Meeting Life - The Problem of Living

The Problem of Living

MALIBU, CALIFORNIA, 3 MARCH 1970

The mountains were full of solitude. It had been raining off and on for several
days and the mountains were green with light. They had become almost blue, and
in their fullness they were making the heavens rich and beautiful. There was
great silence, which was almost like the sound of the breakers when you walked
on the beach over the wet sand. Near the ocean there was no silence except in
your heart, but among the mountains, on that winding path, silence was
everywhere. The noise of the town, the roar of the traffic and the thunder of
waves couldn’t be heard.
One is always puzzled about action, and it gets more and more bewildering when
one sees the complexity of life. There are so many things that should be done and
there are things that need immediate action. The world around us is changing
rapidly—its values, its morality, its wars and peace. One is utterly lost before the
immediacy of action. But yet one is always asking oneself what one should do
confronted with the enormous problem of living. One has lost faith in most
things—in the leaders, in the teachers, in beliefs—and one often wishes there
were some clear principle that would light a path, or an authority to tell one what
to do. But we know in our hearts that this would be something dead and gone.
Invariably we come back to asking ourselves what it is all about and what we
must do.
As one can observe, we have always acted from a centre—a centre which
contracts and expands. Sometimes it is a very small circle and at other times it is
comprehensive, exclusive and utterly satisfying. But it is always a centre of grief
and sorrow, of fleeting joys and misery, the enchanting or the painful past. It is a
centre which most of us know consciously or unconsciously, and from this centre
we act and have our roots. The question of what to do, now or tomorrow, is
always asked from the centre and the reply must always be recognizable by the
centre. Having received the reply either from another or from ourselves, we
proceed to act according to the limitation of the centre. It is like an animal
tethered to a post, its action depending on the length of the tether. This action is
never free and so there is always pain, mischief and confusion.
Realizing this, the centre says to itself: how am I to be free, free to live
happily, completely, openly, and act without sorrow or remorse? But it is still the
centre asking the question. The centre is the past. The centre is the ‘me’ with its
selfish activities which knows action only in terms of reward and punishment,
achievement or failure, and its motives, causes and effects. It is caught in this
chain and the chain is the centre and the prison.
There is another action which comes when there is a space without a centre, a
dimension in which there is no cause and effect. From this, living is action. Here,
having no centre, whatever is done is free, joyous, without pain or pleasure. This
space and freedom is not a result of effort and achievement, but when the centre
ends the other is.
But we will ask how can the centre end, what am I to do to end it, what
disciplines, what sacrifices, what great efforts am I to make? None. Only see
without choice the activities of the centre, not as an observer, not as an outsider
looking inward, but just observe without the censor. Then you may say: I cannot
do it, I am always looking with the eyes of the past. Be aware, then, of looking
with the eyes of the past, and remain with that. Don’t try to do anything about it;
be simple and know that whatever you try to do will only strengthen the centre
and is a response of your own desire to escape.
So there is no escape, no effort and no despair. Then you can see the full
meaning of the centre and the immense danger of it, and that is enough.