Before I started doing yoga I read Krishnamurti’s texts. Now I don’t know much about his spiritual practice or any tradition he belonged to. Neither do I know about the method he stood for. I like how he describes the scenery before moving on into the story he wants to tell:
“The Moon was just coming out of the sea into a valley of clouds. The waters were still blue, and Orion was faintly visible in the pale silver sky. The white waves were all along the shore, and the fishermen’s huts, square, neat and dark against the white sands, were close to the water. The walls of these huts were made of bamboo, and the roofs were thatched with palm leaves laid one on top of another, sloping downward so that the heavy rains couldn’t come inside. Completely round and full, the moon was making a path of light on the moving waters, and it was huge – you couldn’t have held it in your arms. Rising above the valley of clouds, it had the heavens to itself. The sound of the sea was unceasing, and yet there was great silence.
You never remain with any feeling, pure and simple, but always surround it with the paraphernalia of words. The word distorts it; thought, whirling around it, throws it into shadow, overpowers it with mountainous fears and longings. You never remain with a feeling, and with nothing else: with hate, or with that strange feeling of beauty….”