Jiddu Krishnamurti, (1895-1986) taken in 1929. Image source below
Imagine two men: one a lone traveller in a desert, the other a city dweller, a successful man, rising through the ranks of business, destined for greatness.
The first man has only a light backpack, resting on shoulders that would be sunburnt but for the reflective, white muslin shirt that both protects the skin and allows his sweat to evaporate from its hot surface. The backpack contains only what he needs in order to reach the far horizon, a place he aligns with, via the sun, each time he looks up into the hot wind from the east which is blowing at him, as though testing his resolve.
He stops to rest, still beneath the blazing sun, for there is no shade here. He stops because he is hungry. He has no idea what time it is, only that he is…
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