Дневник Кришнамурти - [10]

The artists, the intellectuals, the scientists, admired and flattered so much are they sane? Or do they live in two different worlds — the world of ideas and imagination with its compulsive expression, wholly separate from their daily life of sorrow and pleasure?

The world about you is fragmented and so are you and its expression is conflict, confusion and misery: you are the world and the world is you. Sanity is to live a life of action without conflict. Action and idea are contradictory. Seeing is the doing and not ideation first and action according to the conclusion. This breeds conflict. The analyser himself is the analysed. When the analyser separates himself as something different from the analysed, he begets conflict, and conflict is the area of the unbalanced. The observer is the observed and therein lies sanity, the whole, and with the holy is love.

21 ST SEPTEMBER 1973

It is good to wake up without a single thought, with its problems. Then the mind is rested; it has brought about order within itself and that is why sleep is so important. Either it brings about order in its relationship and action during the waking hours, which gives to the mind complete rest during sleep, or during sleep it will attempt to arrange its affairs to its own satisfaction. During the day there will again be disorder caused by so many factors, and during the hours of sleep the mind will try to extricate itself from this confusion. Mind, brain, can only function efficiently, objectively, where there is order. Conflict in any form is disorder. Consider what the mind goes through every day of its life: the attempt at order in sleep and disorder during waking hours. This is

конфликт жизни изо дня в день. Мозг может функционировать только в безопасности, а не в противоречии и смятении. Поэтому он пытается получить такие условия при помощи какой-то невротической формулы, но от этого конфликт лишь усиливается. Порядок является преобразованием всей этой путаницы. Когда наблюдающий есть наблюдаемое, существует полный порядок.

На маленькой тенистой и тихой дорожке, идущей возле дома, маленькая девочка горько, надрывно плакала, как могут плакать только дети. Ей, может быть, было пять или шесть лет, а ростом она была ещё меньше. Она сидела на земле, слезы текли по её щекам. Он сел рядом с ней и спросил, что случилось, но она не могла говорить, задыхаясь от рыданий. Может быть, её побили, или сломалась её любимая игрушка, или ей грубо отказали в том, чего ей очень хотелось. Мать вышла из дома, встряхнула девочку и унесла. Она едва взглянула на него, потому что они не были знакомы. Через несколько дней, когда он шёл по той же дорожке, девочка вышла из дома, сияя улыбкой, и вместе с ним прошла немного по дорожке. Мать, видимо, разрешила ей подойти к незнакомому человеку. Он часто гулял по этой тенистой дорожке, и девочка с братом и сестрой обычно выходили и приветствовали его. Забудут ли они когда-нибудь свои обиды и свои печали или постепенно создадут для себя способы бегства и сопротивления? Хранить эти обиды, кажется, в природе людей, и это искажает их действия. Может ли человеческий ум никогда не ведать боли и ран? Не иметь душевных ран — значит быть беспорочным, невинным. Если вы не храните обиды, вы, естественно, не причините боли другому. Возможно ли это? Культура, в которой мы живём, глубоко ранит ум и сердце. Шум и загрязнение, агрессия и соперничество, насилие и воспитание, образование — все эти и ещё другие факторы способствуют усилению страдания. И всё же нам приходится жить в этом

the conflict of life, day in, day out. The brain can only function in security, not in contradiction and confusion. So it tries to find it in some neurotic formula but the conflict becomes worse. Order is the transformation of all this mess. When the observer is the observed there is complete order.

In the little lane that goes by the house, shaded and quiet, a little girl was sobbing her heart out, as only children can do. She must have been five or six, small for her age. She was sitting on the ground, tears pouring down her cheeks. He sat down with her and asked what had happened but she couldn't talk, sobbing took all her breath. She must have been struck or her favourite toy broken or something which she wanted denied by a harsh word. The mother came out, shook the child and carried her in. She barely looked at him for they were strangers. A few days later, walking along the same lane, the child came out of her house, full of smiles, and walked with him a little way. The mother must have given her permission to go with a stranger. He walked often in that shaded lane and the girl with her brother and sister would come out and greet him. Will they ever forget their hurts and their sorrows or will they gradually build for themselves escapes and resistances? To keep these hurts seems to be the nature of human beings and from this their actions become twisted. Can the human mind never be hurt or wounded? Not to be hurt is to be innocent. If you are not hurt you will naturally not hurt another. Is this possible? The culture in which we live does deeply wound the mind and heart. The noise and the pollution, the aggression and competition, the violence and the education all these and more contribute to the agony. Yet we have to live in this