Krishnamurti: The Years of Fulfilment by Mary Lutyens

Author:Mary Lutyens
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Publisher: Krishnamurti Foundations
Published: 2014-10-11T16:00:00+00:00

When the fever left him they went up to Il Leccio where he soon fell very ill. He seems to have had a recurrence of his kidney trouble, complicated by a severe attack of mumps. He was so ill that for several nights Vanda slept on the floor outside his door. When he was better he asked Doris Pratt to keep very quiet about his illness because people ‘worried too easily’.

Two months after leaving India he came to London where Doris Pratt had rented another furnished house for him at Wimbledon, ‘Casa Romagna’, 36 Ridgway Place (now replaced by Lantern House). Doris stayed with him there, Anneke Korndorffer came again to do the housekeeping and Joan Wright to drive him about. Public talks had been arranged at the Friends Meeting House and the Wimbledon Town Hall, and some meetings at the Community Centre, Wimbledon, for small invited groups for May and June.

Lady Emily was eighty-seven now and her memory was failing; nevertheless, K often went to see her and would sit holding her hand, quietly chanting to her, which she loved. He also visited Mrs Bindley. I drove him down a few times to Sussex to walk in our bluebell woods. During the drive he would ask after various members of my family and I would ask him about mutual friends in India. We never spoke of anything important in those days, and while walking in the woods we hardly talked at all. He delighted in the beauty of the woods, in the bird-song, the young beech leaves and the scent and sight of the thick mist of bluebells. He would frequently stop and look backwards through his legs at the blue carpet. I felt it was a relief to him not having to make conversation.

It was over thirty years since I had heard K speak, but on an impulse I went to his first evening talk at the Friends Meeting House on June 7. While I seemed to understand what he was saying while he was actually talking I could not afterwards have given any coherent idea of it to someone who had never heard him. Even now I find I understand him with that sense, that intuition, which grasps the meaning of difficult poetry rather than through my intellect. But on this occasion I was watching him far more intently than I was listening. The hall was packed; people were standing at the back. I did not see him come on to the platform; at one moment the solitary hard chair placed in the centre of the platform was empty; the next moment he was sitting there on his hands, having made no sound on entering, a very slight figure, impeccably dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, dark tie, feet in highly polished brown shoes placed neatly side by side. He was alone on the platform. (He is never introduced and he never has any notes.) There was complete silence in the hall as a strong vibration of expectancy ran through the audience.

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