Monday, 12 March 2012

Good eve y'all! 

Gonna start with the genius of Mr. Shadow:

From one of my all time favorite albums, Endtroducing...
Incredible tune. 

N I just finished watching Goodfellas. Such a great film. One of Scorsese's best I'd say. Fuckin brilliant. 

I'ma keep it short this time n give you the final Krishnamurti. 
I thought I'd do this one in its entirety. So here goes. N I'll see what'll be comin after that=)

April 24, 1975

Every living thing has its own sensitivity, its own way of life, its own consciousness, but man assumes that his own is far superior and thereby he loses his love, his dignity and becomes insensitive, callous and destructive. In the valley of orange trees, with their fruit and spring blossom, it was a lovely clear morning. The mountains to the north had a sprinkling f snow on them; they were bare, hard and aloof, but against the tender blue sky of early morning they were very close, you could almost touch them. They had that immense sense of age and indestructible majesty and that beauty that comes with timeless grandeur. It was a very still morning and the smell of of orange blossom filled the air, the wonder and the beauty of light. The light of this part of the world has a special quality, penetrating, alive and filling the eyes; it seemed to enter into your whole consciousness, sweeping away any dark corners. There was great joy in that and every leaf and blade of grass was rejoicing in it. And the blue jay was hopping from branch to branch and not screeching its head off for a change. It was a lovely morning of light and great depth.
  Time has bred consciousness with its content. It is the culture of time. Its content makes up consciousness; without it, consciousness, as we know it, is not. Then there is nothing. We move the little pieces in this consciousness from one area to another according to the pressure of reason and circumstance but in the same field of pain, sorrow and knowledge. This movement is time, the thought and the measure. It is a senseless game of hide and seek with yourself, the shadow and substance of thought, the past and the future of thought. Thought cannot hold this moment, for this moment is not of time. This moment is the ending of time; time has stopped at that moment, there is no movement at that moment and so it is not related to another moment. It has no cause and so no beginning and no end. Consciousness cannot contain it. In that moment of nothingness everything is.
  Meditation is the emptying of consciousness of its content. 

(sometimes I'd like to be a dude like this=) ) 

(All quotes from Krishnamurti's Journal, 1982, (funnily enough printed in Finland=) ) bought in a bookshop on Stoke Newington Church Street, London)

Swell little ol place down on that swell street, for all yous in ol London Town=) 

Right, that's it for me. Have a good one!

Lotsa lovin!


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