Meditation

'My grandfather used to meditate. (He is dead, and I don't want to say anything bad about him.) He used to meditate for one or two hours in a separate meditation room. One day a little baby, one and a half or two years old, started crying for some reason. That chap came down and started beating the child, and the child almost turned blue -- and this man, you see, meditating two hours every day. 'Look! What is this he has done?' That posed a sort of (I don't want to use the psychological term, but there is no escape from it) a traumatic experience -- 'There must be something funny about the whole business of meditation. Their lives are shallow, empty. They talk marvelously, express things in a very beautiful way, but what about their lives? There is this neurotic fear in their lives: they say something, but it doesn't operate in their lives. What is wrong with them?' -- not that I sat in judgement over those people.'

— (Krishnamurti, U.G.; Arms, Rodney, Ed. (Third Edition, 2001). Mystique of Enlightenment. Part One. Retrieved April 18, 2005 from [1])"