Afterword

When U.G. was having these conversations in Amsterdam, I was living in California in the “spiritual community” of Da Free John. It was three years later, in 1985, that I left that community. I found myself, after 10 years of “practice”, out on my ass, no money, no home, no relationship to family and friends -- and with a lot of unfinished business of my own, such as three children whom I had left in order to go “realize enlightenment”.

Although I tried in many ways to fill the spiritual void that my years of participation with Da Free John had filled, I was beginning to sense that all of these attempts to find religious and spiritual meaning in life were somehow false -- an imposition on the very simple fact of nature itself. Yet seeking had become such a habit, I could not stop.

In 1987 I went on a three day retreat with Bernadette Roberts (an ex-Carmelite nun, who has realized a state she calls “no self”). As the retreat was nearing its end, an old friend of mine (another Da Free John divorcee, as U.G. calls us) gave a book to Bernadette called “The Mystique of Enlightenment”. It was by U.G. Krishnamurti. Bernadette handed it back to my friend, and I quickly said, “If you don't mind, I would like to read that.”

With the book in hand, I withdrew to my cabin. The first thing I noticed was U.G.'s droll disclaimer at the beginning of the book: “This book has no copyright...” (this was quite exhilarating after having spent the past 10 years with a man who claimed a perpetual copyright on every word he uttered).

During the last few hours of the retreat I read the book from cover to cover. I was reading what I felt in my gut was the direct and simple expression of a truth I had been searching for all my life. Yet I was completely unable to do a thing about it. Actually, for that matter, it was the beginning of the end of doing anything about enlightenment at all.

Eventually, I wrote to the publisher, inquiring about U.G.'s whereabouts and whether I could meet him. After many weeks, I received a letter from a man named Chandrasekhar. U.G. was travelling. I could contact Julie Thayer, who just happened to live a few blocks from me on the Upper West Side of New York City.

I called Julie. She invited me over to her apartment, and within minutes I was at her doorstep. Julie had just completed a round-the-world trip with U.G. and had taken video footage of him everywhere they went. There were about 100 hours of unedited tapes. For several weeks I went to Julie's apartment every day and sat mesmerized, watching this odd man as he wandered around the world, meeting and conversing with an eclectic assortment of people. Soon after that, U.G. came to the United States and I flew to San Rafael, California to meet him for the first time.

“Why have you wasted your money?” he asked me when we first met. “I wanted to meet you,” I answered. “You won't get anything here,” he told me, adding, “if you got anything at all from my books you wouldn't be here.” What could I say? Something was going on, but it was certainly nothing I could explain or make use of. I had no frame of reference for this guy. All my guru-worship lessons from the past were of no use here. But, at the same time, he was clearly no ordinary man.

All one can do when they first meet U.G. is observe how he functions. After years of bowing and scraping at the feet of Da Free John, it was quite refreshing to sit around with someone who seemed to me to be in a state I would call “enlightened” (don't tell U.G. I said that), and not have to perform any ceremony or make any effort to express anything in particular. I could just be myself, whatever that was.

U.G. moves like a cat. Economy of motion. He also grows on one. Some people are not interested in what he has to say, and that's fine with him, because he really does not believe he has any mission at all. Others hang on every word, and those he constantly confronts and confounds. Others (I guess I fall into this category), listen, and then just live their lives. I believe he has saved me from futile years of futile seeking, and he has also lightened my conceptual load in a very real sense. He has become part of my life without intruding in any way. It is very interesting to me, and extremely difficult (as others will attest) to communicate.

I now have had the opportunity to spend time with U.G. in New York City, California and Gstaad, Switzerland. Each time and place was quite different, and yet very much the same. I could tell all kinds of interesting anecdotes, but then U.G. doesn’t like “testimonials”.

I had the “Give Up” series of audio-cassettes for a few years before I actually listened to them. When I did listen, I was very drawn to these conversations. They seemed to be a composite of U.G.'s most fundamental expression. Of course, reading these edited conversations is not quite the same as listening to the voice which expresses these bombshells, but the written word has its own effect.

U.G. does not give lectures. He does not write books. Every word written about him has been produced by friends who are simply moved to do so. Like a master jazzman, he is given the key, the tempo, the chord changes by whoever he is with, and then he merely responds.

In these Amsterdam conversations, U.G. creates a structure that makes sense -- even if you can't quite hold onto it, you can come back again and again, and each time hear some new “rif” that you may have missed before. And it sets you straight just a bit more. It lightens your load just a bit more.

Thanks, U.G.

Ellen J. Chrystal

November, 1995