Tag Archives: memory

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What is age? Is it the number of years you have lived? That is part of age; you were born in such and such a year, and now you are fifteen, forty or sixty years old. Your body grows old and so does your mind when it is burdened with all the experiences, miseries and weariness of life; and such a mind can never discover what is truth. The mind can discover only when it is young, fresh, innocent; but innocence is not a matter of age. It is not only the child that is innocent -he may not be- but the mind that is capable of experiencing without accumulating the residue of experience. The mind must experience, that is inevitable. It must respond to everything -to the river, to the diseased animal, to the dead body being carried away to be burnt, to the poor villagers carrying their burdens along the road, to the tortures and miseries of life- otherwise it is already dead; but it must be capable of responding without being held by the experience. It is tradition, the accumulation of experience, the ashes of memory, that make the mind old. The mind that dies every day to the memories of yesterday, to all the joys and sorrows of the past such a mind is fresh, innocent, it has no age; and without that innocence, whether you are ten or sixty, you will not find God.

— Jiddu Krishnamurti – The Book of Life

Dying to the memories of yesterday

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When you see a beautiful thing, there is immediate joy; you see a sunset and there is an immediate reaction of joy. That joy, a few moments later, becomes a memory. That memory of the joy, is it a living thing? Is the memory of the sunset a living thing? No, it is a dead thing. So, with that dead imprint of a sunset, through that, you want to find joy. Memory has no joy; it is only the remembrance of something which created the joy. Memory in itself has no joy. There is joy, the immediate reaction to the beauty of a tree; and then memory comes in and destroys that joy. So, if there is a constant perception of beauty without the accumulation of memories, then there is the possibility of joy everlasting.

— Jiddu Krishnamurti – The Collected Works

Perceiving beauty without accumulating memories

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A hundred years from now
Who could you be
Reading my poem curiously
A hundred years from now!
How can I transmit to you who are so far away
A bit of the joy I feel this day,
At this new spring dawn,
The beauty of flowers this day
Songbirds that keep chirping away
Of the crimson glow of the setting sun.
How can I lave them all with my love,
And hope you will make them your own
A hundred years from now?

However, if you keep you southern door ajar,
Sit by your window and look afar
View the horizon stretch endlessly
And imagine this possibility —
That one day a hundred years from now,
Excitement from some heaven above could flow
Could strike your inmost heart and make it glow,
That on a bright spring day
When you were feeling restless and carefree —
Suddenly,
There could blow with the southern breeze,
Impatient and eager to please,
Flying on restless wings,
Full of pollen and the scent of flowers,
And of what youth desires,
An impulse from me that could make your soul sway.
At a time a hundred years away!
A soul carried away by the tunes
Overwhelmed by the flowers on display,
Had then burst into poetry,
Lovingly,
A hundred years from now!

A hundred years from now
Who will that new poet be
Singing in your festival merrily?
I send him my spring greetings —
Hoping he will make them his own
Let my spring song resound in your spring day
For a while let my tune stay —
In the fluttering of your soul, the humming bees,
And murmuring in leaves,
A hundred years from now!

— Rabindranath Tagore – “Aaji Hote Shata Barsha Pare” – from Chitra (translated by Fakrul Alam)

A Hundred Years from Now