why is there a fear of death?

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Questioner:  The fact of death stares everybody in the face,

 yet its mystery is never solved.  Must it always be so?

Krishnamurti:  Why is there a fear of death? 

 When we cling to continuity, there is the fear of death.

 Incomplete action brings the fear of death. 

 There is a fear of death as long as there is the desire for continuity

 in character, continuity in action, in capacity, in the name, and so on.

  As long as there is action seeking a result, there must be the thinker 

who is seeking continuity.  Fear comes into being when this continuity 

is threatened through death.  So, there is fear of death as long

 as there is the desire for continuity. 

     That which continues disintegrates.  Any form of continuity, 

however noble, is a process of disintegration.  In continuity there is never renewal, 

and only in renewal is there freedom from the fear of death.  If we see the truth 

of this, then we will see the truth in the false.  Then there would be the liberation 

from the false.  Then there would be no fear of death.  Thus living, experiencing,

 is in the present and not a means of continuity.

     Is it possible to live from moment to moment with renewal?

  There is renewal only in ending and not in continuity.  In the interval 

between the ending and the beginning of another problem,

 there is renewal.

     Death, the state of non-continuity, the state of rebirth, is the unknown.

  Death is the unknown.  The mind, which is the result of continuity,

 cannot know the unknown.  It can know only the known.  It can only act

 and have its being in the known, which is continuous.  So the known is in fear

 of the unknown.  The known can never know the unknown, and so death 

remains the mystery.  If there is an ending from moment to moment,

 from day to day, in this ending the unknown comes into being.

     Immortality is not the continuation of "me".  The me and the mine is of time,

 the result of action towards an end.  So there is no relationship between the me

 and the mine and that which is immortal, timeless.  We would like to think 

there is a relationship, but this is an illusion.  That which is immeasurable 

cannot be caught in the net of time.

     There is fear of death where there is search for fulfillment. 

 Fulfillment has no ending.  Desire is constantly seeking and changing

 the object of fulfillment, and so it is caught in the net of time. 

 So the search for self-fulfillment is another form of continuity, 

and frustration seeks death as a means of continuity.  Truth is not continuous. 

 Truth is a state of being, and being is action without time.  This being

 can be experienced only when desire, which gives birth to continuity,

 is wholly and completely understood.  Thought is founded on the past,

 so thought cannot know the unknown, the immeasurable.  

The thought process must come to an end.  

Then only the unknowable comes into being.

.

~ J. Krishnamurti

from a talk in Bombay March 14 1948

art by Klimt

silence shall be my answer

All things change and die and disappear.

Questions arrive, assume their actuality, and disappear.

In this hour I shall cease to ask them 

and silence shall be my answer.

The world that Your love created,

that the heat has distorted,

that my mind is always misinterpreting,

shall cease to interfere with our voices.

~ Thomas Merton

from Dialogues with Silence

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The true contemplative is not one who prepares his mind for a particular message
 that he wants or expects to hear, but is one who remains empty
 because he knows that he can never expect to anticipate the words 
that will transform his darkness into light.  He does not even anticipate
 a special kind of transformation.  He does not demand light instead of darkness.
  He waits in silence, and, when he is "answered," it is not so much by a word
 that bursts into his silence.  It is by his silence itself, suddenly, inexplicably
 revealing itself to him as a word of great power, full of the voice of God.

from The Climate of Monastic Prayer

(one of last books he prepared for publication)

sketch by the author

when we no longer know what to do

It may be that when we no longer know what to do

we have come to our real work,

and that when we no longer know which way to go

we have come to our real journey.

~  Wendell Berry

how to be

Make a place to sit down.

Sit down.  Be quiet.

You must depend upon

affection,  reading,  knowledge,

skill -- more of each

than you have  -- inspiration,

work,  growing older,  patience,

for patience joins time

to eternity.  Any readers

who like your work,

doubt their judgment.

Breathe with unconditional breath

the unconditioned air.

Shun electric wire.

Communicate slowly.  Live

a three - differential life;

Stay away from anything

that obscures the place it is in.

There are no unsacred places;

there are only sacred places

and desecrated places.

Accept what comes from silence.

Make the best you can of it.

Of the little words that come

out of silence,  like prayers

prayed back to the one who prays

make a poem that does not disturb

the silence from which it came.

~ Wendell Berry

photo - Sitting Bull

by F.A. Rinehart

a journey of one inch

And the world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles, 

no matter how long, 

but only by a spiritual journey, 

a journey of one inch, 

very arduous and humbling and joyful, 

by which we arrive at the ground at our feet, 

and learn to be at home.

~ Wendell Berry

(Collected Poems)

photo by: Kathleen Connally

the language we’ve inherited

The language we’ve inherited confuses (this). 
We say “my” body and “your” body and “his”
 body and “her” body, but it isn’t that way. … 

This Cartesian “Me,” this autonomous little homunculus 
who sits behind our eyeballs looking out through them 
in order to pass judgment on the affairs of the world,
 is just completely ridiculous. 

This self-appointed little editor of reality
 is just an impossible fiction that collapses
 the moment one examines it.

~ Robert M. Pirsig
from Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

opposites

.

With all its eyes the natural world looks out

into the Open.  Only our eyes are turned 

backward, and surround plant, animal, child 

like traps, as they emerge into their freedom.

We know what is really out there only from

the animal's gaze;

 for we take the very young

child and force it around, so that it sees

objects - not the Open, which is so

deep in animals' faces.  Free from death.

We, only, can see death; the free animal

has its decline in back of it, forever,

and God in front, and when it moves, it moves

already in eternity, like a fountain.

Never, not for a single day, do we have 

before us that pure space into which flowers 

endlessly open. Always there is World

and never Nowhere without the No: that pure

unseparated element which one breathes

without desire and endlessly knows. 

 A child 

may wander there for hours, through the timeless

stillness, may get lost in it and be 

shaken back. Or someone dies and is it.

For , nearing death, one doesn't see death; but stares

beyond, perhaps with an animal's vast gaze.

Lovers, if the beloved were not there

blocking the view, are close to it, and marvel...

As if by some mistake, it opens for them

behind each other.. But neither can move past

the other, and it changes back to World.

Forever turned toward objects, we see in them

the mere reflection of the realm of freedom,

which we have dimmed. Or when some animal

mutely, serenely, looks us through and through.

That is what fate means: to be opposite,

to be opposite and nothing else, forever.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

excerpt from the Duino Elegies, #8
translated by Stephen Mitchell
photo by shreve stockton

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habit - fear - security - exclusion

.

 For if we think of this existence of the individual as a larger or smaller room,
 it appears evident that most people learn to know only a corner of their room, 
a place by the window, a strip of floor on which they walk up and down. 


Thus they have a certain security. And yet that dangerous insecurity
 is so much more human which drives the prisoners in Poe’s stories
 to feel out the shapes of their horrible dungeons 
and not be strangers to the
 unspeakable terror of their abode.

We, however, are not prisoners. No traps or snares are set about us, 
and there is nothing which should intimidate or worry us.
 We are set down in life as in the element to which we best correspond,
 and over and above this we have through thousands of years 
of accommodation become so like this life, that when we hold still
 we are, through a happy mimicry, scarcely to be distinguished
 from all that surrounds us. 


We have no reason to mistrust our world, 
for it is not against us. Has it terrors, they are our terrors; has it abysses, 
those abysses belong to us; are dangers at hand, we must try to love them.
 And if only we arrange our life according to that principle which counsels
 us that we must always hold to the difficult, then that which now still seems
 to us the most alien will become what we most trust and find most faithful.


 How should we be able to forget those ancient myths about dragons
 that at the last moment turn into princesses; 


perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting 
to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps everything terrible is in its 
deepest being something helpless that wants help from us.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

Coltrane - compassion

~ John Coltrane

The divine force — God, as Coltrane defined it —

 breathes through us all, said Coltrane, 

and the last years of his life can be seen as an attempt —

 sometimes a struggle —

 to breathe God through his horn.

“Once you become aware of this force for unity in life,” 

wrote Coltrane in the liner notes for 1965’s Meditations,

 his acknowledged follow-up to A Love Supreme.

 “You can’t forget it. It becomes part of everything you do… 

my goal in meditating on this through music however remains… 

to uplift people as much as I can. To inspire them

 to realize more and more their capacities for

 living meaningful lives.”

 comments by Sean Murphy

compassion

~ Joseph Goldstein

for oneself

The first being one must have compassion for
is oneself.
You can't be a witness to your thoughts
with a chip on your shoulder or an axe to grind.

Ramana Maharshi said,
"If people would stop wailing alas I am a sinner
and use all that energy to get on with it
they would all be enlightened."

He also said,
"When you're cleaning up the outer temple
before going to the inner temple,
don't stop to read everything
you're going to throw away..."

 

art by William Russell Nowicki

 

apple

.

I wake and remembered 

nothing of what I was dreaming

The day grew light, then dark again — 

In all its rich hours, what happened? 

A few weeds pulled, a few cold flowers 

carried inside for the vase. 

A little reading. A little tidying and sweeping.

I had vowed to do nothing I did not wish 

to do that day, and kept my promise.

Once, a certain hope came close 

and then departed. Passed by me in its familiar 

shawl, scented with iodine woodsmoke.

I did not speak to it, nor it to me. 

Yet still the habit of warmth traveled 

between us, like an apple shared by old friends —

One takes a bite, then the other. 

They do this until it is gone.

~ Jane Hirshfield

you live like this

You live like this,
 sheltered,
 in a delicate world,
 and you believe you are living. 

Then you read a book… 
or you take a trip…
 and you discover
 that you are not living, 
that you are hibernating. 

The symptoms of hibernating
 are easily detectable: first, restlessness. 
The second symptom 
(when hibernating becomes dangerous 
and might degenerate into death):
 absence of pleasure. 
That is all.

 It appears like an innocuous illness. 
Monotony, boredom, death. 
Millions live like this (or die like this) 
without knowing it. 

They work in offices. 
They drive a car. 
They picnic with their families. 
They raise children.
 And then 
some shock treatment takes place, 
a person, a book, a song,
 and it awakens them and saves them from death.

~ Anaïs Nin

from The Diary of Anaïs Nin

to love myself

~ Thich Nhat Hanh

 

the way of the heart - Rumi