K: First, let me see this continuity, this circular movement, as a repetition of the
old. At a given point of time, I call it the new, but it is still the old. I hanker after
the new, and invent the new within the circle.
P: There is the new which is a rearrangement of the old, and there is the new
which is not a rearrangement of the old. What else is there? What is this other
new which is not an invention or a rearrangement of the old? Is it recognizable?
Is it perceivable?
K: It is perceivable but not recognizable.
P: So it is not an experience.
K: It is a perception without the observer.
D: But not in terms of the past.
K: Perception means something new.
F: Sensation is without the past. Sensation is not loaded with the past. It is direct.
K: The mind which has become mechanical craves for something new. But the
new it craves for is always within the field of the known. You may call the
movement within the field horizontal or circular, but the movement is always
within the field: I want the new in terms of the old.
P’s question was about the brain which is the result of time, experience,
knowledge: What happens to that brain when there is a perception which is new,
in which there is no experience, no observer, where perception is not an
experience to be stored up and remembered to become knowledge?
F: That brain does not respond.
K: What makes it not respond? How does this happen?
P: We should leave everything and remain here, because something of vital
significance is happening here. We have still not got the feeling of it. I listen to
you; I am attentive. In that state of attention there is nothing else but sound and
movement. In that state, can I understand what has happened to the whole weight
of the past?
K: It is fairly simple. The past is in continuous operation; it is registering every
incident, every experience, the conscious and the unconscious. Everything is
pouring in—the sound, the seeing.
P: The brain cells act independently of whether I am conscious or unconscious.