Digital Rare Book:
By Jiddu Krishnamurti
Published by Star of the East, Amsterdam - 1920
I am alone on the road, not a soul in front of me; there may be many behind me, but I do not desire to look back upon the horror of sufferings of the past. On either side of this long and what seems to be an interminable highway of my life, there is desolate waste ever beckoning me to join its miserable quietude - death. In front of me the path stretches mile after mile, year after year, century after century, white in the blazing, pitiless sun; the road ever mounts, in an imperceptible inclination. The whiteness of this weary path, with the glittering sun, makes me almost blind ; look where I may to rest my tired eyes, there is everywhere that immense ocean of blinding light, blatant in its intensity. The sun never goes to sleep but ruthlessly sheds his unwelcome and awful heat. The
road is not all even, but, here and there, there are parts as smooth as a lake on a calm, peaceful day. This dreary path is even to the tread, but unexpectedly, like some unsatisfied storm, which suddenly bursts forth to triumph in its joy of destruction, the road is broken up and becomes merciless to the already bleeding feet. I cannot tell when it will again become smooth and encouraging ; it may be at the next footstep or after many years of toil and suffering. This bitter road cares not if it causes pain or pleasure ; it is there for me to tread willingly or unwillingly. Who built this road of misfortune I cannot tell, nor can the road mention his name. It has existed for many centuries, nay for many millenia.
Nobody but me has trodden it; it has been cut out for me to walk alone. Companions, friends, brothers, sisters, fathers and mothers have I had, but on this dreadful road they cannot exist. This Path is like the jealous and exacting lover, hating his love to have other friends and other lovers. The road is my inexorable love, and it guards my love jealously, destroying all those who would accompany me or help me. Exacting in all things both small or great, it never releases me from its cruel, kind gaze. It embraces me with a strength that almost chokes me, and laughs with a knowing kindness as my feet bleed; I cannot go away from it, it is my constant and lonely love. I cannot look elsewhere but only at the long interminable Path.
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