Unusual Personal Letter

Hi Jeff, I'm writing to you because I have no one else to share this with; but I've had a little intellectual excitement rereading essays in the "First and Last Freedom" by Krishnamurti, a book I've dipped into over the years. The essays are about the mind and belief as he describes how our minds work, the interaction between experience, memory, the creation of ideas, but showing how all of this is "conditioned" or tainted by us as individuals so that we cannot discover "truth." He ridicules the reading of books, acquiring knowledge and beliefs to insulate ourselves from fear and insecurity, so that we have something to hold onto. He demonstrates how we cannot find "God" through adoption into a belief system, which cause us to defend our truth and explains the disharmony and violence prevalent in the world. All of this is written in a simple nontechnical manner as though he's talking to a friend, or someone he just met on the street. So, to his bottom line, the only way we can "see" reality is through silence, avoiding thinking and the mind. And this is the only way we can experience the divine. This is an "aha" experience for me because it sheds more light on what I've been reading elsewhere and makes it more credible. And the meditation I'm doing and learning about, first with Christian contemplation and more recently Buddhism. I have no doubt that through this mysticism people have in the past and to this day, attained an ineffable, joyful, peaceful experience that is the divine at the heart of reality. Unfortunately it is not a personal god who is with us at all times and who loves and cares for us, as is the God of Judaism, Islam and Christianity. I don't know if you'll even read through all of this, but I thank you for being there with an e-mail address so I could get it off my chest. And another foundation book that I've got to look at again is "The Perennial Philosophy" by Aldous Huxley. (whose father was a renowned scientist.)
Part of what's going on here with me is having Alice as a guest, trying to be nice to her, listening patiently, wondering if I'm an inconsiderate, selfish bastard for being so impatient with talking about nothing, and realizing for better or worse that I am an intellectual whose joy in life comes from the world of books and ideas, which as I write this is what Krishnamurti rejects as the way to find "Truth."