Page 132 - JOURNAL OF THE KRISHNAMURTI SCHOOLS

the journal of the krishnamurti schools no.25

whether some of his listeners might have been traumatized by his
charisma, developing a life-long addiction to the speaker himself
and being unable to really look at the things he was so desperately
and passionately trying to point us to. Have I simply been blinded
by his charisma? How do I know that K was really the source of that
ineffable quality? Might I simply have happened to be particularly
receptive at that time and place in my life, and might my enduring
conclusion of K being the greatest mind I have ever met be slightly
delusional, some sort of post hoc attribution? As human beings,
we are certainly all vulnerable to this kind of delusion. I remem-
ber talks of K’s in Vasanta Vihar in Madras, where he relentlessly
lashed out at all forms of religious or spiritual authority, at Gurus
of all kinds, and ruthlessly investigated the illusions involved in the
teacher-disciple relationship. It came to the point where he actually
stopped himself in the middle of the talk and said, “I am amazed
that nobody throws a brick or a chair at me!” After ninety minutes,
when he was trying to make his way off the stage and out, some
of his Indian listeners rushed forward and immediately began to
prostrate in front of him or hold babies up to be blessed—as if they
hadn’t heard a single word.
I loved the atmosphere in Madras, when during his evening
talks the sun set and the birds went to sleep in the trees. Sometimes
there was a moon at the end of it. I remember how one evening I
walked out with a quiet mind and an elated mood. As the gates to
the street were opened, we were immediately attacked by a group
of aggressive beggars, led by an old woman in very bad physical
shape, saliva drooling from her half-open mouth with very few
teeth left. She rammed an old tin bowl right into my stomach pit
and firmly held it here, nailing me to the spot. Her eyes, glowing
like coals, stared right into my deepest core, making clear that she
demanded to be seen and that she would not tolerate any attempt
to escape or ignore her. What does it really mean to be in touch
with reality? Who or what is it that sees what is?

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