Monday, May 17, 2010

From Krishnamurti’s notebook

Walking, surrounded by these violet, bare, rocky mountains, suddenly there was solitude.
Complete solitude.
Everywhere, there was solitude;
It had great, unfathomable richness;
it had that beauty which is beyond thought and feeling.
It was not still; it was living, moving, filling every nook and corner.
The high rocky mountain top was aglow with the setting sun
and that very light and colour filled the heavens with solitude.
It was uniquely alone, not isolated, but alone, like a drop of rain
which holds all the waters of the earth.
It was neither joyous nor sad, but alone.
It had no quality, shape or colour;
these would make it something recognizable, measurable.
It came like a flash and took seed.
It did not germinate, but was there in its entirety.
There was no time to mature; time has roots in the past.
This was a rootless, causeless state.
So it is totally new, a state that has not been
And never will be,
for it is living.

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