Dear readers & Friends …
For a reason out of my study, I need to terminate the activity this web log for temporary till the time that not to be known yet.
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There is still a Indonesian blog of mine, please refer to http://haridiva-indonesia.blogspot.com to visit it.
Please forgive me for this inconvenient.
In the modern world where there are so many problems, one is apt to lose great feeling. I mean by that word feeling, not sentiment, not emotionalism, not mere excitement, but that quality of perception, the quality of hearing, listening, the quality of feeling, a bird singing on a tree, the movement of a leaf in the sun. To feel things greatly, deeply, penetratingly, is very difficult for most of us because we have so many problems. Whatever we seem to touch turns into a problem. And, apparently, there is no end to man’s problems, and he seems utterly incapable of resolving them because the more the problems exist, the less the feelings become.
I mean by “feeling” the appreciation of the curve of a branch, the squalor, the dirt on the road, to be sensitive to the sorrow of another, to be in a state of ecstasy when we see a sunset. These are not sentiments, these are not mere emotions. Emotion and sentiment or sentimentality turn to cruelty, they can be used by society; and when there is sentiment, sensation, then one becomes a slave to society. But one must have great feelings. The feeling for beauty, the feeling for a word, the silence between two words, and the hearing of a sound clearly—all that generates feeling. And one must have strong feelings, because it is only the feelings that make the mind highly sensitive.
What do we mean by emotion? Is it a sensation, a reaction, a response of the senses? Hate, devotion, the feeling of love or sympathy for another—they are all emotions. Some, like love and sympathy, we call positive, while others, like hate, we call negative and want to get rid of. Is love the opposite of hate? And is love an emotion, a sensation, a feeling that is stretched out through memory?
…So, what do we mean by love? Surely, love is not memory. That is very difficult for us to understand because for most of us, love is memory. When you say that you love your wife or your husband, what do you mean by that? Do you love that which gives you pleasure? Do you love that with which you have identified yourself and which you recognize as belonging to you? Please, these are facts; I am not inventing anything, so don’t look horrified.
…It is the image, the symbol of “my wife” or “my husband” that we love, or think we love, not the living individual. I don’t know my wife or my husband at all; and I can never know that person as long as knowing means recognition. For recognition is based on memory—memory of pleasure and pain, memory of the things I have lived for, agonized over, the things I possess and to which I am attached. How can I love when there is fear, sorrow, loneliness, the shadow of despair? How can an ambitious man love? And we are all very ambitious, however honourably.
So, really to find out what love is, we must die to the past, to all our emotions, the good and the bad—die effortlessly, as we would to a poisonous thing, because we understand it.
One can see that neither emotion nor sentiment has any place at all where love is concerned. Sentimentality and emotion are merely reactions of like or dislike. I like you and I get terribly enthusiastic about you—I like this place, oh, it is lovely and all the rest, which implies that I don’t like the other and so on. Thus sentiment and emotion breed cruelty. Have you ever looked at it? Identification with the rag called the national flag is an emotional and sentimental factor and for that factor you are willing to kill another—and that is called the love of your country, love of the neighbor. . .. One can see that where sentiment and emotion come in, love is not. It is emotion and sentiment that breed the cruelty of like and dislike. And one can see also that where there is jealousy, there is no love, obviously. I am envious of you because you have a better position, better job, better house, you look nicer, more intelligent, more awake and I am jealous of you. I don’t in fact say I am jealous of you, but I compete with you, which is a form of jealousy, envy. So envy and jealousy are not love and I wipe them out; I don’t go on talking about how to wipe them out and in the meantime continue to be envious—I actually wipe them out as the rain washes the dust of many days off a leaf, I just wash them away.
We know we depend—on our relationship with people or on some ideal or on a system of thought. Why?
… Actually, I do not think dependence is the problem; I think there is some other deeper factor that makes us depend. And if we can unravel that, then both dependence and the struggle for freedom will have very little significance; then all the problems which arise though dependence will wither away. So, what is the deeper issue? Is it that the mind abhors, fears, the idea of being alone? And does the mind know that state which it avoids? So long as that loneliness is not really understood, felt, penetrated, dissolved—whatever word you may like to use—so long as that sense of loneliness remains, dependence is inevitable, and one can never be free; one can never find out for oneself that which is true, that which is religion.
“How can I remain free from evil thoughts, evil and wayward thoughts?” Is there the thinker, the one apart from thought, apart from the evil, wayward thoughts? Please watch your own mind. We say, “There is the I, the me that says, ‘This is a wayward thought,’ ‘This is bad,’ ‘I must control this thought,’ ‘I must keep to this thought.’” That is what we know. Is the one, the I, the thinker, the judger, the one that judges, the censor, different from all this? Is the I different from thought, different from envy, different from evil? The I which says that it is different from this evil is everlastingly trying to overcome me, trying to push me away, trying to become something. So you have this struggle, the effort to put away thoughts, not to be wayward.
We have, in the very process of thinking, created this problem of effort. Do you follow? Then you give birth to discipline, controlling thought—the I controlling the thought which is not good, the I which is trying to become nonenvious, nonviolent, to be this and to be that. So you have brought into being the very process of effort when there is the I and the thing which it is controlling. That is the actual fact of our everyday existence.