p9


Love, death, creation are inseparable;
you cannot have one and deny the others;
you cannot buy it on the market or in any church; those are the last places where you would find it.
But if you don’t look and if you have no problems, not one,
then perhaps it might come when you are looking the other way.
It is the unknown, and everything you know must burn itself away, without leaving ashes;
The past, rich or sordid, must be left as casually, without any motive,
as that girl throwing a stick over the bank.
The burning of the known is the action of the unknown.
Far away a flute is playing and the sun is setting,
a great big red ball behind the walls of the town,
and the river is the colour of gentle fire
and every bird is coming in for the night.


Krishnamurti's notebook