A man like J. Krishnamurti dies, and the papers don't have space to devote to that man who for ninety years continuously has been helping humanity to be more intelligent, to be more mature. Nobody has worked so hard and so long. Just a small news article, unnoticeable and if a politician sneezes it makes headlines.
He has died, and it seems the world goes on its way without even looking back for a single moment that the most intelligent man is no longer there. It will be difficult to find that sharpness and that intelligence again in centuries. But people are such sleep walkers, they have not taken much note. In newspapers, just in small corners where nobody reads, his death is declared.
And it seems that a ninety-year-old man who has been continuously speaking for almost seventy years, moving around the world, trying to help people to get unconditioned, trying to help people to become free, nobody seems even to pay a tribute to the man who has worked the hardest in the whole of history for man's freedom, for man's dignity.
I don't feel sorry for his death. His death is beautiful, he has attained all that life is capable to give. But I certainly feel sorry for the whole world. It goes on missing its greatest flights of consciousnesses, its highest peaks, its brightest stars. It is too much concerned with trivia.
J. Krishnamurti will go on living in the universal consciousness, forever and forever.
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