Issue #36

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Issue 36—June 1, 1975 to August 18, 1975


In this issue we see the first volume of Mary Lutyens’ biography being read by different people and their very different responses to that very strange early life that Krishnaji led. We also see Krishnaji wondering with others about that early life.

There is also in this issue the transcription of two of four small sheets of loose paper that were in Mary’s large diary for this period. These small sheets of paper do not have the careful handwriting that is usually evident in Mary’s diary, but they are hurriedly scribbled, as if she was trying to just get down in writing somethings that Krishnaji said.


The Memoirs of Mary Zimbalist: Issue #36

Mary:  Well, we begin in the little book on the first of June 1975 as I didn’t record anything in the big book, and from the little book it seems to be one of those non-days to report.

Scott: Well, let’s have it anyway.

M: ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school in the morning on silence and seeing, and then I spoke to a man from Leeds, a transcendental-meditation type, and told him that it has nothing to do with Krishnaji’s teachings. At 6 p.m. there was a staff meeting. David Bohm was there. It was proposed and accepted that Saral attend.’ I presume for the scientists’ conference that is coming up.

On the second of June, ‘it was cold, and snowed in London for the first time in June since records were kept.’ [S chuckles.] ‘I did letters in the morning. Mary Links and Amanda Pallant came for lunch, and we all walked very bundled up. They began a staff meeting at 6:30 a.m.’ Why would that be? ‘I’ [chuckles], ‘got fairly sleepy watching Kojak with Krishnaji on television at night. Dr. Parchure is teaching me how to massage Krishnaji.’ [Chuckles.] Nothing came of that, but that’s what happened on the second of June.

On the third of June, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school, and he said again to me, “I will teach them in spite of themselves.” Dr. P. gave me another lesson in giving Krishnaji a massage. I gave Dr. P. a copy of the biography to read.’

The next day, ‘It is a little bit warmer. I typed letters all morning, and after lunch went to Winchester for errands, taking Frances McCann and Carol Allwell. I was back in time for the walk.’

The fifth of June, Krishnaji and I went to London, and he came with me to Rowe’s, where I had ordered some trousers, because he wished to supervise the fitting!’ [S laughs heartily.] ‘Which he did. And he thinks that I should have them cut a bit longer. This was a slight contention between us. He won, naturally.’ [S chuckling more.] ‘He said that the trousers should break[1] at the bottom.’ I’m sure you know what I mean.

S: I know exactly, yes.

M: ‘Only then, according to Krishnaji, were they proper.’ So, that’s what happened.

S: Yes, quite right.

M: ‘We walked to Fortnum’s and lunched with Mary and Joe. Joe asked Krishnaji’ [chuckles] ‘about the philosophical belief in the Masters, and he wanted to know about that Scots one.’ He meant the Maha Chohan!’ [Both laugh heartily.] A Scottish name, clearly! [Both laugh more.] ‘It is difficult listening to Krishnaji not to think he puts credence in their existence, though he doesn’t say so. Krishnaji went to the dentist, Mr. Thompson, while I fetched remedies at Nelson’s. We caught the 4:20 p.m. train back. Today is the first referendum ever held in Britain on remaining in the common market. They say it is a heavy vote. Results will be counted tomorrow. The scientists are arriving at Brockwood for the second session of the discussion with Krishnaji.’

Friday, the sixth of June. ‘Krishnaji and the scientists met in the Assembly Room. Wilkins, Bohm, Shainberg, Ullman, Goodwin, Butt, Peet, Monroe, and Parchure, Harsh, and Zorski. Students chosen by Harsh and Joe Zorski came as observers. In the afternoon, the same meeting continued. No papers were read this time. They went straight into discussion.’

On the seventh, ‘there was more of the scientific conference in the morning and the afternoon. In the afternoon, late, we walked. It was a hot and lovely day. There was a staff meeting.’

The next day, with the scientist conference. ‘Dr. Julian Melzack and his wife Dr. Elisabeth Ferris joined the group, and once again, Melzack slowed it all down. Michael Rubinstein came as an observer.’ I remember Mr. Melzack, who I think was something to do with logic, disrupted the meeting, as far as I can remember, over and over. He was difficult.

On the ninth of June. ‘The scientist conference concluded in the afternoon. Krishnaji gave a private interview to Dr. Ferris’—that’s Mrs. Melzack—‘on the reasons she and Melzack were late joining. Her father is hopelessly ill with cancer and they just learned of it. So, he very nicely talked to her.’

On the tenth, ‘Krishnaji rested all day. Krishnaji had hay fever again after his walk. Dr. Parchure gave him Actad. Earlier he had had lacto-something, which is to work on the probable milk allergy, which Parchure thinks Krishnaji may have had since childhood. By treating this allergy homeopathically, Parchure hopes to affect his hay fever.’ Sorry to say, it didn’t work.

S: I know.

M: Now, we go back to the little book for the eleventh. ‘It was another warm day. Nothing happened. Krishnaji stayed in bed.’ And he stayed there for the next day as well.

On the thirteenth, my diary says, ‘Krishnaji in bed all morning. I came in before going to Winchester on errands, and Krishnaji said, “I was playing the Beethoven Ninth Symphony, that loud part, that demonic energy part, and not reading, lying here like this…” he was on his back with his legs slightly bent at right angles, “…and I felt this odd feeling as if death came. Everything was going through a little hole, and I realized it mustn’t happen, and so it came back. I have felt a little of it for a couple of days, as if death were like that.”’

‘Me: “So near?”’

‘Krishnaji: “Like that, through this little hole.”’

‘Me: “Was it different from when certain things happen in your head?”’

‘Krishnaji: “Maybe.”’

‘Me: “What was it made you realize it shouldn’t happen?”’

‘Krishnaji: “Oh, you know, I have to try on that suit.” Laughs.’ [M and S laugh.]

S: Huntsman saves the day! [Laughs.]

M: Yes. ‘Then Krishnaji said, “I remember Sacha had a fitting, and he died without getting it finished, and that mustn’t happen. You must go now to Winchester, and drive carefully because I have to live.” Dr. Parchure gave Krishnaji a second dose of homeopathic lacto-something this morning, and said that Krishnaji’s feeling tired is a reaction to it. After breakfast, Krishnaji said, “I am tired. I must be getting old. Of course, I am old. But I feel tired.” I went off to Winchester, with all this and the day, which was actually bright, had gone gray in that odd way as if the light had gone out of it. It shook me. Not yet, he has too much to do. He is more alive than anyone.’

On the fourteenth, ‘Krishnaji did a taped dialogue in the afternoon with David Bohm about animal energy. Are the energy of thought and the energy outside of thought the same? Or, is the one outside totally different? Krishnaji finally came to see that they are totally different. There was a Brockwood garden party for Bramdean[2] neighbors.’

On the fifteenth, ‘Krishnaji talked to the school in the morning. I asked about a verbal, superficial level of seeing things. Why does one not go deeper? “One must look,” he said. At 4 p.m. Krishnaji came to a staff meeting and lit hard on the subject of respect, its meaning and how to bring it about.’

On the sixteenth, ‘there was a school meeting at 6:30 a.m.’ Why did we have it that early? Well, anyway. ‘We told the students of the meeting yesterday about respect. There was a fairly good discussion. Krishnaji gave an interview to Carol Allwell, at Frances McCann’s request. Krishnaji didn’t go for a walk to avoid the hay fever. It rained, and I walked with Whisper.’

The seventeenth. ‘Krishnaji again stayed in, though he walked down to see a “communist creeper,” a Russian vine planted to hide the lavatories in the field. He isn’t sleeping too well.’ We had lavatories down in the field for the campers who were here during the public talks. It’s a vine that grows terribly quickly, a Russian vine, and he called it a “communist vine.” [laughter] It was planted in June, so that by September it would hide the lavatories!

S: See, these are important, these things. Krishnaji’s little sense of humor.

M: Well, there you are. Now, you know.

On the eighteenth, ‘I went to London, for visas, French and Swiss visas, but was back in time for his supper. I also got a book on elephants for Krishnaji.’ He wanted a book on elephants.

Now, we’re up to the nineteenth. ‘Krishnaji talked to the school in the morning. He is still not going out. Dr. Parchure checked my exercises at 5 a.m. At 6 a.m., there was a school meeting that lasted till 7:30 a.m.’ Why were we meeting at that hour?

S: God knows.

M: Oh, ‘we listened to a Richter concert on the radio.’

S: Mm.

On the twentieth, ‘I went with Krishnaji to London. Krishnaji had a Huntsman fitting, while I bought a cardigan for Vanda and Lobb shoe brushes. We lunched at Fortnum’s. I bought two records of Segovia. Then, went to Krishnaji’s dentist where a broken crown was replaced. Pupul Jayakar met us there, and we caught the 4:20 p.m. from Waterloo. Pupul and Mary Links are staying in the West Wing. George Digby’s mother died. The Digbys are uncertain if they can come to the Foundation meeting and the publications meeting tomorrow.’

June twenty-first. ‘There was a morning meeting of Krishnaji, Pupul Jayakar, Mary Links, Mary Cadogan, Ian and Jane Hammond, Sybil Dobinson, Dorothy, Doris, David Bohm, and me. We discussed the publication rights of KF India. Tentative agreement on Western publication, alternate years, Indian and Western books. The Digbys came to the afternoon session. They concur with the draft agreements.’

The next day, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school in the morning, and then taped a dialogue with David Bohm in the afternoon. Narayan and Dr. Parchure were part of that, but contributed little. It was the most far-reaching on the relationship of truth to reality—there seemed to be none as Krishnaji explored it.’

‘Mary Links, Amanda Pallant, Pupul Jayakar, and I went to see the gardens at Hinton Ampner house, which are open to the public one day a year. It was lovely.’

‘Krishnaji’s energy lately is astounding. He talked, in all today, over four hours.’

‘Pupul left with Mary Links for London.’

The next day is the twenty-third. ‘Dr. Parchure and Frances McCann left. Dr. P. to India. I went to Alresford for groceries, etcetera. There was a staff meeting at 6:30 a.m., another warm day. Krishnaji watched the opening matches of Wimbledon on TV.’

On the twenty-fourth, ‘There was a letter from Erna about a hearing at which Dr. Kelly of the Radix Institute got a permit to have the Institute in the Zalk house on the hill. Rosalind and Rajagopal testified for them, and against our protests. There was also a letter from Mark Lee about a HappyValley meeting. It sickened Krishnaji, literally. He vomited. Later, he said the explanation of her hatred’—this is Rosalind—‘is an old one, “the fury of a woman scorned,” and that goes for Rajagopal, too. Erna says the stories circulating are that Rajagopal feels he was harassed by us during the archives visit, and had to be looked after by Austin Bee and his wife.’

‘Krishnaji stayed in all day. The pollen count was high.’

June twenty-fifth. ‘It is hot and clear. We washed the car, then Krishnaji dictated letters. After lunch, I drove to East Dean, and had tea with my friends, the Frys.’

I spend most of the next day at my desk. ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school. Dorothy and Montague went to see…’ someone ‘…about Krishnaji’s citizenship.’

S: Must be a lawyer.

M: I guess so. ‘George Digby telephoned to say that Mrs. Bindley had died yesterday morning in a hospital.’ Hm.

June twenty-seventh, ‘At 6:30 a.m. there was another staff meeting. After that, I started to pack. Mrs. Gandhi has arrested her political opponents, 700 of them, and declared an emergency with tight censorship of news.’

The twenty-eighth, ‘I continue packing. Krishnaji did another dialogue with David Bohm, more on truth this time. David has just read the biography, and questioned Krishnaji about whether there had been a particular moment of change for him. Krishnaji said no. The physical suffering of the process made him more sensitive, and so did the psychological suffering of his brother’s death. But meeting both fully left no marks.’

The next day it just says, ‘packing.’

June thirtieth. ‘Up as usual at 6 a.m. I did the final packing, laundry, etcetera, tidied the kitchen, and typed letters up to the last half-minute before leaving. I wish I could take the IBM typewriter with me—the right arm of my life!’ [Both chuckle.] ‘The school were all out in the driveway to say goodbye to Krishnaji. I quickly got in the backseat, but he refused to get in the front!’ He wouldn’t sit in the front seat.

S: Not if you were in the back.

M: That’s right.

S: I know, ungentlemanly.

M: ‘And so, to the laughter of the students, I gave in. Dorothy drove us. Beyond Alton, I remembered the kefir packed in the travel jar sitting on the kitchen table!’ Oh dear. [Both chuckle.] ‘But we went on.’ I was making kefir for him then; that German couple gave us little pieces that looked like bits of cauliflower.

S: Yes, yes.

M: Making it was one of my dairy chores, and of course, I left it. ‘Carol Allwell will bring it by train. We had a nice picnic lunch in the car at Runnymede, and got to Heathrow by 2:30 p.m. We flew to Paris on British-European Airline, coming in by taxi from Orly and passed all the old familiar siteS: Port Orléan, Port de St Cloud, etcetera, that remind us both of our arrivals in the car, and Krishnaji said, “I’m glad we aren’t going to drive.” It was fun when we did it, and those long drives across the wide summer spaces of France are deep in my affection, but they are too much effort today, for both of us, really. I feel very well, and have much energy, but I tire more than I did, and the long drives are too much. At the Plaza Athénée, we have our usual rooms, au deuxieme this time. I unpacked one bag, and then Krishnaji wanted to walk, his first in over three weeks. There is no pollen in Paris, just good whiffs of benzine.’ [S laughs.] ‘We found the place on the Rue Marbeuf where we could again get fluid to clean his shaver, and an enlarging mirror also, then came back. That is enough, he said. We had supper in my room with cherries, apricots, and peaches; and listened to President Giscard d’Estaing give a talk to the French people before their summer holidays.’ [Mimics a stern French voice:] ‘“La France est solide!” he said.’ [Laughter.] I can still hear him! ‘In this chaotic world, it was amazing to hear someone reassure everyone, and make the assertions he did.’ [S laughs and M has laughter in her voice as she comments:] I remember that evening!

Tuesday, the first of July in Paris. ‘I did a few errands on foot while Krishnaji rested in bed. What is it in the air of Paris that makes everything smell good? The boulangerie, women’s perfume, the latter sickened me usually in other places; here, it is softer and pleasant. I met Nadia Kossiakof downstairs at 12:30 p.m., and then Krishnaji joined us. She has worked with Madame Duchet on the translation of The Awakening of Intelligence, L’Éveil de l’Intelligence, and done huge work on its publication. She wanted to tell me this, and gave information on the journalists meeting Krishnaji in the afternoon. Nadia looked older; she has been ill, and now she has worry over her mother trapped in the civil fighting in Beirut. I gave her a copy of the biography. Krishnaji appeared and was warmly considerate to her, inviting her to Brockwood to stay and rest. She didn’t want to lunch, so left, and Marcelle Bondonneau joined us for lunch in the garden; melon, gazpacho, tagliatelle au gratin, and crème caramel for him, and fraises des bois for me.’

S: And we should just mention here that the biography that you’ve mentioned now, and you mentioned it before in talking about David Bohm, that was the first volume of Mary’s three volumes.

M: Yes, right.

S: Which was called The Years of Awakening.

M: That’s right, quite right. ‘Krishnaji napped, then went to Mar de Manziarly’s in Rue Jacob for a meeting with journalists arranged and chosen by Nadia. Also, the head of Stock, publishers of the L’Éveil de l’Intelligence, and a Mr. Christian de Bertillat, and André Bay, director of Librairie Stock. A youngish man Bernard Chevalier, who does a radio program, Après-midi de France, came first and wanted 20 minutes of radio interview with Krishnaji. I ran interference. A François de Closets, a science writer, did most of the questioning. Krishnaji’s reading of L’Éveil de l’Intelligence, to improve his French for his meeting, worked well at first. In the taxi going over, he said, “I’m going to talk in English.” I suggested that he start in French, as that appeals to the French, even if one makes mistakes. But as Krishnaji began to feel tired, he had more trouble and spoke less readily than usually in French. I was relieved when he explained in English, things that, to me, are complicated things. He spoke of a conference theme: What is the role of knowledge and transformation in a new society, and what will change man since knowledge hasn’t done it? Much on la pensée. It was hard for them to see its limitations. Krishnaji then came to “time must have a stop” and another energy when it does. He left them with just that hint’ [chuckles]. ‘We walked to the rue de Beaune, and taxied back.’

S: Was this interview recorded?

M: Well, it must’ve been. I don’t know. I don’t remember.

The second of July. ‘It was a warm, sunny day. We went to Lobb, now in Hermès, where Mr. Dickinson tried on two new pair of shoes.’

S: Where was Lobb before? I thought it was always at Hermès.

M: No. It was on the same street, oh…you know.

S: Faubourg St. Honoré?

M: Yes. It was in its own building.

S: Ah, ha.

M: It was there for several years. And then it moved to Hermès.

S: Mm, hm.

M: ‘So, the shoes were pronounced perfect. Dickinson said, “We can continue three or four more years. After that, it is over.” No young people know the craft. Though, these shoes today cost $496 with the shoe trees, they are worth it to Krishnaji for their fit, their excellence, and because they are, in a way, a vanishing work of art. Dickinson and Mr. Ellis’—that’s another man there—‘accompanied Krishnaji downstairs. Hermès tried to find him a ready-made pair of moccasins, but they were all too big. We then walked to Charvet, and Mr. Wilmot’—he was the man there—‘tore up an erroneous bill for 970 French francs. We chatted a bit, but ordered nothing. We taxied to the Tour d’Argent, where we lunched with my brother and his wife, Lisa. Krishnaji sat facing Notre Dame, and watched barge life on the Seine while family conversation went on. Bud and Lisa seemed to have enjoyed their five days at Malibu.’ They stayed at my house when I wasn’t there for awhile, about a fortnight ago. ‘They are here on museum matters and return to New York. We went downstairs afterward.’ That means to the flat. ‘It’s the first time that I’ve been in the apartment since just after Father’s death.’ Well, you don’t want to hear all that.

S: Yes I do.

M: Well, my brother had made changes and improvements and so forth. ‘Krishnaji and I did a couple of errands. Looked for a movie, but none appealed, and it was hot and tiring, so we came back to the hotel where we both were content to be quiet and read. Then, I rang a friend…’ It has nothing to do with all this.

Thursday, the third of July. ‘I was able to get through by telephone to speak to Filomena in Rome. Her knee is better. The weather is warmer, making her feel better. We left the Plaza at 10 a.m., and taxied to Orly. There were no porters in the West Terminal, so I struggled with the baggage and a baggage cart. We flew Swiss Air to Geneva. Narasimhan met us at the airport with a Hertz Taunus station wagon in which we went with him to the Palais des Nations for lunch. He was rather noncommittal on Mrs. Gandhi’s seizure of dictatorial powers. Bureaucratic faces, and a grey monster building—rather depressing. After lunch, Krishnaji and I took the station wagon into the center of town, parked underground, and walked to Patek for the annual watch regulation. And then to Jacquet, where about eight handsome silks were chosen to be made into ties. Krishnaji was very pleased. One more old grace and skill that is still possible to enjoy. We drove via the Route du Lac and then up around Lausanne on the familiar road to Oron, Bulle, and through the valley.’

S: Hm, hm.

M: ‘A lovely day, with the sun warm but not too hot. It was the warm, extra pleasure, and recognition of seeing again the landscape so woven into the years of this life that has meant so very much. It was sunny all the way, and we both kept exclaiming at the brightness of colors. Many greens, greener than anywhere, and the blaze of flowers, geraniums in window boxes seem on fire with color. We reached Tannegg after 7 p.m. Vanda and Fosca were there. All is in order, ready and welcoming. Krishnaji has a new shower in his extra room. The kitchen has been redone, ugly tile, dark, pretentious and wood, but there is a dishwasher and a better refrigerator. We had supper, talked to Vanda, unpacked, and went to bed.’ Hm, hm. Is that nostalgic?

S: Yes, it is. Yes, it is. Very.

M: The next day, the fourth of July, ‘I took the station wagon to Kubli, which is Hertz, and got instead a small Peugeot 104. I stopped in the village for various necessities, and spent the rest of the day getting settled. Krishnaji stayed in bed. It rained, and cleared the air and his hay fever symptoms.’

The fifth of July. I finished errands. Frances McCann and Carol Allwell came in the afternoon. Carol brought the kefir which I forgot in West Wing kitchen.’

On the sixth, nothing happened—‘rested, read, Krishnaji stayed in bed.’

The next day, ‘Krishnaji continues to rest. Mar de Manziarly, here for the talks, came to lunch. Krishnaji takes all his meals in his rooms, but he “put his hands” on Mar. She had a heart attack during the winter. Krishnaji walked down to the barber for a haircut, and we drove back. Mar feels that too much is put in the biography.’


Editor’s Note: The criticism of the first biography, and Mary L. for writing it, was very memorable. And it has continued, to a lesser extent, with her two subsequent volumes, and all the biographies from other authors that have followed. It continues with these memoirs. On reflection, this seems inevitable. People, quite rightly, hold Krishnaji’s teaching to be very dear, and they, less wisely, hold their picture or image of Krishnaji just as dearly. Evidence that the reality of Krishnaji was larger, more complex, more nuanced, or just different to their image is understandably unwelcome. 


The eighth is another quiet day. ‘The Siddoo sisters brought mangoes to Krishnaji.’

The following day, ‘the two Siddoo sisters, Jackie and Sarjit, came to lunch, and brought architect’s drawings for their school on Vancouver Island. Krishnaji was very interested and examined it all. He reiterated that the architecture should not be Canadian, not American, not European, Japanese, etcetera, but totally new.’ [M chuckles.] That’s what he wanted! [S chuckles.] ‘Sarjit, having just come from India, brought mangoes, and saw Mrs. Gandhi a few days ago. She is in total control, and all is outwardly calm.’ That’s Mrs. Gandhi. ‘The prices of food staples have been lowered.’

July tenth. ‘It was a lovely day. I went up the mountain by the new cable car in Schonried with Frances and Carol A. We walked and lunched up there. The whole range of high mountains to the south was white with snow. There was the mountain stillness, only occasionally the hushed sound of gliders overhead. Carol gave me a letter for Krishnaji, enclosing a copy of one she had written to the BrockwoodPark staff about Brockwood’s ills. The letter to Krishnaji says she is leaving. I suggest she not circulate her letter until after talking to Dorothy. Krishnaji didn’t want to read it. He says she is criticizing from a position of feeling support for others on the staff. She should change, and she should make a difference in the school. He seems irritable, as before, about this. Graf had been at lunch, and Vanda was very critical of Barabino. Krishnaji heard it all, and as a result, ate his lunch one-and-a-half hours late. All these details shouldn’t be flung at him when he was tired.’

S: These problems were just always there, weren’t they?

M: Yes. They were always inviting at Brockwood.

July eleventh. ‘Ted and Scott brought a typewriter, etcetera. Krishnaji and I went to see the tent in the afternoon, and then to see the Simmonses just arrived in the Land Rover. Krishnaji said, “Do you feel a different atmosphere in the house? It is because I’m about to talk.”’

The next day, ‘I did were errands and letters. Vanda and I lunched alone, and Krishnaji and I went for a small walk.’

The thirteenth. ‘It was a perfect summer day. Krishnaji gave his first talk on energy and the difference between reality and truth. The tent is set up in a new way, without wooden risers. All the benches are on the ground, and Krishnaji on a platform on the south side.’

‘Isabel Biascoechea came to lunch. It is the first time we have seen her since Enrique’s death in November. I took a nap in the afternoon, and later Krishnaji and I walked to the river and back.’

July fourteenth, ‘I felt swollen glands under one of my ears…’ Oh, this is when I got mumps, I think!

S: Oh, dear.

M: ‘…on awakening. Deskwork through the day. Krishnaji and I walked to the river. There was a letter from Erna about a $100,000 donation obtained by Evelyne for the school. The court ordered Cohen, Christensen, and the trustees of each side to meet July thirtieth to iron out the remaining difficulties about the easements with Rajagopal and the Vigevenos, archives, and certain changes in the K&R charter. Krishnaji wants OjaiEducationalCenter activities to be decided upon by himself, plus David Bohm and me.’


Editor’s Note: This is curious, and should have elicited more questions from me when Mary read this out. We know that Krishnaji had a special trust in Mary, but having David as a decision maker for the EducationalCenter in Ojai invites questions. David didn’t live in Ojai, wasn’t a trustee of the KF of America, and was not envisaged as playing any role in the running of anything in Ojai, but other people were.


On July fifteenth, ‘I had a fever of 99.6 on awakening. My glands are still swollen. Krishnaji gave his second Saanen talk. I sit in the outer area to avoid people. I have the mumps!’ [Both chuckle.] Luckily, Krishnaji has had them, so I wasn’t worried, but I was a leper for a while. ‘I worked on a reply to Erna in the afternoon. Isabel B. brought Enrique’s daughter and husband, too, Dr. and Mrs. Colon. The latter saw Krishnaji alone and agreed to stay on as president of the K Foundation for the Spanish-speaking countries. After Krishnaji left, he talked to me about various problems.’

On the sixteenth, ‘the Siddoo sisters brought more Indian mangoes to Krishnaji, and diagnosed my swelling as mumps. Prescribed vitamin C. My left side is also affected, but not as severely as the right. Krishnaji talked to the Siddoos about the architecture of the school, while Mary Cadogan and I went in another room and discussed Foundation matters. Madame Suad al Radi and G. Barabino to lunch.’

July seventeenth, ‘Krishnaji gave a tremendous third talk in the tent. More on suffering and love; a very special talk; blazing energy. Vanda’s brother and sister-in-law, Passigli and David Bohm to lunch. Krishnaji talked briefly to David about our settling policy and direction for the Educational Center. I took Vanda to the village on errands, and deposited half the Tannegg rent for this summer to her account. In the evening, we watched briefly on TV the Russian and U.S. astronauts docking. Soyuz and Apollo capsules joining each other in space.’

On the eighteenth, ‘there was the annual meeting of the various countries’ committees at Tannegg with Krishnaji.’ I had the Siddoos warn everybody coming in the house that it was a house of…’

S: [laughs] Contagion!

M: …contagion. Yes. [Laughs.] ‘And I stayed away from everybody.’

‘Mr. Calles was rude and aggressive. He wants the Foundation and committees to give him $50,000 to make a half-hour film in which Krishnaji is more or less an actor, saying nothing, but the soundtrack talks about him, and shows visual images of poverty, war, etcetera.’

‘In the afternoon, Krishnaji and David Bohm did a dialogue. Dorothy, Vanda, Saral, and I were present. George Carnes taped it. Krishnaji again talked about the early days, the mystery. He said he feels he could know what was happening, but doesn’t wish to.’

S: Hm.

M: Saturday the nineteenth of July. ‘I felt larger mump on the left side, but no loss of energy. I went to Mrs. Cadogan’s where the KF members, the Simmonses, Bohm, van der Straten, Radha Burnier, met Calles, Colon, Isabel Biascoechea, Sendra, and Riesco. We made Calles be specific about what he wants to do. The enormous changes he wants turned out to be routine in most other foundations and committees: getting the mailing list of those who came to the film showings, sending out bulletins, and collecting funds. He kept talking about “necessary tools.” These turned out to be the obvious: the books, tapes, films. They want and will probably get the right to make cassettes’—this is all for the Fundación—‘of Krishnaji’s talks using a Spanish voice. I questioned him and Sendra about what happens at their meetings. Is there a talk, or are questions answered? They were both pious, but they stress they have no authority, and don’t interpret, none of which I believe. I asked Calles if there was any other “tool” he had in mind, and what else he might mean by “expanded work.” He said nothing. That left out the film, which I said Krishnaji had told me to point out had been a chief concern of KFA since it began and was not a new idea. We have constant such suggestions in mind, but lack fund. Mentioned sums confronting KFA in the school building. Finally time ran out.’

‘I took Radha Burnier up to Tannegg for lunch. Vanda had also asked Simonetta di Cesaro and Frances McCann. Krishnaji had a private talk alone with Radha before lunch, and asked about conditions in India, saying he needed advice he could trust before October on whether it would be safe for him to go there and to speak, speaking freely as he would. He would trust Achyutji[3]. Krishnaji ate in his room, but came in and joined the other five of us. He questioned Simonetta and Radha on the reactions to the biography, and particularly to what reasons “he” had remained untouched by conditioning etcetera. Krishnaji put forth various alternatives: ill health, malaria, etcetera, keeping the boy too weak in impressionable, conditioning years, reincarnation, evolution through lives, Maitreya keeping “the boy” uncontaminated, vague, backward until later. Simonetta said, with a definite voice, that she believed in reincarnation. Radha asked, “If so, what reincarnates?” Krishnaji took it up, and wove as follows: Self is thought, memory, conditioning, etcetera. When the body dies, a strong ego is part of the stream of selfishness, a manifestation of that. That manifestation may occur again “but why call it Krishnaji?” i.e., a particular individual. It is that stream manifesting. Also, genetics, social conditioning, all sorts of other factors can be in it. When CWL[4] found Krishnaji, he saw no selfishness. How was that? If selfishness can manifest, so can unselfishness, but then what kept him that way, untouched? A protection? Protected by whom? Krishnaji left it there. He said later he didn’t like to discuss these things in front of Frances McCann. He rather jumped at her for commenting, “Oh yes!” But apart from her, he seems intent on pursuing these matters, to enjoy examining the mysteries surrounding those early years. He also said that within the “selfishness” stream or manifestation, an awareness of that state can occur, and there is no longer the selfishness. This can happen at any time, to anyone, he said, if they truly look.’

S: Hm.

M: That’s interesting, huh?

S: Yes, yes. That is interesting.

M: Now, the twentieth of July. ‘Krishnaji gave his fourth Saanen talk, again very fine, on nothingness. Dr. Liechty came briefly to greet him at Tannegg. In the afternoon, Vanda had a young German physicist, Dr. Fritz Wilhelm, to the house, and Krishnaji saw him briefly with a friend, an American picture director, Maranelli. I had a slight fever.’

July twenty-first. ‘Vanda left at 8:30 a.m., Mrs. Walsh driving her’—that was the woman who rented the flat downstairs—‘to Spiez, where she catches the train for Florence. It was a quiet day. No one at the house.’

Tuesday, July twenty-second. ‘Krishnaji gave his fifth Saanen talk, this one on pleasure and joy. He slept before lunch. At 4 p.m., he saw Dr. Colon and Sendra. He had summoned them to find out about Sendra’s guru behavior when he toured South America. I put the cassette recorder on and left. Sendra says he described his “meditation.” “So, you become the little guru,” said Krishnaji. When they left, Krishnaji  walked alone while I went down to fetch him a fresh detective story, some castor oil for his hair, and bring Fosca up with fruit and vegetables. When Krishnaji got back, he said that the conversation with Sendra tired him. That man, Sendra, is not straight, he said.’

July twenty-third. ‘Radha Burnier came to lunch. Krishnaji talked at length about his going or not going to India. He will not go if he cannot speak freely, or if an exception is made specifically for him. He will not speak “with permission” of Mrs. Gandhi. He looks to Achyut’s advice on whether to go. Pupul and Sunanda perhaps take it too lightly, or impulsively. He had Radha write down his questions. Dorothy and Montague moved up from the camping to Vanda’s room in Tannegg.’ That was downstairs.

S: Mm, hm.

M: ‘Krishnaji had me tell them that he doesn’t intend to talk twice a week to students who don’t understand and don’t care. He will talk to the staff and to serious students who will treat it as a privilege. He may hold discussions at Brockwood with the Brockwood staff here in Gstaad after the public meetings end.’

The twenty-fourth of July. ‘Krishnaji gave the sixth Saanen talk on death and authority, and the stream of selfishness. Rain beat on the tent at times. It cleared. I telephoned Radha Burnier after the talk and fetched her up to lunch. Krishnaji talked further on India and conditions there that would prevent his going. He said he would not talk if others are not also free to talk. I took Radha to the train. She flies to India tonight. Mrs. Sloss and Mrs. Duke’—that is the mother-in-law of Radha Sloss, a nice woman—‘came to tea. Krishnaji made a short, vague appearance and went for his walk. When the two left, I went up the hill to join him. To walk alone and in silence is good for him at present.’

July twenty-fifth, ‘Mary Cadogan came for lunch, and I added the young German teacher Fritz Wilhelm, who Krishnaji noticed as looking “serious” in the tent. Later, I stayed to listen while at 3:30 p.m., Krishnaji and David Bohm did a taped dialogue. Yves Zlotnicka taped it. Dorothy and Saral were present.’

The next day, ‘Mr. Mirabet of Spain came to give Krishnaji the annual donation for $4,000 for the work. He reviewed with me the list of funds to go to Krishnaji on Mirabet’s death.’ He was such a nice old man. Every year, he brought cash to go to Krishnaji, and ever since Brockwood was founded, Krishnaji turned it over to Brockwood.

S: I remember, yes. Yes.

M: ‘Pascaline Mallet, Bondonneau, Elmenhorst, Mary C. came to lunch. There was a useful discussion between the latter two on German publications.’

July twenty-seventh. ‘Krishnaji gave the seventh talk in Saanen. The Simmonses were in to lunch. I slept in the afternoon. I feel undissolved fatigue at times. Krishnaji walked, and I joined him a little later. He goes twice through the woods, as far as the barn. I forgot to say that Krishnaji had made me go to Jackie Siddoo to show her the ulcerated spot on my thigh that is still oozing after more than six weeks. She gave a cortisone neomycin cream to use, after gentian violet.’

The next day, ‘to give Fosca a rest, Krishnaji and I took Anneke to lunch at the Park Hotel. We told her some of the Rajagopal story since the settlement, and she was appalled. She never had a reply from Rosalind Rajagopal after that letter in which Anneke told her to give back Happy Valley to Krishnaji. In the only resemblance to an interview this summer, Krishnaji saw Madame Questiau. He came in from saying, “Is the whole world mad?” I felt it was, having run into a clinically mad person yesterday who handed me thirty-some pages of typewritten craziness.’


Editor’s Note: Stuck in Mary’s diary are four little sheets of paper—three of them from a little notepad from the Plaza Athénée, and one a little index card. They seem to be notes from a conversation with Krishnaji, but she doesn’t say that, and she doesn’t put anything in quotes. Still, they seemed worth noting as Mary felt they were worth recording. Two of these little sheets seem to go together and are dated 28 July, so the contents of these notes are placed in Mary’s memoirs here.


2 fields – goodness – traditional, + holiness.

There exist hate, war. It exists.

Also there is a field of goodness. That exists too.

Another field which goes beyond the 2.

Man spends most of his capacity in hate and less in goodness.

There is an energy which doesn’t belong to either.

Both these belong to man.

War has created an atmosphere. So has goodness. Both are in man’s capacities. To move within these is still traditional.

There is another area where if we can touch it gives an energy that doesn’t belong to either.

I believe we can touch it + when we do that will transform what we are doing. If we can open a door to it, it will operate. It is as real as these

There is an energy which is not man-made

You can’t get it by man-made ways—vows, chastity, poverty, etc. But man has asked if there is an area where man-made things do not exist. Can we as a group discern that?

Recognizing these 2 as man-made + incomplete is there something that is totally complete + can my mind capture it.

…an area where miracles happen, where something new exists

a state from which all life flows, the beginning of everything

Can we come to that? Otherwise we are treading in this (a traditional) field. It is my responsibility to come to that.

I will not have my roots there. I may have no roots + therefore be open to the width of heaven


Even knowing some of the shorthand that Mary used, the rest of Mary’s note is too difficult for me to transcribe with absolute confidence. Consequently, the rest of the note is scanned for each reader to try their own hand at reading it. My guess at what her note is saying is in the following editor’s note.

Note in diary

Editor’s Note:  Story of Krishnaji as young. Theosophy translated what would come to him as a person. It is not a person.

Can you be that so you are responsible to the most sacred thing?

If you feel responsible you have done it.

Appeared a totally different dimension.


The twenty-ninth of July. ‘I got on the 8:45 train in Gstaad, and was joined by Isabelle Biascoechea in Saanen, and accompanied her to the National City Bank in Geneva. Enrique had set up a $25,000 Investment in Euro dollars in her name. She gets the income from that for life. Krishnaji has the power of attorney of it and, on her death, it is his. She wants me to have similar powers, and it was executed today. If Krishnaji dies, it goes to his work. This way Isabel finds handling of it easier without Enrique. She doesn’t want the Colons to know about it, so she asked me to come with her. She understands very little. I was able to help her sort it out. We lunched quickly in the Café Au Quai and came back by train.’

What eventually happened to that, which won’t be in here, I don’t think, was that she got ill and needed the money, so Krishnaji turned it all over to her.

S: Mm, hm.

M: Krishnaji’s work never got any of it. ‘As we came back by train, the jet d’eau was a very tall feather. I have such affection for these familiar places and things shared with Krishnaji.’

‘He had rested all day and gone for his walk. After supper, he came in and talked very seriously and with a sort of irritation he has been showing here in Gstaad about Brockwood. “Why should I go there and talk to these empty-headed students? What is the point of it? It’s going to become a second-rate, a third-rate school. You’re a trustee, what are you going to do about it? It is not my job.” I asked how I could change what he hadn’t. “Find out,” he said.’

S: [chuckles] Comforting!

M: ‘He was critical of Dorothy Simmons. “What am I doing there? Not one student after three years.” I said that I had never been optimistic about schools. He says schools were right. Then said, “What will I do? I may never go to India again. I like Brockwood. It’s a nice place. But I’m not going to talk to uncaring students who don’t know what it’s about. I’m not going to stay there three months. It’s your responsibility. If I’m gone, what would you do? This afternoon I felt like going off. I can’t talk to you unless you’re objective.” I said I would call the other two trustees who are here, and Dorothy and David and talk to them. “There’s no creativity,” he said, then tried to change the subject by asking about my leg. I am to think this over calmly.’ [S chuckles.] My instructions.

‘I kept waking in the night thinking of what Krishnaji had said.’

The next morning, ‘when he came in to do my leg, he was in bright, changed humor. Had I got over his tirade, he asked.’ [Chuckles.] ‘At breakfast, I told Dorothy that Krishnaji  wanted three trustees here, she, David, and I, to meet about the policy of choosing students, what to do to bring them closer to the teachings. I telephoned Graf early and said Krishnaji wished me to announce the KF school in Ojai and that I would be in the tent to answer questions tomorrow. When I told this to Krishnaji , his face lit up, pleased. He had that look that makes anything doable. “Does it make you nervous?” he asked in the car. I said I don’t look forward to it, but I don’t mind. The look earlier was my talisman.’

‘I went into the tent on arrival, spoke briefly to the audience before he came in, and then went around and sat inside the tent, so I am today out of mump quarantine. This was the first public discussion, and there were no questions about the biography. Krishnaji talked briefly, then took mainly one question on the stream of selfishness. “When you see, really see, that you are that stream, that there is no self apart from it, the impact does something to the brain cells, and one is out of the stream.” I brought Mar de Manziarly back for lunch. Marcelle Bondonneau’s anxiety state deepens. Krishnaji ate in his room, and Mar asked me a little about Rajagopal. I told her of the disagreeable archive encounters, easements on the land, withholding part of the papers, saying he had burnt Krishnaji’s manuscripts, etcetera. Mar is still in the middle, close to her sisters. I took her down the hill, and met a woman who had written to me and Krishnaji at length, and I sat and talked to her in the car for about forty-five minutes. She is mentally ill. I tried to suggest she lead a quiet life, get psychological help. She has been with a psychoanalyst but can’t afford it anymore. She has fantasies of being a BrockwoodPark librarian, going on safari in Africa with Krishnaji. I tried to make her feel concern for her own well-being, but it is as if the mad world is preferred. I fetched Fosca, with the fruit and vegetables up the hill. Another more mildly mad woman came by with her annual hopeless giftS: Avon toiletries, hideous pajamas. Krishnaji shuddered on opening it, and gave them to Fosca.’ [Both chuckle.] Oh dear.

On July thirty-first, ‘Krishnaji held the second Saanen public discussion. The Siddoos and Krishnaji talked before lunch. At 5 p.m., I went to the tent and talked about the OjaiSchool to about fifty people.’

The first of August. ‘Krishnaji held the third public dialogue in the tent. A mad English woman, named’—oh, she really was mad—‘was argumentative, and Krishnaji refused to discuss with her.’ She’s now calmed down. She used to live in a trailer, and she used to write him letters at Brockwood. She lived in, I don’t know, Dorset, or somewhere. Now she lives in Ventura and donates to the school every year.

S: Hm.

M: She gave to the Archive Committee this year, through her lawyer.

The second of August. Krishnaji held a fourth dialogue in the tent. Very fine. Narasimhan came for lunch briefly with a Dutch girl, Simonetta di Cesaro, and Fritz Wilhelm. Narasimhan is to give Krishnaji his opinion on whether he should go to India on Narasimhan’s return from there early in October. After supper, Krishnaji dictated a letter to Pupul. I typed it, and Dorothy and I took it to Padma Madholkar in Schonried. She will give it to Pupul in Delhi.’ I think Krishnaji wanted it to go through somebody, not through the mail.

August third. ‘Krishnaji gave his fifth Saanen dialogue, completing this year’s. The need for space—a superb unfolding. This whole series was marvelous. We had lunch together in the dining room. Mr. and Mrs. Nathan Shainberg to tea. I drove them back to their hotel in the rain that lightened the heat a little.’ That’s the parents of David Shainberg.

S: Mm, hm.

M: The fourth of August. ‘There was a letter from Erna about her meeting with Cohen and Christensen on July twenty-fourth. Madame Duchet and Marcelle Bondonneau to lunch. Krishnaji talked to Madame Duchet alone afterward. At 3:30 p.m., Dorothy, David, and I had a KF trustee meeting about the interest in the teachings among students and staff at Brockwood. Krishnaji joined us later.’

The fifth of August. ‘I went to the Cantonal Bank about the Alzina account.’ That’s the account of holding funds that had been donated for Krishnaji. ‘We went to pick up Nadia and Nicolas Kossiakof and took them to lunch at the Park Hotel in a quiet bar. Krishnaji and I to Mr. Kohli, the shoemaker, in Saanen. Naps and walk.’

On the sixth of August, ‘Krishnaji did a taped dialogue with David Bohm. Saral, Dorothy, Montague, Yves Zlotnicka and I were present. The Bohms and the Simmonses stayed to lunch. I walked with Krishnaji. On our return, one of the mad women was sitting by the house. Krishnaji told me to talk to her, which I did. At 10 at night, she came back with a letter for Krishnaji, which turned out to be a proposal of marriage!’ [Laughs and makes an aside:] She was that year’s crazy lady.

S: Mm, hm.

M: I wasted so much time with that woman. [Laughs.]

August seventh. ‘Krishnaji laughed on reading the letter, but said it was scandalous, and I shouldn’t have talked to her so long!’ [M and S both laugh.] He made me talk to her. ‘Torrential hailstorm in the afternoon. Krishnaji stayed in bed all day.’ [Both still laughing.] Oh, dear.

The next day. ‘I went again to the Cantonal Bank about the Alzina investments. I took a letter for Dr. Globus to the Bohms to address on arrival in England.’ Dr. Globus, I forget, when we had the meeting of scientists in Ojai, but Dr. Globus was one of the psychiatrists who attended, and he came wearing his hat of power…

S: Oh, yes!

M: Which had a feather in it.

S: Yes, I think you mentioned that before.

M: …and he wore it all through the conference. ‘Bill Burmeister to lunch. Krishnaji had a haircut in the afternoon, and we walked.’

The next morning, ‘At 7 a.m., this year’s mad woman was outside the chalet. Krishnaji sent me outside to send her away, which I did, firmly and briefly. Rain. The weather is changing. Suzanne and Hughes van der Straten, Doris, and Dorothy and Montague were at lunch. Krishnaji and I walked. The proprietor…’ What was his name? ‘…gave a party upstairs until 4 a.m. Noise.’

S: Oh, dear.

M: Yes, that was bad.

The tenth of August, was ‘a very quiet day. I slept all afternoon until the walk with Krishnaji. In evening, Dorothy and I went to a Menuhin Percival concert in the SaanenChurch.’

The eleventh ‘was desk for me. Doris, Dorothy, and Montague at lunch. Krishnaji and I to Kohli, the shoe man in Saanen. My space shoes were re-soled. Krishnaji bought a pair of Wellingtons. We came back and walked.’

The twelfth ‘was a rainy day. Krishnaji and I took Mar de Manziarly to lunch at the Park Hotel. At 4:30 p.m., I went to see Marcelle Bondonneau at Bel Air. Came back and walked with Krishnaji.’

August thirteenth, ‘Edgar Graf and the Simmonses were at lunch. Krishnaji spoke alone to Graf later, and I went up the Eggli[5] with Carol Allwell. She is leaving Brockwood, and going to Florence. I said to Krishnaji that I would give the Mercedes at Brockwood to Brockwood as a donation, and they can dispose of it. Krishnaji told this to Dorothy and Montague.’ It seemed to Krishnaji and me that it was too much to keep such a large expensive car just to run errands around Brockwood.

S: [chuckles] No, it’s perfect! I’m glad that didn’t happen! [Both chuckle.]

The next day ‘was a quiet day. I worked at my desk all morning. Krishnaji rested. Dorothy and Montague in to lunch, then they packed the Land Rover. A Brockwood staff member in Doris’s mini took some of Krishnaji’s and my things. I fetched Nadia up to talk to Krishnaji. We walked later.’

The fifteenth. ‘Dorothy, Montague, and Doris leave for Brockwood. It was a quiet day filled mostly with deskwork for me. I brought Marcelle Bondonneau to see Krishnaji  before her leaving. There was a rainstorm.’

Nothing really happened the next day.

August seventeenth. ‘It is lovely to wake up and not look at the clock. I realized the day is empty and quiet. Krishnaji looks rested and young. I did some letters in the morning. Krishnaji slept and read. At lunch, I asked him about things he said in the sixth talk. The stream of selfishness; when the person dies, he says, the stream goes on. I asked if that meant that the stream was outside and independent of the human mind, it having been created by thought. He seemed to be saying yes, but I wasn’t putting the question properly. He’ll go into it with Bohm. He said you can talk to a consciousness, and then unexpectedly, he said, “I talked to the tiger.”’ [Chuckles.] ‘There is a large color photo of a tiger that I pinned up on his wall in his second room in Ojai.’ That’s the room where he used to do exercise…

S: Mm, hm.

M: …where he does yoga. ‘“I think you can talk to consciousness. I talk to tiger consciousnesS: “Be careful. Avoid man. Kill discretely.”’

S: [laughing] These are the things he told the tiger?

M: Yes! It was beautiful, I saw it down in the store in the village. Great big marvelous poster about four feet high of a tiger. He was very pleased with it.

S: Yes, he would be.

M: “Kill discretely!” [Laughs.] ‘We each read detective stories and slept in the afternoon, then went for a walk. I dined with Suzanne and Hughes van der Straten and Marjolaine, who’s coming as a student to Brockwood in September. I brought Hughes up-to-date on general KFA matters, including the situation with Rajagopal.’
‘They both liked the biography. Hughes inevitably felt curious, he said, about Krishnaji’s accounts of Masters, initiations, etcetera. Suzanne is not curious. Very nice as always to spend an evening with them. Nice, sane people who live in that spirit.’ Well, that was then.

S: Yes. [Laughs heartily.]

M: August eighteenth. ‘There was a letter from Amanda about Dunne news. At lunch, Krishnaji asked me what the van der Stratens had said about the biography. Hughes’s question, see above, is one that will inevitably arise. We began to talk about it, and Krishnaji let me fetch the Uher cassette recorder to tape the rest of the conversation as we sat at table.’ I wonder where that is?

S: Yes, it’s listed here in the archives list.

M: Is it?

S: Mm, hm.

M: Good. ‘He said about events in the book, he literally has no memory. Much of the time his brain is empty. The recording of thought is not there, or is only superficial. He said “the boy’s” recording system was deficient, and he questioned whether there had been an imprint in his brain cells. There were peculiar phenomena, and one must go back and question, not so much what “the boy” experienced, but why “that boy” was not conditioned. He said that today something similar is happening with regard to his going to India this year. He is not going to make a choice. That would be wrong. “What will happen will be right.” The starting point of examination is that “the boy” was untouched as an actual fact, then we can start examining. About the initiation description, he can’t see how “the boy” could stay in the room three days. He wasn’t drugged. Peculiar things were going on. The whole starts from a mind that was not conditioned, not “diseased.” He said that the rest is all minor, like going to a cinema and repeating what he saw or dreamed. But though it must have been extraordinary, it left no mark.’

‘I said it must have left a faint mark deep in his mind.’

‘“I doubt it,” said Krishnaji. “I’ve tried. I can’t get it.”’

‘I said that the important things he seems to have forgotten, and yet trivial things remain. He recognizes people in photos of that era.’

S: Mm, hm. Mm, hm.

M: ‘I asked if there’s an inhibitory action, not suppression, but because, unlike other people, he looks without memory acting?’

Krishnaji said again, that from the beginning, “the boy” was never conditioned. It was a whole phenomenon from birth. And he asked why hadn’t he wanted power and money when he was surrounded by it? None of it, apparently, touched him, right from the beginning. He said, unless you answer that, the rest is meaningless. He spoke of his brother’s death. He cannot remember it. Why was he not conditioned when everything around him worked to condition him, the Order of the Star, adoration, candles, etcetera. “That is what I would like to investigate.” No imprint on “the boy,” ill, malaria, up to age thirteen, all the happenings—the “peculiar head all the time.” Later on the walk we spoke a little more.’

‘I said his lack of interest in power, money, etcetera, is not so mysterious. It could be not his nature, as it isn’t in many people, though they are exposed to it. But no conditioning at all is more mysterious. It is as if his mind never took the stain that experience leaves on other minds. He agreed with this simile.’

S: Hm. I think we’ll have to end there, because we’ve run out of tape.

M: Yes, yes.

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[1] A tailoring expression meaning the front of the trouser hem rests just slightly on the instep of the shoe so that the front pleat bends or “breaks” as the front of the trouser can’t hang straight down. Back to text.

[2] Bramdean is the small village in which Brockwood exists. It has a garage that also sells petrol, and a pub. Back to text.

[3] Achyut Patwardhan was extremely well known and respected in India for playing a very active role in Indian independence and as the founder of the Socialist party of India.  He was a long-standing admirer of Krishnaji’s and was a trustee of the KFI. Back to text.

[4] Leadbeater. Back to text.

[5] A small local mountain. Back to text.