Public Discussion 7, Saanen, 9 August 1969

Krishnamurti: This is the last discussion or dialogue, and I am sure you’re all very glad that it is all over. You have been rather bombarded, and probably emotionally and intellectually rather tired out.

All the things that we’ve been talking about, asking questions, may perhaps appear as being rather intellectual, superficial, without any great joy in it, and so I would… perhaps this morning we can talk about love and meditation, if that suits you. Can we talk about those two?

I wonder what we mean by feeling, what we mean by emotion, sentiment. Has sentiment, emotion, any relation to deep feeling? And is deep feeling related to thought? And is feeling, not merely sensory, but that strange quality of feeling that is totally unrelated to the outer and to the inner emotions, sentiments, reactions, certainties and doubts and fears, whether that deep feeling is any way related to love. Because, as we said, when we talk a great deal, discuss, argue, ask questions, there are a lot of words poured out, and it may appear that all this doesn’t really represent one’s deep, inward feeling. And so it might be somewhat useful if we could talk over together this question of feeling, emotion, sentiment, and whether love, which is a very strange thing, has anything to do with all this, with thought, and so on. And also if we could briefly this morning also talk over together this rather simple but complex problem of what is meditation.

I think meditation and love are related very closely. And the mere use of these two words may not convey the full meaning or the depth of these two words that one uses so often, not only in daily life but also especially with those who are a little more serious and talk about religion and enlightenment and duty and all the rest of it. And as these two are related, at least for me: what is meditation? What is it to meditate? Forgetting all that one has learnt about it, all that one has been told about it — the Zen, the Hindu systems of meditation, the Christian contemplative attitude, the various forms of attention, awareness — forgetting the whole of that, if one can, and begin to enquire, look, and find out for oneself what meditation is. Not knowing a thing about it — about breathing, sitting in a certain position, fixing your short-sighted eyes in the middle of the eye — you know, all that — and thinking you’re going to awaken various forms of centres, kundalini — I mustn’t… you know all that stuff.

So, what is meditation? If one were to ask you what value, what significance, what is the use of it, I don’t know how you would answer it. Probably you would answer it according to what you have learnt, been told, or read, or out of your sorrow, uncertainty, and the chaos in the world, say, ‘Well, I must find some release, some reality, some way out of all this,’ and join some school of meditation and get caught in that trap. And probably you’d answer according to your particular fancy, desire, hope. And if you put away all that too, what would you say? I think most of us would say, ‘Really, I don’t know,’ if we were at all honest about it, ‘I really don’t know and I don’t see the point of it.’ And there has been so much talk about it, so many people, and especially now it has become the fashion in the West to meditate and ask innumerable questions about it. And it has value only in relation to living, otherwise it has no value at all. That’s fairly obvious. And as one’s life is so confused, and all that takes place in one’s own small, little lives, meditation may have significance in the understanding of the whole structure and the meaning of existence. But if we divorce meditation from living then it has no value at all. It has a value of… as much value as going to a cinema, football, seeing football, tennis, or climbing a mountain or going to the moon. But if it has any direct relationship then one has to find out what it is. And what is meditation?

As we said the other day — forgive me for going on talking, I’ll stop presently — as we said the other day, to observe needs energy, that energy which is broken up into various forms of activities. But it is the same energy, used a little bit or expanded greatly. And we said attention is the focusing of all this energy without fragmentation. And when one so attends, that is, to observe, listen, watch, see, the mind must obviously be very quiet, very still. It’s only in that stillness you can really see or really listen. And so the stillness of the mind is part of this meditation. And the stillness cannot be induced, cultivated, day after day practised. And with this silence, quietness of the mind, look at all the responses, reactions and prejudices, fears, miseries, the quarrels, you know, all the things that go on in one’s life, so that the whole structure of existence, inwardly first, becomes somewhat clear, non-fragmented, and any problems that arise — any problem — and there must be problems, you can’t avoid them — understood immediately and resolved so that it doesn’t waste energy. And this can only be done when the mind is completely quiet inwardly.

This is part of meditation. And there is the wider significance of meditation to — not experience, because there is no such thing as experiencing reality, enlightenment and all that tommyrot — but a mind that is so alert, so attentive in itself has a quality of timelessness, has a quality which is not touched by thought. And thought always brings about fragmentation. So there is in meditation the sense of spaceless ecstasy, and there is something much more beyond all this which can never possibly be put into words. And if it were put into words it will not be the real thing. And you cannot look for it. You can’t go to a school to learn about it, or by sitting here day after day for the next ten months, you won’t get it. But the question that man has always been seeking, asking, this strange unknown, and to penetrate into that without the observer, to let that unknown penetrate in itself, is part of this meditation.

And — I will stop, we’ll discuss it presently — and in this meditative state of mind, what is love? Is it just emotion, sentiment, enthusiastic responses in which there is hate, confusion, anger, and all the rest of it? Or is it something that is never touched by thought? And therefore there is no question of what you think about it or I think about it. There is no opinion, no standard, no saying, ‘This is love and this is not love.’ And it’s only thought that says, ‘I give and I don’t receive love.’ It’s only thought that brings jealousy in what is called love. It’s only thought, through imagination, through pictures, that sustains the activity of sexual desires and action. So, is love desire, pleasure, and pain, fear? And this nature, this quality of love, one has to come to it as you’d come to some great beauty which is not the product of any thought, of any experience, of any knowledge. So there it is — meditation and love.

Now, after describing all this — and description is not the described, the word is not the thing — how can we, living in this mad, mad world, how can we have this extraordinary feeling? Reality, not imagination, not intuition, not knowledge, not something put together by thought, therefore no illusion at all. To have this extraordinary sense of stillness and love. That is the question. Can we talk about it? If one doesn’t, one’s life is empty. You may be awfully clever, highly… a great scientist, mathematician, artist or God knows what else — without this, life has very little meaning. Actually, it has very little meaning. You may have property, money, lead a most highly respectable, moral or immoral life, or take drugs to have experiences and all that — all that has nothing whatsoever to do with the other. So as one lives an ordinary life in a world that is very destructive, knowing that oneself is very destructive, governed by one’s own prejudices, angers, judgements and all the rest of it, how can we bring about this quality of mind?

Questioner: It’s not the right question, is it?

K: What, sir?

Q: He doesn’t think that’s the right question.

K: You don’t think it is the right question. All right, sir, put the right question.

Q: From time to time we have that quality of mind.

K: Wait.

Q: The right question should be how can you… [inaudible]

[Sound of train]

K: There is the train, sir.

Q: He says from time to time we have that quality of mind, but the right question is: how to maintain it.

K: We have from time to time that quality of mind — the religious mind we’ll call it for the moment — and the question is how to maintain it — that’s the right question. I don’t think that’s the right question because you can’t maintain it. It’s like having experienced a great sense of beauty, love, and, you know, clarity, feel it, felt it, observed it, then if you say it must be maintained then you can only maintain it through memory, when the very idea that it should be maintained is… has in it the element of pleasure.

Q: That’s not true, sir.

K: That is not true.

Q: Because if a mind is in order and therefore open, as you say it should be, it doesn’t only see the beauty in the world but also the ugliness, and therefore it might inevitably build up a defence mechanism, and that makes it dull.

Q: A mind builds up a defence mechanism which makes it dull.

K: Sir, you are very quick to say, ‘It is not so.’ I wonder.

I have experienced, one has experienced, walking alone or with some other, a sense of great beauty, and it goes away, passes by, like the perfume of a field full of flowers. And naturally you want that strange thing to happen again. That is human demand — it’s the most natural thing to say, ‘I have had this sense of quality of mind and it must happen again.’ Now what actually takes place? When you want it repeated, surely in it, is there not, the sense of pleasure, delight, which you have had yesterday, and also the sense of holding on, possessing that extraordinary thing, because with that you can live more, feel more, live a different kind of life. So when one wants to maintain it, you are maintaining, trying to maintain something that is dead. How can you maintain anything? Can you maintain your relationship, personal, private relationship, always at that level of intensity, which is called love, all the time? And you would like to maintain it because you have tasted it, you have felt it, you have known it. And you say, ‘For God’s sake, don’t let’s quarrel, don’t you nag me, I won’t dominate you, let us keep to that.’ Then that becomes the image, which is the memory. And most of us do live in images, in memories and therefore those become extraordinarily important, not to shatter the image. And therefore the real thing never happens again. This is obvious. It’s not a question of disagreement or agreement, you are right or I am wrong.

So we are asking — perhaps it may be the wrong question — we are asking, realising what our daily life is, living in this world, knowing the world is me and the ‘me’ is the world — not two separate, antagonistic, conflicting things, but this whole world, outer and inner is me — is it possible to let it all go, this burning, this ache, this violence, and have that energy in which there is no fragmentation at all? Because if one doesn’t come to that, one’s life has no… literally no meaning. So can one, realising all of this, as one sees the danger and acts immediately, in the same way can one realise all this inward burning and the outward burning, and end it instantly, so that the mind is in a state of non-fragmentation and therefore attention? And this is to be found by this peculiar awareness in which there is no judgement, no evaluation, and therefore beginning of attention and meditation.

[Pause]

I hoped it was half past eleven. [Laughter]

Q: There has to be an ending to the conscious process.

K: Oh, my! There has to be an ending to the conscious process. You see, this is just speculation again.

Sir, you have now listened for about three weeks — four weeks, is it? — to the talks and discussions, read or not read, been to India to sit down at the… with some swami, yogi, master, all the rest of it. Where are you now? Actually, if you look into yourself and are really honest, not fooling oneself, where are you at the end of all this? Just to observe where you are, not as a finality.

Q: Sir? A new language, how does one learn a new language without relating it in any way to the only language one knows?

K: How does one learn a new language without relating to the old language which one knows. If you had to learn Japanese, what would you do? Which has no relation to, let us say, to French or to any European language. What would you do?

Q: Go to Japan.

K: Oh, my! Go to Japan. [Laughs] Really, madame.

Q: May I ask a question, please? Sir, if you look at a skylark in the sky, it obviously has no problem, knows great love. How is it that we who are a whole part of life, should be incapable of love?

K: The sky is love, sir? What was it?

Q: The skylark.

K: Ah, the skylark. The skylark is full of that ecstasy as it climbs into the blue, singing. Why can’t we, who belong to a whole totality of life, why can’t we equally be rejoicing? You are asking me?

Q: Would you like five minutes of silence?

K: Would I like five minutes of silence. Whatever you like, sir.

Now, if you are going to be silent, be completely silent, without a single thought, without the interference of any past experience. That means completely emptying the mind, not just keeping the body still, that’s too childish, but to completely empty the mind. But at the same time, the brain which is responding to the various noises — the running of the water, somebody sneezing, somebody moving, an aeroplane going by — that brain being alert, watchful, does not necessarily cease responding, but the response is in relation to the complete silence of the mind which is the whole. So the brain must also have that quality of quietness and yet be aware of what is going on around it. Otherwise it’s dead, otherwise it is anaesthetised. Then in that state you can really be quiet, really still. But if you say, ‘Well, if I am still, I’ll be still because I am going to feel something,’ or, ‘I’ll be still because it is… we have talked enough therefore I’ll be quiet,’ then there are all dangers in it. So if you want to sit still… if the mind has… want the mind completely still, you have to understand all this, and only then you’ll be still. All right, sir, be still.

[Pause for one minute]

Q: [In Italian]

K: Were you silent, sir? It would be very interesting to see what actually took place, whether you are really quiet, alone. And there is the danger, with a large group like this, mesmerising each other into silence.

Yes, sir?

Q: When you talk, is it out of the stillness of the mind?

K: Can you…?

Q: No, can you talk with another person out of the stillness of the mind?

K: Can you talk a person out of his stillness of mind.

Q: Can you speak to somebody else when your mind is still?

K: Ah — can you talk to somebody when your mind is still. Why are you asking this question?

Q: Because I cannot.

K: Ah! Can you talk to somebody using a language, which means memory, knowledge, and be at the same time, or live, or have that still quality of mind? And when we asked, ‘Why are you asking that question?’ the reply to it is, ‘I cannot.’ Then what?

Sir, when you’re walking the green field, with many flowers, flowers of the spring, including hayfever, there is this enormous beauty round you. You’re very close to nature. You’re walking. The organism is functioning. And in that state of beauty, can’t you talk to another? There it is all round you and you’re part of it. There is no observer. The mind is extraordinarily alive, delighted, open, alive, you know, extensive, flowering, and somebody passes by or somebody comes along and says, ‘May I walk with you?’ You mean to say you lose that beauty because you walk and talk with another?

Q: If someone wants to express this beauty in sculpture or art or dance, you refer to the danger of special talent and gift, and I’d like to talk a little more about that. I know that it is the observation perhaps of one person but it could still lead to some kind of enlightenment to the person or the audience.

K: Let us first see this question, please, before we go to that.

You know, when you are among these fields and hills and mountains, you carry with you all the troubles, all the worries, all the problems. These troubles, worries and confusions separate you from the hills, the mountains and the rivers and the fields. And if you had no problem at all, none, leaving all your problems under lock and key in your house, then you’ll be part of this great light and colour and depth. And you mean to say out of that deep depth and beauty you cannot talk to another? Not losing that beauty because there is nothing you can lose — you are part of this whole thing. But when you carry your burdens with you, however small, then you are separate. And in that separation you may have at odd moments this sense of mind that is extraordinarily clear. Then you are afraid, and all the rest of the problem arises. The question is: is it possible to look at the world, at yourself, and at the lovely earth without this sense of separation? To look at a flower, the tree, the mathematician, without sense of the observer, and therefore no space between you and the thing that is observed.

Right, what is the question madame?

Q: You spoke of the dangers of special talent or gift. And if a person is trained or has the gift to express this very thing you’re speaking about in some kind of art form, is the danger that he then has to be an observer? And in that case can he also bring some enlightenment, despite this fact, to himself and to an audience?

K: I’m a bit lost.

Q: Can art convey anything of what you are talking about, and has it any value?

K: Can art convey anything what you’re talking about, and has it any value, specially to a man who has a gift — painting, writing — in expressing. And you said there is a danger in having a talent.

Isn’t there a danger if a man has great talent? No? If I am talented in painting, look at the temptations I have. I might become Picasso, great man, well-known, great deal of money, and it’s a tremendous strain. And I have the seeds of ambition in me, and that seed, through expression of painting flowers, becomes enormous. So there is danger. And we said one has to watch it. If you are gifted, watch it.

And what place has art in life? Right? I really don’t know. What place has art in life? I don’t know what you mean by art — pictures, music, writing, poetry, or yourself paint, museums? All that. To be cultured in all that. And if one has none of that — you understand? — no museum, never seen a picture, never read a book, would you call such a man who is completely one with nature, the world and the ‘me’, everything is undivided, would you call him uncultured? So one has to be clear when one asks this question: what place has art in life? If it is an escape — you know, the endless talk about art, the endless trotting around to the museums, one after the other — we have done it too — and the feeling that one is missing if one doesn’t have the latest book or hear the latest concert and the best conductor. And there is this green earth, the lovely sky, the beauty of the land. When you see that — the land, the rivers, the birds, the mountains — and feel deeply you’re part of this whole thing, then where are the museums, the concerts, the pictures, the latest books? For most of us, we have lost our intimacy, closeness with the beauty of the land and so we turn to something that will give us a sense of beauty. We are not saying you can’t go to museums — please don’t — or go to a concert or read a lovely poem, but when that becomes all-important, then you surely have lost touch with everything else.

Thank God it’s half past eleven. [Laughter]

I hope you’ll have a pleasant journey.