All things need space. If rats are enclosed in a restricted space, they destroy each other; the small birds sitting on a telegraph wire, of an evening, have the needed space between each other. Human beings living in crowded cities are becoming violent. Where there is no space, outwardly and inwardly, every form of mischief and degeneration is inevitable. The conditioning of the mind through so-called education, religion, tradition, culture, gives little space to the flowering of the mind and heart. The belief, the experience according to that belief, the opinion, the concepts, the word is the «me», the ego, the centre which creates the limited space within whose border is consciousness. The «me» has its being and its activity within the small space it has created for itself. All its problems and sorrows, its hopes and despairs are within its own frontiers, and there is no space. The known occupies all its consciousness. Consciousness is the known. Within this frontier there is no solution to all the problems human beings have put together. And yet they won't let go; they cling to the known or invent the unknown, hoping it will solve their problems. The space which the «me» has built for itself is its sorrow and the pain of pleasure. The gods don't give you space, for

них оно ваше. Огромное, неизмеримое пространство лежит за пределами того, что может измерить мысль (измерения мысли), а мысль — это известное. Медитация — это освобождение сознания от его содержания, от известного, от "я".

Вёсла медленно двигали лодку вверх по спящей реке, а огонёк из дома указывал направление. Это был долгий вечер, закат солнца сиял золотым, зелёным и оранжевым светом, и по воде пролегла золотая дорожка.

24 октября 1973

Тропа, каменистая и неровная, вела вниз, в долину, где тускло мерцали огни маленькой деревни; было темно. На фоне звёздного неба вырисовывались волнистые очертания холмов, всё было погружено в темноту, и где-то поблизости выл койот. Тропа утратила свои знакомые очертания, и лёгкий ветерок веял из долины. Быть одному в таком уединённом месте — значит внимать голосу полной тишины и её великой красоте. Какое-то животное зашуршало в кустах, испугавшись или желая привлечь к себе внимание. Теперь стало уже совсем темно, и мир долины погрузился в глубокое безмолвие. В ночном воздухе ощущалась сложная смесь запахов кустарника, росшего на этих сухих холмах, — сильный запах кустарника, которому знакомо жаркое солнце. Дожди окончились много месяцев тому назад; теперь их не будет очень долго; тропа была сухая, пыльная и неровная. Великое безмолвие с его огромным пространством вошло в эту ночь, и всякое движение мысли затихало. Ум сам был этим неизмеримым пространством, и в этой глубокой тишине не было ничего, созданного мыслью. Быть абсолютно ничем — значит быть вне измерения. Тропа круто пошла под уклон, и маленький ручеёк журчал о многом, наслаждаясь своим собственным звучанием. Ручеёк несколько раз пересекал тропу, они точно играли друг с другом. Звёзды theirs is yours. This vast, measureless space lies outside the measure of thought, and thought is the known. Meditation is the emptying of consciousness of its content, the known, the «me».

Slowly the oars took the boat up the sleeping river and the light of a house gave it the direction. It had been a long evening and the sunset was gold, green and orange and it made a golden path on the water.

24 TH OCTOBER 1973

Way down in the valley were the dull lights of a small village; it was dark and the path was stony and rough. The waving lines of the hills against the starlit sky were deeply embedded in darkness and a coyote was howling somewhere nearby. The path had lost its familiarity and a small scented breeze was coming up the valley. To be alone in that solitude was to hear the voice of intense silence and its great beauty. Some animal was making a noise among the bushes, frightened or attracting attention. It was quite dark by now and the world of that valley became deep in its silence. The night air had special smells, a blend of all the bushes that grow on the dry hills, that strong smell of bushes that know the hot sun. The rains had stopped many months ago; it wouldn't rain again for a very long time and the path was dry, dusty and rough. The great silence with its vast space held the night and every movement of thought became still. The mind itself was the immeasurable space and in that deep quietness there was not a thing that thought had built. To be absolutely nothing is to be beyond measure. The path went down a steep incline and a small stream was saying many things, delighted with its own voice. It crossed the path several times and the two were playing a game together. The stars