A walk with the devil…

On Meeting J. Krishnamurti

Krishnamurti is today one of my favorite spiritual philosopher and a true friend.

One of the very few which has not compromised with truth,

for as much is possible on this ‘planet’.

I found this post enlightening and I wanted to share it.


J. Krishna Murti

Krishnamurti told a story about the devil who was walking with a friend. They witnessed a man ahead of them on the road picking up a brilliant object. The devil’s friend turned and asked what the man had found. The devil answered, “He has picked up the truth.”
“That’s a bad business for you,” the friend said.
“Not at all,” the devil replied. “I am going to help him organize it.”

One night, while in Delhi, Bhikku Vivekananda and Radhanath Swami attended an independent lecture by the world-renowned author and orator J. Krishnamurti. They entered a large tent, or pandal,and took seats in the second row of chairs. As the pandal rapidly filled, a man of about sixty sat beside them. His name was Dilip. “Would you like to hear something about the life of J. Krishnamurti?” he asked. “He’s my teacher.”

“Please,” Bikku and Radhanath Swami responded.

Dilip crossed his legs, leaned back in his chair, and began. He told them that Krishnamurti was born in South India in 1895 and, as a child, was discovered by the renowned clairvoyant Charles Leadbeater. Both Leadbeater and Annie Besant, who was the leader of the Theosophical Society, proclaimed that the child was the “vehicle” of the same World Teacher who spoke through Christ. Annie Besant educated the boy in England and brought him around the world where thousands received him as the next Messiah and formed the “Order of The Star” around him. When he was twenty-seven, he formally accepted the role as the enlightened master and was soon worshipped by over 60,000 members.

Dilip leaned forward, “But in 1929 he rejected his position as Master, dissolved his religious movement and—”

Suddenly everyone rose as J. Krishnamurti appeared on the stage. An elderly man of seventy-five, he was small and slender and impeccably dressed in a Nehru jacket and loose pants. His smooth-shaven face was worn by the lines of age and his predominantly white hair gave him a scholarly distinction. His soft eyes glistened with enthusiasm as he welcomed the assembly graciously in a British accent.

Soon enough, though, he launched into a call for revolution. Shaking his clenched fist, he declared, “You have too many gurus in this country. They have told you what to do, what to think, what to practice. They are the dictators.” Pin-drop silence filled the tent. “Truth is a pathless land, but yoga, with its breathing and postures, is nothing more than psychosomatic acrobatics. Ashrams and monasteries are concentration camps of the mind.” He paused and looked right into Radhanath Swami’s eyes. “When you have a system of meditation, it is no longer meditation but is utterly futile and has no meaning whatsoever.”

He told a story about the devil who was walking with a friend. They witnessed a man ahead of them on the road picking up a brilliant object. The devil’s friend turned and asked what the man had found. The devil answered, “He has picked up the truth.”

“That’s a bad business for you,” the friend said.

“Not at all,” the devil replied. “I am going to help him organize it.”

To make his point more emphatic, Krishnamurti closed his eyes and slowed down his speech. “We must bring about a revolution in ourselves. But how can this take place when our lives are superficial? Spending years in the office, living a shallow, empty existence…”

He leaned forward, “Man cannot be enlightened through any organization, creed, dogma, priest, or ritual, nor through any philosophic knowledge or psychological technique. He has to find it through understanding the contents of his own mind, through observation, not through intellectual analysis or introspective dissection.”

Radhanath Swami shuddered to think of how this discourse would affect his dear  Bhikku Vivekananda. After all, Bhikku was the guru of thousands of monks in an organized monastery teaching meditation and ritual.

Radhanath Swami turned to Bhikku and whispered, “Bhikku, he is attacking everything you have dedicated your life to. What do you feel?”

Bhikku’s eyes widened in wonder and exclaimed, “What he says is true.”

Taken aback, Radhanath Swami asked, “What are you going to do now, Bhikku?”

His features turned grave. “I will have to think seriously about this.”

For the next few days Radhanath Swami and Bhikku Vivekananda attended a series of talks given by Krishnamurti where he demonstrated an amazing power of logic and conviction. Even though he was renowned as one who could answer any question and defeat any argument, on a personal level he was gentle, kind, and humorous. Radhanath Swami pondered his teachings. ‘Eastern literature are filled with histories of enlightened saints who carefully followed their religion or their particular Guru. How could I disregard them all on the basis of one man’s realizations?’

However, Krishnamurti had impressed upon Radhanath Swami that superficiality had no place in spiritual life. One must take personal responsibility. If one becomes overly attached to the externals, one may forget their very purpose: to purify the heart.

One day while sitting under the shade of a peepal tree with Bhikku, Radhanath Swami asked if Bhikku knew what he was going to do. Bhikku ran his finger along the edge of his begging bowl. “Yes, Richard, I do,” he said. “I will return to my monastery in Thailand.”

“Really?” Radhanath Swami responded, “So what is your opinion of Krishnamurti’s teachings?”

He stared off into the middle distance in thought, and then spoke. “I will follow Mr. J. Krishnamurti.” A mischievous little smile played on his lips. “Shall I tell you how?”

“Yes, please.”

“I will reject the teachings of the teacher who teaches us to reject teachers and teachings,” he jested in his sweet Thai accent.







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