Дневник Кришнамурти - [22]

yesterdays, however rich and beautiful, deny love.

You cross over a rickety bridge to the other side of a narrow, muddy stream which joins the big wide river; you come to a small village of mud and sun-dried bricks. There are quantities of children, screaming and playing; the older people are in the fields or fishing, or working in the nearby town. In a small dark room an opening in the wall is the window; no flies would come into this darkness. It was cool in there. In that small space was a weaver with a large loom; he could not read but was educated in his own way, polite and wholly absorbed in his labours. He turned out exquisite cloth of gold and silver with beautiful patterns. In whatever colour of cloth or silk he could weave into traditional patterns, the finest and the best. He was born to that tradition; he was small, gentle and eager to show his marvellous talent. You watched him, as he produced from silken threads the finest of cloths, with wonder and love in your heart. There was the woven piece of great beauty, born of tradition.

30 TH SEPTEMBER 1973

It was a long yellowish snake crossing the road under a banyan tree. He had been for a long walk and was coming back when he saw the snake. He followed it, quite closely, up a mound; it peered into every hole; it was totally unaware of him, though he was almost on top of it. It was quite fat; there was a large bulge in the middle of its length. The villagers on their way home had stopped talking and watched; one of them told him that it was a cobra and that he had better be careful.

Кобра скрылась в норе, а он пошёл дальше. Намереваясь встретить кобру снова на том же месте, он вернулся туда на следующий день. Змеи там не было, но крестьяне поставили там неглубокий горшок молока, положили несколько ноготков, большой камень, посыпанный золой, и некоторые другие цветы. Это место стало священным, и каждый день тут будут свежие цветы; все жители кругом знали, что это место стало священным. Он вернулся на это место через несколько месяцев; тут было свежее молоко, свежие цветы, и камень был заново украшен. А баньян стал немного старше.

Храм возвышался над синим Средиземным морем; он был в руинах остались только мраморные колонны. Во время войны он был разрушен, но по-прежнему был священным храмом. Однажды вечером, когда мрамор был освещен золотыми лучами солнца, ты почувствовал атмосферу святости; ты был один, не было вокруг туристов с их нескончаемой болтовнёй. Колонны сияли чистым золотом, а море далеко внизу было ярко-синим. Там находилась статуя богини, охраняемая и содержащаяся под замком, её можно было видеть лишь в определённые часы, и она теряла красоту святости. Синее море пребывало неизменным.

Это был милый коттедж в сельской местности с газоном, за которым хорошо ухаживали, подстригали и пропалывали сорняки многие годы. Всё вокруг выглядело хорошо ухоженным, процветающим, радостным. За домом был небольшой огород; это было чудесное место с тихим ручьём, почти беззвучно струившимся поблизости. Дверь открыли и припёрли её статуей Будды, которую ногой подпихнули к двери. Хозяин совершенно не сознавал, что он делал; для него это был просто удобный предмет для удерживания двери. Интересно, обращался бы он так же со статуей, которую он глубоко чтил, будучи христианином? Вы отвергаете священные вещи

The cobra disappeared into a hole and he resumed his walk. Intent on seeing the cobra again at the same spot, he returned the next day. There was no snake there but the villagers had put a shallow pot of milk, some marigolds and a large stone with some ashes on it and some other flowers. That place had become sacred and every day there would be fresh flowers; the villagers all around knew that that place had become sacred. He returned several months later to that place; there was fresh milk, fresh flowers and the stone was newly decorated. And the banyan was a little older.

The temple overlooked the blue Mediterranean; it was in ruins and only the marble columns remained. In a war it was destroyed but it was still a sacred sanctuary. One evening, with the golden sun on the marble, you felt the holy atmosphere; you were alone, with no visitors about and their endless chatter. The columns were becoming pure gold and the sea far below was intensely blue. A statue of the goddess was there, preserved and locked up; you could only see her at certain hours and she was losing the beauty of sacredness. The blue sea remained.

It was a nice cottage in the country with a lawn that had been rolled, mown and weeded for many a year. The whole place was well looked after, prosperous and joyful; behind the house was a small vegetable garden; it was a lovely place with a gentle stream running beside, making hardly a sound. The door opened and it was held back by a statue of the Buddha, kicked into place. The owner was totally unaware of what he was doing; to him it was a door-stop. You wondered if he would do the same with a statue he revered, for he was a Christian. You deny the sacred things