Sidney Field - Krishnamurti The Reluctant Messiah

Sidney Field - Krishnamurti. The Reluctant Messiah

 Some fragments i choose for you

Among them, on a brief visit, were two of the “Apostles” announced a year earlier to help the World Teacher spread his teaching. The Apostles were proclaimed by a leading English Theosophist, the flamboyant George Arundale, who included himself among their number. He also appointed his wife, Rukmini Devi, a beautiful young Brahmin woman, who, together with Bishop James Wedgwood, was also one of the visitors to the castle. Rukmini was lovely in her colorful Indian sari. She was open and friendly, and everyone liked her. Bishop Wedgwood, tall and darkly handsome in his ecclesiastic vestments, wearing a large, bejewelled pectoral cross and episcopal ring, appeared rather forbidding among the easygoing guests at the castle. 

He was standoffish, filled with a sense of his own importance, and he reeked of spiritual arrogance. I had a letter of introduction to him from a good friend of mine who knew him well, but I was so completely put off I didn’t bother to hand it to him.
Krishnaji had been very much upset by the absurd and sensational announcements made by George Arundale and Bishop Wedgwood to the effect that certain people had been chosen to be “Krishnaji’s Apostles.” Arundale claimed the message had come from the Lord Maitreya. Krishnaji angrily rejected the whole business, stating he had no disciples of any kind. 

Those who knew how disgusted he felt privately about it were surprised at the moderation with which he handled the matter in public, not aware that his love for Dr. Besant, who had been drawn into it through her trust in Arundale, prevented him from doing anything drastic that might embarrass her or hurt her feelings. (Years later, however, in Ojai, he expressed himself very strongly on the subject, stating that both Arundale and Wedgwood had ruthlessly tried to use him to aggrandize themselves. I discussed the subject with him personally and know how outraged he was at the methods they used to further their own ends.)

*******

During this last Camp gathering I volunteered to bring Krishnaji’s lunch, prepared on the Camp grounds, to Arya Vihara. It was always a problem to keep the soup from spilling during the five-mile trip by automobile. One day, as I handed him his tray, I asked him in jest, “Wouldn’t this be much simpler if you could just levitate yourself over to the Camp and descend by the dining room?”

To my surprise, he said, quite seriously, “I have the key to all that, but I’m not interested.”
I said it would be wonderful and most practical to have some of those powers. He responded with his usual affirmation that the only thing worth having was Liberation. To reinforce his point, he told me a little story about a great yogi he had known in India, who had developed all kinds of siddhis (powers acquired through meditation) and could do amazing things, which he had witnessed himself, such as levitating, rendering himself invisible, and growing plants from seeds in a few minutes. Before he left the yogi’s home, the great magician said to him, “I would happily trade all my siddhis for a glimpse of Nirvana.” 

*******

Late of an April afternoon we went for a walk along the Malibu beach, a cool sea breeze blowing in our faces. Krishnaji was more talkative this time than on previous strolls. The beach was unusually deserted; even the sea gulls were scarce. The great empty space and the calm, blue sea were exhilarating. “I suppose if one could see clairvoyantly out there the place wouldn’t appear so empty,” I said. “People, sea elementals...”

He interrupted. “The place is full of them. I pay no attention to them.” “Do you see them every time you come out here?”
“Only when I want to.”
Since the subject had been broached, I took this opportunity to ask him about Invisible Helpers. “Do such people really exist?”
“Why not?” he said. “Any decent person in this world will help another when in need. Why not on the other side? What’s so special about it?”

Since he was in a talkative mood, I thought I’d take advantage of it and asked him point-blank what he thought his life would have been like if Dr. Besant and C. W. Leadbeater had not taken care of him in his early years and sponsored him. He was thoughtfully silent for a long moment. Then he said, “I probably would have died of malnutrition.”
“Do you think you would have been a liberated man, whatever that means, without the background they provided?”
A much quicker answer: “Yes. It might have taken longer, but the end result would have been the same. I probably would have become a sanyasi.* The drive was there. Nothing could have finally thwarted it.” 

Then he said something that surprised me because it sounded out of character: “One of India’s best known astrologers cast my horoscope when I was very young, and said I would become a Jivanmukta (liberated man).” 
He laughed lightheartedly, as if to stress the unimportance of such weighty predictions.

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