Recently, I have been intrigued by the term ‘influencer’, which I have increasingly been coming across as the power of global technological exposure gathers pace and the scale of the competition for our attention appears to be reaching boiling point. It is a word I have been considering whilst reflecting on the demand for freedom.
I typed in ‘influencer’ as I was not sure exactly what the word meant in its modern usage. I received this AI generated response: ‘An influencer is an individual who uses their social media presence to influence the opinions, behaviors, and purchasing decisions of their followers, often in exchange for products, services, or payment’.
I like that it says ‘opinions, behaviors, and purchasing decisions’, appearing to reflect the three most significant aspects of activity in modern society so clearly.
Consequently, I’ve been giving more time to considering what or to be more precise who has influenced me in my life; bringing me to where I am now. Whose lives have influenced mine? Whose thinking have brought me to this place? A place where I am actively engaged in a revolution, though you wouldn’t know it to look at me.
In the 1960s we young people were being invited to take part in a heady mixture of cultures reaching back to ancient Eastern wisdom, indigenous ways of living and forward to technological innovation. Music, writing, art, film, fashion and more fuelled new thinking. At the heart of this emerging culture were the words peace, love and freedom. But we didn’t really know what they meant.
I, like so many others from the West, was drawn to Buddhism, particularly Zen, and to the Tao te Ching. In 1971, aged 19, I travelled overland to India finishing up in Kathmandu with hepatitis. A journey not to enlightenment, nor to find myself, but one to free me from the shackles of the effect of boarding school and family aspirations. My interest was taken by anyone who asked questions, opened doors and was wary of conclusions. I certainly did not want anything to do with being told what to think.
Arising from my increasing interest in learning and the importance of the process of educating in freedom, I would probably say that the two people whose work I have found the most profound and challenging are the poet, novelist and educator, Rabindranath Tagore and the educator and philosopher, Jiddu Krishnamurti. Tagore died in 1941 and Krishnamurti in 1986. I immediately responded to their thoughts on nature, children, education and freedom, and their deep love of humanity in its totality.
‘That’s my seat!’
‘I’m sorry. What do you mean it’s your seat?’
‘That’s my seat. It is reserved for me. I always sit there.’
She must have been in her early sixties at least – dark haired and formidably English.
Maggie and I were sitting some way back on wooden seats that lined the marquee. It was early Autumn in 1974 and we had come to Brockwood Park in Hampshire for the annual gathering at which Jiddu Krishnamurti would give a series of talks. The tent was in motion and sighing with the wind; there was rain in the air.
‘I work here, and this seat is reserved for me!’
Quietly, another lady came up behind her and spoke to the man who was sitting on the offending chair. She politely guided him to a chair further along the row, but still at the front.
‘Please don’t make such a fuss,’ she said gently to the creator of all the trouble, ‘There is no need.’
With that, like an old hen clucking absurdly, the special chair was taken by its rightful owner. This seat was directly in front of the platform on which was a chair like all the others.
Krishnamurti entered through the back of the marquee. Here was the man whose books I had been reading for the last four years. He was small, slightly built and dressed casually, but neatly. He sat and looked around the crowd.
After a few moments of silence, he began to speak. His voice was clear, high and with a curious accent that seemed to meld together Indian inflections with an educated English correctness gleaned from the early Twentieth Century.
Much has been written about charisma, and I have in my life met many people who have been referred to as charismatic. However, I have always felt that this has been a somewhat superficial description, especially used in tandem with the word inspirational – requiring admiration or devotion. I found that Krishnamurti held neither of these descriptions for me, but what I experienced was more akin to a communication and connection beyond the words used.
I cannot remember what he said.
After that Maggie and I remained in contact with people involved with the School and Foundation. We returned with our children to hear Krishnamurti speak and help with the annual gatherings from 1982 to 1985. Over the subsequent years we have regularly visited Brockwood Park . Two of our sons attended the school, and Maggie and I worked there from 2013 to 2020. On many occasions from 2001 we visited and stayed at the educational institutions in India either founded by Krishnamurti or influenced by his work.
In 2006 we took a letter of introduction from Dartington Hall in Devon to the school and university that Tagore had founded at Santiniketan in West Bengal. Our idea was to try and reconnect both places as Tagore was instrumental in the setting up of Dartington as a global centre for education and the arts. Unfortunately, too much had taken place in these institutions over time that had clouded the unique vision and energy which Tagore had brought to both places. We were not able to stimulate the interest necessary to make viable connections. Nevertheless, we returned to Santiniketan on several occasions and made a short film about Tagore and Education which we showed at a workshop during the Tagore Festival that took place at Dartington in 2011.
How do we make sense of the world in which we find ourselves? Do we just do what we’re told, go along with the majority, whatever is the easiest?
Do you have a feeling of curiosity, a need to find out? Do you have a sense of yourself, other than what people tell you? Are you afraid? Afraid of not being someone, of not fitting in, of not achieving, of not being loved, of being alone, of losing everything?
There is a world of internal existence that for so many of us remains hidden, subdued. Perhaps it only comes to the surface in the dark hours of the early morning keeping us awake and drowning us in an ever-deepening sea of anxiety. So that all we are left with is that question common to the suffering of all humanity. What is it all about?
We look for answers, conclusions. We search for those who know, who can put us on the path to a comfortable, stress-free life. We find our gurus, those people who give the impression that they have everything sorted in their lives whether it be the wealthy, the powerful, the clever, or the spiritually enlightened. We go online, read books, go to talks and we become followers safe in the shared knowledge of our chosen community. We identify with them, creating a feeling, a sense of belonging that sets us apart from the others and we become defensive of the orthodoxy our group generates. We find the loneliness and pain of our individuality satisfied and, so often, begin to develop a feeling of superiority towards those outside the group - the others.
‘opinions, behaviors, and purchasing decisions’...
‘peace, love, and freedom’...
Trinities of words set apart by time, culture and intention.
Perhaps truth comes through silence, and understanding through the stillness of not knowing. The words of others have their place, of that there is no doubt, but there is an inevitable limitation in their interpretation and the explanations that distort their meaning.