A few weeks ago, I was awake, and suddenly there was only talking. There was no talker. For years I had listened to the statement that the observer and the observed were one. I saw there was no room, no necessity for a thinker; only consciousness and the arising of phenomena. Instead of jumping out of bed, I turned around and slept.
Insight seems to be like a gentle breeze, a whisper. Will you say something about the non-dramatic quality of real insight?
Deva Amrito, J. Krishnamurti has made it known worldwide that “the observer is the observed.” I want to refute him completely. The moment there is no observer, there is nothing to be observed. The observer and the observed disappear simultaneously – and there is only silence; neither the knower nor the known.
This is something very complex to understand, because the mind always wants duality. With the two the mind is absolutely at ease. The knower and the known…and the two always create the third, the knowledge. The observer and the observed are bound to create the third, the observation. And then there is no end to this infinite regress.
My own silence is, that there is no observer and there is no observed. Hence nothing can be said about it. The moment you say it, you lie.
It is one of the reasons Lao Tzu never said anything, never wrote anything. He had a great following, but a very strange following. Every disciple had come to listen, to understand, to know, but Lao Tzu insistently, his whole life long, refused to say anything about truth, or to write anything about truth. He was ready to talk about anything else – but the people had come to know about the truth….
Finally the day came. Lao Tzu left for the Himalayas to enter into the eternal peace of those beautiful mountains. But the emperor of China was also interested to know what Lao Tzu had been hiding and not telling, not even giving a hint about what truth is. He ordered all the borders to be closed to Lao Tzu: “He cannot leave China unless he writes something about truth.”
Lao Tzu was caught crossing the border towards the Himalayas – respectfully, lovingly; the emperor was not an enemy but a disciple.
The emperor himself was present there, because that was the route they assumed he would take towards the Himalayas. A beautiful house was made for him so that he could rest and write down his experience of truth. Unless he did it, the doors would not be open for him, and he was guarded continuously. This was a strange situation – perhaps no other master has ever encountered such a situation – loaded guns in the hands of the disciples!
And we can understand the situation of the disciples: they wanted to preserve the most important experience of truth for future generations. Under compulsion, Lao Tzu closed himself in the house and wrote a small book. The first sentence in that book says, “That which can be said cannot be true. That which can be written is bound to be a lie. Remember these two statements while you read my book.”