Page 16 - Krishnamurtis.Notebook
P. 16




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 it 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.


Isolation is known and so is loneliness; they are recognizable 


for they have often been experienced, actually or in imagination. 



The very familiarity of these breeds certain self-righteous contempt 


and fear from which arises cynicism and gods. But self-isolation 


and loneliness do not lead to aloneness; they must be finished with, 



not in order to gain something, but they must die as naturally as the 


withering away of a gentle flower. Resistance breeds fear but also 


acceptance. The brain must wash itself clean of all these cunning 


devices.



Unrelated to all these twists and turns of self-contaminated 


consciousness, wholly different is this immense solitude. In it all 


creation takes place. Creation destroys and so it is ever the 


unknown.



All the evening of yesterday, this solitude was and is there, and 


on waking in the middle of the night it sustained itself.


The pressure and the strain continue, increasing and decreasing 


in continuous waves. It's pretty bad today, during the afternoon.



July 1st It's as though everything stood still. There's no






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