Дневник Кришнамурти - [20]

or some neurotic behaviour. You may be aggressive, violent and nasty in your conduct but sorrow is where you are. You may have power, position and the pleasures of money but it will be there in your heart, waiting and preparing. Do what you will you cannot escape from it. The love that you have ends in sorrow; sorrow is time, sorrow is thought.

The tree is cut down and you shed a tear; an animal is killed for your taste; the earth is being destroyed for your pleasure; you are being educated to kill, to destroy, man against man. The new technology and machines are taking over the toil of man but you may not end sorrow through the things that thought has put together. Love is not pleasure.

She came desperate in her sorrow; she talked, pouring out all the things she had been through, death, the inanities of her children, their politics, their divorces, their frustrations, bitterness and the utter futility of all life that had no meaning. She was not young any more; in her youth she had just enjoyed herself, had a passing interest in politics, a degree in economics and more or less the kind of life that almost everyone leads. Her husband had died recently and all sorrow seemed to descend upon her. She became quiet as we talked.

Any movement of thought is the deepening of sorrow. Thought with its memories, with its images of pleasure and pain, with its loneliness and tears, with its self-pity and remorse, is the ground of sorrow. Listen to what is being said. Just listen not to the echoes of the past, to the overcoming of sorrow or how to escape from its torture but listen with your heart, with your whole being to what is now being said. Your dependence and attachment have prepared the soil for your sorrow. Your neglect

изучением себя и красотой, которую это изучение приносит, питает вашу печаль; вся ваша эгоцентрическая деятельность ведёт вас к этой печали. Просто слушайте то, что говорится, оставайтесь с печалью, не уходите от неё. Всякое движение мысли усиливает печаль. Мысль — это не любовь. В любви нет печали.

29 сентября 1973

Дожди почти прекратились, и на горизонте клубились, меняя очертания, белые и золотистые облака; они высоко парили в голубом и зелёном небе. Все листья на кустах были чисто вымыты и ранним утром сверкали на солнце. Было прекрасное утро, земля ликовала, и казалось, что в воздухе пребывало благословение. Из этой высоко расположенной комнаты были видны синее море, вливающаяся в него река, пальмы и манговые деревья. Дух захватывало перед этим чудом земли и громадами облаков. Было рано, спокойно, и шум дня ещё не начался; транспорта на мосту почти не было, только длинная вереница гружённых сеном повозок, запряжённых волами. Пройдут годы, и здесь появятся автобусы, а вместе с ними — загрязнение воздуха и шум. Было чудесное утро, всё пело и радовалось.

Два брата ехали в машине в близлежащую деревню повидать отца, которого они не видели около пятнадцати лет или больше. Им пришлось небольшое расстояние пройти пешком по дороге, которая содержалась в весьма плохом состоянии. Они подошли к искусственному водоёму, в котором накапливалась вода; со всех сторон он имел каменные ступени, по которым можно было спускаться за чистой водой. На одном конце водоёма стоял небольшой храм с высокой квадратной башней, суживающейся кверху; вокруг неё были высечены барельефы. На веранде храма, выходившей к большому пруду, было несколько человек, погружённых в медитацию, совершенно неподвижных, как каменные изваяния на барельефах

of the study of yourself and the beauty it brings, have given nourishment to your sorrow; all your self-centred activities have led you to this sorrow. lust listen to what is being said: stay with it, don't wander off. Any movement of thought is the strengthening of sorrow. Thought is not love. Love has no sorrow.

29 TH SEPTEMBER 1973

The rains were nearly over and the horizon was flowing with billowing white and golden clouds; they were soaring up to the blue and green heavens. All the leaves of every bush were washed clean and they were sparkling in the early morning sun. It was a morning of delight, the earth was rejoicing and there seemed to be benediction in the air. High up in that room you saw the blue sea, the river running into it, the palms and the mangoes. You held your breath at the wonder of the earth and the immense shape of the clouds. It was early, quiet and the noise of the day had not yet begun; across the bridge there was hardly any traffic, only a long line of bullock carts, laden with hay. Years later buses would come with their pollution and bustle. It was a lovely morning, full of song and bliss.

The two brothers were driven in a car to a village nearby to see their father whom they had not seen for nearly fifteen years or more. They had to walk a little distance on an ill-kept road. They came to a tank, a storage of water; all its sides had stone steps leading down to the clear water. At one end of it there was a small temple with a small square tower, quite narrow at the top; there were many images of stone all round it. On the verandah of the temple, overlooking the big pond, were some people, absolutely still, like those images on the tower, lost in meditation.