Krishnamurti's Notebook by Jiddu Krishnamurti

Author:Jiddu Krishnamurti [Krishnamurti, Jiddu]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Philosophy, Biography & Autobiography, Body; Mind & Spirit, Philosophers, Spiritualism
ISBN: 9781888004632
Google: eb8QAQAAIAAJ
Amazon: 1888004630
Publisher: Krishnamurti Foundation Trust Ltd
Published: 2003-01-14T23:00:00+00:00

27th

Several of us were chanting and singing; learning new chants and songs; the room overlooked the garden that was with great difficulty maintained as there was little water; the flowers and the bushes were watered by small buckets, really kerosene tins. It was quite a nice garden with many flowers but the trees dominated the garden; they were shapely, wide-spreading and at certain seasons, full of flowers; now only one tree was flowering, orange-red flowers with large petals, a profusion of them. There were several trees with fine, small delicate leaves, mimosa-like trees but with greater abundance of foliage. So many birds came and now after two long heavy showers they looked bedraggled, soaked to the skin, their feathers drenched. There was a yellow bird with black wings, larger than a starling, nearly as big as a blackbird; the yellow was so bright against the dark-green foliage and its bright elongated eyes were watching everything, the slightest movement among the leaves and the coming and going of other birds. There were two black birds, smaller than crows, their feathers soaked, sitting close to the yellow one on the same tree; they had spread out their tail feathers and were fluttering their wings to get them dry; several other birds of different sizes came to that tree, all at peace with each other, all alertly watching. The valley needed the rain very badly and every drop was welcome; the wells were very low and the big urban tanks were empty and these rains would help to fill them. They had been empty for many years and there was hope now. The valley had become very beautiful, rain-washed, fresh, filled with varying rich green. The rocks had been washed clean and had lost their heat and the stunted bushes that grew among the rocks in the hills looked pleased and the dry river beds were singing again. The land was smiling again.

The chant and the song went on in that rather bare room, without furniture, and to sit on the floor seemed normal and comfortable. In the midst of a song quite suddenly and unexpected the other appeared; others went on with the song but they too became silent, not being aware of their silence. It was there with a benediction and it filled the space between the earth and the heavens. About ordinary things, up to a certain point, communication is possible through words; words have significance but words lose altogether their limited significance when we are trying to commune about events that cannot be verbalized. Love is not the word and it is something entirely different when all verbalization and the silly division of what is and what is not ceases. This event is not an experience, not a thing of thought, the recognition of a happening of yesterday, not the product of consciousness at whatever depth. It is not contaminated by time. It is something beyond and above all this; it was there and that is enough for heaven and earth.

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