji gave his fourth Saanen talk, again very fine, on 'nothingness'. Dr. Liechty came briefly to greet him at Tannegg. 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.
Tuesday, July twenty-second. ‘Krishnaji gave his fifth Saanen talk, this one on pleasure and joy. He slept before lunch. At 4 p.m., he saw Dr. Colon and Sendra. He had summoned them to find out about Sendra’s 'guru behavior' when he toured South America. I put the cassette recorder on and left. Sendra says he described his “meditation.” “So, you become the little guru,” said Krishnaji. When they left, Krishnaji  walked alone 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. I took Radha to the train. She flies to India tonight. Mrs. Sloss and Mrs. Duke’—that is the mother-in-law of Radha Sloss, a nice woman—‘came to tea. Krishnaji made a short, vague appearance and went for his walk. When the two left, I went up the hill to join him. To walk alone and in silence is good for him at present.’

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. Dorothy and Saral were present.’
July twenty-seventh. ‘Krishnaji gave the seventh talk in Saanen. The Simmonses were in to lunch. I slept in the afternoon. I feel undissolved fatigue at times. Krishnaji walked, and I joined him a little later. He goes twice through the woods, as far as the barn.
The next day, ‘to give Fosca a rest, Krishnaji and I took Anneke to lunch at the Park Hotel. We told her some of the Rajagopal story since the settlement, and she was appalled. She never had a reply from Rosalind Rajagopal after that letter in which Anneke told her to give back Happy Valley to Krishnaji. 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.” “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. ’

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.”
On July thirty-first, ‘Krishnaji held the second Saanen public discussion. The Siddoos and Krishnaji talked before lunch. At 5 p.m., I went to the tent and talked about the OjaiSchool to about fifty people.’
The second of August. Krishnaji held a fourth dialogue in the tent. Very fine. Narasimhan came for lunch briefly with a Dutch girl, Simonetta di Cesaro, and Fritz Wilhelm. Narasimhan is to give Krishnaji his opinion on whether he should go to India on Narasimhan’s return from there early in October. After supper, Krishnaji dictated a letter to Pupul. I typed it, and Dorothy and I took it to Padma Madholkar in Schonried. She will give it to Pupul in Delhi.’ I think Krishnaji wanted it to go through somebody, not through the mail.
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. That’s the parents of David Shainberg.

On the sixth of August, ‘Krishnaji did a taped dialogue with David Bohm. Saral, Dorothy, Montague, Yves Zlotnicka and I were present. The Bohms and the Simmonses stayed to lunch.
The tenth of August, was ‘a very quiet day. I slept all afternoon until the walk with Krishnaji. In evening, Dorothy and I went to a Menuhin Percival concert in the SaanenChurch.’
The eleventh ‘was desk for me. Doris, Dorothy, and Montague at lunch. Krishnaji and I to Kohli, the shoe man in Saanen. My space shoes were re-soled. Krishnaji bought a pair of Wellingtons. We came back and walked.’
The twelfth ‘was a rainy day. Krishnaji and I took Mar de Manziarly to lunch at the Park Hotel. At 4:30 p.m., I went to see Marcelle Bondonneau at Bel Air. Came back and walked with Krishnaji.’
August seventeenth. ‘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.” I talk to the 'tiger consciousnes' : “Be careful. Avoid man. Kill discretely.”’ At lunch, Krishnaji asked me what the van der Stratens had said about the biography. ‘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 (pain) 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, ‘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 involved, dedicated to living the teachings. He said he, those in India, and those in America, and England (foundations) must consider how he can spend the rest of his life most usefully for the teachings. He also asked if they had read Mary Lutyens'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 the New 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. I explained ‘No’ the first time. She rang again during lunch, 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.
The next day, ‘there was a letter from Mary L. with a good review of the biography in the Irish Times. We walked again.’

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. 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. ‘We gave Hertz its car at the airport and flew on Swiss Air to London. Dorothy met us. 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.’
On August twenty-ninth, ‘Krishnaji and I went to London. We lunched at Fortnum’s, then shopped for books. Krishnaji had a dental appointment with Hamish Thompson and had two fillings. I am getting a cold.

On the fourth, ‘I discussed a possible television interview with Krishnaji on German television by George Stefan Troler. Earlier, Krishnaji talked to Balasundaram about his being responsible for all the work in India. Krishnaji was doubtful about his going there this winter. All advice from Radha Burnier, Achyut, and even Pupul is to wait until things are clearer.
I offered the Mercedes to Brockwood to be sold. Later, Ian offered to buy it, but Krishnaji and Dorothy say wait and see where we stand after the Gathering.’
The fifth of September. ‘I mostly worked at the desk. Fixed flowers. People are arriving for the Gathering.
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. Krishnaji ate in the marquee afterward. Dorothy says we took in £1,300 sterling on the sale of food alone today. There was a meeting in the afternoon of the German publications committee with the Digbys, Cadogan, Edgar Graf, Giselle Elmenhorst, and Fritz Wilhelm. It was constructive. Graf and Wilhelm said that George Stefan Troler does excellent TV work, and urged that Krishnaji give him an interview.’
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. We ate in the tent. People overflowed it.
On the eighth, ‘Krishnaji discussed the affairs in India with Balasundarum and said it was up to him to create something at RishiValley and in all the rest of the work in India. As he talked, he decided not to go to India this year. I made notes on all that was said. We walked a new way across the fields in the evening.

September ninth. ‘Krishnaji held a discussion in the marquee. Many came in spite of the rain. It was on awareness. Anneke asked questions about the biography. Krishnaji gave excellent answers.
On the tenth, ‘Krishnaji and Balasundaram talked of RishiValley, etcetera, and I took notes. Krishnaji decided definitely not to go to India, and will fly to the U.S. on October fifteenth.
The next day, ‘Krishnaji held the second public discussion in the marquee and had his usual lunch there. I worked at the desk, and then a walk.’
On the twelfth, ‘Krishnaji had a third, long discussion with Balasundaram on India and also wrote a letter about it all to Pupul. Balasundaram has put forth a constructive plan for RishiValley, and the rest of the work, which Krishnaji approved, and added to.’

September thirteenth, ‘Krishnaji gave the third Brockwood talk in the marquee.
September fourteenth ‘was rainy and cold. Krishnaji gave his fourth Brockwood talk. In spite of the weather, the tent was crowded! At 1 p.m., Terrence Stamp brought Ravi Shankar and Alla Rakha and a group. All had lunch with Krishnaji in the tent. A 3 p.m., Ravi Shankar and Alla Rakha gave a benefit concert in the tent. He was enthusiastically received, but the cold and rain kept the audience small. Finally, by suppertime, it was all accomplished. Krishnaji poured out energy, had no rest, no walk, but was nonetheless very well. Balasundaram left, taking all the notes on what was discussed and approved by Krishnaji.’

On the nineteenth of September, ‘Krishnaji and I took the train to London. While he had a Huntsman fitting, I went to the U.S. embassy for his visa. I just got through the queue in time. They will mail the passport. Mary L. met Krishnaji at Huntsman, and they and Amanda and I all lunched at Fortnum’s. Krishnaji had his teeth seen to by Hamish Thompson at 2:30 p.m. All was done quite quickly, and we got an earlier-than-usual train back. “What wasted lives people allow themselves,” he said! “Society is sick. Western society has ruined the world!”

September twenty-second, ‘was the first day of school. The school meeting was at 9 a.m. We had about twenty new students. The next day, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school. Topazia Alliata and a friend from Winchester came to talk and to lunch. Topazia stayed in the West Wing. I went to Winchester to renew Krishnaji’s driving license, but got back in time to meet him and Dorothy for a walk.’

On September twenty-fifth, ‘it rained. Topazia came with Krishnaji and me in the train to London. Krishnaji had eaten breakfast too quickly and got a stomachache. He was walking bent over as he went to dress. He said, “I may not be able to go,” but it passed, and he did. The deadline of catching the 10:45 a.m train . seems to get him tense, and he hurries and worries, while having plenty of time. Having Topazia, the nonstop talker along, guaranteed further wear and tear. All the way to Waterloo, it was about the Italian “committee” and Barabino, who goes his own way appointing people who no one knows to head Krishnaji groups all over Italy, at which god knows what goes on. A Mr. Letteri, an old-fashioned type, is on the committee, and was shaken to his roots to attend a Barabino meeting at Biella, where Barabino sat guru-like in a lotus position and discoursed on Krishnaji to a group of eye-shadowed gay men.’ ‘Barabino collects money, and no one on the supposed committee sees any accounts, or knows anything about it, nor apparently wants to take any responsibility. Krishnaji said, “You are all irresponsible,” and that it was preferable to have nothing going on rather than all this. He wants the Bulletin discontinued in Italy; Barabino forbidden to use his name; the mailing list turned over to Cragnolini.’ Cragnolini’s name is to appear for Italy in all of the Bulletins. With most of this, Topazia agreed, but then we got on the subject of Rajagopal and Topazia voiced the opinion that he shouldn’t have been pursued by the law. Both Krishnaji and I pointed out, as strongly as possible, that the common thread in these matters is responsibility, legally and otherwise, for charitable funds, etcetera, and not having the right to let the Rajagopals and Barabinos act loosely with such funds; the position of the trust, etcetera. If someone steals from one personally, one may not choose to call the taker into account, but there is no such personal decision permissible as a trustee of funds, other people’s donations, etcetera. We talked it all out, but Topazia, as with Vanda, never seems to get it. They don’t 'listen'. They only voice their own opinions.

(...) ‘Mary Lutyens 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!’ ‘We left the Links’s, paused to buy cheese, and in hopeless rain were able to catch a cab to John Bell and Croyden. Krishnaji asked the cab if he would wait and take us to Waterloo. Oh yes, was the reply. “I’m leaving a package in the cab,” said Krishnaji. “It isn’t a bomb, is it?” said the cabbie.’ ‘“No, it’s only a Stilton cheese.” Smiles. Krishnaji brought his things in record time, and we got to Waterloo in time to sink into an empty carriage, and read all about the capture of Patty Hearst all the way back to Petersfield. It was pouring rain there. After a strenuous day I was relieved when he was back in a warm bed.’
So, the next day, the twenty-sixth, it says, ‘Packed.’ I was going to Rome. Spoke to Mr. Morton about the garage space for the Mercedes again. Krishnaji obviously wants to keep it, and my offer to donate it to Brockwood dissolved. 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.’. ‘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. I took British Airways to Rome to see and stay with Filomena. Vanda, who was to have come to Rome and with whom Filomena and I would have had lunch, is in Florence because of a train strike. So, we talked by telephone. I told her of Mary Lutyens’s not wanting her private letters from Krishnaji, etcetera, but only records of things about Krishnaji for posterity. Vanda said she would “do whatever you say”—meaning Krishnaji, and will talk about it in Gstaad next summer.’

On Sunday, the eighth, I flew British Air back to Heathrow. It was a warm sunny day in Rome, and the same in England too. After an hour’s wait for the bag, I got a taxi to Woking, and from there the train to Petersfield. Doris met me. Krishnaji spoke to the school this morning on fear, and did a dialogue, number ten, with David Bohm yesterday. I got back to Brockwood in time to have Krishnaji’s tray with supper ready for him when he returned from the walk. It feels so good to be back, but worth it, as he asks, to have gone to see Filomena.’ He always asked, “Was it worth it?” He didn’t like me going.  On Monday the twenty-ninth, ‘Mary L.  rang. I told her that Vanda is willing to do whatever about the second volume of the biography. 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.

The countryside is so beautiful. The smell of autumn in the leaves, adds to such a sense of love for being in this landscape. 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.’

On October first, 1975, New York is hot, in the eighties. We went out for a slight walk to get him a bottle of Listerine and went to the health store, where he picked up various things. We had an early supper, and he went to bed early. He woke up very early at Brockwood this morning, and it was cold there, and the difference is taxing. I feel very tired too! The ten days away from him, with its quiet and order, and then the atmosphere at Vineyard Haven, and the way that life is there, has been exhausting. And now life is back in order, with peace with Krishnaji.’
Thursday, the sixteenth. ‘Bud lent us his car, driven by Les Lewis.’ Les Lewis was a friend of my brother who does miscellaneous jobs for him. ‘Krishnaji and I went to White Plains to see Dr. Wolf. The autumn leaves are still on the trees—marvelous to see. Krishnaji kept exclaiming as he saw them. We talked about the possible film dialogues being pushed by Mrs. Kornfeld. 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. When we came back, we felt tired and had had enough of New York.’

So, the next day, the eighteenth, ‘At 10:15 a.m., in a heavy rain, we left for the airport, car with chauffeur driving; and 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.’ 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 woke up wondering where I was, and the ocean telling me.

On the twentieth, ‘I put things in order. The Lilliefelts arrived back in Ojai from a holiday motor trip to Vancouver and northern California. I listened to the tape of the Krishnaji and David Bohm dialogue made after I left, on October eleventh, on ''being without desire''.’ This is one he did after I’d gone, you see, and he brought it with him. ‘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.
On October twenty-first, ‘We went to town to the health food store. And we watched the World Series on television.’

The twenty-third. ‘It is a clear, beautiful day. We went to Ojai, Krishnaji driving most of the way. We left the Mercedes for work at Dieter’s and continued to Ojai in a borrowed car, a loaner. 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.’ Um, well, somebody was interfering with everything. ‘We discussed with Erna the situation 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. Then Ruth and Albion joined after lunch, and there was more discussion. We went over to the cottage, met Mark and the teachers, Elaine Needham and David Moody. The apartment attached to the cottage is set up as a school. We drove home in time for supper. I had a headache all day.’
The twenty-fourth ‘was a quiet day. I spent it mostly at the desk. Amanda came over in the afternoon. Helen Hooker brought our bread order, which I forgot to pick up yesterday.’ This is back in Malibu.
 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 October twenty-sixth, ‘we invited Evelyne Blau to become a trustee of KFA, and she accepted.’

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 and I lunched with Erna and Theo at their house. Then, we were joined by Ruth and Albion and went back to the cottage. Krishnaji had met three children, seeing changes in Arya Vihara. 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 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. In the car, coming home, I pointed out the need to review our plans for building in view of the difficulty in finding people, etcetera. Present plan calls for house parents in each house. How to find two suitable people. The plans call for the duplication of kitchens, for living rooms, etc. Krishnaji drove home, even though it was dark, slowly and with great control.’

Sunday, November the second. ‘Krishnaji and I drove Alain to catch his flight back to San Francisco. We were home in time for lunch. 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.’
November third. ‘It was a quiet day. I spent it mostly cooking. Gardening, watering, laundry. 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. Mark Lee attended the afternoon session about the school. Krishnaji and I left at 4 p.m.’
In spite of it getting dark, he drove the beach part of the way. A tiny silver new moon made his face light up with its beauty.’
The sixth. ‘Radha Burnier came to lunch with Krishnaji and me. We discussed the TS, and then KF India, and then more on the social and political conditions in India. Theo brought her and later fetched her. A letter from Balasundaram. Rajan’— the lawyer for Rajagopal in the case in which KF India was trying to get Vasanta Vihar—was willing to turn over Vasanta Vihar to Krishnaji personally in a separate trust.’

On November eleventh, ‘Mrs. Gita Sarabhai and a daughter, Palevi, and a friend, Mrs. Lee Mullican, came to tea.’ She wrote a book on meeting knew Krishnaji way, way, way back, the Sarabhai family.

Now we come to the twelfth. In spite of the Santa Ana wind blowing, we drove to Ojai, and met Mark Lee for a talk in the cottage. Then, Radha Burnier came and lunched with Krishnaji and me. We showed her the text of the articles of trust to be formed in Madras to have Vasanta Vihar. Balasundaram sent the text. Radha is named one of the trustees. 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.
The next day. ‘Krishnaji again did healing of Palevi, as she came with her mother and Lee Mullican, the painter, whom I met at Betsy’s years ago. Krishnaji told me that I am sometimes 'too slow' to drop conclusions. He meant that I point out difficulties, rather than let things unfold. That’s the truth. I’ve done that always. “You are dealing with something different here.”’ Also he 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 (the insightful ?) 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.”

At 2:30 p.m., he started a possible series of discussions of education. 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, merrily off’ ‘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. ‘Dieter met us there, and explained its ways. Then, he took the Green Beauty for its 6,000-mile service, and Krishnaji and I drove off in the grey diesel. Filled it at a diesel station in the valley; they are not too easy to find. We came back slowly. “It’s a new car!”’ What he was saying was…he made you creep in a new car for the first 100 miles at least. Krishnaji and I walked on the gleaming beach. Watched Kojak. He gave me healing. He is pleased, full of laughter, and so this day shines.’

The next day was the seventeenth. ‘Krishnaji saw Palevi and Mrs. Sarabhai at 9:30 a.m. A professional tree pruner began work on the big eucalyptus trees along the driveway. After lunch, Krishnaji and I went to town in the new diesel Mercedes to order mats for it. It drove very nicely, and we were both pleased.’
On the eighteenth, ‘Krishnaji again saw Palevi briefly. I was at my desk all morning. Tree pruning continues. We walked on the beach.’ See, there’s nothing on these days.

The nineteenth. ‘Krishnaji saw Palevi briefly for healing at 9:30 a.m. Then, we left in the diesel for Ojai. “I am a little shy of it,” said Krishnaji. But, then at Zuma Beach, he took the wheel and, looking very pleased, drove slowly, not over forty, laughing at our pace. “One sees everything this way.”’ ‘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. Nothing in Krishnaji’s education or surroundings influenced what he is. 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 'emptiness'. As he said that, it seemed to me that the light which I have experienced somewhat—is still in the realm of experience. And there is no experience in what Krishnaji speaks of.’

‘Krishnaji talked to Mark alone for a while in the cottage. . ‘We had to leave before 3 p.m. because of our slow driving’ [chuckles] ‘and Krishnaji not wanting to drive in the dark. We stopped at Dieter’s to pick up the Green Beauty, which had had its 6,000-mile service, and Krishnaji drove it home while I followed at forty miles per hour.’
So we have to go back to the small diary for the twentieth. ‘I drove Mrs. Sarabhai’s daughter back to the Mullican’s after she came to see Krishnaji. Krishnaji and I walked on the beach.’

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.’

The next day, ‘I cooked and worked at the desk. Spoke to my mother. Krishnaji and I walked. And then at 5 p.m., we went to the Dunne’s for an hour before their Thanksgiving dinner. We came back to our own supper. No turkey.’

December 6-th A beautiful day! Up early to cook the final part of the Spanish rice.’ He liked this dish I made called Spanish rice. ‘We packed the Green Beauty; at 10 a.m. Krishnaji drove it, while I followed in the grey diesel to Dieter’s. We left the diesel with Dieter to have its first 500-mile service and went on in the green one to Ojai. 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.” We unpacked at the cottage, and then walked to the Lilliefelt’s for lunch. At 2:30 p.m., in the school room of the cottage, Krishnaji held a discussion for parents and teachers. It went well. We took a late walk as the sun set and came back by moonlight. Early to bed.’

December seventh. ‘We went up at 10 a.m. to the Oak Grove and met architects, trustees, Mark, and Cynthia Wood. We walked all over and discussed the school building. Philippa Dunne and her husband had joined us and came back to the cottage. Krishnaji showed them the place. They and Alan Kishbaugh lunched with us. At 2 o’clock, there was a trustees meeting. At 3:45 p.m., we went back to the Oak Grove for more with the architects.’ We had teams of architects!

December eighth. ‘Architects and trustees met in the cottage. They showed us revised plans, and the suggested shape of a classroom building. Then, the architects left saying they will send us their plan for the business arrangement with the Foundation. Erna, Theo, and Evelyne lunched with us in the cottage. Krishnaji, Evelyne, Theo, and I walked in the late afternoon.’

December tenth. We flew on PSA to San Francisco and lunched with Mrs. Mathias at her apartment on Nob Hill. Then we took the 4:30 p.m. PSA back’ ‘to Los Angeles and taxied home, arriving at 6:45. A nine-hour expedition, and Krishnaji was not too tired.’
On December eleventh. ‘We were home all day. I did letters; some Krishnaji dictation; spoke to my mother at Vineyard Haven; and had a beach walk.’
The next day, ‘I worked hard at the desk all day. I did post office, bank, marketing while Krishnaji walked. In the evening, I telephoned Filomena in Rome about a trust I made for her. Balasundaram telephoned Erna about a compromise for Vasanta Vihar.’
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. We walked to lunch with Erna and Theo. Then, at 2:30, Krishnaji held a discussion at Arya Vihara. We composed a cable reply to Balasundaram and Pupul about their deciding the matter of Rajagopal’s lawyers on the Vasanta Vihar trust. We walked with Erna and Theo, and then Krishnaji and I had supper and spent the night in the cottage.
The next morning, ‘there was a meeting in the cottage of Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, and Mark and me. Erna and Theo lunched with us, and then Krishnaji and I drove back to Malibu.’
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.’ Krishnaji felt it more, he said, than Shiva Rao because “Subarao has always been with us. Shiva Rao was a politician.” We walked on the beach.
On December seventeenth, ‘I was up at 5 a.m. to finish notes on Krishnaji for Evelyne to give to lawyers about immigration

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Mon, 10 Jun 2019 #172
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline

(...) On December seventeenth, ‘I was up at 5 a.m. to finish notes on Krishnaji for Evelyne to give to lawyers about immigration. At 11 a.m., the trustees met, except for Alan Kishbaugh, plus Mark, the Siddoos, and Cynthia Wood and Krishnaji discussed the future of the schools and adult centers. We had a buffet lunch and further discussions till 3:40, when they left, and Krishnaji and I went for a beach walk.’
December eighteenth. ‘I talked to Erna, Jackie Kornfeld, and Evelyne, and it was decided to have a David Hoffman do the video taping of the dialogue with Krishnaji and David Bohm, and possibly Shainberg, too. I worked at the desk. In the afternoon, we washed the green Mercedes and walked on the lawn. Balasundaram telephoned Erna that the Vasanta Vihar case is settled.’

December twenty-first, This has been a weekend of many Krishnaji things. We drove up to Ojai after lunch on Friday. ‘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 too dangerous to keep. 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.’
‘Today I made lunch for Krishnaji, Erna, and Theo. At 2 p.m., an architect, Michael Head, who has built the office building, came to see what could be done about enlarging the apartment upstairs, and pushing both bedroom and sitting room out to include the porch.’ That’s the flat you’ve stayed in so often. ‘It seems simple. Then, two Italian boys who turned up last night at Arya Vihara having flown here from Turin, wanting to see Krishnaji, saw him for a few minutes.’ ‘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.”’

‘Before lunch today, Krishnaji had a very far-off look, while sitting with Erna and Theo. 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.”’
December twenty-second and we’re back to the little diary. ‘Krishnaji and I drove back to Malibu in time for lunch. Fritz Wilhelm was due in the afternoon from London, but his flight was delayed.’ The next day. ‘Fritz Wilhelm arrived to stay. David fetched him for me. We had a beach walk in the afternoon; otherwise, I cooked most of the day, making Christmas mousse.’
December twenty-fourth, ‘I cooked all day. Spoke to my mother and Wooge. My cousin is in a hospital in Boston. The Christmas Eve party was at 5:30 p.m. and supper at 6, then present opening. Amanda, Phil, Miranda, Philippa, David, Jessica, Mark Renneker, Bill Kirby, Fritz Wilhelm. Krishnaji came to the table and sat up the whole evening, which ended at 9:30 p.m.’

December twenty-seventh. ‘Krishnaji, Fritz, and Ted lunched and later, a beach walk.’
The next day, ‘Fritz and Ted left for Ojai after lunch. Krishnaji and I walked on the beach.’
The twenty-ninth, ‘We were home all the lovely, quiet day. It is as warm as summer. We watched pelicans fishing on our beach walk.’
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 stopped at Lindberg’s for a few things then 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. We then went to Westwood, bought a supply of thrillers from the Westwood Book Store. ‘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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Tue, 11 Jun 2019 #173
Thumb_photo_reduite John Raica Canada 468 posts in this forum Offline

 January first, 1976. 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.
.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[1] this week, but it was snug in the cottage. We walked a little. I made supper, and after some TV, bedtime came early.’
On January third, ‘we went to and then walked on the Oak Grove land, meeting Charles Rusch and Carey Smoot.’ They were architects involved with the plans that we had to build more buildings for the school, and ultimately to do something about Pine Cottage.

‘We were thinking about a possible place for an assembly hall.’ Well, we never could build that. We didn’t have the money, so that didn’t happen. Krishnaji and I lunched with Erna and Theo and then went to Arya Vihara, where Krishnaji held a discussion with teachers, parents, and Philippa Dunne and David, her friend, came too. Also present were Fritz Wilhelm, Ted Cartee, Joe and Carol. Afterward, Krishnaji walked with Fritz Wilhelm and asked if he would like to join the KFA as head of an educational center in Ojai.He said, yes. He would leave Germany and his teaching job there and move his mother to Ojai, some day.’
Sunday, the fourth of January. ‘Krishnaji saw David Moody at 12:30 p.m. Erna, Theo, and Fritz lunched with Krishnaji and me in the cottage and discussed his coming here and what was involved. At 2:30 p.m., there was a private discussion with Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, Ruth, Albion, Alan Kishbaugh, Mark, David Moody, Fritz, and Ted Cartee. Krishnaji came to a new expression of what there is when conditioning is understood and “chopped,”’ it says here. ‘“Then, there is a special something original,” he said.’ And I underlined “original.”
‘Afterward, Krishnaji spoke alone with trustees only, regarding Fritz heading the center. All agreed to it. Krishnaji then fetched Fritz and talked together. He is to think it over carefully, discuss the move with his mother and brother, a U.S. citizen living in Chicago, and when he returns here in April for the public talks, he will make it all definite and concrete. Krishnaji walked with Erna, Theo, Alan K., and me. And then we had tea. Fritz flies back to Germany tonight.’

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 an 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. We left in the usual rush. The presence of too little time again. And then I say to myself, “Am I too inefficient, or is it all really too rushed?” Practical things have to be done, and they take time. I do not seem to be able to do three things at once. But the ride back was quiet and unhurried. Krishnaji drove the second half. We looked for signs of rain over the ocean. Ojai has had only a half an inch of rain. We got home for lunch. I telephoned the hospital regarding my admission next Monday, and about material for curtains in the expanded apartment over the office—we are pushing the bedroom and sitting room walls out to include the porch area’—that’s upstairs—‘almost doubling its size. Krishnaji is very pleased, and chose the chintz for curtains, rather like the ones in his cottage sitting room, which he still exclaims over each time we arrive. After lunch, he said his head was “beginning” again.

On January ninth, ‘We left at 2:30 p.m. for Ojai, Krishnaji driving the Green Beauty. Another cloudless day, though, rain was predicted. One is impatient for clouds. Singing Frère Jacques,’ ‘Krishnaji smiled in recognition.‘After, we traded seats at the usual stopping place…’ There was a place, with some big trees, where we would switch because he didn’t like to drive in town traffic. He liked to drive on the open road. ‘…I drove and Krishnaji sang, as he always does, in Sanskrit, a chant.’ We stopped to get cheese and special coffee. 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?’ My cousin was terribly sick. ‘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. “Will you stay with it?”’
‘“Yes,” I replied.’
‘“No, I am asking it wrongly,” he said. 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.” 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.’ Michael Krohnen brought over some delicious things. Krishnaji and I ate alone, washed up, and I went to pick up Mar de Manziarly at the lumber place.’ The lumber place is on the road, and her sister’s house was back in the hills. As we weren’t very friendly with Mima (who was an ardent supporter of Rajagopal), I didn’t want to go to her house. So, Mar walked down to the road to the lumber place and I picked her up there. ‘She is staying with her sister, Mima Porter. I brought her to the cottage, and then with Krishnaji, we walked to Arya Vihara for Krishnaji’s discussion with teachers and parents. I spoke to Rusch afterward. It points to Charles Moore being the architect for the cottage. I arranged for a drawing plan of the cottage, as it is, to be made right away. I drove Mar back to Porter’s gate. Krishnaji, Kishbaugh, and I walked in the dark. Krishnaji told Kishbaugh that we need more young trustees. “I want to involve you more,” he told Alan. 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.’

January eleventh. ‘Krishnaji had Erna in to talk about my rebuilding the cottage and perhaps living in it for good; how to handle it.Erna felt that Louis Blau could advise. I somehow got lunch cooked and fetched Mar de Manziarly at her sister’s. She lunched with Krishnaji, Erna, Alan K., and me. Then, she stayed for the discussion with Krishnaji, Erna, Alan, Ruth, Albion, Mark, David Moody, Ted Cartee, and me. 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 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”’ (Friday).’“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.”’
‘I am still feeling this absence of fatigue. We talked more about the cottage, living there. David and Philippa were waiting for us in Malibu. They will stay there with Krishnaji till he goes to Ojai while I am in hospital.’

Yhe thirteenth. Well, it’s just about my surgery.
The next day, I’m still in the hospital. ‘Krishnaji telephoned. He went to Ojai with Theo. He’s staying in the cottage alone. The meals are sent over from Arya Vihara.’
‘Philippa’s David brought me my rings from Krishnaji.’ Krishnaji used to take, as he did with Mary Links, he would take my rings and he would either put them on his finger or put them at night by his bed, and he would magnetize them, whatever that means.
On January fifteenth, ‘I’m still in the hospital. Krishnaji telephoned from the cottage, and said that all is well. Dr. Miller said I could go home soon.

Now, the nineteenth. ‘They took out the rest of the stitches. The operation is over, the graft took. There was no malignancy. The surgery went as planned. I dressed. An ambulance took me to Malibu by 1 o’clock. Home, blessedly, home again. I bathed and got into my own bed!’ I have an exclamation point. ‘Elfriede gave me a tray with lunch. Krishnaji arrived with Theo in the afternoon. Such peace and blessed feeling. I am truly blessed.Happiness,’

January twentieth. ‘Krishnaji, after breakfast, talked of remodeling the cottage. Rusch has asked Charles Moore, who is eager to do the design. 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 Rosalind—‘to redeem themselves, expiate their sins 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.’ He 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.” I thought to myself that Rajagopal was and remains a crook and a miserable human being.’
Now we go to the twenty-second. I stayed in bed except for sitting with feet up at the desk for a while. Krishnaji has his lunch on a tray in my room. 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 BorgheseGardens 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.’

‘Krishnaji was to have gone to Ojai yesterday, but wished to stay here another day to do my leg. In mid-morning, he drove to Ojai with Alan Kishbaugh, and held a teacher-parent discussion at Arya Vihara, and will hold another tomorrow in the cottage, so he will stay the night in the cottage. I remained in bed in Malibu. Amanda came to see me, and I did a lot of letters on the dictating machine.’ I didn’t like dictating. I’ve never been good at dictating.
Anyway, the twenty-fifth. ‘My stepfather called saying there is a belligerent change in my mother’s character. I think she is getting Alzheimer’s. Krishnaji telephoned from the cottage, and said he is not too tired. Amanda and Phil came over in the early afternoon, and Philippa and David came later. Alan K. brought the just-made blueprints for the cottage as it now is.’
On the twenty-sixth, ‘I got up and dressed for the first time. Krishnaji arrived with Theo in time for lunch. At 3 p.m., Charles Moore arrived to start considering how to change the cottage. Krishnaji spoke of austerity born out of harmony. Various ideas were considered. It went well. Earlier at lunch, Krishnaji had talked very seriously to Theo about my having an absolute right to live there throughout my lifetime. He wishes to ensure this. He seemed pleased by what the architects have said. The conversation led toward an adobe or otherwise thick-walled house, small patio, a little fountain, tile floors, possibly solar heat and radiant heating. 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. ‘Elfriede was off, and I was able to get one breakfast. The leg seemed definitely better today. Amanda came and took to the secretarial service two cassettes of letters I’ve dictated. 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 said that he had felt I should not be alone here now without him. He felt it on the weekend. He wants to come with me even on errands for a while, and with me when I go to the doctor on the ninth. He feels this place is no longer safe—the city, violence is spreading. This house is no longer the refuge it was. 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.’
‘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 washed the green car with Sidney Field and waxed it.’
‘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. And no other. Do you remember the rooms where I used to live?”’—this is when he was a boy at Adyar. ‘“Below that, by the river, the 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'.

January thirty-first. ‘Another perfect, cloudless day, warm and beautiful, and disturbing—the last of January and no rain has fallen. Theo, and Mark to the HappyValley school board meeting. Krishnaji talked to the three of them. “We are the righteous, they are the unrighteous,” he said.’ ‘But if there is any opening of their wanting to be more friendly and our getting some of the land, we must meet it.’

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. Meals are now supplied by Arya Vihara, Michael Krohnen doing the cooking. At 3 p.m., Krishnaji held a discussion in the cottage with Kishbaugh, Evelyne, Ruth, Albion, Mark, Asha, Dr. and Mrs. Marx’—they were people who lived here and were interested in the school—‘David Green and his wife, Michael Krohnen, and David Moody. 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.’
February second. ‘It was a sunny, quiet morning. We lunched alone in the cottage, then we drove home to Malibu. Krishnaji is concerned about my leg, and will not let me carry anything, or drive too far.
For February fifth, there’s a small notation: ‘Rain! The first sprinkles since early December. Light but there. We drove in the grey Mercedes to Ojai in the afternoon. Krishnaji asked, “Do you feel the atmosphere here?”

Friday, the sixth. ‘There was light rain in the morning. We walked down the driveway to look back through the orange trees, heavy with fruit, to the mountains crowned with snow. Topa Topa and the whole northern range were white. Later, clouds re-gathered, and it rained on and off all day. Erna and Theo lunched with us in the cottage. Krishnaji brought up “saving the souls” of Rajagopal and Rosalind. I said earlier that I was without hatred for them but, personally, wanted or preferred to have nothing to do with either. 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' Later, when we were alone, I told him that everything I said for myself personally, I meant it all the way, but these are things that he must decide, and in responsibility to him, I will do things I would not do on my own. We left it at that.
So, we go on to the eighth. ‘It rained on and off all weekend. Five of the architects are here. We conferred, and came at noon to settle priorities. We are to start and ask for permits to build: 1. pavilion, 2. residences, 3. permanent classrooms, 4. an assembly hall. This means thirty day-pupils can study in the pavilion, and another thirty in a permanent classroom building, with Mark living in the residence. They showed us interesting designs that were inventive and suitable. Chuck Rusch told Krishnaji that he would be responsible for the building and so will other architects, but he will coordinate it. He said he had cleared his life of everything but two things, his teaching in the school of architecture at UCLA, and seeing Krishnaji’s school built. Krishnaji was pleased. Everybody lunched at Arya Vihara. Evelyne and Cynthia Wood were there. In the afternoon, Krishnaji held a discussion with Evelyne, Cynthia, Theo, Ruth, Albion, Mark, Asha, the David Greens, the Marxes, David Moody, Michael Krohnen, and me. Erna was with relatives, so that’s why she wasn’t there. Krishnaji spoke on seeing without reference to anything, without comparison, the energy of that. In the evening, Krishnaji played a tape of Doraiswamy Iyengar on Veena recorded a year ago at Bangalore.

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. We ate lunch at home, and he came with me to the UCLA Medical Center and waited in the car while I saw Dr. Miller, who kept me waiting, but said the leg is healing properly. Be cautious for another two weeks, and then I can do anything, he said. Krishnaji and I then did errands. We bought detective stories, a Michelangeli recording of Haydn concertos, some jersey shirts, things at Lindberg’s and got home by 6 p.m. Amanda says we’ve had two inches of rain over the weekend. Ojai had six. Evelyne rang to say that Cynthia Wood would give another donation to the school. Krishnaji and I watched the skiing Olympics in Innsbruck on TV. The ocean made a fine, growling sound.’
For the eleventh, my diary says only, ‘Desk in the morning, and went to town in the afternoon for errands. At home by 6 p.m., and Krishnaji met me near the gate.’
The twelfth of February. Erna telephoned that Cynthia Wood had sent a check for $200,000 toward the school building.’
February thirteenth. ‘The Dunnes nicely ignored my birthday.’ ‘But Alain Naudé telephoned. Krishnaji, of course, doesn’t remember such things. We got off for Ojai before my family could telephone. We lunched in the cottage with Erna and Theo, and went out to look at the Oak Grove land, where Carey Smoot had cleared up trees, bracken, etcetera. and an entrance from Lomita Avenue. It looked very nice. We walked around and back on Besant Road.

February twenty-first. ‘Charles Moore and Charles Rusch came with the cottage plans for Krishnaji and me to see. It was rather disappointing and the model they brought was ordinary, but the meeting was useful. Later, Krishnaji said that he and I could draw what we want and present it to them to improve and make professional. They lunched here. At 3 p.m., Krishnaji held a teacher/parent/etcetera discussion at Arya Vihara. I taped it. We walked later with Erna and Theo. 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.

The next day. ‘Krishnaji’s head is better but he is still in some pain. The trust deed for the new Krishnamurti Trust in Madras came, the entity formed to receive and function in Vasanta Vihar as a result of the court case against Rajagopal in Madras. Krishnaji signed it; we went to the bank to have it notarized, and mailed it to Radha Burnier, who was one of its trustees now. Then, we took a beach walk. It was beautiful after a small .15 inch rain in the night. Krishnaji was tired so we returned.

February twenty-seventh. ‘We left at 11 a.m. for Ojai in the green car, Krishnaji driving. Along ZumaBeach, he asked, “Have you any paper?” I found a scrap in my bag and wrote what he said. “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?”’
‘Krishnaji said, “After I’d seen you.” ‘I said, “Before breakfast?”’
‘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.’
‘He said, “I’ve had it before, but it was in the sense of 'going away' - 'withdrawing' is the wrong word. It was absolute stillness. 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. It sounds so damn silly. A totally uncontaminated…”’
‘He drove in silence after that for a ways, and I watched the ocean for a while: then I tried to describe what is for me the 'wholeness of seeing', which is somehow with all the senses. Color, its depth, the line and movement are felt not only in the eyes but with the body and it comes when there is no thought going on. It is the same with listening to music, to wind, to sea, to a voice. Krishnaji listened carefully and seemed to understand and say I was right.
So, the next day is Sunday the twenty-ninth. . Evelyne Blau went to see Rosalind about a piece of land with a ranch house on Besant Road, which she and Lou would like to buy for their daughter. Rosalind talked in a dozen directions in her confusion, and it went nowhere. “You can’t deal with her,” said Evelyne.
‘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.’ Also, 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.” Evelyne’s daughter and Mark’s meeting with Rosalind last week seem to have brought the picture of the same petty, conniving woman. 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.”’

March fifth. ‘We were off at 11 a.m. with Krishnaji driving. 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—sacred—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 (to bury) for that new house a jewel, austere, holy, nothing extravagant, showy.” There was a pause. Then, “Thank you for having me here.”’

‘At lunch with Erna and Theo in the cottage, 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.”’
‘He mentioned again that Priscilla Teiry has remarked that the two Rs were out to destroy him and his teachings. And then he said, “I think that is so.” Then, he told Erna not to worry about anything—it is all worked out. Everything will come right. He laughed as he expounded on this exuberantly.’
‘At 4 p.m. he saw Mark, David Moody, Chuck Rusch, Katie Marx, David Greene 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