The Sunset Anew

I have to admit that my 20^th Century heroes are those you would expect from an aging, left-wing, pacifist. The exception to this predictable litany is J. Krishnamurti, someone most people have never heard of. But for me he has been, and is, a touchstone that I have looked to for the last 40 years. 

Krishnamurti had a very unique childhood, to say the least. In 1909, when he was in his early teens, Krishnamurti was “discovered” by Charles Webster Leadbeater (his real name), a leader of the Theosophical Society, as the likely conduit for “Lord Maitreya”, a spirit periodically appearing on Earth, as the “World Teacher” destined to guide the evolution of humankind. (I thought that about myself at age 14 too, but no one seemed to agree).  

The Theosophists were a quasi-religious group founded by Madame Blavatsky (such great names!!!) that combined eastern and western thought, with a good bit of occultism mixed in. They were new age, before there was new age. They also had a lot of money and, probably because of that, influence.  

Krishnamurti was raised by the Society, becoming the legal guardian of one its leaders. For the next 15 years he was groomed to emerge as the harbinger of spiritual unity and global wisdom. The Theosophists thought that they had found their guru. 

While all of this sounded great, Krishnamurti had other thoughts. When he was 29, he shocked the Theosophists by, in essence, denouncing the whole idea of a world teacher. He said instead that “Truth is a pathless land”, rejecting organized religion, including Theosophy, gurus, and the very idea of a teacher/follower relationship. Instead, he said that people had to look inside to free themselves of the conditioning we are subjected to by our upbringing and culture so as to view the world with unvarnished eyes (easier said than done). 

When I first read Krishnamurti I was drawn to his courage in rejecting a role that would have guaranteed him a comfortable and revered existence. I was also drawn to his call to unstintingly look inward to examine drives and behaviors, and to honestly confront what you find. Ironically, perhaps, I found much to learn from this reluctant teacher.   

One of the Krishnamurti’s mantras was his admonition to stop the internal dialogue, that voice that mediates what we see and interprets it for us. He used the example of a sunset. We go to the beach and see a magnificent sunset and are awed by its beauty, so much so that we want to return the next night to relive it. The problem is that we have built up this expectation and the next night cannot help but compare the sunset we are seeing at that moment with what we saw the night before. Our thoughts stand in the way of us seeing the second sunset in all its glory. Our built-up expectation skews our vision.  

I thought of Krishnamurti, and the vagaries of expectation this summer on a trip my family made to Indiana and Chicago, along with Julie’s sister Beth from Boise (has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?), and two of my nephews. Even though Indiana is not known for its hiking, and we hadn’t had much luck on previous trips, I wanted to get out and at least enjoy a decent walk while we were there. This led us to Turkey Run State Park, hardly a promising appellation, about an hour west of Lafayette where we were staying. 

Then we got to the park, and the hiking trail. We took a bridge across a broad stream and were transported into a world of small creeks, lush canyons, boulder fields and large rock formations. It was as beautiful a hideaway as you could find. Even better, since I had no expectations whatsoever, it was doubly delightful. Like opening a gift that you had no inkling you would receive.  

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A couple of days later we were in Naperville, outside of Chicago, and went to the Morton Arboretum, a beautiful expanse of forests, ponds, prairie lands and sculptures. As we wandered about, we saw numerous signs for the “Big Rock”, out on the edges of the grounds. We decided we could not leave without taking the short trail down to this “Big Rock”. 

After a 20-minute walk on an easy trail, we emerged into a clearing and collapsed into gales of laughter. The build-up was such that we expected to see something magnificent. What we got was a decent size boulder, that could not but fail to impress those of us used to traipsing the trails of Pennsylvania, let alone the mountains around Boise. It turns out that the “Big Rock” is apparently an anomaly for the region, and should not be there, but my expectations made that meaningless.  

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In both of these incidents, despite my readings of Krishnamurti, I could not let the world come to me, but let expectations dictate my reactions. At Turkey Run, it worked out fine. At Morton Arboretum, not so well. My inner dialogue was conditioning my response, for good or ill, rather than what I was encountering.  

Of course, this happens pretty much every day, whether it’s while watching a sequel, or reading a second book from a favorite novelist, or just going to the store. When I can corral the internal dialogue (stopping it is more than I can ask for) and just accept what’s given I am more likely to see something I had previously overlooked. Sometimes it’s good, like Turkey Run, sometimes it’s disappointing, like the “Big Rock”, but at least I am confronting what is there rather than what I presuppose is there.  

There is no great insight here, or deep thought, just an on-going reminder that I can miss out on so much if I don’t look at the world as it is, rather than as I expect it to be. Not a bad lesson from an unwilling teacher.