The valley was in the shadow, and the setting sun touched the faraway mountain tops; their evening glow seemed to come from within. To the north of the long road, the mountains were bare and barren, exposed by the fire; to the south, the hills were green and heavy with bushes and trees. The road ran straight, dividing the long and graceful valley. The mountains on this particular evening seemed so close, so unreal, so light and tender.
Heavy birds were circling effortlessly high in the heavens. Ground squirrels were lazily crossing the road, and there was the hum of a distant airplane. On both sides of the road were orange orchards, well ordered and well kept. After the hot day the smell of purple sage was very strong, and so was the smell of sunburnt earth and hay.
The orange trees were dark, with their bright fruit. The quails were calling, and a road-runner disappeared into the bush. A long snake-lizard, disturbed by the dog, wriggled off into the dry weeds. The evening stillness was creeping over the land.
Experience is one thing, and experiencing is another. Experience is a barrier to the state of experiencing. However pleasant or ugly the experience, it prevents the flowering of experiencing. Experience is already in the net of time, it is already in the past, it has become a memory which comes to life only as a response to the present. Life exists in the present, it is not the experience. The weight and the strength of experience shadow the present, and so experiencing becomes the experience.
The mind is the experience, the known, and it can never be in the state of experiencing; for what it experiences is the continuation of experience.
The mind only knows continuity, and it can never receive the new as long as its continuity exists. What is continuous can never be in a state of experiencing. Experience is not the means to experiencing, which is a state without experience. Experience must cease for experiencing to be.
The mind can invite only its own self-projection, the known. There cannot be the experiencing of the unknown until the mind ceases to experience.
Thought is the expression of experience; thought is a response of memory; and as long as thinking intervenes, there can be no experiencing.
There is no means, no method to put an end to experience; for the very means is a hindrance to experiencing. To know the end is to know continuity, and to have a means to the end is to sustain the known. The desire for achievement must fade away; it is this desire that creates the means and the end.
Humility is essential for experiencing. But how eager is the mind to absorb the experiencing into experience! How swift it is to think about the new and thus make of it the old.
In the state of experiencing, there is neither the person who gives the experience, nor the person who goes through the experience nor. The tree, the dog and the evening star are not to be experienced; they are the very movement of experiencing.
There is no gap between the observer and the observed. Thought is utterly absent, but there is being. This state of being cannot be thought of or meditated upon, it is not a thing to be achieved.
The person subjected to an experience must cease to experience, and only then is there being. In the tranquillity of its movement is the timeless.