Exploding from the center
19/04/2024 - An exercise to quiet the mind as a semi-structured stream of consciousness.
I went back to “Freedom from the Known” for another dose of Jiddu Krishnamurti’s wisdom. I have already read this book, but after all, this read is not the same as the one before. It took me a couple of pages to start thinking deeply again. He asks a simple question that I wish to dive into: “Is it not possible to explode from the centre?”
Let’s begin with what prompts the question. Traditionally, we approach the discovery of the inner confines of the mind at the periphery. We rely on time, gradual change, slow progress and improvement. We peel the layers of ourselves one by one as we are faced with them. This can be anything that afflicts us: anxieties, fears, unfulfilled ideals… All these things stand in the way of the quiet mind.
We breed duality at every corner; we fight violence with non-violence, war with peace, good with bad. The endless cycle makes our mind mechanical, and J.K. concludes (rightly so!) that once we peel all the layers (if we ever do) and get to what we believe to be the centre, it would have been a procedural journey based on all prior conditioning. Can one say the mind is free once we have gotten there?
An example of how we do this is common in the faithful, through prayers, mantras, and meditations. “My mind is disturbed; I must calm it down.” Do you see the duality there?
We go back to the original question: what if we could, in a flash, go right to the centre and explode outwards? There would be no need to peel the proverbial onion… I want to dig into what this means to me. I should note that these reflections are the actual process that goes on inside my mind and my way of exploring the question. It is impossible for me to describe the feeling this brings me… But I have to reiterate that asking the question is not enough; one must experience it with great attention.
So what if I could, in a moment, understand the whole structure of thought, that is, the conditioning of the mind and all the things that come with it? I suppose this is similar to the idea of ego death. If we can see beyond the word and beyond the known, the ego ceases to exist. It is exposed, naked as the creation that it is, a figment of the mind’s imagination, a mind that continuously tries to hold on to the conceptual word in an attempt to justify its own existence.
I observe my thoughts for a moment… I cannot prevent them from arising, and I don’t want to either. I think about the fact that a text somewhat requires an “I” to represent myself vis-à-vis others. In my psyche, though, who is this “I” that I mention? The mind gives the illusion that it is driving the car when in fact it is simply in the back seat. The body works as a beautifully oiled machine, without the need for what we call the “mind” at all, doesn’t it? I do not think about breathing or about making my heart beat.
Going back to thoughts, they arise spontaneously, and through observation I can see the mind at work. “Are you complicating this text too much?” “No one is ever going to read it.” “Why do you try to be eloquent? You are nowhere near the greats…” “What are the greats, anyway?” It is fun to pay attention to the flow of these things. I refrain from action, however. Sure, I am writing this down. But I don’t entertain the thought for any longer than the ephemeral time during which it flickers through. By virtue of simple observation, the thought vanishes…
My mind had always been stuck in the conceptual, with its endless struggles, battles, and ambitions. That need to be great, to assert intellectual dominance, to always be “top of the class”. These neurotic patterns were somewhat crippling in my adolescent life and stuck into adulthood. As I grew, I was able to slowly peel layers but never got to anywhere meaningful. Sports was a great outlet, and so was the occasional therapy session. But the patterns were still lurking.
Then it all happened, that flash of light. The moment the diamond cutter reached my life. There was no going back. I was no more for that moment, dead to everything around me. And in that death, the beauty of it all came to me. If one dies to the world at every moment, then everything is new and exciting. How could it not be? The world is ever-changing, and as time passes, everything is not the same as it just was; impermanence is constant. I laugh internally at the irony of that statement, but it brings an incredible sense of calm.
I feel the train of thought somehow derailing as my fingers move almost automatically on the keyboard. The beautiful keys on the piano of “Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence” keep blasting in my ears, and when I turn my attention to them, I quickly get goosebumps. My mind settles once again. I find it difficult to convey these concepts to others, and the “me” would love my friends and the rest of the world to understand them. I do not suffer because of this; I do not delve into whether that can or cannot be done. It is an act of balance to dabble between the conceptual world and what is real.
New thought: “whatever direction this text was taking has now become just a regurgitation of words around a topic I claim to understand.” My own inability to verbalise it in an eloquent way makes me admire J.K. even further. I do not follow or revere the man; after all, any authority is in the way of true freedom. But I do have this feeling which we approximate with the word “admiration” at how brilliant he is in the choice of words…
It is paradoxical that a somewhat systematic approach is needed to attempt to explain the thing that requires us to break from all systems. I see this as another limitation of words. Words and language are wonderful things, and without them, we would not be human. At the same time, they are a prison for the mind insofar as we believe the “thing” to be the word.
I wonder whether I have really grasped what all this means. I then entertain the idea of multiple explosions from the centre. But surely there can only be one? Perhaps my initial experience of an explosion is fuelled by airs of grandeur and is only a partial understanding of the whole. In fact, it probably is. I cannot claim to know anything for certain from the ultimate standpoint. You might say that this is an established belief. But isn’t that belief itself holding the mind hostage? How do you break free? Is it an endless cycle? As all of this occurs, I feel the mind being quiet, in that moment between time, away from it all.
The final realisation is likely yet to come, but if it is yet to come, am I not still peeling layers?