Once there was a man who had an incredibly realistic dream.
He dreamt he was at his local village market. A passing mendicant walked along the road, and opened up a sack, and gave to him the largest diamond in the world. A thing of such beauty he had never before seen. As large as a pumpkin, this rock shone and the light from the sun brought such colours to his life, the likes of which he had never before seen.
He awoke from this dream in a sweat, troubled.
The dream had been so real.
He could yet feel the touch of this magnificent rock in his hands, but he looked, and nothing was there. This troubled the man and the rest of his night was restless. He felt incomplete, how could he ever now be whole? What kind of cruel, cruel dream had this dream been?
He had held the wealth of the world in his hands, and now it was gone. How he fretted to return to the land of the dream.
He fretted so much, he could think of little else, he visited the market daily, and stood for long hours in hope of meeting this passing mendicant, in hope that the dream had been prophetic in nature, in hope of becoming so whole. He stayed there for weeks, night and day. He watched so many others passing his way. And each day he returned home feeling a little emptier inside. This dream, so real, in life, had taken to hide.
A month or so passed, then one day, he saw a man in the distance, coming his way.
A sack on his shoulder, the figure was somehow recognisable. His heart started to beat faster, a light sweat appeared on his brow. 'Is my life to complete'? He asked 'Is this moment now'? His pulse quickened as the distant figure grew stronger, came closer, tangible, and he found it difficult to believe his eyes.
The mendicant from his dream, had come true to his life.
He started to shake, head to toe, the strangest of feelings he had ever known. And as the figure grew closer, confused and bewildered, he wondered 'what should I do'? How could he explain to this man what he had seen? How should he approach? Should he ask, should he beg, should he stand on his head? Would there ever be any sense in anything he said?
The mendicant came within reach of his voice.
And he shouted out to him, without any choice. His voice surprised even him. For he had made no decision for the words it came in.
'Give it to me, give it to me, please, give it to me!, He cried.
His heart was beating so fast; it was wonder he never died.
The mendicant stood there, a confused look on his face, who was this strange man in this market place?
'Give it me'! the man pleaded once more, 'I must be so whole. I must hold that diamond, what completes my soul'.
'You were in my dream many nights ago'. 'This meeting is fated, I am telling you so'.
The mendicants expression changed. A calmness came over his face. A slight nod he gave, to this man in this place.
He took his sack from his shoulder and opened it wide. ‘Is this what made you feel so whole, so complete, is this which was so wondrous to meet?’ 'Is this what captured your soul and made your heart dance'? 'Your dream was prophetic; this meeting was not chance'.
It was the largest diamond in the world.
It captured the light and rainbows of colour danced and hypnotised. Its many many facets brought such joy to this man’s face. The meaning of his waiting had arrived. He held it and a joy came to his eyes.
His heart sang a song, he felt so light he might rise from the ground. The wind played a tune, the most heavenly sound.
‘Can I have it’, can I have it'? He pleaded to the mendicant.
‘Of course’ came the reply. 'I found it on my travels, this thing of great beauty'. 'I travelled so far with it, so heavy as it is, it too caught my eye'. 'I see its great beauty as you saw in your dream, this wonderful rock, the largest I have seen'.
The man placed the diamond in his shaking hands, covered with it a cloth, fearing the eyes of others might also be captured, by this magnificent rock.
It was so beautiful, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
He could not risk losing it now, now he had this wholeness to his life, this completeness, this majesty, this treasure. This wealth never known, this love without measure.
He thanked the mendicant, tears streaming down his eyes. The mendicant smiled. And bowed his head a little, and bid the man farewell.
The man ran and he ran, as fast as he could, not really that fast, for this rock was indeed a weight. He ran towards his home, imagining how his life had changed. How emptiness was gone, a life, now, with no pain.
But the further he travelled he found a growing weight to his heart, unknown at first from where it came. It grew in strength, until this weight and the weight of the rock, the magnificent rock, brought him to completely stop.
He sat under a tree, unwrapped the cloth and looked at his love.
He began to cry. Tears fell down from his face, turning into diamond shards of light as they touched this stone, his wonderful object of so great delight.
He cried and he cried and he cried. He cried for hours. And slowly, so slowly, another vision began to appear.
He gathered his things, he covered the rock, this most wonderful of things. The possession of which had turned him to King.
And he ran and he ran as fast as could, back to the market, back to the market from where he had come. He looked around and around, but the mendicant had gone. And so he waited. And he waited. And he waited.
Day and night he waited. His heart felt even more troubled now, more troubled than before when he had longed for this object of love. Each passing figure, each passing face he studied from a distance, seeking recognition of the mendicant he had met in this place.
Another full month passed by. Almost giving up, a distant figure caught his eye. There was recognition in this walk, in the posture and flow. Could it be true? Was this man once more to know?
As the figure approached, his heart quickened once more. A light sweat appeared on his brow and beads fell to the floor.
The figure grew closer, his pulse quickened still. It was him. It was him! He ran, still clutching his treasured gift.
He ran right up to the mendicant.
The mendicant smiled, and greeted him well. 'How are you my brother, what stories to tell'?
The man held out this most beautiful of things. The object which had first made his life so complete.
And he said ‘Take it back! Take it back!’ The mendicant puzzled, and asked him 'but why'? 'This makes your life complete, brings that glint to your eye'. 'This makes your life whole, it makes your heart sing'.
'Why should I remove such a wonderful, beautiful thing'?
‘I want you to give to me what enabled you to give it to me.’ Came the unexpected reply.
The mendicant smiled the largest of smiles, he took back the rock and placed it in his sack, and he asked the man to travel with him, for he saw something in the man which now brought a song to his heart.
For many months they travelled together these two and the mendicant talked of many strange things. The man had to question and listen, to hear anything. Many times confused he was, many times he even cried. But he listened and listened, and listened, until at last he heard. What had he heard? Strange thing indeed. He had heard nothing at all, he had only listened. And in the silence of listening, he had heard everything.
And his listening had been so intense that he died.
He died, yet his heart still beat. He died, but the world was still there to meet. He died to all he had been before. This troubled heart of holding was not there anymore.
He kissed the mendicant and bid him farewell.
His heart now sang a different tune.
What had he seen? Where had he travelled? He had travelled where no one can go. What had he seen? He had seen the true meaning of the dream. Life was not found in carrying, not found in possession, it was found in letting it all go.
And the infinite patience of the mendicant had explained it so.
So much he had let go, so much he had never even realised he was even carrying. Many things past, regrets, pains, pleasures, so many things he had imagined he had longed to keep. He had carried it all, even mistakes and troubles.
And he had lived only for this, and to find and carry even more.
And so life had become a burdensome thing.
Until his meeting of life, no joy did it bring. He understood now why the rock had made his heart sing. And now he held nothing, not even himself. Was this life, was this death? Who cares, was this illness or health, who cares, who can tell?
He knew not a thing, he only now listened. To the world around and inside him. No single thing did he now possess. No need to hold, for it all belonged to life. As he belonged to life. All was alive, and yet soon to be gone. He kissed the lips of life, and danced with its song. And he felt richer than the King when the rock had made his heart sing.
The mendicant had given him treasure beyond his wildest dreams. Life was to be lived and died to moment by moment. Actually, the mendicant had not given him this, this was not his to give. He had pointed and pointed with infinite patience, until the man had seen where he was pointing towards. Until he was able to listen, to all that he heard.
Life was to be met through the senses, not gathered inside or out. Not held so close, not boasting in pride, not confused and in doubt.
And this was his love and this was his death and this was his life and his beauty.
And this man now walked a different step. He walked in the wholeness of life. He tasted its things, yet held onto none.
He received and let go, at times, he delighted in and carried what he had found, to outer eyes, he may even have seemed to hold on.
But when the time came to pass, it was gone. As he, was gone.
And in time, he was truly gone. This man who found death in life and life in death. And beauty in all living and all dying things.
For he, had come to realise, he also had been part of his dream.
Hello to all, I am a 60 year old man who has spent the best part of his life studying the teachings of J.Krishnamurti. My name is Henryk. I am rather unimportant, although what I talk about on these pages, has great importance. Particularly today, in this dark world, led by men of infinite wealth, unfortunately without the intelligence to match. My work here stands on the shoulders of that of J.Krishnamurti. Without this man's passion and great life understanding, this website would never have existed. His effect on my own life has been immeasurable. A man of infinite vision and wisdom, who spent over 60 years of his life travelling the world and discussing life and societal problems. Krishnamurti passed away in the 1980s. Anyone interested in the nature of discussion in the content of this site, will likely find great interest in the work of Krishnamurti. Hundreds of videos may be found on YouTube. There is a link above dedicated to his work to which new content is planned to be regularly added. The beauty of truth in life, is that it is identical for each one of us. Truth is the place we all come to meet in unity. And truth belongs to no man. Only pointless opinions, divisive, traditional, educated into and gathered by us, may be claimed as ownership. The change in our world so desperately needed this day, is within us, not external to our lives. All man's actions begin in the area of human thinking, it is this needs understood and brought to revolution. Thanks for taking the time to visit, a few posts are being added to the site weekly at the moment, when I find time. If you would like to support the work here, you can do so from the price of a cup of coffee each month, contributors are invited to online discussions. If you would like to contribute, our Patreon page may be found at the following address: www.patreon.com/rainbow_warriors.