The instinctive fear of death is instinctive
We, the essence, do not die
Only we the fearful
Only fear dies.
Not one great Wisdom denies life after death
Egyptians and their pharaohs knew that, long before Krishna told it
What death is, is a tree
A magnificent, undying tree
Beyond which we sow our future
And find our future
What we leave undone we find, to do again
What we leave unfully lived and loved we find, to live and love again
Minds gather memories constantly
To our minds that is time
Yet a mind must stay fresh and young
Innocent and humble to learn from them
When we see something that we neither agree with nor disagree with
When we see something directly without opinion
We learn
And so it is with death
We learn
Not having been that place before
Not having taken that journey before
Can we live without time
Without “It is then I will be”
“It was then I was”
“I must arrive”
“I must fulfill”
If we could, the mind, living nevertheless within all its senses
Would be bound by no frontier
Would face no empty space of death
Without space between notes there is no music
Without the space between things unknown the known is not
Without death our minds become slaves to time and space
It is only that which dies that has a possibility of newness
Youth and freshness
It is only that which dies that escapes the urge to have permanency
It is only that which escapes the urge to have permanency that finds freedom
It is only that which finds freedom that finds God
For a god who is made permanent in time and space cannot be God
And a love which is made permanent in time and space cannot be Love
The idea is not love
The idea, the word is not love
But only when you have seen the whole movement, desire and attachment
Then out of that depth of perception comes the strange flower
That is love.
Comes the knowledge of a Jiddu Krishnamurti