P: Is there no part of your brain cells which bears the impact of this gap?
K: I wonder what you are talking about. I said no.
D: Is that because you are always in the gap?
K: What are you trying to say?
P: How do you know that there was no registration of the experience?
K: That is the next question. In experience, from the most trifing to the most
sublime, is there not a recording?—as thought, as memory. There are the words,
the description, and the analysis. This recording is a necessary process. What is
not necessary, and irrelevant, is the conclusion. Then we are asking: Should the
experiencing of something which is non-verbal necessarily be turned into
thought, into description, into analysis, into words?
A: The process is now reversed.
K: See the subtlety of it. I started out with communication. Then there was an
ending of thought. Then the feeling of that. The question now comes through a
reverse process. Wait a moment. Am I right? (pause)
Now the next thing is: Do the brain cells register that thing, which then
becomes the memory which says: I have experienced? Do you follow? Does that
seeing, perceiving, the listening to something which is non-verbal, which cannot
be experienced, register in the brain cells?
A: No.
K: Of course not.
P: You are saying something else. I would ask: Does seeing operate on the brain
cells?
K: It is curious what happens. The brain is registering noise, it is registering
impressions—everything is being registered. The brain is completely used to this;
it accepts it. And that is a healthy, normal, rational state. Right? So it says: A
strange phenomenon has occurred; I have registered it. Of course I have
experienced it because it has been registered; it has been memorized.
A: I do not get it.
D: The moment it says that, the ‘other’ ceases to be.
K: Hold on a minute. Does every experience, except the ones which are useful
for survival, have to register? I know I am asking the most absurd thing. I am