The Star Publishing Trust, Eerde, Ommen, Holland, 1928
The Path
Part II - back to part I
J. Krishnamurti
The Path gives no answer to my desperate
call; the cruel
skies look down on me with complete indifference; the comforting echo
does
not exist, nor is there the dismal moan of many winds. Profound silence
reigns,
save for the monotonous sound of slow breathing and of the dragging of
weary
footsteps. There is no peace; there is a movement of thousands of
invisible
beings around me, as though they were mocking at my solitary suffering.
The
expectant hush that comes before a storm is my sole companion; only the
annihilation
of centuries replies to my continuous entreaties; my isolation is
complete
and cruel. The Path no longer speaks to me as of ancient days when she
used
to point out the right and the wrong, the true from the false, the
essential
from the unessential, the great from the petty. Now she is as silent as
a
grave. She has shown me a part of the way; but the rest I must tread by
myself,
before this beloved Path can be left behind and I reach the mightier
and
more glorious Path. She cannot enter there, she cannot be the signpost
as
of yore, but let me be satisfied with the thoughts of her guidance
through
many epochs and storms to that everlasting resting-place.
The Path lies in front of me, gently and imperceptibly climbing, with
never
a curve and not a thing to obstruct its gentle slope. Like some
gigantic
snake, that lays itself in warm sand, heavy with killing, sleepy and
contented,
is the silent Path. It appears to be breathing and sighing with some
quiet
and happy satisfaction.
Now the sun steadily pours down his burning rays and drives away all
thought
from my mind. My only longing is to find some delightful cool shade
where
I can rest my weary body for a while, but an irresistible force pushes
me
and urges me on, never allowing me any respite. That power impels me to
go
forward with faltering footsteps. I cannot resist it.
I am weak and exhausted, but I obey that eternal and powerful
compelling.
I take a step, totter and fall, like a swift bird that is wounded by
the
cruel arrow; I struggle and become unconscious. Slowly and wearily I
wake
up and gaze at the naked and bright heavens, and I desire to lie and
rest
where I am; but that mighty force pushes me on to my feet, as of yore,
to
walk on the never ending Path.
Lo, there is a solitary tree, many feet away, whose delicious shadow
welcomes
me. The leaves are tender, velvety, and fresh, as though the sudden
healing
breath of spring had but lately awakened the dead branches to joyous
life
and to delicate green foliage. Its shadow is thick, shutting out the
searching
sun. The fresh fragrant grass and the protecting tree smile with
contentment
on me, inviting me to share their happy abode. It is full of birds,
joyous
in their continuous chatter, calling to each other in playful tones.
With
failing strength I drag myself to enjoy the rare gift which the kind
gods
have granted to me.
As I with pain approach, the whole tree bends down welcoming me, giving
some
of its vital strength; I crawl under its fragrant and whispering shadow
and
gaze wearily into its cool depths. Sleep and exhaustion overcome me; I
am
asleep, lulled by the welcoming twitterings of may birds and the gentle
rustle
of many leaves. I rest through happy moments of complete oblivion of
all
suffering and pain, and the ache of many ages. Might I lie here,
always,
in this soft light, soothed by the murmerings of living things,
unruffled
by inner and outer storms! Glorious would it be to lie everlastingly
here
and sleep, sleep, sleep.
I am burning, the sun is viciously glaring on me, revengeful for my
momentary
happiness. Where is my beloved tree and where are those birds with
their
happy song? Gaze as I may, nowhere can I find the tree of happiness.
Gone,
gone, and I am alone once again. Was it a dream? Was it the ancient
unreality,
taking a form that would give sure delight? Was it the pity of some
kind
God, or the cruel sport of a God unkind? Was it the great promise of
the
future? Or was it that some mighty Being desired to test the strength
of
my forbearance? Many vanishing realities have I followed only to hear
their
merciless laughter when I have grasped them; but here I thought that I
was
safe from their old and bitter sway, their barbarous persecution when I
sought
the lasting – the real. They have, then, pursued me even into
this far and
lonely place? With infinite caution have I learned to disentangle the
real
from the false, and when I thought I had mastered the supreme art, must
I
begin again at the bottom of the difficult ladder?
p. 41
When I commenced this Path in bygone ages, there was a firmness in my
tread;
now again decision rules my steps, a new enthusiasm is born in me, as
of
yore, when before the many sufferings and many sorrows I was eager to
face
the unknown, and anxious to test my strength against the unweary Path.
The
joy of struggle is surging up in me to conquer the mighty and immortal
happiness.
The Path with its great force need no longer impel me forward; I run
faster,
nor do my feet falter. I no longer lag behind. I am the Master of the
Path.
No longer need it spur me to act, for I am all action; I am willing and
I
walk in freedom.
The Path stretches mile upon mile, age upon age; steeper than of yore,
narrower,
more strenuous, the way winds precipitously, leaving behind the country
of
the past. Far below me lies the land of desolation and of immense
sorrow,
where Unreality, in many shapes and in many a guise rules the great
stricken
dominions. Here, at this altitude, there reigns complete silence; the
silence
smiles on me; but as I walk unceasingly on this mountainous way, the
recent
joy is dead again, my weary feet falter as of old, and I long for that
beloved
tree which shared with me its happy shade and the soft wooing songs of
the
innumerable birds. That phantom tree gave me but the happiness of a
fleeting
moment, and yet I was gratified with that temporary joy. I beseech the
same
God who extended His fitful compassion to me, to grant me but a moment
of
shade, the happy song to lull the aching heart, and the companionship.
If
it was but a dream of phantasy, let me once more embrace it and cling
to
it, even though it be for a brief space! Though ephemeral was the taste
of
that momentary pleasure, grateful was the rest in the deep, cool
shadows.
Where art thou, my beloved – glorious unreality
though thou be? Hast thou
forgotten the weary traveler who sheltered in thy calm shade? Though
thou
hast been a false comfort, yet how I crave for thee, to sink once more
in
thy soft arms, forgetting all but my delicious comfort. Grant me
thyself
but this once, and I shall be thy love everlasting. I am weary; come to
my
aid, my beloved, with thy transient beauty. Lull me with thy false
murmerings,
and encourage me with thine untrue flattery. I am spent with beseeching
and
exhausted with weariness, and I am in utter despair.
Far in the distance, there is a clump of trees surrounding a gay house,
with
a sweet and fragrant garden. I am in it, enjoying the cool, and the
bewitching
smiles of many a beauteous maiden. I join in their fresh laughter and
in
their merrymaking. Their pleasure-laden voices soothe me and soft music
lulls
me to sleep. Here there is peace and quietness and complete
forgetfulnes.
I am happy and contented, for in this abode of pleasure is the joy for
which
I have searched through innumerable ages; reality cannot exist but
here.
Am I not satisfied? Am I not surrounded by all that I desire? Why did I
endure,
why did I struggle? For here there is balm to the aching heart and
comfort
to the comfortless.
p. 45
How long, or how many ages, or how many days, I have dwelt in this
pleasurable
abode, I cannot tell; nor can I count the happy hours that have been
spent
here. Once again the unquenchable longing is stirring in the depths of
my
heart; it has awakened anew and tortures me. I cannot rest in this
house
of gratification; the contentment which it promised has not been given
to
me; there is no happiness, no comfort within its walls. I have been
deceived
with unrealities; I have feasted on untruth; I have been guided by the
light
of false reason, and I have worshipped, as of yore, at the temple of
darkness.
I have cheated myself with the temporary and with the impermanent;
after
many ages and much pain have I once again fallen victim to the mocking
gods.
Again must I wander forth; again must I face the unyielding Path.
Once more I am in the blazing sun, once more do I feel the strength to
face
the long journey. Fresh enthusiasm and fresh hopes are surging in me;
courage
is born anew. The Path of many ages smiles on me, promising once more
to
be the passage of light. Like a mighty tree that has bowed down before
the
stormy winds, but reasserts itself when they are stilled, and gazes
again,
with head erect, into the unfathomable skies, defiant and sparkling in
the
sun, so do I feel. Once more the joy of loneliness is pulsating through
all
my being, and the solitude, away from vain pleasures and the unmeaning
crowd,
is like a breath of fresh wind that blows in the mountains. I am alive
once
more, eager to find the end of all sorrow, the glorious liberation.
Happy
is the man who struggles!
The long sinuous Path lies in front of me, and all life has ceased to
exist
except the one traveler on that lonely road.
I am throbbing with the excitement of a new and strenuous conquest,
like
a soldier, proud and haughty, that marches into a vanquished town. I
long
for greater and more difficult battles to be won, and I cry for the
lack
of them.
The solemn stillness breaks in upon my joy, and the grave quietness
grips
me. I am humbled by the vast expanse, and the pitiless skies threaten
me;
the pride of victory is broken, and its glory has departed; the
terrible
loneliness is gently and slowly overwhelming me. But the longing to
attain
the end is unabated; invincible is the strength, and the will to
succeed
is indomitable.
For how many centuries I have traveled I cannot count, for my memory is
weary,
but I have journeyed through many seasons. The Path is as tired as he
who
treads it, and both are crying for the end, but both are willing, the
one
to lead, the other to follow.
p. 48
On either side of the road there arise, in the far distance, at fitful
intervals,
tall and stately trees, tossing their bright heads in the sun,
forgetting
that they were like plants once upon a time. Birds of all feathers, of
all
hues and of all sizes, frequent them; their plaintive but happy cries
reach
my ears that have not heard a sound for many an age, except the sound
of
weary footsteps.
As I approach those joyous creatures are not afraid, but gaze
with supreme
indifference, continuing their songs. Under the dreaded shade, the
green
grass sways to the soft music of the winds among the leaves. The strong
tree,
the gay birds, and the humble grass, all welcome me and promise to lull
me
to sleep. It is so close, so fragrant, so peaceful to the worn eyes
– I almost
hesitatingly yield – but there rise in me the memories of
other trees, other
birds and other shades, so deliciously welcoming, yet so deceitful. My
beloved
Path smiles, wondering and watching what my actions will be, whether I
shall
choose again the shadows.
It is cool under that tree, and blissful with the song of the birds and
the
soft music of the rustling leaves. Ah! let me but stay a fleeting
moment
and then let me pass on! The sun is hot and I am weary, and my body
aches
with the long journey. The refreshing shadows can do me no harm
– let me
but stay, oh, thou inexorable Path, for a happy second! Long sleepless
nights
have I passed with thee for many centuries, and dost thou grudge and
deny
me the sleep of but a passing moment? Canst thou not grant me this one
pitiable
desire? Whither hath fled thy love, thine infinite understanding? I
implore
thee not to turn away from me, but to answer my call.
A profound silence reigns. The wind has ceased to play with the leaves.
The
birds are quiet, quiet as death, and the mighty tree broods in deep
thought.
The shadows have deepened, there prevails a greater calm and greater
cool;
the green, tender grasses look on me with their small inquisitive eyes,
debating
in their little minds as to the cause of my unforeseen faltering,
whispering
to each other to encourage me in my plight. The Path of many
experiences
and great understanding smiles on my struggling hesitation, neither
with
encouragement nor pleasure; it is a smile of wisdom and knowledge,
which
says: "Thou mayst do what thou desirest, but repentance awaits thee."
My choice is made. Like the morning mist that is gently dispelled by
the
first warm rays of the slow-rising sun, so the magnificent tree of
gratification
fades gradually before me; the gay birds melt away as before a
fast-approaching
storm, and the green grass withers in the burning heat of the sun.
There
remains only a faint vestige of the past. The Path leads on and I
humbly
follow.
At irregular intervals along the roadside there arise trees inviting me
to
taste of their bright-coloured and luscious fruit and enjoy their
sweetness.
It would soothe my parched throat and quench my burning thirst, but my
Path
is rigorous, and I pass them by. Further on there are magnificent
houses,
places of pleasure and delight, their welcoming doors always open,
inviting
the travelworn pilgrim. An age and many lives lie between house and
house,
and the tired traveller is the too-willing victim of their charm.
Craving
for their enchantment, shelter, many a time have I hesitated at their
doorsteps,
sometimes straying into them and coming out with shame to walk again
with
gladness on the clean, sunburnt Path.
The house of strong and selfish passions, with its gross gratification
and
its impurities, have I entered, and have feasted on all that they could
give.
Oft have I passed with lingering footsteps the house of many false
shadows,
the house of satiety with its fleeting contentment, the house of
flattery,
and the house of learning, where false and fugitive facts lull the
ignorant;
but only to be enticed into the house of the love that limits, that is
selfish,
that is unkind, forgetting all except the one; the love that clings,
the
love that desires; the narrow love of the father, the mother, the
sister,
the brother, and the child; the love that slowly and pitilessly
destroys
the nobler feelings; the love that contents itself with little things.
Many a time have I crossed the threshold of the house of blissful
ignorance,
of the brilliant house of vain flattery, and of the dismal house of
black
hate and cunning deceit. Often have I fallen to the temptations of the
imperishable
house of intolerance, to the boisterous house of patriotism, that
breeds
venomous and warring hate, and the house of solitary and cold pride,
that
is unapproachable and untouchable. In the house of friendship that
uproots
the friendship of others and is consumed with jealousy, and in the
house
of concealed and talented vice, have I sojourned for many weary
seasons.
And I have visited the house of small wisdom that excludes all
knowledge
except its own petty creation, and the house of little learning that
understands
little but condemns violently and clamorously all that is beyond its
insignificant
comprehension.
Many a house of religion have I entered, dwelling within its narrow
walls,
sleeping in the lap of dark superstition, worshipping false gods,
sacrificing
innocent things at the temple's altars, and taking part in futile,
religious
wars and bitter persecution. Wandering into dark houses, have I sought
light,
and have strayed forth blind and comfortless.
The sympathetic Path ever understood me when I returned to its bare
arms,
with the head bowed down, with shame gnawing at my heart; it ever
welcomed
me, promising to be my guide and my everlasting friend.
I can see on each side of the long pathway many temptations in
delightful
shapes and forms, but they are not for me. Let others be enticed, but I
will
follow my ancient Path. My sore need is to rest and to drink deep at
the
long-promised source, and no longer do I desire to quench my immemorial
thirst
at the shadowy fountains. Yet, as far as the eye can see, false things
obstruct
my view.
Once I was able to talk quietly and for many an hour with my lonely
companion,
the Path, but now it is silent, overwhelmed by sound. Once there was
profound
peace and tranquility, but now the holy silence is broken by the
barbarous
tongues of the multitude. Yet through these clamorous scenes and this
continuous
babble my Path leads, and I follow without hesitation.
p. 55
How long I have travelled through the land of false phantasies I cannot
say,
but unerring, with a grave deliberation, have I adhered to my pathway.
Always
the Path mounts, and with aching limbs have I climbed, clinging
desperately;
but never have I strayed and gone down into the dark valley. Many
centuries
have I struggled, resisting fleeting pleasures and inclinations; and
yet
in front of me there ever spring up temptations in new and varied forms
to
beguile me.
True it is that I can never again be their victim, and yet
….. Ye pitiless
gods, is there never an end to this goading misery and to this cruel
and
false land of passing desires? For how many an age have I trodden this
Path
of righteousness! Yet the end is still not in view. Or is this the goal
of
all my endurance? Nay, it cannot be, for I have seen, once upon a time,
in
a far bygone age, the summit of enlightenment. But for how many
incarnations
must I wander amidst sorrow and tribulation before I knock at the
portals
of bliss? Without demand, without question, and without lamentation, I
must
tread this Path for another age.
I am weary and sick at heart; incarnations of great misery and pain
have
I endured. Vain hopes and promises have made me strong; imperishable
has
been my desire for the goal; persistent has been my blind groping after
truth,
and indestructible my ardent enthusiasm. Can all my aching sorrow and
torture
be in vain? Cannot my beloved Path lead me to the mountain top, as it
has
constantly and faithfully promised? Still, after the exquisite pain and
indescribable
longing, does the pathway lead amidst a vast expanse of shadowy
illusions.
Why? Ah! what have I done and what have I left undone, what little
things
of life have I neglected, what sacrifices are there still to
be offered,
what greater agonies must I bear? What greater purifications must I
undergo,
what fiercer burning must I sustain, and what mightier experience of
torture
awaits me, before I reach that abode of pure enlightenment and sacred
content?
The mother that bore me knew not what she did, and, had she known, the
milk
that she nourished me with so tenderly would have turned to poison, and
would
have spared me these never-ending tortures. Happy would I have been to
cease
upon the midnight hour, but idle is it to moan and hurl myself against
the
inevitable. Blameless is my dear mother, and fruitlessly do I clamour
against
the pain of evolution. And in the end this groping, this fumbling in
the
dark must cease; for the door of knowledge must be found; there must be
the
light that guides, the truth that gives contentment, the enlightenment
that
brings calm happiness.
O! I can no longer cry, my body is too feeble to stand, the strength is
gradually
ebbing out of me – my entire being revolts against the
merciless void. Can
no god turn his pitiful eyes on the lonesome, spent traveller? Ye
Masters
of Wisdom, have compassion and shed that infinite mercy that can heal
and
that can bring light to the wanderer in utter darkness. O, ye cool
nights,
compel the fiery sun to depart; ye dark clouds, cover up the burning
rays!
Ah! for the strong hand that could lead and support me, the gentle
voice
that could comfort and encourage me, the embrace and the kiss that
could
make me forget! Forlorn am I and with a dying voice, I call.
The voice of profound quietness answers me with complete silence, and
the
void echoes that dreadful stillness. My beloved Path smiles on me, but,
pitifully
and on all sides, even among the boisterous houses of mirth, deep and
awful
quiet reigns, as on a night when some murderous deed is being enacted
or
when the churchyard grave opens its ponderous jaws as in a subdued
yawn.
I am exhausted, and I totter. The end of my very being draweth nigh.
Within
the mind's eye I seem to perceive the vision of the haven of perfect
peace
and the resting-place for the weary and the travel-worn. Yet for how
many
an age must I endure this pain of the mind, this surging
dissatisfaction,
this grief of ages and these woes of bodily suffering, I cannot tell.
As
far as eye can scan, I see nothing but shifting and transient things.
Yet
at each footstep there throbs in me the assurance that the end of the
long
journey is at hand and approacheth its harbour like a ship at sea. May
the
deities that be above hasten me towards my destination!
Suddenly the air has become still, breathless with some great
expectation,
and there is a hush like that which comes for a moment after a glorious
sunset,
when the whole world is in profound adoration. There is a deep silence
as
on a night when the distant stars waft their kisses to each other,
there
is an unexpected tranquility as that of a sudden cessation in a
thunderous
storm, and there reigns a great peace as in the precincts of a sacred
temple.
Within me the pain and sorrow of ages is partly stilled; there is a
faint
and soothing murmuring in the air as my eyes softly close. All things
animate
and inanimate are resting from their weary toil. The whole world is
peacefully
asleep and dreaming sweet dreams. The sun, whose fiery rays have for so
many
ages burnt me ruthlessly, has suddenly become kind, and there is a
coolness
as that of a deep wooded forest. Divinity is taking shape within me.
[p. 61]
The Path has become much steeper and I feebly climb the difficult
ascent.
As I mount this hill, the abodes of innumerable pleasures of the flesh,
the
houses of many desires and the green trees grow scarce, and as I reach
the
summit the enticing Phantasies entirely vanish. The Path ever ascends
in
a long straight line, the air is cooler and the climbing is easier.
There
is a fresh energy born within me and I surge forward with renewed
enthusiasm.
Far in the high distance my Path vanishes into a thick grove of mighty
and
ancient trees. I dare not look behind or on either side, for the
pathway
has become precipitous and dangerously narrow. I traverse
this perilous
passage in a spent and dreamy condition, with my eyes ever fixed on the
far-off
vision, scarcely looking or caring where I tread. I am in great
ecstasy,
for the dim sight ahead of me has inspired a deep and lasting hope.
With
a light footstep I am running forward, fearful lest the happy vision
should
dissolve and elude me as it has done so often. There is not another
traveller
in front of me, but the pathway is smooth as though worn by thousands
of
footsteps through innumerable ages; it shines like a mirror; it is
slippery.
I tread as though walking in sleep, dreading to wake to false realities
and
transient things. The vision stands out clear and more distinct as I
rapidly
approach.
The gracious Gods have at last answered my pitiful calls uttered in the
wilderness.
My long and sorrowful journey has come to an end and the glorious
journey
has begun. Far ahead there are other Paths and other gateways, at whose
doors
I shall knock with greater assurance and with a more joyous and
understanding
heart. From this world I can behold all the Paths that lie below me.
They
all converge to this point, though separated my immeasurable distances;
many
are the travellers on these lonely Paths, but yet each voyager is proud
in
his blind loneliness and foolish separation. For there are many that
follow
him and many that precede him. They have been like me, lost in their
own
narrow path, avoiding and pushing aside the greater road. They struggle
blindly
in their ignorance; walking in their own shadow and clinging
desperately
to their petty truths, they call forth despairingly for the greater
truth.
My Path that has guided me through rough and storm-laden
countries is beside
me. I am gazing with welling tears at those weary and sorrow-eyed
travellers.
My beloved, my heart is broken at the cruel sight, for I cannot descend
and
give them divine water to quench their vehement thirst. For they must
find
the eternal source for themselves. But, ye merciful Gods, I can at
least
make their path smoother and alleviate the pain and the sorrow which
they
have created for themselves through ignorance and pitiful carelessness!
[pp. 64]
Come all ye that sorrow, and enter with me into the abode of
enlightenment
and into the shades of immortality. Let us gaze on the everlasting
night,
the light which gives comfort, the light which purifies. The
resplendent
truth shines gloriously and we can no longer be blind, nor is there
need
to grope in the amysmal darkness. We shall quench our thirst, for we
shall
drink deep at the bubbling fountain of wisdom.
I am strong, I no longer falter; the divine spark is burning in me; I
have
beheld in a waking dream, the Master of all things and I am radiant
with
his eternal joy. I have gazed into the deep pool of knowledge and many
reflections
have I beheld. I am the stone in the sacred temple. I am the humble
grass
that is mown down and trodden upon. I am the tall and stately tree that
courts
the very heavens. I am the animal that is hunted. I am the criminal who
is
hated by all. I am the noble man who is honoured by all. I am sorrow,
pain
and fleeting pleasure; the passions and the gratifications; the bitter
wrath
and the infinite compassion; the sin and the sinner. I am the lover and
the
very love itself. I am the saint, the adorer, the worshipper and the
follower.
I am God.
The End