Athato Bhakti Jigyasa #34

Arun! There is no need to bring heaven down to earth—earth is heaven. All that is needed is awakening. Heaven is not to be fetched from somewhere, nor constructed; we are already living in heaven, but we are asleep. All around us heaven’s rejoicing flows; the festivities of heaven are ongoing—yet man is unconscious, lost in his mind.

Mind means sleep. Mind means stupor. Because we are lost in the mind, we fail to see what is present. We are deprived of what stands right before us. Otherwise how could it be that people—some Buddha, some Mahavira, some Krishna, some Kabir, some Shandilya, some Narada—living right here attained heaven? It’s not that a special patch of heaven descended upon the earth for Buddha alone. Had it descended for Buddha, at least those near him would have seen it too. No—others remained asleep; one person woke up. The one who woke up entered heaven.

Awakening is the gateway to heaven.

Awaken, and you will find you were in heaven all along—always. You even taste this daily. At night you fall asleep and forget where you are sleeping; which house, who is wife, who is father, mother, brother, sister; what business, what work; educated, uneducated, rich, poor—everything is lost. You sleep, and everything is forgotten. In the morning you awaken and it all returns. Heaven is remembrance.

Every child is born in heaven. Then we make him forget. We initiate him into our hell. That initiation we call samskara, culture, society, religion—we’ve given very sweet names to it. The essence of that initiation is: snatch the child’s heaven away. Take away his simplicity, his innocence, the freshness of his eyes. Ruin the mirror-like purity of his consciousness; fill it with rubbish.

A child is born neither Hindu, nor Muslim, nor Christian, nor Jain. Make him quickly into a Hindu, Muslim, Jain, Christian, Buddhist—lest it be too late! He knows nothing of good and bad—teach him quickly to judge good and bad! He knows nothing of past or future—teach him the language of time! Stuff him with memories of the past, fill him with ambitions for the future. He knows nothing of ambition—push him into the race. Tell him, “You must come first.” Teach him to cut others’ throats. Teach him that for him to live it is essential that others’ necks be cut. Teach him to make steps out of others’ heads and keep climbing. Teach him to climb. Where will he arrive? No one knows. Has anyone ever arrived by that ladder? No one knows. But keep climbing—more wealth, more status. We initiate him into “more.”

The initiation into “more” is the initiation into hell. Do not be content with what is. Pay no attention to what is near; worry about what is far. Forget what you’ve got; dream about what you don’t have. And what is hell? Discontent is hell.

Contentment is heaven. What is, is ample; what is, is wondrous; what is, is more than enough. Where there is no craving for “more,” where one is grateful for what has come, that one is in heaven. Every child is in heaven. That’s why you see no child is ugly. All children are beautiful—how could there be ugliness in heaven? Children are born beautiful, and then slowly they become ugly. Then Hindu, then Muslim, then Christian; then a thousand egos, a thousand boundaries, a thousand chains—and their consciousness grows narrower and narrower. Then only a prison remains, and all become ugly. That ugliness is called hell.

So first let me remind you: heaven is not to be brought from anywhere; heaven has already come. We are born in heaven. This entire existence is heaven. Hell exists nowhere except in man’s delusion. Suffering is man’s creation. From the divine only a stream of bliss flows. We are highly skilled—skilled at turning bliss into misery. We forge thorns out of flowers. Where there should be a sense of “ah!”—of wonder and gratitude—we raise complaints. Where the current of bowing should flow, we stiffen, stand rigid, and wither. The fault is ours, not the earth’s. Earth is beautiful in every part.

That is why it was possible that whoever awoke entered heaven. Buddha lived right here in heaven. I am in heaven right here. You live in the same world I do; we are not in different worlds. But my way of seeing is different, and yours is different. Heaven is a matter of vision; hell too is a matter of vision. Our vision must change. Vision is creation itself; with it we create.

Awaken, and you will enter heaven—and heaven will enter you.

Second, will society ever be able to live in heaven? It should, but whether it will—this is hard to say.

Why? Because man is free. Heaven cannot be imposed by force. It’s not something to be decreed: “From today—heaven!” Each person must decide: Do I want to live in misery or in bliss? It is self-decision. No government can mandate it, the way we declare a date and say: “On this day the country became independent; on this day it became a democracy.” It’s no such childish affair that on some first of January we announce: “Now we have entered heaven.” It won’t happen by announcements. Each person must decide within his own being: What do I choose—heaven or hell? This is each person’s inner freedom. In that freedom there is dignity—and also risk.

Understand this a little. If heaven were compulsory, freedom would be destroyed. If heaven were such that there were no way to be other than heavenly, that you had to be in heaven and no matter what you did you could not be unhappy, then even bliss would no longer be bliss—freedom would be lost. And freedom is a foundational condition of bliss. What kind of heaven would it be if it were forced upon you?

Therefore, within the possibility of heaven, hell is hidden too. That is what freedom means. If someone says to you, “You have the freedom to do good,” what would that mean? It would mean nothing. Freedom to do good includes the freedom to do evil. If someone says, “You have the freedom to be a Rama,” then the freedom to be a Rama includes the freedom to be a Ravana. If you cannot be Ravana, what meaning is there in the freedom to be Rama? Precisely because you could be Ravana, there is joy in being Rama. Precisely because you could be in hell, there is joy in being in heaven. Because you could be ill, health has savor. Because you could die, life is dear. Because hatred could surround you, love is bliss. Freedom is the freedom of opposites. Each person has to choose again and again. It depends on the individual’s decisiveness.

So do not ask in the language of “society”—will society ever be in heaven or not? I can say this: more and more people will be in heaven. The numbers will grow.

Why? There are reasons. And why earlier it did not happen—there are reasons for that too.

A person like Buddha could enter heaven—great talent was needed, because society was narrow and petty. To be free of that pettiness and narrowness was nearly an impossible act—a miracle! Now society is not so narrow. You see, I am still alive, not crucified. And compared with what I am saying, what Jesus said was nothing—yet he was crucified. Society was very narrow then, very petty. What I am saying, Buddha too wanted to say to you—but did not. Do not think Buddha did not want to; tasting buddhahood myself, I say, he must have wished to. What I see in this moment, he also would have seen. But he did not say it; your ears could not have borne it, your souls could not have accepted it. Man’s heart has broadened a little.

You see here Hindus, Muslims, Jains, Buddhists; Christians, Sikhs, Parsis—hardly a religion on earth without a representative present here. Did this ever happen? Never. Those who heard Jesus were Jews. Those who heard Buddha were Hindus. Those who heard Mohammed—there was a circle, a boundary. Such a confluence could not occur; it was impossible. Humanity was not that mature.

Today it can happen; therefore the possibilities have grown. I am not saying the whole of society will enter heaven, but I am saying more and more people will. The gate will widen day by day.

Understand that behind every event there is an ordered sequence. For example, we reached the moon; the longing is as old as man. Every newborn child reaches for the moon—wants to catch it. The old tale says Krishna cried to catch the moon, so Yashoda filled a plate with water and the moon’s reflection appeared; Krishna tried to grasp the reflection.

The attempt to catch the moon is ancient. But we could reach only now. Behind it is a sequence. Those who did not have even a bullock cart cannot have an airplane—remember this. First a cart, then a car, then a train, then an airplane, then a spacecraft. No primitive society can build a spacecraft. That is why I say your stories—that Lord Rama returned to Ayodhya in the Pushpaka vimana—are just stories. There is not even mention of a bicycle, of a motorcar. Without cars there can be no airplanes; whoever builds airplanes must have built cars first. There is a sequence, a ladder; nothing happens abruptly. A spacecraft can be made only when the airplane has reached its peak.

The same is true on other planes of life. What Mahavira said alone is not enough to take a very large number into heaven—Freud needs to be added to him. What Krishna said alone is not enough—Marx needs to be added. What Buddha said alone is not enough—Einstein’s hand is essential.

Today we are at a unique moment; all the tools are present. The earth could, if it wished, announce heaven. Very large numbers can open their eyes, sink into meditation, become prayerful. The obstacle now is not in the tools; the obstacle is only in breaking old habits.

Understand the difference. Even if a car is given to you, it is not necessary that you will sit in it. You might say, “Where are the oxen? How will it run without oxen?”

When the first train was made, you will be surprised to know, in London people refused to sit in it. They were offered a free thirty-mile ride—no one agreed to board. People looked all around and asked, “Where are the horses? How will it run without horses?” With great difficulty they were told it would run on steam. They said, “All right, say it runs—but how will it stop? And if it doesn’t?” The train had never run before, so no one had ever seen it stop. Rumors spread—no small people spread them; high church officials announced on Sunday: “Whoever sits in this train should know he is no longer a Christian—no Christian has ever sat in a train. If God intended trains, He would have made them. He made nature in six days and rested on the seventh—He made everything; why not trains? Therefore trains must be the devil’s invention.” This logic appealed to people. A decree from above came: no one should sit in the train. No one was ready to sit.

You will be amazed—people had to be paid! And those who agreed were the likes of criminals, gamblers, drunkards: “Fine, whether we remain Christian or not—what of it? The devil’s machine? Fine—we’ve long been his apprentices.” They boarded—just eight people—in a carriage meant for three hundred. All London produced eight brave souls. Even they sat with their chests stiff, not knowing what would happen. The train existed—but no one agreed to ride.

Today is a similar moment. I am telling you something—you are not ready to listen. Even if you listen, you are not ready to do. Your old habits, beliefs, devotions are the obstacle. The tools exist.

But how long can they obstruct? If even eight people sit—those eight are my sannyasins—if even eight sit, the train will start. Once it starts, the number of passengers will keep growing. Today the whole world rides; no one worries whether the train will stop or not. No one asks how to stop it, where the horses are, the oxen, who is driving, whether there are ghosts inside, whether the devil’s hand is in it. The engine even looks a bit devilish, like Yama’s messenger—thundering along with such force—who knows what will come of it?

In the last five thousand years humanity has discovered all the needed pieces—slowly. Something from Buddha, something from Patanjali, something from Mohammed, something from Christ, something from Moses, something from Lao Tzu, something from Zarathustra—countless explorers discovered countless fragments. What remains is to seat those fragments together. That is what I am trying to do. People ask me, “Why don’t you speak on just one stream?” Jains come and say, “If you speak only on Mahavira, we are with you—but you also speak on Krishna, and we are hurt.” Those who love Krishna say, “If you speak only on Krishna, all Hindus will stand with you—but you bring in Mohammed and Jesus. If only Yoga—fine; but you also speak on Tantra.”

My effort is of another kind—never attempted before. I want to gather before you all the glimpses of truth seen through every window in the world. The future depends on their coming together. Only when Muhammad and Mahavira are seen as one will humanity become one. As long as you see opposition between Krishna and Christ, how will you join hands with a Christian, and he with you? Even if you do, it will be deceit—a smile on the lips, a knife under the arm. But the day it is clear that all of them spoke of different facets of the same truth—and all facets together reveal the whole truth, as many facets together make a diamond blaze—then from infinite facets, as the sun’s rays return and refract, rainbows are born. That is the effort I am making.

Humanity can now much more easily let heaven flower on earth. To establish heaven means: heaven is—discover it, see it. Until now it could not happen, because without Marx, Mahavira is incomplete. Man is as much body as soul. If you speak only of soul and forget the body, then those who speak of soul will not survive long.

That is what happened in India. We overstressed soul—and there was cause: we had seen Mahavira, Krishna, Buddha; we had seen such unprecedented light of the soul that we were bedazzled, hypnotized, and said, “Forget matter; the soul is all—world is illusion, Brahman is truth.” We said, “Let us drop everything and seek only the soul.” But Mahavira also needed food. Buddha too had to go begging. We forgot that Buddha needs bread as much as you do, clothes as much as you do, a roof at night as much as you do. We were so entranced by the flame that we forgot the lamp. The mud lamp, the oil, and then the flame.

So mesmerized by the flame, we forgot the lamp and the oil; without lamp and oil the flame goes out. We did not remember—and the flame went out. This country grew poorer and poorer, more miserable, more diseased. The reason was our excess insistence on the flame; we denied the body. Without body where is man? Without earth where is the tree? Without this world where is God? This world is His body—this is the divine body. Your body is the temple of the God hidden within you.

Naturally the opposite excess arose. Marx said: there is no soul, no God—nonsense. He too had reasons. Seeing that in the name of such talk people had become wretched and rotting, a reaction arose: no God, no soul—man is only body; consciousness is a by-product of matter. As the Charvakas said: mix four or five ingredients and pan is made and the lips turn red; chew those ingredients separately and the lips will not redden. They said this redness is not some separate thing; it appears from the mixture. Likewise the redness you see from the five elements—the soul—is not separate; it is just the redness of pan.

The ingredients that make alcohol—eat them separately, there is no intoxication; mix them, and intoxication arises. So intoxication arises from the mixture; aside from those things, there is no separate “intoxication.” It is not that you could remove the ingredients and a pure intoxication would remain. No “pure soul” remains.

From Charvaka to Marx, rebellion came. The atheist, the materialist, denied. He built a kind of world in Russia, in China—where man is only body. There the lamp is beautiful, oil filled—but there is no wick, and the question of lighting it does not arise; such a thing does not exist.

On one side the body died; soul remained. When the body dies, the soul cannot remain long. On the other side the soul died; body remained. When the soul dies, how long can the body remain? It rots; it becomes a corpse.

Haven’t you seen? So long as the soul is in the body, all is beautiful, fragrant. The instant the bird flies, the body decays. Then even the family who wept when a thorn pricked you—those very people carry you to the cremation ground. How quickly they hurry! You’ve seen it—how urgent it becomes when someone dies! They don’t want to keep the corpse at home even for a moment. Now it is nothing but stench. If the family is busy weeping, neighbors help—quickly building the bier: “Come on, hurry!” The whole town is eager: “Burn quickly; be done with it!” Now he is not to be kept at home. She was your beloved mother, your dear wife, your dear father, your son—you won’t keep them for even a moment. What has happened? The lamp remains; the flame is gone. What is the value of the lamp?

These two delusions have happened; that is why heaven has not manifested on earth.

Therefore I say to you, now it is possible. And the vision of life I am giving you is neither merely spiritual nor merely material. I give you a vision that is a synthesis of both—where there is the lamp and the flame. That’s why all are angry with me. The communist comes—he is annoyed: “Some things you say are right—when you speak of the lamp you are absolutely right—but why bring in the flame? That doesn’t sit; it angers us.” Spiritual people come: “Everything is fine; when you speak of the flame we are transported—but why bring in the body? That spoils it! Speak only of samadhi—why bring up sex? If only samadhi, everything is beautiful.” Those who follow Freud say: “Your talk of sex is fine—but where do you bring in samadhi from? Samadhi is sheer fiction.”

So understand my difficulty—everyone is annoyed with me. The materialist is angry because I speak of spirit; the spiritualist is angry because I speak of matter. But I am speaking of both. And I want you to understand both, because you are the union of both. This earth is the meeting of earth and sky. Heaven can manifest on earth only when we can hold both together. The possibilities of holding both have now become great—greater than ever before. Therefore many can enter.

Even so, I cannot say that society, as a collective, will enter. Society has no soul. Entry is for the individual. Joy and sorrow happen in the individual, not in society. Society has no basis for feeling. Society is only a designation, a name. As you sit here—five hundred people before me—this is a society of five hundred. One by one each will leave; when all are gone, nothing remains here—no society. “Society” was only a name for the fact that many individuals were present together. Reality was the individuals—the five hundred souls.

Now you are listening to me—no society is listening; five hundred individuals are. Each person listens directly; between me and the person there is no society. “Society” is a makeshift word—use it, but remember it has no independent existence.

Just as we say “forest”—there is no existence of a forest apart from trees; the reality is the trees. “Forest” only means many trees together. Remove the trees one by one and the forest is gone—you won’t find it anywhere.

So I cannot say that there will be a revolution in life at the level of society. But I can say more and more people, in ever larger numbers, can enter heaven. Never before was there the kind of integration that is possible today.

Radha! I am playing Holi itself. Sometimes Holi, sometimes Hola. It goes on twenty-four hours; I am engaged only in the business of coloring you. I have become a dyer. I do no other work. Whoever I see, I set about coloring him. So those who are afraid of being dyed don’t come near me at all. They keep far away—lest a single drop of color might fall on them!

I am coloring you in my own hue. Here Holi does not come for just a day or two in the year; Holi is what goes on. Every day is the same. And every day the work of coloring goes on like this. Why play Holi for just a day or two!

There is a psychology behind playing Holi for a day or two.
This one-day Holi—festivals of this kind exist all over the world, in different forms, but of the same type. It only shows how unhappy humanity must be: it celebrates one day, and the remaining three hundred sixty-five are sorrowful and dreary. For one day it dances a little, lets itself loose a bit, sings a few songs.

But that one day cannot be true. The rest of the year your life is altogether different: there is neither color in it nor gulal. You live like dead men for the whole year, and then one day suddenly you jump up to dance! Your dance is incongruous. It has no aliveness. It is like the lame and the crippled dancing—that is how your dance is. Or like people with paralysis, dancing on their crutches—that is how your dance is. When I watch your dancing on Holi and such days, I am reminded of Shankarji’s wedding procession. You have forgotten how to dance. You don’t even know the meaning of celebration. That is why your festive day turns into abuse and brawling.

Look: your non-festival days are days of formality, of etiquette and civility. And your festival day turns into a day of abuse! You must be carrying that abuse within you—how else does it burst out? Why is it that on Holi you suddenly start spewing curses? And throwing color is fine, but you start flinging gutter muck as well. You even smear people’s faces with tar. There is a big hell inside you. You drag that hell even into celebration. And your celebration quickly turns into abuse; it doesn’t take long! Your reality is exposed. Your politeness, your formalities are all hollow, superficial. The abuse seems more real, because the moment you get a chance, the moment you have the license, the abuse springs out of you. Thorns come out when you are given the opportunity. Otherwise you appear very good. That goodness is out of fear of the police. That goodness is from fear and greed of heaven, liberation, hell, and the like. In your eyes your God too is nothing more than a big policeman—standing there with a stick to scare you, “I will punish you.”

And yet these sick societies have kept a day or two aside—otherwise man would go mad. These days have been left for catharsis. Otherwise so much filth would accumulate that one could not bear it; a point would come when the filth would start overflowing on its own. There is a limit, after which it spills over the top. These are days of release, not true celebration. Color is thrown on the outside; inside there is violence.

You must have seen, when people smear color on one another, there is no gentleness in it, no heart, no love. There is a kind of malice. You can go and watch—there is a desire to torment the other; color is only the pretext. And to plaster on such color that the poor fellow will remember it! That even after scrubbing for two or four days, until he is exhausted, it won’t come off! Something foul, perverse, is filled inside you.

In my vision, life should be a whole celebration. Then there will be no need for Holi and the like. One day of Diwali—what for? Bankrupt all year, and one day Diwali—is that any way to live? Dark all year, and for a day or two you light a few lamps! Mourning all year, and for a day you hold a festivity; you put on new clothes and walk toward the mosque! But your face has become Muharram-like. Try a thousand tricks—your face is overshadowed by mourning. All your festivals feel hollow, just on the surface. There is no basis for celebration, no foundation. Life itself should be celebrative.

So in my ashram there is neither Diwali nor Holi on particular days. Here it is always Holi, always Diwali. Here it is ongoing; here the dance is eternal. Whoever wishes to dance is invited. And remember, no one can dance for just a day or two. Only when one goes on dancing and goes on dancing does grace enter one’s dance; then there is quality in it, an incomparable flavor. And in his dancing there is softness and simplicity; there is no violence in his dance.

Otherwise the dance quickly turns into a tandava. Your festivals all become a dance of fury. Very soon it comes down to abuse. In all your festivals there are Hindu–Muslim riots. It’s astonishing! On the day of celebration, why riots? Why beatings? Why the urge to torment one another? Why abuse? Why filthy, obscene dances? Abuses are being hurled in Kabir’s name—this is the limit! You swear and then call it “Kabir”! At least spare Kabir!

There are reasons behind it. Your life is a repressed life. You get leave for a day or two. As if you are locked in prison all year, and for a day you get a furlough—you come to the streets, make a racket, and then go back to your cells.

Now the person who comes to the street once or twice a year, released from his dark cell—of course he will create a disturbance! For him freedom becomes license. But the one who is always on the roads, under the open sky, he will not create mischief.

I want your whole life to be scented with celebration, your whole life dyed in the color of festivity; that is why I am coloring you. This ochre, my color, is an effort to dye your life in celebration. This ochre is the color of the rising sun. This ochre is the color of blossoming flowers. This ochre is the color of fire—passing through which the rubbish is burned away and gold becomes pure. This ochre is the color of blood—of life, of joy; of dance, of ecstasy. There is a great story in this color, great meanings in it.

So, Radha! Be dyed completely in the color in which I am coloring you—then Holi too will have happened, and Diwali too. And this very earth will become heaven for you.

Hey, miser! You seem a true representative of India! This is the history of the Indian mind: let nothing be spent. Let nothing be spent—save and save and die with it!

This outlook colors everything. Try to understand it a little. It is one of India’s fundamental diseases—stinginess, miserliness: lest something be spent. And you’ll die! Then this kundalini, this energy—everything will just lie there. In this country most people are troubled by constipation. Ask the doctors—they say the same. No country in the world is as constipated as India. This constipation is spiritual. There is psychology in it. Grab everything! Hold on even to feces and urine! And if you go a step further, drink it back like Morarji. That too is part of miserliness. Lest anything go out! Lest any essence be lost! Recycling—put it back in. Keep putting it back in. Suck it completely dry. Let nothing out! That’s why you even hold your stools inside—you don’t let go. It feels like an expenditure is happening. You’ve rotted in it. Because of this, life has not been able to expand here; it has shriveled. A kind of parsimony has spread into everything.

What you call brahmacharya, celibacy—by my observation, ninety-nine out of a hundred of your “brahmacharis” have adopted celibacy out of miserliness: lest their seminal energy be spent. They are misers. There is a celibacy that flowers from bliss, from the knowledge of Brahman—that is a different matter. But the ones you ordinarily call brahmacharis are simply parsimonious, miserly. Their only feeling is that nothing should be spent. They’re dying, and they want to hold back everything! And all of it will just lie there—your semen, your energy, your kundalini! It will all burn on the cremation ground. And the irony is: the more someone holds back, the less energy he actually has.

Keep this science clearly in mind: there are things that increase by sharing and decrease by hoarding. God does not follow your ordinary economics.

Imagine a well. If every day you draw fresh water, new water flows in—the springs bring it. If you don’t draw from the well, don’t imagine that the springs will keep flowing and the well will fill up and one day be brimming. The well will hold only so much water. The difference is this: if you keep drawing, fresh water keeps coming; the well’s water remains alive. If you don’t draw, the water will stagnate, die, become poisonous. And the springs that could have fed the well—since you never drew, there was no need for them—will gradually get blocked. Stones will settle over them, silt will gather, mud will fill them; their flow will stop. You have murdered the well.

A human being is a well. As every well is connected underground by springs to the vast ocean from which everything is bubbling forth, so too a human being is a well connected to the ocean of the divine. There is no need for miserliness here. Yet in love people are afraid that something will be spent! Leave aside small people—even someone like Sigmund Freud writes: don’t love many people, otherwise the depth of love will be reduced. As if loving one is fine; love two and it’s split in half; love three and each gets a third. Fall in love with fifty or a hundred and it’s all spread thin—too watery, no depth.

Freud is speaking in sheer ignorance. Freud was a Jew. That Jewish miserliness rides his mind!

The more you love, the more love you will have. Your capacity to love will increase. Your skill in love will grow. And the more you go on pouring out love, the more you will find new springs bursting from the divine and love flowing through you. Give, and you will have more. Hoard, and you will become stingy and miserly, and everything will die, everything will rot. And remember: that which is blissful when shared—if blocked and allowed to rot—becomes the cause of disease. Those who have blocked love—their very love turns into disease, into cancer.

Now you’ve come here—by mistake you’ve come. You’ve come to the wrong place. Here I teach pouring out. Here I teach sharing. Here I want to teach you the joy of spending.

And you ask: “When in Kundalini or Active Meditation energy is awakened, why is it then finished off by dancing?”

Dancing does not finish energy. Dancing refines energy. Dancing shares energy. And the more it is shared, the more is generated within you. The more creative a person is, the more powerful he is. If you have sung one song, you will become capable of singing a second—and the second will be deeper than the first. Then you will be capable of a third, deeper still. As you go on singing, you will find new layers opening, new depths appearing, new dimensions being touched within you.

But out of fear you hold back your very first song, lest you sing it and the energy for song gets exhausted and the kundalini goes back to sleep—then you’re finished. So you have been taught: awaken the power and then hold it tightly inside!

You can hold it—but you will remain stuck there. This gripping attitude itself says, “I am separate from the world, separate from existence; I have to take care of myself.” We are not separate. Tvadīyaṁ vastu Govinda, tubhyam eva samarpaye. What comes from That, we return to That.

Imagine the Ganges holding back her waters: “If I keep falling into the ocean every day I’ll be finished! I pour millions upon millions of gallons daily into the sea—if it all ends, I’ll run dry.” So she stops her waters. What will happen? She will stagnate. By giving to the ocean she does not rot. The water goes to the sea, becomes clouds, rains on the Himalayas, flows from Gangotri again—there is a circle. Ganga gives to the ocean; the ocean gives to Ganga.

Here the more you give, the more you receive. Here giving is the art of getting. Dance, sing, be creative.

India has suffered greatly from this affliction. Even the so-called yogis here speak the language of shopkeepers: “Don’t let anything be spent! Guard your energy.” Far from dancing, you’re taught that when you sit for meditation the body should not even move. If it moves a little, energy will spill! Don’t move—sit like a stone.

I say to you: dance. I say: share. Pour your energy into the ocean. The One who has given will give more. Why such panic? Do you not even have this much trust in God—that the One who has given till now will keep giving? You seem so frightened that if you inhale, you won’t exhale—because if you exhale, what if it doesn’t come back? What if it doesn’t return—then what? The power has gone—left your hands. So you take a breath and clutch it inside—and you’ll die with that very breath!

Keep giving; the Giver will give. He has given all these days, till now, in every form—why are you so scared? This is lack of trust, lack of faith. The faithful will say, “Take whatever work you want from me—take as much as you wish!”

And have you noticed something? The more active a person is, the more time he has. The more lazy and sluggish people are, the less time they have. Ask the lazy man—he’ll say, “I have no time.” Ask the active man, engaged in many things—he always finds time.

One of the great Western thinkers, Schweitzer, wrote: My experience is that the more creative, constructive, active people are—the more they do—the more time they have. If you want a job done, ask a person who is very busy—he will find the time. But the lazy and sluggish, who lie in bed—if you ask them to do something, they’ll say, “Where is the time?” They’re saving their strength under the quilt—lest energy be spent! You’ll die right there under the quilt.

Drop this miserliness. I have not the slightest agreement with it. I say to you: live life exuberantly. And understand this in many senses. Celibacy should arrive; it should not be imposed. It should not be imposed out of miserliness. Celibacy should arise from the vastness of love. Let your love expand so much, become so deep, that lust disappears—because of depth. Give so much love that lust becomes zero. Let streams of such pure love flow that lust no longer remains. Then a celibacy comes—and that is celibacy. That alone truly reflects the word brahmacharya.

Brahmacharya means: conduct like God.

Is God a miser? Do you see God’s miserliness anywhere in nature? From one seed come millions of seeds. A single tree produces millions of seeds. Of those millions, perhaps ten or five will become trees. Now just think—how spendthrift God is! For ten or five trees, producing millions of seeds? Scientists say: in the semen of a single man there are so many sperm that he could fill the whole earth with population. In one act of intercourse, at least ten million sperm leave you. How many children will you have? In Indira’s time perhaps a few less; now in Morarji’s time, perhaps a few more. But how many? A dozen, two dozen—how many? The number of people on earth today—there are that many sperm in one man. That many children could be born. And look at God’s extravagance: for ten or five children, producing so many sperm!

What is this about?

God is not stingy. He is extravagant. His way is joy, exuberance. He does not move by bookkeeping—he moves by ecstasy. Now if these gentlemen find their kundalini rising, they get very frightened: “A little energy is coming—quick, clamp down on it; don’t let it be spent.” But in your clamping down it will die. Let it manifest. This hood of your kundalini that is rising—let it spread. Let it be shared. Where will it go? Nothing goes anywhere; everything is here, because we are all one. We are interconnected. Nothing is lost. Nothing dies. All is eternally here. But when you are skilled in giving, when there is a flow within you, then life manifests in its supreme form within you. Celibacy will fruit within you—but not from miserliness. Celibacy will fruit from generosity, from love. And vast energy will come to you—but only when you keep pouring, pouring, pouring. Kabir has said: “Pour with both hands—this is the work of the noble one.” Keep pouring. Do not stop pouring.

Try my experiment! You have lived like a miser—now live by pouring out and see. You will be astonished: so much comes! But it comes only to the giver. Blessed are they who put no conditions on sharing, who go on giving.

Who is Morarji Desai? Never heard the name! Do you mean Magroorji Bhai Desai—Mr. Conceited Desai? Or another name I’ve heard: Moralji Bhai Desai—M-O-R-A-L, moral.

I have never criticized him; there is nothing in him worth criticizing. For criticism, there has to be something to criticize. What in politicians could be worth the effort? What is the value of their statements? Not worth two pennies. I have never criticized him. Yes, I do joke about him sometimes—no more than that. Just to make you laugh now and then! So whenever I make fun of him, don’t, even by mistake, take it as criticism. And whenever you hear or read my jokes about him, add in brackets from your side—“It’s Holi—don’t take offense!”

But it probably sounds like criticism to you, because you are not accustomed to it. You are used to hearing praise for those who hold power—used to praising and used to being praised. You have become so infatuated with state power that people who have no intrinsic worth become supremely valuable the moment they sit on a chair. And the fun is, the moment they step down they become worthless again—nobody asks after them. While they are in office they are lifted to the sky; once the post is gone, nobody even looks at them. Forget garlands—people don’t even bother to throw shoes; they are utterly forgotten.

You’re not used to it. Perhaps that’s why, again and again, I take the names of those in power in a joking way. I want to remind you that power is a mockery, a lie; it is good if humanity becomes free of it. It would be good if human beings become free of politicians. Politics should not have such influence. All right, it has some utility, but not so much that every newspaper is filled with it and the whole country talks of nothing else. There are other things in life that matter. There are other things in life that are precious. Politics means ambition, the lust for position.

But your minds are position-hungry; that is why you feel great reverence for those who reach positions. Watch why it happens: you too are hungry for position. You too wanted to reach there—but you couldn’t; someone else did, and you bow in respect. You say, “We lost, but you made it. We’ll keep trying—one day we will get there too.” Remember, you honor the very thing you want to become. That is the touchstone of your reverence.

Those must have been wondrous days when people honored a Buddha and did not care about kings.

Buddha came to a village. The king’s minister—an old man of seventy—said to his king, who was still young, proud, fresh from a few victories and territorial gains, “Buddha is arriving; you should go to welcome him.” The king said, “Why should I go to welcome him? After all, he’s just a beggar, isn’t he? Just a renunciate! If he wants to meet me, he can come to me—why should I go to him?” Hearing this, the minister began to write his resignation. The king asked, “What are you writing?” He said, “My resignation. It is no longer proper for me to sit here. I cannot remain in this palace.” “Why?” asked the king. The minister said, “If a thought can arise in a king that he can call a Buddha a beggar, even to sit in his shadow is a sin, a crime. Forgive me. I want freedom from this.” The king came to his senses, “What you say is true. But explain it to me.” The minister said, “What is there to explain? Buddha too was a king; his stature was greater than yours, his kingdom larger than yours—and had he wished to expand it, he could have expanded it immensely. He left it all, kicked it away. You are still greedy for position; you are still mad after wealth. That man has gone beyond that madness. He stands far ahead of you. You must honor him.” Such were the days—kings honored fakirs.

Muhammad has said in the Quran: No fakir should ever go to a king’s house. Whenever a meeting is to happen, the king should come to the fakir’s hut.

In those times, seers were honored, because people wanted to become seers. Remember, you honor what you want to become. Then renunciates were honored. Now leaders and film actors are honored. Either a leader comes and a crowd gathers, or an actor comes and a crowd gathers. If a Buddha comes, you take another street. “Why get into a hassle? What’s there to go for? There is still so much life left. No need to pray yet, no need to meditate yet. We don’t want to hear these higher things yet. First, let us fully enjoy the lower things.” Right now you don’t go to Buddha; you go to leaders, to politicians.

This is a great distortion in human beings. Why do you go to actors? Notice the difference. Around actors you will find crowds of boys and girls—why? Because they all want to become actors. Around politicians you will find crowds of those who want to become politicians—if only in small ways: to become a village headman, a mayor, a minister, anything—so that their hand can rest on the necks of a few people, so a few can come under their control.

Someone sent me a newspaper clipping today: Muktananda of Ganeshpuri went to have darshan of Morarji Desai. What need has Muktananda to go for the darshan of Morarji Desai? And what they talked about is even more significant. Muktananda said, “This is a land of sadhus. Whatever progress has happened here has happened because of sadhus. And we are most fortunate that a sadhu, in your form, is our prime minister.” Such sycophancies have been distorting this country.

But you too have become used to hearing such things; that is why, when I say something in jest about a politician, you are surprised—you think I am criticizing. I am not criticizing; I am only saying that these matters are not worth more than a joke. They deserve neglect. Life is for the search of some greater truth.

But it goes on. Your so-called sadhus and renunciates all head toward Delhi, to meet politicians. Politicians do not come to meet them; they go to have darshan of politicians. What kind of sadhus and renunciates are these? What need have you? But they are not sadhus; they are politicians hiding in the robes of sadhus. That is why they can also call a politician a sadhu. What Muktananda said is precisely this. There must be politics somewhere within Muktananda; it is for that politics that he went. Otherwise there was no need to go. Outwardly Muktananda is a sadhu; inside there is politics. There must be some eye to advantage, an intention to gain something through flattery. And to call a politician a sadhu—then who will be unsaintly? Then it will be very difficult—no one will remain a non-saint. A politician is of the last order of non-saintliness.

A gentleman came to me. He said, “I drink alcohol, I eat meat, and sometimes I gamble on Diwali and such. And you say you see God in everyone—do you see God in me too?” I said, “I even see God in Morarji Desai! Who do you think you are by comparison? You don’t even count!”

A politician is the last. Because of him the human race has suffered greatly—every war, all violence, all fraud, all machinations. A seeker of position—and a sadhu? But flattery has to be done.

I am not praising anyone; I am not criticizing either. I am just saying it as it is. I only make a joke now and then to keep you aware that politics is not worth more than that. I don’t find anything in them worth criticizing. The mentality is ordinary, their statements are ordinary—how could they be otherwise? A power-seeker is never extraordinary. The lust for position is a common disease. Everyone in this world wants to be on some chair; there is nothing special about it. Specialness begins when someone does not want any chair. Then something extraordinary happens.

And politics and spirituality are absolutely opposite. Politics means: How can I take possession of others? How can I become the master of others? Spirituality means: How can I become the master of myself? These are profoundly opposite things. That is why we call a renunciate “Swami”—the master. Master of oneself. They are two different journeys. Politics is an outward journey—how can I become the master of others, of ever larger groups? Spirituality means: How can sovereignty arise in my own life? How can I stop being a slave of the mind and become the master of the mind? How can an inner empire arise within me?

These are very different things.

Politics takes you into the crowd; spirituality takes you into solitude. Politics entangles you with others; spirituality disentangles you from others. Spirituality is self-realization. In politics you will have to do all kinds of mischiefs. Politicians seem saintly only so long as they are in power. Once power is gone, their saintliness is exposed. If power is needed, saintliness is maintained—because all the newspapers are in their hands, the force is in their hands, the police in their hands, the machinery in their hands—who can find out what they are doing?

Zulfikar Bhutto—so long as he was in power, he looked saintly. Now it has been found that he is a murderer. But the fun is complex: no one can say whether he really is a murderer or not, because those in power now want to prove him a murderer. Today those who are in power in Pakistan—tomorrow if they step down, some court may decide that they had Bhutto murdered.

Right now Indira seems a criminal because she is not in power. When she was in power she did not seem a criminal. But no one can say that those trying to prove her a criminal will stand proven once they are out of power; they themselves may be found criminals. Here they are all cousins—Morarji-bhai and Indira-behen! All cousins, no difference. Politicians cannot be different—and that is why you see so much party-switching. Politicians are not different at all. This party or that party makes no difference; a politician has only one craving: how to be on the chair. What party—what has that to do with anything? What flag—what does that matter? The stick should be in my hand; any flag will do. Only the baton should be in my hand.

So a politician will be an opportunist. He has only one arithmetic to fix: the combinations. And he is not alone in it—there is fierce competition. Therefore there will be dishonesty, deceit, cutting people’s legs, toppling others, removing people—this will all happen.

And for all of this, you are responsible—remember that! Because you give value to such people. Because of that value they run after it like mad. Do not think that if someone becomes prime minister and harasses others, takes bribes, breaks people’s legs, has people’s necks cut, throws people into prisons—that only he is responsible. You are responsible too—you are the real ones responsible. You give the post such value that a person feels anything is worth doing to attain it.

Reduce the value you give to the post! So that it becomes clear to people that for this rotten chair, at which people only laugh and make jokes, is it right to commit so much sin?

Do you understand me?

Pull the value out of politics; make politics valueless. If politics becomes valueless, there will not be so much turmoil. Who will care then? If the prime minister’s photo is not printed every day, if his speeches are not printed daily, if the whole paper is not filled with him, a man will think, “What is the point? For such a chair, so much effort, so much trouble—and people give it no value at all; they pass by and don’t even offer a greeting. So what is the point?”

If you give politics excessive value, then everything becomes justified—even if one or two have to be killed, it seems acceptable, worth doing. And once you reach the chair, everything will be covered up.

Therefore, whoever reaches the chair does not want to leave it, because the moment he leaves it all hypocrisy and fraud will be exposed. While the post lasts, there is protection. Once someone reaches the post, he grabs it so tightly that he wants to die in office—that alone feels safe. Otherwise on the chair it is the same tumult, the same game—no difference. Indira goes and with her goes Sanjay Gandhi; Morarji arrives, and right behind him comes Kanti Desai. Nothing changes. It’s the same game. The coins change, the colors change, but the inner reality remains exactly the same. The same net keeps on working.

I do not consider politicians worthy of criticism—only worthy of a joke. So whenever I need to make you laugh, I take their names. When I see you starting to fall asleep, or see someone yawning, I think, “Now nothing but Morarji Desai will stop this gentleman’s yawn!” So I toss Morarji Desai into his open mouth. He starts upright, thinking, “Ah—Morarji Desai has come up; perhaps something meaningful has been said.” As soon as he wakes up, I forget Morarji and return to my subject.

No more value than that.

Swami Krishna Saraswati has asked.
I remember well what happened to him in Ajol. A significant event occurred. His ego departed for a few days. The Vast filled him completely. By its very nature such an event is beyond understanding. It is appropriate to ask: what had happened?

A window opened, a door opened. And after that door opened, Krishna Saraswati could no longer be the same person he had been before. That personality was gone. A new person made his appearance. But the journey is not yet complete; this will happen many more times. At least it will happen seven times.

There are seven centers within man. And whenever energy moves from one center to another, this happens. Then when it moves from the second to the third, it happens again. At every center this explosion will occur. Do not panic. And after each explosion, peace will become very deep. Then there will be another explosion and peace will become deeper still. And after the final explosion, only peace remains; it is not that some person inside is peaceful—only peace remains. No one remains liberated—liberation remains. It is not that a person has attained knowledge—only knowledge remains. Light remains. Pure light remains.

A blessed event happened. And more will happen. But do not try to make it happen from your side; otherwise it will be counterfeit. Wait, patiently. Continue meditation and wait patiently. And whenever such a thing happens, do not obstruct it—let it happen. In two to four days everything will again become quiet. And each event will give your life a new light, a new meaning, a new life-force.

And the second question is also from Krishna Saraswati.

While staying with you in Bombay I felt so attached to you that whenever you sent me anywhere far away, I felt such sorrow that I would make some excuse and feel the urge to come back into your presence. When I was sent to Nairobi (Africa), helplessly my consciousness accepted being away from you. Then when I was sent to America, while living there I experienced that my attachment to you had lessened, and I was able to stay away from you for so many days. I am afraid—might my love for you also be diminishing along with it? Beloved Master, please tell me, am I going in the right direction? What is the secret in my being far from you and from the ashram? Because I do meditate, yet being away from you I fear that I am deprived of satsang.

I have kept sending Krishna Saraswati far away, and he has kept running back as well. When I sent him to Nairobi he stayed a little longer. Then I sent him to America and he stayed about two years.

I am doing this knowingly. I am doing it for your good. If you remain near me, that explosion which has happened will happen so quickly, so repeatedly, that there is a danger of becoming deranged. Time is needed for it. It needs to happen with intervals.

You are not wandering, you are not going in a wrong direction. I am sending you; that is why you are going. And when I find there is no longer any need to send you, I will keep you here. That moment has not yet come. And you are fortunate, because there are very few people in whom things can happen with such intensity that I have to keep in mind that they might go mad! Only as much as you can contain, as much as you can digest, is it right for it to happen. If you open more than necessary, you will break, you will scatter. Madness can happen; even death can happen.

Therefore, knowingly I let you stay here for a few days, then I send you back. Now again I am sending you back to America. Go back to America. Stay engaged in my work. I am mindful. Just see that meditation does not slip; when satsang is needed, you will be called. As much as is needed, that much you will receive. I will give each one exactly what is needed. If anyone takes more than needed, harm can happen.

And sometimes the greed for spiritual experience grips one so strongly that one wants to take more than needed. I will have to take care that you do not receive more than is needed. Otherwise there will be indigestion.

And do not fear; that attachment is decreasing is good. Only when attachment decreases, when clinging decreases, does love become pure. On the path of love, attachment is the obstacle; clinging is the obstacle. Attachment and love are opposites. Therefore do not take the lessening of attachment to be a lessening of love.

Ordinarily we think that attachment is love. So if attachment is decreasing, is love decreasing? The concern is understandable. But do not be afraid. Love is a different matter altogether. With the complete disappearance of attachment, love arises. Attachment is the impurity in love. When attachment is absolutely gone, then love is perfectly pure; then love becomes prayer.

Good—let attachment go on decreasing. Attachment should indeed decrease.

Good that the disease has struck. Let it. It is a good fortune. Let this disease become a great disease. Let it grow so vast that you are absorbed in it. Through the very door of this disease, the divine will enter you.

Your mind is getting hung up, entangled in the divine—this is good. There will also be much pain, much anguish. For those who know nothing of the divine do not know deep pain either. Their pleasures are shallow, their sorrows are shallow. If someone’s joy comes from getting money, that joy is shallow; when he doesn’t get money, the sorrow that comes is also shallow. The pleasures and pains of this world are both shallow. With the divine, joy is deep and sorrow is deep. Separation is deep; only then can union be deep. Good. Now you are caught—this will bring pain.

The moon caught in the thicket—somewhere my mind is caught as well.
The day has set, and with the day
the clamour of the world has drowned.
Now even my own intent
seems to have a meaning.
Stars are lighting lamps
in the lanes of my mind.
Even the dusk-darkness
is tinting my feelings with color.
The moon tangled in the branches—somewhere my mind is tangled too.

Just as the moon gets stuck in the thicket, so the mind begins to get stuck in the sky. Then obstacles arise. Then restlessness. Because how to reach that distant divine in which the mind is entangled? How to reach that moon that seems caught in the branches? It feels near, yet it is far. And the distance hurts. Then naturally a longing arises—let it happen quickly! Let it happen now! Don’t delay now! Don’t take time now!

But what is to happen happens only when it is to happen. And what should happen should happen only when it should. If an unripe fruit falls, it will rot—it must ripen. Pluck a bud too soon; it will not become a flower—it must flower. Everything has its maturity. Everything has a moment of ripening. And everything has its season. Make this waiting blissful. Drop the craving; wait.

The disease of prayer has caught you—good. Now catch one more disease: waiting. For if prayer is alone and there is no waiting, no patience, then great restlessness arises, and it becomes impossible to contain it. Along with prayer, learn the art of waiting. That disease will catch you too—keep coming here.

When the sweet waiting itself is so much, beloved—what would it be if you were to come!
The silent night, as if
someone, having played upon a veena,
has just now dozed off—lost—
laying her head upon the strings of dreams;
and from all directions the echoes
come like awakenings of old memories—
if my ears could catch your note from somewhere, what would it be!
When the sweet waiting itself is so much, beloved—what would it be if you were to come!

Sitting, I imagine your foot-
fall approaching along the path;
from every vein awareness opens
and trickles down like tiny drops of tears;
like a lump of salt melting,
belongingness dissolves into the ocean—
if, gathering me in your arms, beloved, you clasped me to your neck—what would it be!
When the sweet waiting itself is so much, beloved—what would it be if you were to come!

Make waiting sweet. Understand the sweetness of waiting. There is a joy in waiting. There is the remembrance of the divine. There is waiting for the divine. Call, weep, keep watch on the path. The path itself is sweet. The separation too is dear. Cherish this mood. Awaken it. Soak in it. And the deeper the waiting, the sooner the happening happens; and the more the impatience, the longer it takes.

Remember this sutra: the more the impatience, the longer the delay; the more the patience, the sooner. If there is infinite waiting—“Even if you come in eternity, I will keep watch”—then it may happen this very moment. When infinite patience blossoms in the heart, there is no reason left for the divine to delay. Infinite patience is the sign that you have ripened.

You say: “From listening to you, this disease of devotion has caught me; now I cannot keep patience. The longing is that everything should happen right now.”
I understand—that is how it happens. But refine your understanding a little more. This is natural, but this very naturalness will become a hindrance.

Then what happens when a person becomes very impatient? Two things. Either he reaches a limit where it becomes hard to bear the impatience, and he thinks: “Forget it. None of this happens; there is no God, no prayer. What mess have I got into!”—this happens. Or the impatience becomes so much that the person breaks, falls apart, goes deranged. In both cases, the thing is missed.

Put your energy into prayer, and leave the “when to come” to him. This is what I called utkranti (evolution) yesterday. You pray—that much is your effort—and then leave it to the divine: whenever, whatever is to happen! Do not hanker after results; take whatever comes as prasad, as grace. Prayer—effort; and then waiting—then his prasad. He will give when he gives, when he deems you worthy. Do not complain.

It has never happened that when someone was ready there was even a moment’s delay. You have heard the saying: “In his house there is delay but no injustice.” I say to you: there is neither injustice nor delay. Whoever coined that saying must have fallen into impatience; so he said, “There is great delay.” He has not yet lost faith, so he says, “There is no injustice”; he still has hope, so he says, “Someday it will come—but there is great delay!” But in the “delay” only your impatience is being revealed. There is never any delay. Everything happens in time. Let this feeling deepen.

One disease has caught you; now catch another. The two will balance each other. Then your peace will not be broken. Your prayer will keep growing, and it will not become deranged. For your prayer to one day become liberation, it is essential that you also learn the lesson of patience.

That’s all for today.