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ISSUE No.l 2005.,;.

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..YOU

ARE THE WORLD &

THE WORLD IS YOU"


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19/34

il.

Religiously,

socially

and

politically, there

is the

constant

urge

of self-improvenoent.

........"Throughout

the

world

there

is immense

povefi

as

inAsia,

and

enormous

wealth,

as

in

this

country;

there

is cruelty,

suffering,

abandonment

of

the

self,

but on

the

improvement

the reflnement

of

the

self

which

is the

continuitv

of

the

self in

different

forms.

It

is

only

the

very

few

who break

away

fiom

society,

not the outrvard

trappings

of

society,

but

from

all

the

implications

of a society

rvhich

is

b.

Self-improvement

is

tt

Progress"

in sorrow,

not the

cessation

of sorrow.

There

is

progress

in

self-

improvement

-

I

can be

better

tomorrow, more

kind,

more

generous, less

envious,

and

less

anibitious.

But

does

self-

improvement

bring

about

a

complete

change

in one's

thinking?

Or

is there

no cirange

at

all, but

only

progress? Progress

implies

time,

does

it

not?

i am this

today,

and

I

shall

be sornething

better

tomorrou'.

That

is in

self-

improvement

or

self-denial

or

self-

abnegation,

there

is

progression,

the

gradualism

of

moving

towards

a

better

life,

which

means

superficially

adjusting

to

environment,

conforming

to

an

improved

pattern,

being

conditioned

in

a

nobler

wa,v, and

so

on. \Ve

see that

process

taking

place

all

the

time.

And

you

must

have wondered,

as

I have

whether

progress does

bring

about

a

fundamental

revo luti on.

To

me, the

importantthing

is

not

progress

but

revolution.

Please

don't be

horrified

by that

word

revolution,

as most

people

are

in

a

very

"progressive"

society

like

this.

But

it seems to me

that unless

we

understand

the

extra-ordinary

necessity

of bringing

about

notjust

a

social

amelioration

but

a

radical

SONIEVERY

DtrtrP

NSIGHTS

NTO

THtr

SELFAI\D

THE

ENDNG

OF'SORROW

injustice,

a sense

of li."ing

in

wirich

there

is

no love.

Seeing

a1l this,

r.vhat

is

one

to do?

What

is

the

true

approach

to these

innumerable

problenrs?

Religions

everYt'here

have

emphasized

self'-

improvement;

I

must

be more

noble,

more

gentle,

more

considerate,

less

violent.

Society,

with

the help

of

religion,

has

brought

about

a

culture

of

self-

improvement

in

the

widest

sense

of

that

r.vord. That

is what

each one

of

us

is trying

to

do

all

the time

-

we are

trying

to irnprove

ourselves,

which

implies

effort,

discipline,

conformity,

competition,

acceptance

ofauthority,

a sense

of

security,

the

justification

of

ambition.

And

self-improvement

does

produce certain

obvious

results;

Itmakes

one more

socially

inclined;

it

has

social significance

and

no more,

for self-improvement

does

not reveal

the

ultimate

reality.

I think

it is very

important

to

understand

this.

The

religions

that

we have

do

not

help

us to

understand

that

which

is the

real,

because

they

are

essentially

based,

not

on the

based

on

acquisitiveness,

on

en\y,

on

comparison,

competition.

fhis

society

conditions

the mind

to

a

particular

pattem

of

thought,

the

pettern

of

seif-imprcvement,

seif-

adj

ustment,

self-sacrifi

ce,

and on11'-

those

r,..'ho are

capabie

of

breaking

away

from

all conditioning

can

discover

that

which is

not

measurable

by the

mind.

So

everywhere

society

is

conditioning

the

individual

and

this

conditioning

takes

the

form of self-

improvement,

rvhich

is really

the

perpetuation of

the

"me"

the ego,

in

different

forms.

Self-

improvement

may be

gross,

or

it

may be

very

very

refined

when

it

becomes

the

practice

of

virtue,

goodness,

the so

called

love

of

one's

neighbor but

essentially

it

is

the

continuance

of

the'me'

rvhich

is

a

product

of

the conditioning

inlluences

of

society.

Your entire

endeavour

has

gone

into

becoming

something,

either

here,

if

you

can

make

it,

or

if not,

in another

world;

but

it is the

same urge,

the same

drive

to

maintain and

continue

the

self.

%

89oa....


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P.40-41


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28/34

zooi.

2006

2

TT{8,

LMGROAT}

he

sun was

beating

down

on

the rough,

pebbly

road,

and

it

was

pleasant

in the shade

ofthe big

mango tree. People from

the

villages

came

along that

road

carrying on their

heads

large

baskets laden with

vegetables,

fruit, and other

things

for

the

town.

They were

mostly

women,

walking

with

barefooted

ease, chatting and

laughing,

their

dark

faces bare to

the

sun.

They would

put

their

burdens

down alongthe

edge

of

the

road and rest

in

the

cool

shade

of

the mango tree,

sitting

on

the

ground

and

not

talking

so much.

The baskets were rather heavy,

and

presently

each

woman

would

help

another

to

place

her basket on her

head,

the

last

one sornehow

managing

by

almost

kneeling

on

the

ground.

Then they would

be off,

with steady

pace

and an

extraordinary

grace

of

movement

that had come

with

years

of

toil.

It

wasn't

a thing

that had been learnt

through choice;

it had come about

through sheer necessity.

There was

a

little

girl

among them,

not more

than ten

or

so, and she

too

had

a

basket

on her

head,

though much

smaller than

the

others.

She

was

full of smiles

and

play,

and

wouldn't

look

straight

ahead,

as

the

older women

did,

but

would

turn

round

to see

if I were

following,

and

we wouid

smile at each other.

She too was

barefooted, and

she too

was

on the

long

joumey

of

life.

Itwas

alovely country rich

and

enchanting. There were mango

groves

and

rolling

hills,

and

the

water that was

still running in the

naffoq

sandy

beds made

a

pleasant

noise

as it wandered

through

the

land.

The

palm

trees seemed

to

tower over the

mangoes,

which

were

in

bloorq

and haunted

by the

murmuring

of wild bees. Old

banyan

trees

also

grew

on

either

side of the road,

which

was now

busy with the movement of lazy

bullock-carts, and with chattering

people

who were walking from

one

village to another

on some trifling

business.

They

were not in

a

hurry,

and would

gather

to talk of their

doings wherever there

was deep

shade.

Few had

any.thing

on their

thin,

worn feet

and

fewer

still had

bicycles.

Now

andthen theywould

eat a few nuts,

or some fried

grain.

They had an air

of

gentle

kindliness

about them, and they had obviously

not

caught

the contagion

of the

town. On that road there

was

peace,

thought an occasional

lorry would

pass,

carrying,

perhaps,

sacks of

charcoal

so

badly loadedthat

some

seemed

ready

to fall off

at

any

moment; but they never

did. A

bus

full

of

people

would

come along,

making threatening noises

with

its

horn.

But

it

too

would

soon

pass

by,

leaving

the road to the

villagers-

and

to

the

brown monkeys,

of

which

there were

dozens,

old and

young.

When a

lorry

or a

bus

came

rattling along,

the

babies

would

cling to their

mothers; they

would

hold

on

until

everything was

quite

again, and then scatter

on

the road,

but never

going

very far away

from

their

mothers.

With their large

heads,

and

their

eyes

bright with

curiosity, they would

sit scratching

themselves and watching

the

others. The

half-grown monkeys

would be

all over the

place,

chasing

each other across

the road and

up

the

trees,

always

avoiding the older

ones,

but not

wandering

too far

away from

them either.

There was

J.

Krishnilmurti

a

very

large male,

old but

active,

who would

sit

quietly

by

the

road,

keeping watch

on

things.

The

or

thers kept their distance, but when

he

moved away, they

all would

leisurely follow,

running and

scattering,

but

always

moving

in

the same

general

direction. It was

road ofa thousand happenings.

Commentaries on Living:

Third

Series

P,121-122


29/34

True

Hducation

onventiona]

educatiou

makes

independent

thinking

extrem*ly

difficult.

ConformitY

leads

to

mediocrity.

To be

different

from ihe

group or

to

resist

enl,irorurtent

is

not

easy

and

is

cften

risky

as

long

as

we

"a'o1-shiP

suecess.

The

urge

to be

successfnl,

whisli

is the

pursuit

of

rervard

whether

in

the

material

or

in the so-

called

spiritual

sphere,

the search

for

inriard

or o*irvard

securit-v.

the

desire

for

comfort

-this

w'hole

process

srnothers

discontent,

puts

and

end ti'r

spontaneity

and breeds

fbar; and

fear

blocks

the

inteliigent

understanding

of

life

rvhit

increasing

age, dullness

cf

mind

and

heart

sets

in.

In seeking

comfort,

we

generally find

a

quiet

corner

in

iife

where

there

is

a

minimum

of

eonflict,

and

then

we are afraid

to

step

out

ofthat

seclusion.

This fear

of

life,

this fear

of

stmggie

and

of

neu.

experience,

kills

in

us

the

spirit

of

adventure;

Our

whole

upbringing

and

education

have

made

us

afraid to

be different

from

our

neighbour,

afraid

to think

contrary

to the

established

pattern

of

society,

falsely

respectful

of

authority

and

tradition.

Fortunately,

there are

a

few

who

are

in earnest,

who ale

willing

to

examine

our

human

problems

without

the

prejudice

of

the

right

or

of

the

left, but

in

the

vast

majority of

us, there

is no

real spirit

of

discontent,

of revolt. When

we

yield

uncomprehendingly

to

environment,

any

spirit

of

revolt

that

rve may

have

had

dies down,

and our

responsibiiities

soon

put

an

end

to it.

Revolt

is

of two

kinds:

there

is

viclent

revolt,

rvhich

is

mere

reacti*n

ir-,ithout

t"tnderstancling,

against

the existing

order;

and

there

is

the deep

psycholo,eical

revolt of

iatelligence.

There

are

many

who

revolt

against

the established

orthodcxies

onl;v

to

fali inio

ner,l'

orthodoxies,

furiher illusions

and

concealed

seit-indulgences.

What

generally happens

is that

lve

break

arvay

from

one

group

or

set

of

ideals

and

join

anothei'grcup,

take

up hither

ideais. thus

creating

ane\t'

paiiem

ofthought

against

tvhich u'e

wiil

aga.in

have to

revoit.

Reaction

only breed's

opposition,

and

refbrm

neeCs further

reform.

But

there

is

an

intelligent

revolt

w'hich

is not

reaction,

and

which cornes

with

self-know'ledge

tfu'oughthe

awareness

of one's

own

thought

ar:d

feeling.

It is only

when

ll'e

face

experience

as

it comes

and

do

noi

avoid

dislurbance,

that

rve

k-eep

intelligence

highly

awakened;

and

intelligence

highiy

awakened

is

intuiticn,

vrhich

is the only

true

guide

in life.

-Education

and

the

Signilicance

of

tW

P,

g-tt

"And

I

think

it

is essential

sometimes

to

go

into retreat,

to stop

everything

that

you

have

been

doing,

to stop

your

beliefs

and

experiences

completely

and

look at

them anew,

not

keep on

rePeating

like

machines

whetirer

you

believe

or

don't

believe.

You would

them

let

in

fresh

air

into

your

minds.

Wouldn't

you?

T'hat

means

vou

must

be

insecure,

inust

you

not?

If

you

can

do so,

you

would

be oPen

to

the

mysteries

of

riaiure

and to

things

that

are

whispering

about

us"

which

you

rvould

uot

otherwise

reach;

,vou

wouid

reach the

god

that

is

rr-,aiting

to

come,

the

trrith

tha.t

caru1ot

be

invited

but

comes

itseif.

But

we are

not open

to

love,

and

orher

finer

processes

that are

tahing

place

rvithin

us because

rve are

aii

tor: enclcsed

by cur

ou,n

ambitions,

by our

own

acliievements,

bY

our

or.vn

desires.

Surely,

ii is

good

to

retreat

from

all

that. Stop

being

a

member

of some

society.

Stop

being

a

Brahrnin.

a

Hindu,

a

Christian,

a

ir'IusUm,

Stop

your

rvclship, rituals.

take

a compleie

retreat

frorn

all

those

and

see

w'hat

happens,

ln aretreat,

do

nctplunge

into

somethins

else.

do

not

take

some book

and be

absorbed

in

neu'

knou'ledge

and nerv

acquisitions.

Have a

cornplete

break

r'-rith

the

past

anci

see

what

happens.

Sirs, do

it, and

you

will

see cleiight.

Ybu will

see

vast

expanses

of

love,

understanding

and

freedom.

When

your

heart

is open,

then

reality

can

come.

Then

the

whisperings

of

your

owl1

prejudices,

your

owlt

noises

are

not

heard.

That is

why

it

is

good

to

take

a retreat,

to

go

awaY

and to

stop

the routine

-

not onlY

the

routine

of

outward

existence

but

the

routine

which

the

mind

establishes

for its

own safety

and

convenience.

Try it

sirs,

those

who

have the

opportunity."

The

Collected

Works

of

J.

Krishnamurti,

VoL

W P,252


30/34

ir,

what

is seeing,

what is

listening

and what

is

leaming?

I

think

the three are

related to

each

other:

Learning,

listening

and

seeing.

What

is

seeing,

perceiving?

Do

we actually see,

or

do

we see

through

a screen

darkly?

A

screen

of

prejudice, a screen

of

our

idiosyncrasies,

experiences,

wishes,

pleasures,

fears,

and

obviously

our

images

about that

which

we

see

and

about

ourselves?

So

we

have

screen

after

screen

between

us

and the

object

of

perception.

Then,

do we

ever

see

the thing

at all? Or

is it

that

the

seeing

is boloured

or

prevented

by

our

knowledge,

experience,

by our

images or

the beliefs

that

condition

the

mind, the

memories

which the

mind

has cultivated

so

that

seeing

may

nottake

place

at all?

And

is

it

THEAMT

OT

il$TEHIHffi

possible for the mind

not

to

have

these

images,

conclusions,

beliefs,

memories,

prejudices,

fears.

and

without

having those

screens

just

to look?

I think this

becomes

a./ery

important

because

u,hen

there

is

seeing

of

that which

I am

taiking

about,

you

can't help

but act.

'fhere

is

no

question

of

postponement.

.

.

. .

.

..Because

when action

is based

on a belief,

a conclusion,

an idea,

then

that

ac.tion is

time-Lrinding.

And

such

action will

inevitably

bring conflict,

regrets and

all

the

rest

of

it. So

it becomes

very

imporlant

to

find

out

what

it

is

to

see,

to

perceive, what

it

is

to

listen.

Do I ever

listen?

When one

is

married,

has a

u,'ife or husband,

or

has a

girl

friend

or a boy

friend,

do

I ever

listen

to her or

him

? Or do

I

listen

through

the

image

I have

built

about them? Through

the

screen

of irritations,

of

annoyance,

dominatioil,

you

know

all

the

dreadful

things

that

occur

in

relationship?

So

do

i ever

listen

directly

to

what

you

say,

without

translating,

without

transfonning

it,

withoui

twisting

it? Do

I

ever

listen

to

a

bird call

or a chiid

weep

or

a

rnan

crying

in

pain?

You

follow,

Sir?

Do

I

e.,.er

listen

to

anything

?

A

wholly

Dffirent

Walt

sf

Living

P,135-136

de6 Eo d@

qr:opob

Oeoz@

6tsc

q ddodc

EQc,:to

goo8@mf

q1E

oOE.

doooJ dOrS

8O:::c,:n

Q

q1E Ozl

goco6,9

@ono

OSOzlco

zodOzrJm6.

d

@olme

qacoo:ocs8

Q

qrA

oo:

qar;dd

og?rl

oi6@O

qcOcd oOooJ Oco

cecC$o

g8Ocdcsd

0OO ozrJoOzlOc

q1o:.

6oOzoocstlt

q

E

eDd

onodzrioC

68

ozo omcdgp

@z::ee8.

9oro6@

8g Opood OOIE

EoOm o@6cs.

e:rtee

c,:g

gorop@

8g

ozl r:ra8.

dce

qq@

Od

daieod

cop

eOo

edOrr:csd o@


31/34

Oh Listen,

I

will

sing to thee the song

of my Beloved.

Where

the soft

green

slopes of the still

mountains

Meet the blue shimmering

waters

of the

noisv

sea.

Where the

bubbling brook shouts

in ecstasy,

Where

the stiil

pools reflect the calm heavens,

There

thouwilt

meetwith

my Beloved.

In the

vale where the

cloud hangs

in loneliness

Searching

the mountain

for rest,

In

the

still srnoke

climbing

heavenwards.

In

the harnlet

toward the setting

sun,

in

the thin wreaths

of

the

fast disappearing

clouds,

There

thou

wilt

meet

with my Beloved.

Among

the dancing tops

of the tall cypress,

Among

the

gnarled trees of

great

age,

Arnong

the

frightened

bushes

that

cling

to the

earth,

Amcng

the long creepers

that hang

Lazrly,

There thou wilt

meet

with

m1,

Beloved.

ln

the

ploughed

fields where

noisy birds are

feeding,

Cn the shaded

path

that

winds along

the ful1. motionless

ril'er,

Ileside tlie banks

where the

waters lap,

Amiclst

the tall

ooplars

that

pla-,v

ceaselessll'lr.ith

the

rvinds.

In

the

dead tree of

last

summer's

lightning.

There

thou wilt nieet

with mv Beloved.

In the stili blue

skies,

Where

hearren and

earth

meet

in

the

breathless

air,

In the

morn burdened

with incense,

Among

the

rich

shadow's

of a noonday,

Among the

long shadows of

an

evening,

Amidst the

gay and radiarri

clouds

of the

setting

sun,

On

the

path

on

the waters at

the close of the

day,

There thou

wiit

meet

with mv Beloved.

In the

shadows of

the stars,

In the

deep tranquility

of dark

nights,

In

the

reflection of the

moolt on still.,4,.aters.

In

the great siience

before

the

dawn,

Among

the

whispering

of

waking trees,

In the cry

of the

bird

at

morn,

Amidst the

wakening of shador.t's,

Amidst

the

suniit tops of

the f'ar rncuntains.

in

the

sleepy face of

the wcrld.

There

thcu

wilt

meet witl.r

my Beloved.

Keep

still,

O dancing

waters,

And

listen to

the voice of rnv

Beioved.

In the irappy

la--ighier cf chiidren

Thou

canst hear

F{irr,

-[he

rrusic

o'{'1he

flute

trs

IIis

r

oice.

T'Hf,SONG(

OF'

tOVf,

2005 - 200s


32/34

'fhe

startled

cry of a lonel,v

bird

Moves

thy heart

to teitrs,

For thou

hearest

His

r,oice,

The

roar of

the age old

sea

Awakens

the memories

That

have been

luiled tc

sleep

ByHisvoice.

The solt

breeze that

stirs

The tree-tops

lazily

Brings

to thee the

sound

Of His

voice

Tire

thunder

among the raountains

Fills

thy soul

With the

strength

Of

l{is

voice.

Iir thc roar

ol

a

vast

cily.

Through

the

shrill moan

of swift passing

vehicles,

In

the

throb

of a

distant

engine,

Through

the

voices

of

the

night,

The cry

0f sotrou,.

The

shoLrt

ofjoy'.

Thrcugli

the

ugliness

of

angel

Conies

the

voice

of

m_v

Be

lorred.

In

the distant

blue isles,

On the

soft dewdrop,

On the

breaking

w-ave,

0n

the

sheen

of waters,

On the

wing

of the

flying

bird,

On the

tender

leaf of

the

spring,

Thou

wilt

see

the

face

of my Beloved.

In the

sacred

temple,

in

the halls

of

dancing,

On the

holy

face

of the sannyasi,

In

the

lurches

of

the drunkard,

With

the

harlot

and

with

the

chaste,

Thou

wilt

meet

with

my

Belo',red.

On the

fields

of flowers,

In

the

towns

of

squalor

and

dirt,

With

the

pure

and

the

unholli

In

the flower

that hides

divinity,

There

is

my

well

Beloved.

Oh

the

sea

Has

entered

my heart.

In

a day,

I am living

an

hundred

summers.

O friend,

I

behold

rny

face

in

thee,

The

face

in

thee,

The

face

of my

rnell

Beloved.

Thi.s

is

the

song

of love.

The

ImntortaI

Frietari

P.

28-.$2

POS5

-

P006

;i:r.{

31


33/34

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2&SG

(

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1981 qon

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qJo


34/34

.00

00

50.00

g'V,ol.

t

'

ilntaries

on

Living

Vol. II

.,,,S$

msnlaries

an

Living

VCIl.

III

Education

&

the

Signiflcance

of

I,ife

Beyond

Violence

The

First

and

Last

Freedom

Why

are

you

Being

Educated

What

are

you

Doing

with

your

life

Total

Freedom

Can

Humanity

Change

?

Vision

&

Activities

Freedom

from

the

:l

Rs. 90.00

Rs. 375.00

Rs.

375.00

Rs. 525.00

Rs.

100.00

Rs.

100.00

..

R*.250.00

",'."Rs.

200.00

:

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