Category: Teachings

Jiddu Krishnamurti would sit very still before vast crowds in India and all over the world. People traveled great distances to be with the man, to take in what he had to offer. He referred to himself in the third person: the speaker, he would say. All of them sat together in the scorching heat of what his listeners tried so hard to understand.

What he embodied. What he lived.

Even when he was quite old and in decline, he would sit with them. Riches poured from his frail lips, from that ferocious, tender heart. Those before him drank in his words, longing to draw them into their own dear selves, so that they might be like the speaker.

He lamented all his life that he never seemed to get through. They kept supposing it all to be too complicated.

* * *

I never sat with him.

I understood what he was aching to get across to people. Though it was after the fact. It was some time after the thing had already happened to me that I came upon him. I sat with K’s words. When I watched talks of him (long dead by then) or read words in his books, it helped me to get what had happened inside myself. Oh, I said again and again. He was like this too.

What a blessing he was to me. Long after his death, I wrote a poem to thank him. It’s included in Love Incarnate. The lines are spoken to Krishnamurti, but really, the poem is “addressed” to those who have eyes to see, hearts to drink in the radical truth of their dear selves.

* * *

If only the thousands who came to sit with him, over the decades, could have seen how simple it was. How in the intimacy of one’s own heart it could all be known, shiny and silvery in the light of their innate pure awareness. What they (what I, the first five decades of my life) could not see. How it all was obscured by the dust and mess of what human beings kick up, the mold and residue of our ordinary confused lives. What miracle might have unfolded, if only a person could soften to herself, to himself.

What is the destination of those who seek? Always we arrive at the present moment.

If only we could let go of trying to wake up. Let go of angst, of time and its frenetic little dance. Unbutton the hot, heavy, suffocating clothing of all prior experience. And so come to encounter directly the truth animating all existence, our own blessed selves.

* * *

What is the destination of those who seek? Always we arrive at the present moment. Flawed and imperfect though it may be. No matter where a person has been before, what we think has been learned there, what wisdom accumulated: we dig and dig to get at the truth.

See how useless it is.

Here you are. Open your eyes, your mouth, your arms, your heart. The only real thing is this, here, now, just as it is. You are it. You are the moment, the atmosphere in which the only real is. Oh, not the you you’re used to thinking is reality. That is insubstantial, flimsy as gauze, readily burned as parchment. The light shines through it.

Let the light get hotter and hotter till the edges begin to singe, crisp, dissolve. Feel your blood grow warm with your own dissolution. Forget whatever might have been useful to you in the past. It is not useful here. If it taught you, you are taught. You do not need to remember it: it has done its work. There is no need to keep going over and over it in your mind.

Krishnamurti didn’t waste time. He didn’t know how. Every pore of him was alert, always. How he loved the world! His natural mode was stillness, even when he was in motion. He loved to take long, brisk walks. Each moment fresh and new.

Do not hide from the present. When you do that, you rush toward death. Why hurry? Hook your finger in the finger extended to you. It is your own. It wants to dance. For God’s sake, dance. Soon enough the curtain drops.

Most of us are (or have been) addicted to something. I used to be addicted to food. I have long been addicted to coffee. My son was once a heroin addict. Both of my parents were at the mercy of cigarettes. Smoking was the cause of both of their deaths. They tried to stop, to no avail.

Cigarettes killed my beloved father when he was 52 and I was only eighteen. Even after watching his agony from lung cancer, my mother was unable to let the habit go. Twenty years later, she finally quit — cold turkey — but only after she registered that something in her body had gone terribly wrong. Too late.

It’s an old story, isn’t it? Addiction has a person by the throat. Whether it’s you or somebody you love.

* * *

Nobody decides to become an addict. It doesn’t happen because we are flawed or wicked. It happens mostly because we are hurting. We seek relief from pain or stress or some awful thing in our past. Sometimes it’s grief that drives it. We cannot bear fully to feel whatever has got us in its fist. Resorting to a substance or some unhealthy behavior is a way of averting the eyes, defending the heart.

We do not like to feel pain, so we naturally seek escape.

This too is all familiar. You know it well, if you are addicted to something or are close to someone who is. Whatever has us in its grip really has us, and “deciding” to change the dynamic typically accomplishes very little.

Even relatively benign addictions, like food and money, can define our sense of ourselves. For some years my financial situation was dire, leading ultimately to filing for bankruptcy. Through all of this, money became the equivalent of my worthiness as a person. I felt a huge amount of shame because of being perennially broke.

I share this with you only in case it might be a window into something kindred in yourself.

* * *

What a miracle it was when the day ultimately came that money was . . . just money. A means of exchange: that was all. Neither good nor bad, unto itself. Money had no inherent meaning. It was the same with food. For years food had represented comfort, escape, a way of coping with distress. After awakening, at some point I noticed that food was about hunger and nourishment, about something tasting yummy. It didn’t “mean” anything anymore.

In both cases, it was as though I’d had my finger stuck in an electric outlet, and abruptly my finger was out. No charge any longer. Both commodities — money and food — were now simply (benignly) resources! Dollars could be exchanged for things wanted or needed. Food nourished my body and tasted yummy.

What a relief. But here is the deeper point, which you already know, if you have looked at this yourself: we do not like to feel pain, so we naturally seek escape. It is no wonder addiction is rampant in our tormented nowadays world.

I am not here to offer an “answer” to addiction. What I wish for you is that you are able to let the dynamic turn a light on to what underlies it, whether it’s operating inside yourself or in someone you are close to. Not so you can change anything at all necessarily. If you have ever tried to “help” an addict, you have surely discovered how very little a caring observer can accomplish.

* * *

As my son memorably said to me, when he was still using the drug, “I know you’re right, Mom. But until I’m ready to stop, I cannot stop.” I recounted the particulars of this in Love Incarnate, my most recent book.

Oh the agony of a parent watching her child at the mercy of a drug like heroin! My son and I were close even during his years of using. I knew well that he could die any day. He stole from his father and from me. Lies were his modus operandi. It took me a long time to learn that there was nothing I could give him (a car, cash for food) that he wouldn’t parlay into the next fix. Nothing I could do to help him but just love him.

The real miracle was that once he walked away from the drug — now ten years ago — he never went back. How rare that is! But when he was done, he knew he was done.

And had he been using in the nowadays era, with fentanyl so rampant in the drug supply, he surely would not be alive today, considering how many times a day he used. My daughter’s first boyfriend might still be living now.

Some addictions are more lethal than others. Dead is dead.

* * *

It was when I was a teenager that the Surgeon General came out with the news that cigarettes were a killer. My own growing-up house in Miami (all the windows closed to hold in the air conditioning) regularly contained the smoke of five or six packs per day of Salems and Lucky Strikes. I screamed and yelled at my parents to STOP. I tried throwing their cigarettes in the trash.

They tried with all their might to quit. It did not work. Both died anyhow, very young. My kids never had grandparents.

So many years later, I was to have yet another example of what it’s like when a substance grips you, when you are at its ghastly mercy. Only in the case of my son, the day came when he was able to say goodbye to his murderous habit.

Once upon a time, I was addicted to the approval of others. I set aside so much of my deepest heart’s desire in the name of winning that. Nor was I able truly to rest, to stop pushing myself, to grant myself the space to just sit still. Smell the roses, as we say. All of which led ultimately to what we used to call a “nervous breakdown.” Though it was devastating at the time — I was unable to work for months, could not leave my house, for the most part — it was one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.

Sometimes that’s what it takes, eh?

May you (or your loved one) not have to go through what I did. But hey: I’m still here! As are you, my love. You are reading this. I wish you and all you love the very best.

Among the things we don’t have forever to do is express our gratitude to someone significant in our lives. This could be a person who is presently important to us, but it may just as well be somebody from long ago — someone we have never forgotten. Very possibly a person having no idea of their enduring impact.

We do not have forever, dear heart. There are some things that just should not be put off. One of you will die before the other. There is no telling when your last chance will be to express what’s in your heart. It takes two to communicate, a giver and a receiver.

Have you ever been stunned by the abrupt demise of someone?

Is there someone like this in your own life, current or long-ago? Pay attention. These things matter.

* * *

Such brimming joy has come to me, these recent years, because of (at long last) reaching out to a person of long-ago significance. People I’d had no contact with in decades. I wrote snail-mail letters or emails to them saying I’d never forgotten the role they played in my life. A choral conductor, a physician, a high school boyfriend. What a delight it was! I heard back from several of them — one of whom was to die not long after.

It may be a family member, one who has no idea of their favorable impact on you. Yes, relationships with significant people (especially kin) are often complicated. Never mind: it matters to say such things. Perhaps it’s someone you once worked with. A person whose shaping influence came in an era of your youth, and you remember them to this day.

Do it.

* * *

You may have noticed that death does not send an advance notice of its upcoming arrival. Have you ever been stunned by the abrupt demise of someone — courtesy of a car accident, for instance? See what I mean?

If anyone has ever let you know how they appreciate you for something, whether ongoing or in the past, you know how moving that can be. While this is not the “reason” to go ahead and open your mouth about the unexpressed thing — until now, tucked inside yourself — perhaps the recollection of such an encounter, when it was you on the receiving end, will inspire you to go for it.

A few days ago, just after a snowstorm had blanketed my dirt road in inches of the white stuff, I stopped a plow guy clearing the road. He was very busy; there was a lot of snow. But we made eye contact, and so he paused, put his window down. I told him how much I appreciate what he’s doing. He lit up. It meant a lot to him. Saying thank you can be an ordinary, fleeting gesture; it need not be momentous. But it does feel good to be seen, doesn’t it?

Sometimes these expressions are one-way. I have written to very well known people to let them know of my gratitude, aware as I am that they are surely deluged with communication. One time it was to thank a U.S. President; another, I composed a letter to an admired author. Of course I know I will never hear back; I don’t need to. It’s enough to get it down — to click send, to stick a stamp on the envelope and drop it in the mailbox. (And once in a blue moon, I have received an appreciative response. Surprises everywhere.)

* * *

It is courtesy of one such dear being that I am able to offer these teachings to you: she is my website person, Nicky Hardenbergh. Not only is she the brilliance animating the entire Jan Frazier Teachings enterprise; on top of that behind-the-scenes talent, Nicky is a gifted photographer whose lovely images — like the one above (see?) — grace the teachings. Nicky’s generosity knows no bounds.

This website is a true collaboration between two people carrying a high level of trust. We are able to laugh together. The miracle of such ease in a “professional” setting is like pure gold to me. We appreciate one another. Nicky is well aware of my gratitude to her. But it’s high time that I acknowledge her publicly. And so, before the eyes of “the world” (my readers), I am saying Thank you, Nicky Hardenbergh.

Neither of us being a spring chicken, I don’t have forever to thank her publicly.

* * *

And by the way, this can all apply in equal measure to saying I’m sorry. Not long ago I expressed my heartfelt apology to someone very much in my ongoing life. Ever since then, our relationship has been vastly improved, as has the degree of trust. All of which has benefited those around us. It’s never too late . . . well, until it is.

Don’t wait, love. Do it. Now — while they’re here to tell. And while you’re here to say it.

Maybe like me, you sometimes tell yourself “I need to do this.” Every now and again, it can be useful to pause in the forward momentum — especially if you feel you’ve been pushing yourself, physically or otherwise — to ask “Do I really have to do it? Right now?”

What’s driving you to keep in motion? Is it that there is actually so much to get done that there can be no space for doing nothing? For simply holding still and feeling yourself breathe? Feeling yourself just be here?

Watching how you’re pushing yourself?

* * *

The way to wake up in an enduring way is to be awake right now. When somebody is the “big” awake, one of the features of that condition is that they are steadily seeing what they’re doing in this moment. They are being real with themselves, however potentially alarming or “risky” it might seem to do that. So what we’re exploring here, in this business of want and need, is about a much larger thing than it appears, on its face, to be.

If you’ve been at this seeking thing for a while, you may be forever casting about for a way to get there.

The means and the end are the same. Remind yourself of this as often as it dawns on you, however much it may bewilder or frustrate you: because if you’ve been at this seeking thing for a while, you may be forever casting about for a way to get there. There is the aching desire to discover a means to an end.

Being in the now is the “way” to wake up, to become free.

Sometimes being in present-moment reality takes the shape of stopping the momentum and registering how you’re driving yourself forward. How much (maybe) it hurts.

* * *

In my own case, while I do have plenty of space in my average day to just sit, be still, reflect, there are nevertheless occasions when I seem to have an awful lot to do. Maybe too much for your average stretch of hours, especially if it involves stressing my aging body.

I have learned the hard way that if I hurry, if I try to cram too much into an average day, I will likely pay a price physically speaking. I could get hurt; I could injure or frighten my cat.

I am a lifelong learner, in every sense of the word. If there ends up being some kind of cost to hurrying, I am generally able to grow quiet, to ask myself, “Why was I pushing? Is there some lesson in this?”

Telling yourself I need to do this can be an invitation to look into how enthralled you may be with other people’s opinions of you (as I once was). Or what a creature of habit you may be (and that is me). Seeing yourself at such a moment can have the potential to open a door to examining usually-buried things about yourself.

So if you can hold still for a few moments, giving yourself the space to get real about potential underlying motivators, valuable clarity can come.

* * *

All my life I’ve had the tendency to push myself; indeed, it was the cause of the emotional breakdown I had many years ago. Just because a person wakes up, spiritually speaking, doesn’t mean they cease being, in some sense, who they’ve always been. The difference is that post-awakening they are much more likely to be conscious of their propensities — to watch themselves doing whatever-it-is.

What a teacher this tuning-in can be!

Then there is the question “What do I really want to do?” It’s the sort of space we don’t typically grant ourselves — to pose such a question, let alone create the space for enacting. As in, if I knew this day were to be my last, how would I want to spend it?

But it needn’t be grand in that way. Anyhow, only one of our days is to be the final one. Every day is precious! Consider the idea of a luscious little window in the day in which it’s possible to “indulge” yourself. Just to be still a moment, go into your heart, your body, and say: What might I really like to do for a few minutes today? An hour? Once in a blessed moon, the entire day?

Just ask the question. If today isn’t realistic, tuck it away for one day soon. You needn’t “deserve” it, in the way we ordinarily think of such things. Only, don’t put it off forever.

It’s just that — well, what is life for? What is it about, in the end? Every now and again, when you notice yourself keeping in motion, “needing” to do one thing and another, hold still and put that oh-so-useful question to yourself. What if I knew today was it?

My just-released podcast episode (“Visiting the Future vs. Living In It”) may be of use to you.

When somebody says those words to us, it’s typically intended as a kind of rebuke. But when we pose the question (with great tenderness) to ourselves, it can take on a new feel. It may even turn out to be a blessing in the exploration of what it is to wake up. The query has the potential to shine a light on what could be in the way of our growing consciousness.

My newest book (Love Incarnate: Twenty Years After Awakening) looks at the various “parts” of a human being. In one of my teachings (Heart, Mind, and Body, posted October 2022), I explore what seems to have happened in my own case, including having to do with awakening.

I would like now to offer a bit more on that topic. I hope it will be of help to you in your explorations.

* * *

For most of us, one of the three innate human faculties — mind, heart, body — is likely to be primary in how we orient to life experience. This applies equally to this moment, something in the past, or a development that appears to be upcoming. To the extent that a person is conscious of whatever faculty is operating in a given moment, the potential for ongoing experience to be illumining is enhanced.

How might you be described by someone who knows you well?

So (for instance) if you are primarily in your head, then you’re likely to do this looking through the mental lens. If you’re more heartfelt, the feeling mechanism is probably first to kick in. For many of us — this was true of me — as soon as emotional pain starts its churning in the belly, the mind will swiftly engage in the interest of self-protection. Humans are averse to pain, whether it’s physical or emotional.

But guess what? In the case of bodily discomfort, pain can be a blessing for its ability to call attention to potential illness or some other material threat that might be addressed. That’s one thing. But when a person attempts to alleviate emotional pain (which very likely occurs courtesy of driving it underground), that’s another matter altogether. Pushing down painful feelings can turn out to be every bit as ravaging as a physical illness. But if we’re willing to turn our consciousness toward the truth that this is what we’re doing — rather than averting our wincing eyes from what’s happening on the interior — oh, what a light can turn on.

* * *

Almost every person has all three faculties operating, but one tends to be dominant. The faculty leading the way for one person differs from what it is for another. For me, prior to awakening, it was my heart, with my mind taking a close second.

What is your nature? That is, which of your human faculties seems primary in your processing of ongoing life? Don’t jump to a quick answer on this. You likely make assumptions about it, but grant yourself a little space to do some observing today. Remember: there is no “correct” or wise way to go about orienting to reality. The question is, how do you tick? How might you be described by someone who knows you well?

Our own tendencies are shaped by conditioning, our personal history, and the environment we’re in, and likely to some extent by our genes. If you look at your identity, how you believe you present to others (or perhaps how you would like to), you may get a clue. Do keep in mind that the way we tend to see ourselves, and likely to imagine the way others see us, is not always in harmony with the way they actually experience us. In fact, the two are — more often than not — actually at odds with one another. All you need to do in order to see the truth of this is look at your own sense of another person, and observe how they seem to think themselves very different from how others experience them. Whatever tendency runs the show also inevitably carries with it certain areas of illusion and distortion, an interior sort of blindness.

It may be that in various passages of your life — and do allow yourself to revisit how you were in childhood — your primary “faculty” will change. For instance, you might have been wounded by your oh-so-heartfelt innocence in childhood or perhaps adolescence, and your backward-gazing eyes can observe how you hardened in the aftermath.

As we mature into adulthood and experience one thing after another, some of which devastates, some of which makes us feel good about ourselves, a persona of sorts begins to dominate.

Being able to look directly (without wincing) at the part of yourself you most strongly identify with can open a window onto what gets in the way of your growing wakefulness. The mind in particular can have the unfortunate capacity to become a protective wall we take refuge behind, lest we feel more deeply than the mind supposes we can bear. This dynamic is frequently tucked below much conscious awareness; that is part of why it “works.”

* * *

Curiously, sometimes the very thing we’ve hidden behind can become a door to more authentic engagement with life — and with ourselves. Especially if that part of us has taken a significant hit.

Let’s say I’ve identified with my physical prowess or my beauty or my bodily health, and then something happens to undermine one of those qualities I’ve taken pride in. Maybe it’s something others have admired about me, or even envied. That kind of shock to my sense of self may turn out to be the first time I’ve seen how much I identified with my looks or my physicality. And that has the potential to open a door.

Anyone who’s turned gray or wrinkly but is accustomed to being seen as lovely may cringe at the image in the mirror, as aging carries on. Indeed, sometimes people will report that they are shocked to see what they look like. Who is that person? More often they actually do not see what others see. There is this unconscious avoidance of one’s own looks. And maybe they didn’t even realize until then — that delicious moment of recognition that I have been in denial for years — that there was a discrepancy between how they continued to imagine how they looked and the actual visual reflected back to their eyes.

* * *

What is truly wonderful is that the part of us we have most deeply identified with can turn out to be — if we’re conscious of that identification — the very door through which freedom enters. Give it a shot. You never know. The braver, the more conscious you allow yourself to be, the better the chance that the thing you’ve prided yourself on or taken refuge behind will open the pathway you’ve been aching for all these years of searching.

Matters can change post-awakening, regarding which faculty dominates; one capacity may be felt to blossom as life carries on. This can be the case even for whatever was once the source of the most torment — in my case, my mind. A balance among the three may gradually evolve.

Be a lifelong learner — before, during, and after awakening. What a blessing that continuing tendency that can be. It surely has been for me. Be curious about your dear self, and the learning will never cease.