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Messages To Donald Ingram Smith “BON VOYAGE”
Message read by Alan Mann – 11 July 2006
When Margot and I settled in Sydney, sometime in 1961, we bought a
radiogram, an advanced instrument of the time which allowed us to hear radio
programmes and play vinyl records. One programme we never missed was the
current affairs and events programme Scope the only lively and inspiring
programme around at the time. About eighteen years later I met the show's
producer at a Krishnamurti weekend held at Marcia Murray's home in Mosman.
That is how Donald entered my life and how our thirty year friendship began.
From that point I saw him regularly at Krishnamurti video screenings and
later, we started weekly dialogue meetings on Tuesday nights, first at Rome
Warren's place at Narrabeen and then, when Rome moved to the mountains, at
Dorothy Lange's home at Warriewood.
From time to time Donald would go off for a few days and stay at our hut in
the bush, in the Capertee Valley. He rarely slept in the hut and couldn't
understand my preference for a roof over my head. There is a flattened
section under a Cypress Pine we call 'Donald's bed. The overhanging branches
keep off the dew but allow the sleeper to see the stars. He once took me
into the Wyong Forest to find a cave he'd lived in for some weeks as a young
man. He insisted on taking a spade and I thought we might be about to
unearth the proceeds of some bank heist of his youth or at least a
manuscript of early writings he'd hidden years ago. As it turned out it was
another bed he had in mind. We flattened out a section of the sloping floor
of the cave so a body could lie there without rolling out. He thought he
might go there to die when the time came. A highly impractical plan as those
caring for him in recent weeks will confirm. Recalling those days, he told
me how after several days of living in silence, the birds and animals, Lyre
Birds, Possums, etc., would come up to him without fear as though accepting
him as part of their environment.
We had our differences and I think they reinforced our friendship. He
thought me too Christian and I thought him too Krishnamurtian. In spite of
the many weekly meetings and gatherings we attended he wasn't very keen on
dialogue, preferring, in true Krishnamurti style, monologue. That was in the
early years of our friendship, he was quite happy with one-to-one exchanges
in the latter part. He was treated very badly by Krishnamurti on one
occasion, which nearly led to a break in our own friendship. This resulted
from a malicious rumour about Donald that Krishnamurti, in spite of their
long association, chose to believe without first checking. When the facts
came out, Donald was summoned to Brockwood and ‘pardoned’. In spite of
getting it completely wrong Krishnamurti refused to take responsibility both
for making the mistake or for clearing up the mess he'd created, and with a
"You do it, Sir" left Donald to clear his own name.
That was the end of any commitment I had to K and his 'teachings' but Donald
showed much greater generosity of spirit and his attempted justifications of
Krishnamurti's action and motive were wonderful to behold. Our subsequent
enquiry into whether the teacher should actually live his or her own
teaching led to deep differences between us and our relationship trembled on
a knife edge for a while.
We also differed on the best route from his house to the airport or
Blacktown or anywhere for that matter. He was definitely the world's worst
backseat driver. We drove to Nambour in Queensland together on one occasion
when I discovered that he wasn't all that crash hot as a front seat driver
either. Impatience – Donald was thy name!
A friend who never met Donald but recently read Donald's Now is the Time,
written in 1946, said to me, Donald had no need for Krishnamurti as he was
quite capable of expressing truth in his own words. That is so, and I feel
Donald's apparent dependency on Krishnamurti was not really dependency but
loyalty. Misplaced loyalty in my view because it was not reciprocated. He
was always struggling to find an expression, which was uncontaminated by the
Krishnamurti 'voice' or any past association, as his contributions to the
Nowletter over the years demonstrate. He was very alert to the Nowness of
life and almost invariably opened our conversations with such comments as
'you know the last few days have been the best of my life', or 'something
really interesting is happening, ……….. etc., etc., or 'I think that last
gathering was the best we've ever had'. And his reports of meetings with
people on his overseas trips always sounded like accounts of dealings with
paragons of wisdom and virtue. He retained this freshness and enthusiasm
right to the end.
What has been a major influence and presence for nearly half my lifetime has
now become an absence. Interestingly he was always going on about 'Presence'
whereas I was more inclined to focus on 'Absence'. They seem to fit together
very well.
Alan then read the following article:
Donald Ingram Smith : an appreciation by Neville Petersen, 10 July 2006
Donald did not fit the stereotype of an ABC Talks Officer in the 1950s. That
Department was famed internally for its conservatism and caution. The
frequently dishevelled, wild-eyed Donald, overflowing with creative energy,
impatient with internal rules and bureaucracy, was in distinct contrast to
his fellows and his employer.
I was assigned to him as a young Trainee in 1956 at the age of 22. We were
to work together on a new Talks and ABC innovation, a quiz program, "We're
Asking You". Questions were sought from listeners (and paid for) and experts
recorded answers in the studio. Donald produced the half-hour, and the
presenter was a young, vital and engaging Ray Barrett. Reluctant at first to
do it, not his style at all, he ultimately transformed it into one of the
most popular programs ABC radio ever produced. Hundreds of letters poured in
each week. Experts, most of them academics, were very keen to be involved.
Many were introduced to radio for the first time.
ABC Talks executives thought Donald to be a loose cannon. Unpredictable.
That, I feel, is why he was given the quiz program. To keep him out of
harm's way. Creatively he had upstaged all the older hands by producing a
ground-breaking documentary series, "Down the Darling", in 1955. Up to this
point virtually all spoken word programs on the ABC were scripted or heavily
mediated by the staff. Donald travelled for weeks down the mighty river
interviewing those dependent on it for their existence, farmers, those on
the riverboats, townspeople of all varieties.
Donald was a masterly and sympathetic interviewer. He could coax reticent
people to open up. When linked together, by a master craftsman, this was a
revealing portrait of a previously unknown Australia. Ordinary working men
and women, in a unique environment, with its own unique life style and
problems, were being given a voice for the first time. Working people were
not normally heard in the elitist world of Australian radio.
The program made a huge impression on me and I am sure on many others.
Unfortunately, the series seems to have disappeared. Three years ago,
knowing of Donald’s advancing years I asked the ABC to find the programs and
have them copied for him. But I heard nothing.
Donald was hopeless in my time at organising himself. Life was frenetic as a
result. Production days were a frenzied blur trying to locate tapes and
trying to check and fine-tune scripts. But sharing an office with him, we
did find time to talk. He had lived a fascinating life pre-ABC.
He went to Britain in the mid-1930s, having obtained an executive
traineeship with a leading British tea-firm. I'm not sure now of the name
and brand and perhaps I should not reveal it anyway in view of what I am
going to say. Working among the company's top executives in London Donald
soon discovered to his horror that it was obtaining leaks from a secret
source in the Chancellor of the Exchequer's Office about the forthcoming
budget. This enabled the company to make huge profits by ordering virtually
the whole tea crop in advance from Sri Lanka because it knew of impending
excise rises. Donald resigned in protest. It was a job that promised a young
man everything, providing he had no moral reservations.
On his way to Britain, or on his way home, Donald visited Germany, and
attended one of Hitler's mass rallies. He admitted later that it was an
exhilarating experience - dangerously so. He was frightened at the mass
hysteria. It may have been one of the key moments that turned him against
war. He was a pacifist during World War 2, avoiding conscription by taking
up market gardening somewhere on the outskirts of Sydney.
Finally a note of regret. Donald was an outsider in the Talks Department. A
slightly odd-ball Indiaphile, gifted but difficult to control. Those who
worked with him know what a dynamic contribution he made to broadcasting.
Sadly, historians of the ABC, official and otherwise, have relied solely on
the accounts of senior officers, who marginalised him, in making
assessments. He does not rate a mention in the official history. However the
other senior Talks documentary producer, reliable but unutterably dull and
predictable, receives an honourable mention.
Donald was an important formative influence on my life. As a novice I
learned much from him, about broadcasting and about life. Vale, Donald.
Sayonara.
Message from Mark and Asha Lee, and Family
Krishnamurti Foundation America
On Donald Ingram Smith
There are some wonderful people in our lives and then there are those
that are beyond measure. Donald Ingram Smith was beyond comparison to
many of us.
Most of the stories of life and living he told are in his book THE
TRANSPARENT MIND. Of all the books on people who knew J. Krishnamurti
his is the one I get the most comments on from readers around the world.
Not a big seller as fewer than a 1000 were published, still it has
touched the hearts of many who want to read about Krishnamurti through
an eye-witness. Donald’s experiences with Krishnamurti profoundly
affected his living and perception. He was a truly serious man in his
own right. When we visited him in January this year he was writing more
and probably he had another book in mind.
His conversations and writings were always life affirming, insightful,
and probing. They came out of his endless search for insight and a
meaning of life that he could share with others. When we called him on
the telephone from California he invariably had a new perception, a new
insight to share. In one of these conversations he said how important it
was in life to not interfere with what is, with what life is. He quoted
the French proverb “How beautiful it is to do nothing, and then rest
afterwards.” He lived humbly, spoke as a prophet, and lived a truly
serious life of happiness and generous good will.
Donald had special bonds with people, and if they were in his heart he
was psychically close to them in a profound way. Our daughter Nandini
was one of those and he helped her unknowingly with his affection and
that connection.
Dearest Donald is gone from this life and has left our lives all the
better for his. Often we say of those who have died, “He will not be
forgotten,” or “We will remember him.…” but Donald stepped out of the
vulgar stream of life and with that he has changed our lives. What
greater legacy could a person leave that is beyond mere memory?
Day before yesterday, on Sunday at 9:00am California time many of
Donald’s American friends gathered in the Oak Grove, in Ojai and planted
a large California Live Oak in his memory. He remains close to
Krishnamurti because the tree stands a few feet from where Krishnamurti
gave his talks from 1922 to 1985. He remains close to all of us.
From friends: Mark Lee, Asha Lee M.D., Nandini Lee M.D.
Addendum from Mark and Asha Lee, and Family
On Sunday about 30 of Donald's friends from Ojai and Santa Barbara
gathered in the Oak Grove where Krishnamurti gave his talks and sat in a
large circle under the great oaks. It was a warm 87 degrees in the
shade. The last dictations were read, some poetry Donald had written
when he was in his 20s was read, and there were affectionate
recollections by his friends. The atmosphere was very quiet and
friendly. Then, we all planted a 7 foot California Coastal Live Oak tree
in the grove dedicated to Donald. Fifteen then adjourned to a local
restaurant and we all had a lovely lunch together, talking of Donald's
life, writings, amorous adventures, love of life and many stories. It
was a lovely Donald Day.
Message from Jenny Howe : Friend from Queensland
We will all feel the loss of our dear friend, his wise ways and gentleness.
He was a breath of fresh air in this troubled world.
Best wishes
Jenny Howe
Message from Javier Gomez Rodriguez : Editor of The Link
Thank you for sending us the news of Donald's death. Most of us at The Link
knew and had the greatest regard for him. To some of us he seemed almost
immortal. His passing is of a peace with his living and so there is no
sadness in it. We shall miss him all the same, though, we trust, his spirit
shall accompany us in our own journeys.
All the very best,
Javier.
Message from Raman Patel : The Link
Many thanks for letting us know of the passing away of Donald. He was really
a good man and will be dearly missed.
With fondest regards to you all.
Raman
Message read out during Don’s ‘Bon Voyage’ by Colin Hankins : Sydney
Australia
“Happiness is in doing what you love to do”.
(Donald Ingram Smith on 17 June 2006)
Message from Dennis Fey, Evanston, Illinois, USA
A friend in Ojai has forwarded to me your email address for bits that
might be read at Donald’s memorial. I thought immediately of this
poem, written by Donald and published in 1934 (when he was 22) in a
little London poetry serial “Poetry of To-Day: A Quarterly ‘Extra’ of
the Poetry Review.” I copied it down on a piece of yellowed tablet
paper that Donald had lying about the piles of stuff at his bushed
and cobwebbed beach home (the only kind of paper available, of
course), after he showed it to me during my two weeks with him there
a couple of years ago.
It makes me think of that picture of Donald’s sister that was on a
old dresser there, the one he said was oddly taken moments before she
was accidentally killed diving into the sea: in her bathing suit, her
arms thrown up in the air, her running into the water, saying, as
Donald quoted her, “I could swim to New Zealand!” It strikes me now
that it sounds out some of Donald’s own celebrated vitality, that
flashed out of Donald’s own limbs, own eyes, own life of gestures,
quests, queries, impish pokes, commands, and amorous adventures—that
ageless boy’s bright face, shining the more with sea water, coming up
out of its waves at me, off the beach, down from his beloved Baringa,
up to all whence and whither stirring.
From where, and to where, have you done “go gently, dear
darling”? I hear you laughing now.
A SCENE
By D[onald] A[rthur] Ingram Smith
Illumined in the gloom the exquisite girl glides by,
The rhythm of her body slowly moves, and yet
Her gentle swaying gestures to that mellow monotone
Now make the music’s veiled content
Stir subtly my inner depths
While held by quiet rapt emotion, intangible, unknown.
And through this all pervading dream
Is an air of wind and string.
’Tis illusive! It may come from distant orbs
Yet is strangely near and soothing.
She twirls quickly and her figure leaps
With easy grace, yet poised the while,
Droopingly she bends o’er her bronzed limb,
Throws back a golden head
Offering her naked all to the willing gods
Ten seconds thus she hangs—nor moves--
Then leaping swiftly in the air she spins--
And lands all square, toes spatulate, arms spread,
Nostrils dilate, eyes fixed and tense,
Sheer ecstasy of chiselled youth
She stands. And darkness flings a curtain o’er my mind.
Message from: Anne and Eric FISHER : Donald’s First Cousin and Friend
DONALD INGRAM SMITH
This morning I want to celebrate the life of this loveable, complex,
charismatic and unforgettable man, Donald Ingram Smith, because those of us
who came into contact with him will always remember the experience. Don was
a true eclectic whose diversity of ideas and thoughts attracted relatives,
friends and lovers to him like moths trapped in the aura of the flame of a
burning candle. Whilst that flame burns in our memories that attraction will
never cease.
Don, as he was always known in the “Smith” family or Ingram as he was known
in other spheres of his life was my oldest cousin on the Smith side of the
family. He was born on 26 October 1912, the eldest grandchild of Margaret
Alicia Smith and William George Everingham Smith who had died 5 years before
Don arrived in this world. He was influenced throughout his life by two
remarkable women. His mother Nettie whose maiden name Ingram he perpetuated
and his grandmother. Grandma Smith was a quiet, loving, diminutive and
gentle but powerful, controlling and bigoted figure of Irish protestant
stock, who handed down these qualities to her children and grandchildren in
varying measures through out her life. I say all this because they played
such an important part in Don’s life. They both worshipped Don as often
happens with a first-born child and grandchild. He responded in like manner.
They tolerated and encouraged him and we got the impression that he could do
no wrong. For Don’s part he took as much rope as he could get.
Don’s parents were both intelligent and thinking people. Arthur rose to the
top in the administration of the Post Office at its rapidly developing
period after Federation. Nettie was before her time in many ways including
pushing for the rights of women. Philosophically Arthur and Nettie embraced
Theosophy and became active in the Theosophical Society. They also espoused
the concept of Douglas Social Credit. Nettie became the first woman to run
for Federal Parliament. She ran under the Douglas Social Credit banner in
1934 in the seat of Calare. She changed her surname by deed poll to
Arthur-Smith in order to be allocated first place on the ballot paper as
names were listed alphabetically in those days. It did not win her the seat.
In 1935 when Don’s sister Jean died tragically after a surfing accident on
Cottesloe Beach in Western Australia, Nettie chartered a plane to fly to
Perth but Jean died before she arrived. In many ways both parents were
creative thinkers in seeking and promulgating new knowledge and they were
fascinating conversationalists.
Don reflected this up bringing throughout his life. He was educated at Shore
School. Then at about the age of twenty he embarked as a steward on a
passenger ship sailing to England. He landed there in the midst of the
depression and lived in extreme poverty for a while. He was lucky enough to
land a job as the fourth correspondent for “The Times” in Berlin. There he
witnessed at first hand the emergence of Hitler as a political force, the
burning of the Reichstag, the manipulation of the crowds during Hitler’s
speeches and the consequent adulation they inspired. He told me that the
power generated by these rallies had to be seen to be believed. It was
palpable.
Don returned to Australia after Jean’s death. It greatly affected him as
they were very attached to each other and she was sailing over to join him
when she died. On his return to Australia, Don decided to grow a beard, a
Captain kettle beard. Family gossip recorded that some time earlier he had
written in a diary that he would grow one by the age of twenty-five. Beards
had bad connotations in Smith family lore, as great grandfather Smith had a
beard and he was an alcoholic, if you get my drift. Nevertheless Don grew
this beard. Naturally as an eleven year old, I was eager to view this sight.
With the Jamieson cousins I went over to Jersey Road for a viewing and like
most eleven year olds I wondered what all the fuss was about. I did not feel
it was worthwhile admiring. Then in 1939 as I recall Don went to San
Francisco as an Australian representative to the ILO Youth conference. He
stayed on there for a while.
Returning to Australia Don with his pacifist ideology had no taste for war.
He became a primary producer and had a tomato farm carved out of the bush on
Waterview St Mona Vale. He had a couple of glasshouses in which to grow the
tomatoes but paspalum seemed to be the other main crop on the block. He had
a small one roomed galvanised iron shed that served as a bed-sitter with the
cooking done outside on a barbecue or kerosene stove depending on the
weather. I spent happy weeks up there in University vacations. I met many of
his acquaintances that called in including Donald Friend and his sister. We
spent time talking and philosophising. However I must confess that at times
I felt that he and his friends were talking in a language that I did not
understand and I was not sure if they did either. He grew some good
tomatoes, but the place swarmed with ticks as I recall.
( I omitted this paragraph as it had been covered by Alan)
At the same time Don got a job as a researcher at the ABC. Once, when I felt
that I would like to earn a bit of money, I saw an advertisement for
newsreaders. I went and saw Don who listened and then got me to read onto
one of those old-fashioned magnetic disc recorders. He then played the
result back to me. It was a reality check. I decided that I would not be a
very good candidate to read the news. It was during the 1940s that Don was
married briefly to Dorothy Crawford. Later he developed and produced a
programme called “Scope” for ABC radio that ran for over 25years. It
reflected his eclectic view of life.
For some 25 years we lost contact. I was working overseas and then in the
country during that time. Then in 1974 Anne and I moved to Sydney with our
family and contact was re-established. It was at this juncture that I spent
a good deal of time with him, looking after Arthur and Nettie in their last
days and helping Don to negotiate his retirement from the ABC. During this
period I began to realise that he had compartmentalised his life. He knew
who and what was in each compartment but the people in each compartment
could be totally unaware of each other and the other’s particular
relationship with him. Now this was fine for Don but a bit difficult at
times for others. He told me about his daughter and his feeling of wanting
to be closer. He began to tell me of his life and lecture tours to the US.
He talked of his time in India and his tantric experiences there and how it
had influenced his life and thought. He showed me his publications and his
poetry of which he was proud. Throughout our times together both earlier and
later we exchanged thoughts and experiences. His love of nature and the sea
and his excitement when he discovered a new concept or thought was
infectious. By the time Don, or Ingram as he was known at the ABC, reached
the age of 63 he had tired of the ABC and was bored with it. He had better
things to do with his life. He decided to throw himself into his other
interests, writing, teaching and of course talking. He conducted courses in
communication at Hawkesbury Agricultural College. It is interesting that he
never invited me into the Krishnamurti compartment. Later he told me of his
contacts with his grandchildren.
I will tell you a story. Don was a dreamer. Twenty years ago he told me that
he had stopped driving. When I asked why, he told me that he had had a car
accident. He went on to say that on a beautiful day, he was driving along
beside Erina Creek looking at the sun shining through the trees onto the
road and just communing with nature and the beauty of it all when he
suddenly ran off the road and wrote off the car. There was no other traffic
on the road at the time. That was the moment he decided that he would not
drive again. It would be too hazardous. I guess this incident brought home
to me the realisation that dreaming may obscure our vision of the reality
around us. Yet even ten years later he was still turning up to have a
medical examination to retain his driver’s licence. Of course as there is no
provision in the examination to exclude dreamers he still retained it.
His love of Newport and the sea was part of that freedom of spirit that he
talked about and admired. It is not so many years ago that he stopped
surfing every day. We celebrated his ninetieth birthday there with his
neighbours and friends. As he got older we began to talk freely about death
that after all is the end part of life. It was then that I insisted that he
let me into Sandra’s compartment because although he had entrusted me with
what to do when he died he had not told me anything about her. So about two
years ago he gave me her name and contact details. Then last year he
arranged for me to meet her when she was visiting in Sydney.
At the beginning of this year Don began to get ill. He hated it. He did not
want to go to hospital, he wished to go off into the bush to die. As he got
sicker in the last few months he realised and was frustrated that dying was
not always as easy as he had imagined. Both his parents had died in their
sleep. However he was able to spend some quality time with his daughter,
Sandra in the last few weeks. Times of intimacy that they had never had a
chance to enjoy earlier in their lives. It was also a good time to be able
to say his goodbyes to all those longstanding friends and lovers. I was able
to say my goodbyes a fortnight ago and was glad that he was able to die in
peace.
Don was unique with his love of freedom of spirit and communing with nature.
His boundless enthusiasm for affection together with acquiring and
disseminating knowledge surrounded by the aura that he created around
himself will leave a gap in my life and certainly in many other lives that
will be hard to fill. In Don’s own words we wish him “Bon voyage M’dear”.
Addendum
After attending the memorial service today I was reminded of Don very
excitedly producing for the ABC radio a re-enactment of Captain Charles
Sturt’s journey of exploration of the Murrumbidgee and Murray Rivers in 1950
to mark the 120th anniversary of this epic voyage. Don used Sturt’s diaries
to plan each day’s trip using the whaleboats that would have been used. Each
night he would broadcast in graphic and exciting detail a description of
what had happened that day.
ERIC FISHER 11 July 2006
Message from Carien : Sydney, Australia
Donald was born in the Chinese year of the Rat.
No doesn’t mean you are unloving.
Whingeing and crying doesn’t mean you aren’t controlling
And being a person of horoscopic description
Doesn’t mean you’re not wizard of a guru perception.
Donald’s a rat of cosmic proportions
As cunning and coping as his loyalty is awesome.
His intelligence would charm the socks off an elephant
The intense focus of heart, many a woman’s derailment.
Donald’s become himself to such an egocentric degree
That he’s grown a new Self much larger than trees
His aura bounces away overseas
From the still pond within his Newport Beach seabreeze.
The intensive power of lightening strikes the unwary passing soul
With a boomerang arrow shot from spider web bow
And his net it encompasses only the wild ones in the throw
The eccentrics and madmen interested in “don’t know”.
His rat’s nose has honed in on the Essence of Love
No, not love, but just essence in, beyond and above
There’s no rest for this quester of lotus perfume
As blossoming goes deeper bloom by pink bloom.
Or is it illusion, a denial of the room
Where Krishnamurti nearly killed him with the love he withdrew?
Accepting “what is” Donald’s murmur erupted
Not in him, but in friends who yelled, echoed and cupped it.
And so the “what was” continued apace
As “what is” just smiled and took on new face
The past beguiled with unspoken grace
So we all could amaze in our gigantic retrace.
Only the unknowing see “what is” through “what has been”
And “what was” in the “will-be” of future tense
The oscillation of present all seen in its stillness
A vibration that’s Not
Like a deep Hole in space in the blackest light sense.
When everything is possible and only “im” taking longer,
Then Donald’s a guru of Krishnamurti yonder
Void of form, any form in the Void does he take
That “Eye becoming You” incessantly makes.
With Maryan he eats miso,
With Alan he eats cake,
With Carien he eats vegies
With Sandra what she makes
With Elizabeth he drinks whiskey
With Dr Geoff he eats organic
With Mark and Asher he eats a curry
And with himself it’s choc and biscuit.
What a darling he is so clever and elusive
To leave each with the feeling that he/she is exclusive
Surely a gift from only a Heaven of love
To see each as the All in the Power Above.
Each is the whole of sound surround movement
Each rock and each stone as sacred ‘roo’ meat
Each person its wholeness appreciated to fulfilment
Of the Being questing its actual sooth.
Happiness is God, is creativity – creator – creation
He shouts from the depths of a home-hospital bed:
Alive and happening, effervescent Present!
Not a creation to talk about in use-by-date words
Happiness is happening, like and dislike for the birds.
No such thing as a word, a bird or a sound
When it’s gone.
It only exists in the action – the hearer – the song.
A bee’s not a bee on its own in the throng
Of the flower and tree and the smells all along.
And none of them seen, till memory moves on.
Oh Donald!
Message from Margaret Dodd : Santa Barbara, USA
I am the designer of Donald's book, THE TRANSPARENT MIND, and met him that
way. I live in Santa Barbara, near Ojai, where Donald loved to visit. I also
visited him several times at his home last October in Sydney, and we had a
birthday celebration together as our birthdays are days apart.
Mark Lee and other friends are planting an oak tree for Donald in the Oak
Grove in Ojai on Sunday morning at 9 am, and we will remember him together.
I would appreciate knowing about your gathering next Tuesday. Donald was
dear to so many of us.
Could you read the following short poem by Rumi at Donald's memorial on the
11 July as my contribution. Donald and I shared a love of Rumi's poetry and
he loved this poem.
What Was Told, THAT
by Rumi
What was said to the rose that made it open was said
to me here in my chest.
What was told the cypress that made it strong
and straight, what was
whispered the jasmine so it is what it is, whatever made
sugarcane sweet, whatever
was said to the inhabitants of the town of Chigil in
Turkestan that makes them
so handsome, whatever lets the pomegranate flower blush
like a human face, that is
being said to me now. I blush. Whatever put eloquence in
language, that's happening here.
The great warehouse doors open, I fill with gratitude,
chewing a piece of sugarcane,
in love with the one to whom every THAT belongs!
Thank you.
Margaret Dodd
Message from Geetha Waters : Sydney, Australia – 11 July 2006
When you meet someone interesting in life, you consider yourself lucky. But
when you meet someone like Donald, you never again underestimate the power
of relationship to transform life. I got to know him through his work, as
the President of Krishnamurti Australia. At that time, we had started a
family and were hoping to send our children to Krishnamurti Schools. That
did not seem to be likely and I was resigning myself to the fact. It was all
very inconvenient, I told him. “What’s with holistic education, anyway? It
hadn’t delivered the glow of enlightenment that I had hoped for. It hadn’t
taught us to cook, clean, keep house or even raise our children properly and
to top it all, it had failed to provide us with a school to continue the
work.” To my complete surprise, Donald listened. He was very patient. He
listened and seemed genuinely interested but, he adamantly refused to
provide all the answers I was seeking. Oddly, it felt like I was walking
into myself and I was not sure that I liked what I saw!
From there, a challenging relationship grew, based on our mutual interest in
the largely unrealised potential
for education to transform consciousness. I soon found myself admitting that
things had worked at our
schools, but we had lacked the maturity to explain ourselves clearly. In
order to prove my point, I had to
find the words to describe the process of self-realization that had begun at
school. Together, we explored
my convictions and in his company, I encountered the same generosity of
spirit that had made our education
possible. I realized then, that it was not the institutions that make the
difference but the dynamics of human relationships provide the ground to
liberate intelligence. As you all know, like Krishnamurti, Donald was
concerned with psychological maturity. All they asked was that we face
ourself, grow up and live our lives instead of seeking reassurances. Our
experience with them has shown that self-realization need no longer be
a bleak and lonely affair any more. With someone to hold your hand and laugh
along with you, what can
be more self- absorbing than this inquiry? I set about reviewing the nature
of our education in the hope of
easing the journey for our children because, self-inquiry assists one to
come to terms with the fact that the
‘word is not the thing’. I am confident that when you require children to
address the nature of thought, they
are quite capable of discovering their limitations as they attempt to
explain the differences between the world within and the world we live in.
In such good company, anything seems possible! Their work has shown that,
as the community awakens to this extraordinary capacity for education to
transform human consciousness the journey within will be simpler for future
generations. It is my experience that the community can lighten
the load every step of the way, by keeping the spirit of inquiry flowing in
our midst.
So, if I may, as a former student of Rishi Valley and Brockwood, I would
like to represent my generation
to give thanks to Donald and all the marvellous people who worked together
around the globe to provide
this inquiry. By encouraging us from the start to explore and express our
thoughts and concerns freely,
our schools enabled us to reflect and realize the limitation of our thoughts
and appreciate the limitations
of any symbolic representations of life. I would like to finish now with a
poem in celebration of their
work.
I wrote this around the time I first met Donald. Just as my enthusiasm for
the work was at a low ebb, due
to the overwhelming pressures of society, he stepped into our lives like a
ray of light. It tries to capture the profound impact that a Community of
Beings can have upon life. Like the fires that blaze upon the landscape
here, in Australia, they burn to rejuvenate the Bush! Whether we fear them
or fare well by them is a matter
for us to decide.
A Glow In The Dark
Burning embers, promise of fire
Keep warm the ashes. Rouse desire!
To wake from the darkness is to wake up from fear.
I carry a basket that cradles a glow
I tarry not knowing where I must go
Shall I stay with the embers, or
Walk with the glow
Not knowing is the worst part of life that I know.
Come pick up your baskets, let us gather around
See though the flame flickers, it still lights the ground.
Let us move around freely now in each other’s view.
To watch what is possible, come to be true.
Farewell. (For me that sums it all up in a nutshell! When I shared this with
him, all those years ago, he simply smiled and said, “Watch to be sure….
I’ll be watching with you!” I had a feeling then, that I may have fallen in
too deep! But thanks to him, I did not have to go it all alone!).
Message from Christopher Waters : Sydney, Australia - 11 July 2006
I don’t know all of you, but I know that today we have gathered out of
friendship, and care,
for someone who was a friend to each one of us. Donald was a great friend,
and he was a
great companion.
I know certain things about Donald. I know he loved his parents and his
daughter, I know
that he cared for the people he loved, and I know that he lived life to the
full. Donald was
many things to many people, but one thing that he was not, and I am sure
that you will agree
with me, he was not an easy person to classify. Donald did not really fit
into any mould. In
many ways he was probably what every parent would want their own children to
be, independent,
free thinking, and unique. Donald was definitely all of that.
I can only speak for myself and my own feelings. I know that I will miss the
long drive down
to his place. I’ll miss walking through the jungle he called a garden up to
his house, and I’ll miss
sitting with him on his verandah. I’ll even miss walking around the back of
his house and finding
him sitting naked, in the sun, in a Sitz bath and eager to chat! I’ll miss
our conversations, I’ll miss
our walks together, and I’ll miss our drives. Yes, he was a terrible back
seat and front seat driver.
He was always keen to offer advice and give directions. I found the only way
to keep him happy
and quiet was to put on a bit of speed and hold a good cornering line.
Donald loved driving, he loved
the beach, he loved walking, he loved talking, he loved sitting quietly, he
loved people, and he really
loved eating. He loved life. He was a participant. Donald actively engaged
the world and simply
enjoyed being alive.
I think Donald was as young as he was old. For him everything was
interesting. Everything was fresh
and dynamic. Every moment was intense. Who else can remember having a
conversation with him and
seeing him suddenly sit bolt upright, wagging his finger and saying, “let’s
stay with this for a moment”?
I’ll miss those conversations, thinking things through together and coming
to unexpected understandings.
I’ll also miss sitting quietly with him. I think he gave me more questions
than answers. Most of all I will
miss a friend, as I think we all will.
Finally, on behalf of Donald, to all of you, and from all of you to Donald,
I would like to say the words
he always said on parting, “Go Gently”
Song played during Donald’s ‘Bon Voyage’ : Sandra Giles (Don’s Daughter)
Wind Beneath My Wings
It must have been cold there in my shadow
To never have sunlight on your face
You were content to let me shine, that's your way
You always walked a step behind
So I was the one with all the glory
While you were the one with all the strength.
A beautiful face without a name, for so long
A beautiful smile to hide the pain
Did you ever know that you're my hero
And everything I would like to be
If I can fly higher than an eagle
You are the wind beneath my wings
It might have appeared to go unnoticed
But I've got it all here in my heart
I want you to know I know the truth
Of course I know it
I would be nothing with out you
Fly, fly, fly away
You let me fly so high
Oh, fly, fly
So high against the sky
So high I almost touch the sky
Thank you, thank you, thank god for you
The wind beneath my wings