The Star Publishing Trust, Eerde, Ommen, Holland, 1928
The Path
Part 1 - To Part II
J. Krishnamurti
There is not
a cloud in the sky; there is not a breath of wind; the sun
is pouring down cruelly and relentlessly its hot rays; there is a mist
caused by the heat, and I am alone on the road. On both sides of me
there are fields melting into the far distant horizon; there is not a
blade of grass that is
green; there is not a flower breathing in this heart-breaking country;
everything
is withered and parched, all crying with anguish of the untold and
unutterable
pain of ages. There is not a tree in the vast fields under whose shade
a
tender thing might grow up smiling, careless of the cruel sun. The very
earth
is cracked and gaping hopelessly, with bared eyes, at the pitiless sun.
The sky has lost its delicate blue and it is grey with the
heat of many
centuries. Those skies must have shed gentle rain, this very earth must
have
received it, those dead plants, those huddled up bushes, those withered
blades
of grass must have once quenched their thirst. They are dead, dead
beyond
all thought of life. How many centuries ago the soothing drops of rain
fell
I cannot tell, nor can those hot stones remember when they were happy
in
the rain, nor those dead blades of grass when they were wet. Everything
is
dead, dead beyond hope. There is not a sound; awful and fearsome
silence
reigns. Now and then, there is a groan of immense pain as the earth
cracks,
and the dust goes up and comes down, lifeless.
Not a living
thing breathes this stifling air; all things, once living,
are now dead. The wide stream beside the road, which in former ages
bubbled
with mirth and laughter, satisfying many living things with its
delicious
cool waters, is now dead; the bed of the stream has forgotten when the
waters used to flow over it, nor can those dead fish, whose bleached
and delicate skeletons lie open to the blinding light, remember when
they swam in couples exposing their exquisite and brilliant colors to
the warm and life-giving sun. The fields are covered with the dead of
many bygone ages, never can the
dead vibrate again with the happy pulse of life. All is gone, all is
spent,
death has trapped in its cruel embrace all living things –
all except me.
I am all alone on the road, not a soul in front of me; there
may be many behind me, but I do not desire to look back upon the horror
of past sufferings. On either side of what seems to be an interminable
highway of my life, there is desolate waste ever beckoning me to join
its miserable quietude – death. In front of me the Path
stretches mile after mile, year after year, century after century,
white in the blazing, pitiless sun; the road ever mounts, in
an imperceptible inclination. The whiteness of this weary Path, with
the glittering
sun, almost blinds me; look where I may to rest my tired eyes, there is
everywhere
that immense ocean of blinding light, blatant in its intensity.
The sun never goes to sleep but ruthlessly sheds his unwelcome and
awful heat. The road is not all even, but here and there are parts as
smooth as a lake on a calm, peaceful day. This dreary Path is even to
the tread, but unexpectedly, like some unsatisfied storm which suddenly
bursts forth into triumph in its joy of destruction, the road is broken
up and becomes merciless to the already bleeding feet. I cannot tell
when it will again become smooth and encouraging; it may be at the next
footstep or after many years of toil and suffering. This bitter road
cares not if it causes pain or pleasure; it
is there for me to tread willingly or unwillingly. Who built this road
of
misfortune I cannot tell, nor can the road mention his name. It has
existed for many centuries, nay for many millennia.
No one
has trodden it but I; it has been cut out for me to walk alone.
Companions, friends, brothers, sisters, fathers and mothers have I had,
but on this dreadful road they cannot exist. This Path is like the
jealous and exacting lover, hating his love to have other friends and
other lovers. The road is my inexorable love, and it guards my love
jealously, destroying all those who would accompany me or help me.
Exacting in all things both small or great, it never releases me from
its cruel, kind grasp. It embraces me with a strength that almost
chokes me, and laughs with a knowing kindness as my feet bleed; I
cannot go
away from it, it is my constant and lonely love. I cannot look
elsewhere but
only at the long interminable Path.
At times it is neither
kind nor unkind – indifferent as to whether I am
happy or unhappy, whether I am in pain or in ecstasy, whether I am in
profound sorrow or in deep adoration, indifferent to all things. That
enthralling Path
well knows that I cannot leave it, nor can it depart from my
sorrow-laden self. We are inseparable; it cannot exist without me nor I
without it. We are one, yet I am different.
Like the smile of
a sweet spring morn the Path beckons me to walk on it, and like the
angry and treacherous ocean it cheats me of my momentary happiness. It
holds me as I fall, in blissful embrace, making me forget the sorrow
and the suffering of the past, kissing me with the kiss of a tender and
loving mother whose only thought is to protect, and when I am in
complete oblivion and ecstasy, as a man who has drunk deep at the
fountain of supreme happiness, it wakes me with a rude shock from my
happy and ephemeral dream and pushes me roughly to my aching feet.
Cruel and kind is my lonely friend and lover, unexpected in her hard
tyranny and her delicious love. Does she like me, I do not care; does
she dislike me, I do not care; but she is my only companion, nor do I
desire any other.
The sun is scorching me and the Path
makes me bleed. I leave no footprints on that hard road nor do I see
the traces of any human being. So I am the only lover my Path has had
and I glory in my exclusiveness and separateness. I suffer unlike
others, am happy unlike others, and my obstinacy in loving her is
unlike that of any other lover the world has ever seen. I am breathless
in my adoration of her, and no other worshipper can ever lay his
sacrifice at her feet with greater willingness and with greater
enthusiasm than I.
There is no follower with a greater
fanaticism; not can there exist a greater devotee. Her cruelty only
makes me lover her more, and her kindness binds me closer and
everlastingly to her. We live for each other and I alone can see her
dear face, I alone can kiss her hand. No other lover has she besides
me, no other friend. As the young bird escapes from its restraining
nest with
its untried wings to enjoy the freedom and the beauty of the great
world, so have I rushed on this Path to enjoy the exhilaration of
loving her in solitude
away from others who might dare to look on her beauteous face.
Many winds of many seasons have battered me, like a dead leaf blown
hither and thither by autumnal winds, but I have always wandered back
to this enticing Path. Like a wave glittering in the hot ceaseless
sunshine, have I been dancing to the fierce winds; like a desert which
is bound by no mountain, have I lain
open to the sun; like the sands of the ocean, have my lives been. Never
a
peaceful rest, never has contentment filled my soul, never has joy
penetrated my very being and never have I been comforted. No smile has
ever compensated my longing; no face, sweet and gentle, has brought
balm to my aching heart; no kind words have allayed my infinite
suffering.
Neither the love of the mother nor the wife nor
the child has ever quenched my burning love; but all have deserted me
and I have abandoned them all. Like
some leprous thing have I wandered, alone and unwept for. Pain and
sorrow have been my eternal and inseparable companions. Like a shadow
has my grief clung to me; like one in everlasting pain have I wept
bitter tears.
Many a time have I longed for death and
complete oblivion and neither have been granted to me; many a time have
I looked death in its horrible face, tearing my heart and welcoming
joyously the terror of so many, but it smiled and gave me a blessing;
many a time, tired of wooing death, have I turned my face and footsteps
to the altar of love and worship, but little comfort have I found; many
a sacrifice, both of myself and others, have I made in the hope of
reaching the altar of contentment, but in vain; many a time have I
dwelt in breathless adoration, but, like the scent of a delicately
perfumed flower, has my adoration been wafted through centuries and
left me listless, and still on my aching knees; many a time have I laid
fragrant flowers at sacred feet, and no blessing have I received.
Many a time have I offered to the numerous Gods of many lands and
races, and the Gods have always been silent and Their look always
averted; many a
time have I been Their priest in Their sacred temples, but the white
robes have fallen off me and left me naked to the sun; many a holy
lotus of the temple have I kissed in adoration of the Gods, but the
lotus has withered in my hand. Many a time have I worshipped at the
altars that the world has ever created, but with bowed head and silent
have I returned.
Many ceremonies have I performed, but my
longing has never been satisfied; many rites have I delighted in, but
there has been no joy, no hope. In many a temple have I been
consecrated, but have received no comfort. Many a sacred book have I
read, but knowledge was denied to me. Many a life have I spent in
holiness, but my life has been dark. Many a window have I opened to
gaze at the stars, but they parted not with their profound wisdom.
Often have I
lain awake looking into nothingness, looking for light, but darkness,
intense darkness has ever reigned.
Often, in many lives,
have I deliberately followed, sometimes blindly, sometimes with open
eyes, the humble teachers of the secluded village, but their teachings
have left me at the foot of the lonesome hill. I have lived nobly and
toiled laboriously; I have restrained myself and I have been without
restraint. Often
have I cried, with aching heart and with bitter tears, for the Divine
Hand
to lead me, but no hand has aided me. I have struggled fiercely with
humanity
to gain the light, but the light and humanity have I lost. I have
meditated
profoundly with my eyes fixed on the goal, controlling all my emotions,
searching
for truth, but nothing was revealed to me.
Many a time have
I sought seclusion from my noisy brethren and tried to
escape from their petty and ignoble thoughts and worries, from their
false
and uncouth emotions, from their little miseries and sorrows which they
have
created for themselves, from their cruel hate and their infantile pity,
from
their puerile affection and their fleeting compassion, from their
unfair
gossip and from their warm and selfish friendship, from their bitter
quarrels
and their loud rejoicings, from their vindictive anger and their soft
love,
from their talk of great things which they know not of, and their
knowledge
of little things which they know so well, from their showerings of
honors
and their withering scorn, from their gross flattery and their obvious
contumely, from their fleeting desires and their petty aversions, from
all that was human,
longing for all that was divine, noble and great; but wheresoever I
have
been, and wheresoever I go, humanity with its terrible agonies and its
crying
pain has pursued me.
Many a time I sought seclusion and
solitude in the forest glade, dim and peaceful, but I found it peopled
with my thoughts and haunted with misery. Many a time was I thrilled by
the beauty of the world, the soft spring and the harsh winter, the calm
and glorious sunset and the heavenly and luminous stars, the waking
morn and the dying evening, the tender moon and the soft light, the
pitiless sun and the shadows numberless, the green grass, the velvety
leaf, the fierce tiger, the gentle deer, the loathsome reptile, the
dignified
elephant, the magnificent mountains, the boisterous seas. I have
enjoyed
to the full the beauties that the world can give, but no joy have I
found
in them. I have wandered in the shady valleys and climbed the
precipitous mountains. I have searched everywhere in vain and in pain.
Many a time, in many a life, have I practiced Yoga through starvation,
through physical torture, through self-denial, but I have not seen the
seated God. Desires and false emotions have I annihilated; I have lived
purely according to the sacred laws of many nations, I have done noble
deeds which the world has praised and honored, and it has showered me
with earthly glories. I have never bowed my bleeding head to sorrow or
to temptation. I have made pilgrimages to the earth's sacred abodes;
but always and everywhere have I found no true and lasting comfort.
Visions have I had in the temples of Nineveh, Babylon, Egypt, and in
the sacred temples of holy India; their Gods have I worshipped, denying
earthly happiness, renouncing father, mother, wife and child, noble and
petty, offering sacrifices great and small, noble and petty,
sacrificing my body and my very soul for the light to guide me;
contentment has been denied me in all things I have done.
I
have loved divinely, I have suffered nobly, I have smiled joyously, I
have danced rapturously in front of many Gods, I have been intoxicated
with
divinity, I have longed to be freed from this aching world. I have
helped
many though helping I needed most; I have healed many though healing I
needed
most; I have guided many though guidance I needed most; I have
comforted
when comfort I needed most. When in deep sorrow I have smiled, when
joyous,
I have grieved; losing, I was happy; gaining, I was miserable; and ever
have
I loved by God.
Yet my soul is in utter chaos, yet I am
pitiably blind, surrounded by darkness and unrealities, yet the pure
light is denied me, yet healing comfort have I none, yet soothing
contentment is withheld, yet blissful happiness is nowhere to be found,
and I am alone, lonely as a wanderer in the sky. I am alone with
myself.
Tired of worship and adoration, tired of solitude
and loneliness, tired
of seeking and longing for divine happiness, tired of sacrifice and
self-mortification, tired of searching for the light and the truth,
tired of being noble and unselfish,
tired of the struggle and the steep climb, tired of body and soul, I
threw
myself with a vigour and an uproar into the material world, hoping thus
to
gain the ungainable and the unfathomable.
I became young and
healthy, beautiful and passionate, free and joyous, gay without a
thought for the morrow, carefree and careless. I set about diligently
and systematically to enjoy myself supremely and selfishly, heeding
nothing but bodily pleasure and flashes of mental enjoyment. I set
about to gain and
to taste every experience both low and high that the mortal world could
give
me; nothing could be withheld from me, supreme pleasure was my sole aim.
Often was I born rich, to sleep in the lap of luxury and to enjoy the
lull of flattery. Youth was on my side and beauty was not denied to me;
with these two the world and its gross and unappetising pleasures were
ever upon me. Foremost in all that was boisterous and lively was I;
surrounded by the licentious the untold pleasures of youth had I from
morning till night, nay till gentle dawn appeared in the dim east. I
was foremost in gaiety, no rival could I find in my extremes. The
pleasures of bright Nineveh, of gay Babylon, of wondrous
Egypt and sun-burnt India were ever at my call; they showered upon me
their
honours, their praise and their flattery. I drank deep the wine of
merriment
at the fountain of gaiety and satisfaction.
Slaves, servants
had I many, but never a master, not one. Desires, springing up like the
glorious flowers of the tender spring, were immediately satisfied,
never was there a curb to my whims and caprices. No sooner was there a
thought of enjoyment, it was fulfilled at the next pleasurable moment.
Love, of all kinds, was ever at my elbow; no pure thing was safe from
me. I desecrated all chastity, scoffing at the high gods, spurning the
humbly faithful of the
human race. Rich and fragrant wine was always beside me with a slave to
hand
it to me.
Surfeited with the throbs of gratification of
man, in all civilized countries, among all refined nations and races, I
incarnated as a woman to relish the delicate raptures of being loved by
passionate men. Never was I satisfied with the monotony of one lover
and the love of one wooer, but many and innumerable adorers had I at my
window. Languishing in one love, clamouring for more, I passed my life.
All the suffering of child-bearing, the joys of having a
child, the grief of losing one, the pains and sorrows of old age and
the neglect
and the indifference of former lovers, have I experienced, and have
gloated
over past memories, cried over long lost admirers.
Many a
life, tired of being a licentious and free-loving woman, I became a
sacred wife and gained the happiness of pure love. Children have I
borne with pleasure and there never stirred in my heart, as of yore,
the hate of suffering when I put forth to the world an innocent being.
The tender love of clinging children, their innocent smiles, their
little sorrows and pains, their pure hearts, their dear and holy
kisses, their delicate embraces, have I enjoyed, and have been thrilled
at their welcome.
A loving wife, a tender mother I became,
and gloried in the feelings of
love. Having gained that experience of womanhood, I turned once more to
the
free man with strong and brutal emotions. Passion rent my heart and I
lay
in the lap of luxury, forgetful of sorrow and pain, oblivious to the
suffering
of any creature. I lived a life of selfish enjoyment, rich in gross
experiences, wealthy in mortal pleasures, and the material world
withheld nothing from me.
But there was not satisfaction, no
contentment, no blissful happiness, and my heart was as bare and
desolate as the waste desert, with no living thing to give beauty and
rapture to it.
I had tasted the wealth of the worlds, and I
became a poor man, a beggar, wandering from house to house, with
bleeding feet, denied and cursed at, dirty,
tired, ugly, hideous in my own eyes, laughed at and pointed at, hungry,
fatherless,
motherless, with no woman who dared to touch me, pitiable, riddled with
known
and unknown diseases; with a dirty sackcloth on my shoulders which
served
me as a robe on festal days, as a blanket when the cool night breezes
blew,
as a headgear when the blazing sun shone pitiless on my dirty head; and
with
a worn staff in my hand have I wandered through the rich and
inhospitable streets of many nations. The wealthy shopkeepers welcomed
me, each and all, with a curse and a howl, with a hit and a kick; I was
chased by men and savage dogs.
With faces averted the
people passed, and their hands withheld the comfort which lay in their
power to give. The villages and towns were alike; pitiless and with a
hard heart the peoples of all nations passed me by. My bedchamber was
some desolate and lonesome spot where no man or animal dared to come,
loathing to breathe such foul air. Hunger always gnawing at my stomach,
the heat of the sun always burning me, cold winds of the north always
biting me,
frosts withering me, shivering with ague and pain, tottering with
weariness, eaten by disease, have I wandered all over the earth, never
meeting a smile, never a kind word, never a loving look.
The dogs were happy, they were fed, they had someone to pet them, to
comfort and to care for them; but the dogs howled at me. No house ever
opened its door to my knock; the holy priests chased me from their
sacred temples. Children, stricken with horror, stopped crying when
they beheld me. Mothers held their children closer at the distant sight
of me, rushing with a shriek into their protecting homes.
I
seemed to spread pestilence and unhappiness; the very heavens clouded;
the rivers dried up at my approach, as I went to quench my thirst; the
trees gave me no fruit; the earth quaked at my advance and the stars
disappeared at the sight of my unfortunate being. No gentle rain fell
on my head, cleansing my impurities.
Thus for many
generations, among various nations, among strange people,
alone and unhappy, like a lone cloud that hangs over the vale and the
hill,
that is chased and harried by wanton winds, have I wandered, miserable
and
loathed.
Shelter and physical comfort have I not found for
many ages; weary of body and desolate of soul, hunted like some vicious
animal, have I sought seclusion, and in solitude, alas! misery ever
dwelt in me. Like a dead leaf that is crushed
by many a foot, have I suffered in this cruel and gruesome abode of the
flesh,
poor and dirty, without love and without hate, with complete
indifference
as to sorrow or pain, void of intelligence, famished and thirsty, all
the
glorious emotions that once kindled my heart dead for many an age.
Blind
to hope, despairing of my existence, crawling from human sight,
detested and
loathed by the youngest of humanity, have I sought, through this agony
and
through this interminable sorrow, through this torture of the physical
body
and through the privation of the soul, through this degradation and
horror
– crying and in eternal pain – for that light, for
that comfort and for that
happiness which were denied to me when sunk in gross riches, when
wallowing
in selfish contentment and caring for nothing except my crude
pleasures, which
were withheld from me also when I attempted to lead the noble and pure
life.
For when I worshipped and dwelt in pure adoration, when life
was continual self-denial and self-mortification, when sin was abhorred
by me, when, with head erect, I gazed always into the dim future for
truth, when there was so
much light around me, and yet profound and dismal darkness within me,
when
I loved purely and longed nobly, when I was thrilled at the simple name
of
God; in those lives of temple piety and harmlessness, no blissful
contentment could I find.
Many and varied were my
experiences, thoughts and emotions; innumerable
passions, bestial and noble, fine sympathies and great loves; many a
love,
pure and selfish, many shades of gratification and fine and glorious
feelings,
much high intelligence and low cunning have I known; through many ages
and
through many centuries, through different nations and races, in every
capacity,
have I passed and gained the knowledge that the world can give to one
who
seeks and suffers.
Yet where is that light which sages have
seen, that truth which conquers all unrealities, that compassion which
heals all suffering, that blissful contentment which brings eternal
happiness to the sorrow-stricken soul and that wisdom which guides
aching humanity? Wheresoever I have been, wheresoever I have groped, I
have returned with an empty hand and grieving heart. Like an erring
child that strays from its beloved mother, have I wandered far into
the realms of despair and unrealities seeking the great reality. Far
from
the lonely road have I departed in quest of that unconquerable longing
and
that unquenchable thirst; but I have been burnt with anguish, and with
drooping
head have I returned.
No satisfaction or gratification have I
found, either amidst warring humanity or away from madding crowd; happy
or unhappy, elevated or degraded, in pain or in pleasure, there has
always dwelt with me, like the dark shadow, a deep void which nothing
could fill, an infinite longing which could not be satisfied; I have
wandered blindly and wearily, asking every passer-by for that balm
which would cure my aching heart; they gave of their best with a gentle
smile and a blessing, but did not further my long quest. Where is that
light and where is that infinite happiness?
I am tired, tired
with the wanderings of innumerable ages; I am weary, weary with the
fatigue of many centuries; I am exhausted from lack of strength to
struggle and to fight; my feet falter at each footstep; I can scarce
drag myself along; I am almost blind with long and continuous use of my
eyes through interminable eras; I am hairless, haggard and old. Pride
and youth have gone from me; I am bent double with the weight and
sorrow of my infinite pain; beauty, of which I once clamorously
boasted, has deserted me and left me a
monstrous horror. What has passed and what has been wrought through
those long and insufferable years is beyond my memory, and my
indifference is complete.
I am desireless; no passion sways
me; no affections tear me; emotions have lost their ancient and
all-powerful influence over me; tender love is behind me far back in
the distance; the exhilaration of action has been killed out of me;
ambition, that spurs so many, either bringing laurels or dishonour,
glory or shame, is buried in the distant past; pride that holds its
head high
amidst the turmoil of noble and ignoble deeds, is vanished, never to
reappear;
fear, that overwhelms and holds men in thrall, is crushed; gruesome
death,
the awful and impartial companion of all, can no longer dismay me with
its
threatening stare. Yet there is a deep void of discontent and an
everlasting
longing for the almost unattainable.
Can I ever reach the
mountain top of blissful contentment and grasp the
supreme happiness? O Mighty Beings, have compassion on the lonely
traveler
who has voyaged through many stormy seas, traveled through many lands
and
passed through many sorrows! I am alone – come to my help ye
pitying and
happy Beings! I have worshipped You, I have adored You, I have offered
many
a sacrifice at Your altars and much have I endured to kiss Your sacred
feet.
Comfort me, Ye Masters of Wisdom, with those eyes of love and
understanding.
What have I done, and what must I do to reach the glory and the
greatness?
How long must this pitiable condition last? How long, O Master, ere I
behold Thy sacred beauty? How long must I walk on this long and lonely
Path? Is there
an end to this interminable agony which burneth the very love for Thee?
Why
hast Thou turned away Thy rapturous face, and whither has gone that
beatific smile that allays all suffering in all things?
I
have served the Great Ones and the needy world in a humble and
despairing way; I have loved in a blind fashion all things, both small
and great, and I have drunk at all the fountains of earthly wisdom.
Never have I reached Thy feet. Like a glorious flower that has
withered, that has lost its fragrance, its beauty and its tenderness,
is the existence of my life; cheerless and desolate, like a dead tree
that gives no cool shade to the weary traveler. I have given all,
withholding nothing, and empty and hopeless have I remained. I have led
the blind and the sorrow-stricken, myself being blind and
sorrow-stricken. Why hast Thou not stretched Thy helping hand when I
have stumbled? I am weary with asking; I have no hope; all seems to be
dead, and utter darkness prevails. No tears fall, but yet I am crying,
crying in infinite pain. No passer-by can help me in my pitiable
plight, for there is no one but me on this long, long Path that winds
about like a mighty stream, without a beginning and without
an end. Desperate, like a madman, I wander on, knowing not whither to
go,
nor caring what becomes of me. The sun can no longer burn me. I am
burnt
to the very bone. Like a vast ocean which is boundless, is the glaring
whiteness
that surrounds me on all sides, and I can scarce distinguish the Path
which
leads me to my ultimate happiness. Everything is left behind me: my
companions,
my friends and my love – I am desperately lonely.
O! Master of Compassion, come to my rescue and lead me out of this
profound darkness to pure light, and to the haven of immortality, and
to peaceful enlightenment!
I seek the pure enlightenment that few Great Beings have attained. I
seek
the high Deliverer that will free me from this wheel of birth and
death.
I seek the Brother that will share with me His divine wisdom; I seek
the
Lover that will comfort me; I seek to lay my weary head in the lap of
compassion;
I seek the Friend that will guide me; I seek to take refuge in the
Light.