Athato Bhakti Jigyasa #35

But I say to you, even after seventy-seven, the seventy-eighth will arrive.
Scriptures won’t help until your own inner insight has awakened. Shandilya won’t help, Jesus won’t help, I won’t help—until your inner wisdom is lit. Until the sutra arises from within you, nothing will work. Tiny things will then break you; the smallest matter will spoil everything.
It’s only the little things in life—where are the big ones?
You come home tired after a day’s work, and your wife sets down the cup of tea in such a manner that—all your Shandilya and so on are forgotten! She hasn’t done anything, she just placed the cup this way, with a certain indifference! And when you taste it, the tea is cold. In that moment you won’t be able to remember that the Divine dwells in your wife. You’ll forget everything. People have run away from this. Run away—because here, at every moment, your sutras are tested, by fire. Your principles are examined moment to moment. It’s not that there’s an exam once or twice a year—it’s happening every day, every moment: sitting down, getting up, sleeping, waking, the test goes on. People flee this test. I call them weak. I call them deserters.
Do not run from the world, nor abuse the world by calling it maya. The world is the energy of God. This vast spread of God’s energy—seek within this. Seeking within this, it has been found, and will be found—because it is here. If you find it here, you can find it in the Himalayas as well; if you cannot find it here, you won’t find it in the Himalayas either. There in the Himalayas, only this will happen: you will imagine. No one will be there to hinder your imagination. You’ll drift free in fantasy. Imagining, you’ll go deranged. No truth is ever attained by imagination. Truth is attained by dropping imagination. By dissolving all imaginings. Do not leave the world; leave imagination.
But the great fun is, people leave the world; they do not leave imagination. What has to be left is mine-and-thine, not the wife; not the husband; not the children—leave mine-and-thine. Drop the wifely-ness, the husband-ness toward anyone. Let the God-feeling arise. There is no more beautiful opportunity anywhere than the one the world offers. In maya itself the Divine is hidden.
“The power of the Lord is called maya.”
Therefore Shandilya says: it is to be served, to be adored. Partake of it; let it become your hymn. Drink this energy. Digest it. Relate to it, build bridges. Let there be no opposition between you and this energy. Harmonize. Dance and sing with this energy. This is what they have called bhajan—devotional absorption. A unique definition: becoming absorbed with this energy is bhajan.
Here a tree is dancing in the wind; the winds have come and turned the tree into a dancer—so you too dance with the tree. At some point your two dances will meet on one plane. A moment comes when the dance between you and the tree becomes so unitary, so nondual, that you forget who is the tree and who is you. Then, for the first time, the veil lifts. In the tree you will see God hiding.
And this can happen anywhere. In every situation of your life you can find this bhajan. One must learn the art of savoring—of enjoying. People flee enjoyment. Shandilya says: learn the art of enjoyment. Enjoy rightly. Those who have truly enjoyed have found God right here.
And those who cannot enjoy rightly—how on earth will they renounce rightly? Those who could not even enjoy, who were defeated in enjoyment—how will they win in renunciation? Renunciation is a further art beyond enjoyment. Truth be told, renunciation is born from the very experience of enjoyment. Tena tyaktena bhunjithah: they alone renounced who had enjoyed; who enjoyed so deeply that renunciation blossomed within enjoyment itself.
It’s a subtle sutra. And with the thousands of layers of doctrines draped over you, it becomes hard to grasp. If someone has truly learned to enjoy, renunciation lies hidden in that very enjoyment. As Brahman is hidden in maya, so renunciation is hidden in enjoyment; the inner is hidden in the outer; the ocean is hidden in the wave; depth is hidden in the surface. All these are connected. Savor! Savor the Divine in innumerable forms. In the morning you go out—you say, “We are going to take the air.” Shandilya would say: by all means, take the air—but remember, the same One is in the air. Let it be the savoring of God. Say, we are going to breathe God in the form of air. Don’t just say it—know it, live it. When your nostrils fill with the freshness of the morning breeze, feel that it is God you are drinking through your nostrils. In air is hidden prana—the principle of life. In air is hidden the elixir of vitality. Without air you could not live even a short while.
Reflect on the names for air in all languages. Yogis call it pranayama—“the ingress of prana.” In Hebrew, the term for it means “soul.” In English, when we take air in, we call it inspiration—that word comes from “spirit.” We take spirit within; we are re-vitalized; the flame of life is rekindled. The lamp receives oil. A human being too is a flame. Ask the scientist: the flame will not burn without air; it cannot burn in a vacuum.
Try it. Cover a candle with a glass vessel. It will burn only a short while—as long as the air inside is available for burning. As soon as that air is exhausted, the candle goes out.
Life too needs air every moment. Without food, a person can live three months; without water, a few days; without breath, only a few seconds or minutes—and even that is because the air already within continues to work. If all air were expelled, even that much time would not be possible.
God comes with the breath. When the morning air is fresh and you go for a walk, remember: with every breath invite God within. You will be amazed—you will return having prayed. And a prayer such as never happened before. Those dead prayers you recite in temples aren’t worth two pennies. I am asking you for a living prayer. Walk for an hour in the morning; in that freshness, the light, the birdsong—savor the new air as the very presence of the Divine. Return home, and you’ll find your feet hardly touch the ground; you have become light, weightless. The pull of the earth touches you less. A great buoyancy will be inside you—like a flower has opened. Great tenderness will be within, compassion. You won’t be able to use harshness. Having so much of God in you—how could you be harsh? Beauty and goodness will flow from you naturally.
And if you can spread this over every aspect of life, then you have understood Shandilya. While eating, remember: you are eating only God. The very nature of food will change—because the psychology of eating will change.
You know this: if someone tells you, “Forgive me, but a fly fell into the food you just ate”—even if they lie—your psychology changes. You start to retch; you will vomit. Whether a fly fell or not makes no difference. If it fell and no one told you, you ate happily—perhaps even took the fly inside—and you would not have vomited. Vomiting is not caused by the fly; it is caused by psychology. Even if no fly fell, and someone says, “Forgive us, a big mistake—there was a fly”—suddenly your whole body wants to expel the food. You become uneasy, upset, and until you vomit you won’t find relief.
What happened? The food was the same; you were sitting contentedly.
I was once a guest in a house. That night the host was nipped by a mouse. He got frightened. We were sleeping in the same room. I looked at his foot and said, “Nothing to worry about—the mouse pecked you! You’ve plenty of mice in this house. No problem.” He slept well; no trouble. Morning came; we went for a walk, bathed in the river, returned—everything was fine. Back home his wife said, “A snake came out in your room.” I saw his face turn pale. He said, “A snake! Perhaps that’s what bit me?” He sat down on the steps. I said, “It’s been so long—he bit you at midnight, it’s now noon—if it were a snake, there would already be symptoms.” But the symptoms began! He lay down; his face turned black; froth came to his lips. Doctors were called—they said nothing seemed wrong.
The psychology changed! Many times people die just from a psychological change. And many times a dying man survives—just from a psychological change.
Understand the meaning of psychology. There is a Sufi story.
A fakir was sitting outside a village. He saw a black shadow entering—he must have been a man of inner sight. He said, “Stop! Who are you? Where are you going?”
The shadow said, “I am the Plague. God has commanded me to take five hundred lives from this village.”
He said, “All right. If there is a command, fulfill it.”
Fifteen days later she was returning. The fakir stopped her: “You lied. Five thousand died; you said five hundred.”
She said, “What can I do? I killed only five hundred; four and a half thousand died of fear! I had no hand in them. Why did they die? I myself am astonished.”
Psychology!
A man was brought to me who had become obsessed that two flies crawled into him while he slept at night. His mind was not quite well. He would say, “Right now they are moving in my hand… now in my chest… now in my leg.” Many doctors treated him; there was no cure. X-rays were taken—no flies. And even if there were, could they move about like that? But he’d insist: “They’re moving—here they go!” He’d take your hand and point to his skin: “It’s going inside.”
I told him, “Lie down.” I laid him down and ran to catch flies! I had hardly ever caught flies before—somehow I caught two. I put them in a bottle. His eyes were blindfolded; he was lying down. “I’m doing some mantra-tantra,” I told him, “trying to catch your flies.” When he saw the two flies, he became delighted. He said, “How much I told those doctors and vaidyas, but none would believe me! Now give me the bottle. I’ll go show them!” He went around to all the doctors and healers—and was cured. I myself was amazed: what happened? Those flies were not inside him.
The treatments failed. His psychology had to be shifted.
Ninety percent of the illnesses in your life are caused by your mind. And ninety percent of your cures are also caused by your mind. The doctor matters more than the medicine. If you trust your doctor, the medicine works; if you don’t, it doesn’t. Each person is helped by what he trusts. Someone trusts homeopathy—then it works, though it is nothing but sugar pills. Yet it works—because what must be changed is the psychology. Homeopathy is a purely psychological therapy; it is important—but it works!
In the West many experiments are underway. Ten patients in a hospital with the same disease: five are given medicine, five are given pure water. They are astonished—the results are equal. As many are cured by water as by the medicine. And another surprise: medicines sometimes have side effects; water has none. If you are cured, good; if not, no harm—you only drank water.
But the patient must not be told he’s drinking water. Not the patient alone—the doctor who administers it must not know either; otherwise his attitude, hesitancy, eyes—everything will be read by the patient. More than the drug, that is crucial. So the person who divides the ten into two groups knows, but he doesn’t give the doses; he hands them to a doctor who doesn’t know which is which. The labels are identical—no distinction possible. Then the results are meaningful. What’s needed is the patient’s trust.
What Shandilya calls “savoring God” is a wondrous psychological experiment. While eating, think: annam brahma—food is Brahman. I am eating Brahman. With reverence. Chew each morsel as if it were Brahman. You will find the very quality of your food changes. The food is the same—but you have infused it with majesty, with prayer.
When you bathe, remember: this cascade falling on you is God’s own stream. Standing under the shower, know it is His fountain. You’ll find the coolness of the drops is different; their flavor is different. They will fill you with life; refresh you as never before. If someone savors God like this around the clock, the name of the whole process is bhajan—devotional absorption.
The world is to be served, worshiped. “God” and “nature” are two names of the same energy: when consciousness predominates, we say “God”; when inertia predominates, “nature.” The difference is only between waking and sleep. God’s power is called maya—His feminine aspect.
Remember Ardhanarishvara—the half-man, half-woman form. That image should be in every home—so you never forget that the world is woven from opposites. Oppositeness is indispensable; otherwise the world would fall apart. The One has divided itself into two poles; between them the whole play unfolds.
Maya has been so maligned that you will find it hard to accept that the world too is a form of Brahman; that the shop too is a temple. Yes, the shop too is a temple—because the customer who comes is none other than the Lord. And business can be conducted in such a way that it becomes worship. The day a shop is kept like a temple, that very day the world will be transformed—the day the shopkeeper is like Kabir.
Kabir used to sit in the market of Kashi selling cloth—he would weave, then go sell. He was a weaver. Whoever came, he would explain lovingly, drape the cloth on them. And do you know how he addressed them? He said, “Ram. Ram, look at this! Try it on. It’s woven with great effort; it’s full of bhajan. As I wove each warp and weft, I hummed my hymns. Woven for you, Ram! It will last well.” He would ask only the labor due: “Let me have the few coins of my wages; this much was spent on it.”
People would wait for Kabir’s cloth. That cloth was not just cloth—jhini jhini bini re chadariya, Ram ras bhini re chadariya—finely, finely woven, the sheet soaked in the nectar of Ram! Kabir would hum, sing, do his bhajan as he wove. The Name got woven into the threads. The very qualities of that sheet were changed; devotion got infused into it. Whatever a man of bhajan does, devotion gets incorporated into it.
You’ve seen this difference too, but you don’t notice. Everything is available in life, but you don’t observe. When someone prepares food for you full of love—have you noticed a difference? The very quality of the food changes. Psychologists now clearly say: no one should cook in anger. Yet often, women cook in anger. When the husband falls ill, they worry—but they had cooked in anger. Beating the child, thinking against the husband, banging utensils, breaking plates—somehow getting the food done, in extreme anger. That anger will enter the food. Those waves of anger will be caught by the food. Anger is a real event; there is an aura of anger around the woman—how will it not enter the meal? The food cannot remain unaffected. That food becomes toxic. To eat it is to invite illness. Yet this is what happens.
But when someone sings and dances in love, in joy—“My son is coming, my husband is coming, my brother, my father”—and prepares the meal, the quality is different. Then even the plainest becomes delicious. And I do not say this as mere poetry; there is a whole psychology behind it. Ancient psychology has always said this; now modern psychology joins hands.
In this country we did not let women cook during menstruation. Now it’s become difficult; little by little it has changed—at least in educated, “cultured,” modern homes—but for centuries we forbade it. Why? Not because menstrual blood is impure; that is secondary, trivial—blood is blood. The real reason: during those days the woman’s mind is tense, agitated, disturbed; not buoyant. For four days she is uneasy, in pain; her whole being is fevered in a way; her state is not natural. For her to cook is harmful.
Experiments have been done in many laboratories around the world; it has been found there is truth in this. Let a woman do any other work, but not cook those four days—because food is not a trivial matter; the life of the whole family is tied to it. The core point is this: the effect of joy.
You can bring the temple into the shop as well. I am in favor of that. The temple should not be separate from the shop; it should be united. The temple should not be separate from your home; your home should be a temple.
All the opposition to maya is not really opposition to maya—it is to our notions, our mine-and-thine. Because of mine-and-thine we get entangled and cannot see what is. Our “mine” becomes so huge that it hides everything.
Which swan-maidens have so enticed you that you have forgotten the Mansarovar?
Sometimes even the swan gets trapped in puddles of mud.
Which swan-maidens have so enticed you that you have forgotten the Mansarovar?
Which waves are those, that lying on heaving bosoms
rock you in their cradle?
Which waves are those, that smearing you with froth,
stroke your wings and lull you to sleep?
What honeyed fragrance flows in the wind
that enters with your breath within?
Which swan-maidens have so enticed you that you have forgotten the Mansarovar?
What dark, white, and crimson lotuses,
what bowers have so beguiled you?
What cups brimming with poison, nectar, and wine
have you drained so utterly
that to you dying and living and bowing and swaying
have become the same? What lotus-stem wand
has touched your heart with its magic today?
Which swan-maidens have so enticed you that you have forgotten the Mansarovar?
Who has enticed you? The old sadhus and renouncers say: women have enticed men; wealth has enticed men. That is pointless—catching the symptom, not the disease. I tell you: mine-and-thine has enticed you. Let mine-and-thine go, and life is transformed. Just forget the language of “mine and yours,” and instantly you’ll see—no one here is luring you; the only enchanter here is the Divine. He peeks even through the woman.
When you have felt attraction toward a beautiful woman, there are two ways. Either you think, “This body is beautiful; let me enjoy it, make it mine; let this woman be mine—or this man be mine—let me lay claim, lest someone else does; let me place golden chains in her hands; bring her home and seat her in a scaffold.” What you call a house is a scaffold—a cage, even if its bars are of gold. The ornaments you offered thinking they were adornments—are only chains. They are precious, so one cannot refuse them.
There is another way. When a beautiful woman appears, feel it is a glint of God’s beauty reflected there. Understand: she too is a mirror in which God has flashed. There are infinite mirrors; this is a lovely one. But ownership has no place. Who is the owner here? There is only one Owner. Ya malik! There is only one Owner here. Remember that Owner. You sit down as the owner—that’s where the mistake is. You sit as the owner—there your slip happens. Drop your proprietorship. There is nowhere to go—only ownership to drop, the feeling of “mine” to be let go.
When the grasping of “mine” falls away, a revolution happens in life. Everything remains as it is, yet everything changes. Then in a flower you see not a mere flower; its body is the flower, its life is the Divine. In a beautiful woman you do not see only a beautiful woman; you see only the reflection of the Divine, His shimmer. Then in all beauty, all music, all flavor—only He comes to mind. Every moment He is remembered. From every side His signal starts arriving; and each signal becomes an arrow piercing the heart. Shandilya has called that state bhajan—devotion.
Vyapakatvat vyapyanam.
“Because the pervader is true, the pervaded is also true.”
Scriptures—every scripture—say: the Divine is present in all. He is in every atom. That in which the Divine is present cannot be false. How will truth be contained in falsehood? How will you pour true water into a false pot? Can you?
I’ve heard: Mulla Nasruddin was walking with a basket on his head. Someone joined him and asked, “What a strange basket! It has holes—what are you carrying, Nasruddin?” “A mongoose,” he said. “A mongoose? What for? I’ve never heard of anyone taking a mongoose home.” “The matter is like this,” said Mulla. “You know, sometimes I drink too much at night. When I drink too much, I see snakes. I’ve heard that if you keep a mongoose at home, it catches the snakes and tears them to pieces. So I’m taking a mongoose.” The man said, “You’ve put me in more confusion. The snakes you see when you drink too much are false—imagined.” “So what?” said Mulla, “Is this mongoose real?” Only the basket is real; inside there is nothing.”
Falsehood can be cut by falsehood. Truth cannot be destroyed by falsehood. Truth and false can never meet. If the water is real, how will you pour it into an unreal pot? If the pot is not, how will you fill it?
Keep this sutra in mind:
“Because the pervader is true, the pervaded is also true.”
Shandilya says: all scriptures say God pervades every atom, everything; therefore that which He pervades is true because of Him who pervades.
If the world is false, then God would be false too! If Shankaracharya is right that the world is maya, then your Brahman also becomes maya. This is exactly what Buddhist philosophers pointed out. Nagarjuna said: accept that the world is maya—and draw a unique conclusion: if the world is maya, then the one who pervades it, Brahman, is also maya. Shandilya draws one conclusion, Bergerly; Nagarjuna draws the opposite conclusion from the same logic. Shandilya says: if God is true, the world is true. Nagarjuna starts from the other end: we grant that the world is false, as Vedantins say; then the one who makes that falsehood is false; the one who pervades that falsehood is false; therefore Brahman is false; both the world and Brahman are maya. The logical basis is the same.
But I feel Shandilya’s choice is better than Nagarjuna’s. Because Nagarjuna too is caught in a dispute. With whom are you arguing? Whom are you telling that the world is false, Brahman is false? Whom are you telling? If no one is here, and if all objects are false, then the subject too is false. For whom are these scriptures written? With whom is this debate? Nagarjuna has no answer.
Shandilya’s view seems more practical, more scientific. God is hidden in all; therefore that in which He is hidden is also true. Both are true. And remember, there cannot be two truths. Truth can only be one. How can there be two truths? If there were two, each would limit the other. If there are two, you must draw a line in between. How will you draw a line between two truths? There cannot be two truths. There is one truth—but with two modes of appearing. Sometimes it appears as seed, sometimes as tree—but the truth is one. The same appears as the world—when God is asleep.
What is your unliberated state? God is asleep within you. What is your liberated state? God has awakened. That’s the only difference. There is no fundamental difference between you and the awakened ones. The difference is like between the sleeping and the waking. You are awake; next to you someone sleeps—that one can awaken; you too once slept. Buddha says: I too was once ignorant, now I have become knowing. You are ignorant now; you too can become knowing—any day, any moment. Right now, this very moment.
What is the difference between the sleeping and the awake? A tiny difference. So tiny is the difference between the Buddha and the unawakened.
Na prani buddhibhyah asambhavat.
“This cannot be the imagination of human intellect.”
Then Shandilya says: some may say—some do say—that this whole world is the imagination of man’s mind. Shandilya says: this cannot be true.
Why not? Because this world is so vast—and the human mind is so petty! The expanse of this universe is impossible for the human mind; even to know it is impossible. We don’t yet know how vast existence is. This earth seems big—but it’s not. The sun is sixty thousand times larger; and even this is a small sun; there are mega-suns—the stars you see at night are mega-suns, millions of times bigger.
The distance from earth to sun is great; the sun’s ray takes nine-and-a-half minutes to arrive. Light travels very fast—nothing is faster; in one second it travels 186,000 miles. Nine-and-a-half minutes from sun to earth. But that’s not a big distance—because from the nearest star, light takes four years to arrive. And from the farthest star, it takes eight hundred million years. And beyond that are stars whose light has never reached us, and may never. There will be farther ones whose light never will—so we will never know of them. We only know when some ray arrives; otherwise not.
Such a vast universe!
We cannot even complete the counting of stars. Every day the count increases, and now scientists say: the counting will never be complete; stars are innumerable. Each star is a sun; each sun has many earths, moons, planets, satellites. Our earth is a tiny speck, a small particle, without any standing. Could such a universe be the imagination of man? Could it be man’s mental projection? Man’s little mind! No—such a vast orchestration cannot be caused by the human mind; it is hard even to comprehend.
Those philosophers who say it is merely the spread of human mind are mistaken. But that there is mind behind it—this is certain. Not human mind, but some mind. Because there is so much order—so much coordination, harmony. No accidents. Such an immensity, flowing with such ease, grace, simplicity. There must be a great intelligence behind it—a supreme intelligence. The name of that supreme intelligence is God. The ultimate form of intelligence hidden behind existence—the cosmic intelligence, Brahman-intellect—is God.
Our intelligence is only a small ray of His. We are not the sun; we are its rays. But if a ray comes within our grasp, we can reach the sun; by holding the thread of that ray we can merge into the sun.
There have been those who merged into the sun—Rama, Krishna, Christ, Mohammed, Zarathustra, Lao Tzu. They held onto the thread of that ray, slowly awakened human intelligence, and reached the supreme intelligence; they dissolved in that supreme samadhi where the division between them and the cosmos ends.
Nirmaya ucchavacham shrutih cha nirmimite pitrivat.
“Just as all beings are fashioned, so too the Vedas were revealed—like a father who, having begotten a child, arranges for his education.”
And Shandilya says: not only has this world arisen from God, the ways to live in it have also arisen from Him. The process by which we savor this world—He has given that too. The science of how we do bhajan—He has given that too. The name of that science is Veda.
Remember, “Veda” is not only Hindu Vedas in the narrow sense. The original word is shruti—“that which was heard.” A lovely word. But when Hindus translate it, they render shruti as “Veda,” and the sectarian mind intrudes. Shruti means: that which was heard from those who knew. The Qur’an also is shruti; the Bible is shruti; the Dhammapada is shruti. Veda did not end with the four Vedas. Veda has kept coming, and will keep coming. Because as man changes, new Vedas are needed.
“Veda” itself is a lovely word, if we do not confine it to Rigveda, Samaveda, Yajurveda, Atharvaveda. Veda comes from vid—knowledge, to know. The words of the knowers have been collected. God has been descending—His great genius flashes in human genius—always. This is natural. The source from which we arise—it is natural that it gives us direction. Shandilya says: just as a father, having sired a child, arranges education.
“Just as all beings are fashioned, so too the Vedas were revealed.”
Take my meaning of Veda thus: whenever something has been known, a Veda is born. Endless Vedas! The Hindu Vedas do not exhaust Veda. That is one mode of Veda; there are many others, in many languages. The word shruti is better: we heard. All Buddhist scriptures begin: “Thus have I heard.” Because Buddha knows; those who wrote only heard; they did not know. The knowers spoke; the not-yet-knowers wrote it down, collected it—for the sake of those who may not yet be capable of knowing, may not yet be ready vessels; who perhaps do not yet have the courage; or even if it dawned, could not bear it. For them it was inscribed.
Shruti is a sweet word. I am saying something to you—what I say is shruti for you. If it touches your heart, treasure it. But remember—do not stop at shruti. One day, what you have heard must become your own seeing. Shruti means: truth has come through the ear. What comes through the ear is alien; it must come through the eye to become your own. That is the difference between truth and false—between ear and eye. That is why in court we accept only an eye-witness.
Mulla Nasruddin was taken to court in a case. The magistrate asked, “How far were you from the place where the murder occurred?”
Mulla said, “Two or three furlongs.”
“It was the night of the new moon—dark—and you saw the murder? How far can you see in the dark?”
Mulla said, “Don’t ask such things—by that logic we even see the moon and stars. Don’t ask about distance!”
Eye-witness. One who has seen with the eye.
Only in light can one see; not in darkness. When the supreme light of meditation spreads within, then it is seen. Therefore we say: it is revealed. Then His words descend. Muslims call it ilham—exactly right: you are only a receiver, something descends. Hindus call it avatarana—descent. You are only the vessel; something from the sky pours down and fills you. Christians call it revelation—again right: you do nothing; when you are silent, it is revealed; it stands before you. Perhaps it always stood there—your eyes were shut; you opened them. Truth was unveiled. Truth stood naked; the veil fell.
“Just as all beings are fashioned, so too the Vedas were revealed—like a father who, having begotten a child, arranges for his education.”
God has not abandoned you; He has not forgotten you; He has been sending His messengers, prophets, tirthankaras, avatars. What does it mean to send avatars, tirthankaras, prophets? Only this: whoever has become capable in meditation—God has descended into him. Through him, He has begun seeking you once more, calling you: Where have you lost yourselves? Where are you hiding? Awake! How long will you sleep? It is morning—rise. The collections of those words are Veda, Dhammapada, Qur’an, Bible, Tao Te Ching—they are all Vedas. Vedas came before, are still coming, and will come—because God has not given up hope on you.
Rabindranath wrote in a song: whenever a child is born, I thank God—because with every birth I receive the news that God has not yet grown weary of man. He still creates man. He still trusts man. He has not relinquished hope—though man has done everything to make Him lose it. Man has done such that any father would give up hope and forget the prodigal! Yet Rabindranath says: He has not lost hope; He still makes men. He thinks not all is lost; the one who strayed in the morning might return home by evening.
What is the reason for this hope?
The reason is a few people. Because some do return by evening. The millions do not—but one does. And the coming of one brings news that the other millions are of the same nature; perhaps they too will come some day. So hope does not break. A Krishna wakes one day; then hope becomes dense. If a tree has grown from one seed and flowers have blossomed, then all seeds are made by God the same way. There is no difference in them. They have the same capacity, the same power. Today or tomorrow—one day their shells will crack, shoots will emerge, flowers will bloom, their fragrance will be shed.
Mishropadeshat na iti chet na svalpatvat.
“Do not doubt by saying ‘the teachings are mixed’; and even where mixed, they are few.”
Understand this sutra!
Shandilya says: if we accept that the reference is to the Hindu Vedas, then there are many contradictory statements—mixed teachings—what shall we do with them? The Vedas do not speak one thing, but many—often opposing each other. For instance, the Vedas accept violent sacrifices—that violence may be done in yajnas. And the Vedas also declare that unparalleled sentence: ma hinsyat sarvabhutani—never harm any being. And on the other hand, in the Ashvamedha the horse must be killed; and there were Narmedha sacrifices too, where a man must be killed. Then arises the question: there are opposite statements—how could these come from the same God? How can one father give such contrary advice?
And if my broader meaning is taken, the difficulty increases—because then the Veda and the Qur’an and the Bible and the Dhammapada all descend from the same One. Then Krishna, Buddha, Mahavira—all from the same source. Yet their words clash! Within the Vedas themselves there is much contradiction; between Veda and Dhammapada, much more; between Bible and Qur’an, much more. The rishis of the Veda do not agree with one another; how then will they agree with Buddha or Lao Tzu—separated by ages and cultures? What then?
Shandilya says: “Do not doubt on account of mixed teachings.”
How does he explain? Consider a few points:
First, certainly there are mixed teachings in the Veda—because they were not given for one single son. God has many sons—and the sons differ widely. What applies to one does not apply to another. What is medicine for one is poison for another. Each has a different disease. The medicine must differ. When you go to a doctor, he doesn’t write the same prescription for all; otherwise we would need no doctor at all. The need for a doctor is that he diagnoses and then prescribes the right treatment.
Therefore the Veda alone is not sufficient. Without the support of a guru, if you go into the Veda, you will be in a mess. It is like going alone into a pharmacy to prepare your own medicine. There are thousands of medicines: for TB, for cancer, and so on. If you start choosing on your own, how will you choose? Your reasons will be all wrong. You may choose the prettiest bottles; or the most colorful; or the sweetest taste. Such will be your criteria. You cannot choose rightly. First, you don’t even know what your disease is; and if you do, you don’t know what medicine treats it. A guru is needed—a true guru—who out of the thousands of treatments in the Veda will select what is for you.
Therefore scripture without a true guru is of no value. People cling to scriptures; then they cannot use them—only worship them. They keep the bottle of medicine and worship it—offer flowers, chant mantras, ring bells, wave lamps. But do not drink it—otherwise there will be danger. Only worship remains. So people worship the Vedas. And if they actually open and look inside, restlessness grows—because there are indeed contradictory sayings. They were given to different people.
Think: to whom was it said, “Ma hinsyat sarvabhutani”? Someone pure, who had reached the last stage, from which all violence could be dropped. And to whom was it said, “Violence only in yajna”? To a very violent man. He was told: you may be violent only in sacrifice. His violence was given a boundary. Sacrifices cannot be done every day—costly affairs—at most once or twice in a lifetime; then violence once or twice, and the rest of life free. This facility was made for the violent person. As violence drops, other counsel becomes relevant. What works today may change tomorrow when the illness lessens—then a second medicine is needed, in a smaller dose; later, a third in an even smaller dose.
Shandilya says: the contradictions in the Veda are due to the difference in vessels. And that is what I want to tell you—that is why there is difference between Veda and Qur’an. The Qur’an’s recipients were even more distant—another century, country, customs, people. The Qur’an cannot be like the Veda. The Bible cannot be like the Veda. Buddha’s words cannot be like the Veda—because between Buddha and the Veda lies five thousand years. What I am saying to you—how can it be like the Veda? Ten thousand years apart. In ten thousand years, man has not sat still like a corpse; he is not a rock but a flowing stream. Much has changed. Today’s man has different needs; then, other needs. Today’s treatment will be different.
Therefore, when you hear something from me that seems to go against your scriptures, do not drop it just because it conflicts with scripture. When something I say seems to oppose scripture, note it—perhaps that is precisely what you need to heed. Otherwise I have no desire to go against scripture; wherever possible, I want to say what scripture has said. But when I see that if I say what the scripture said you will hang yourself—only then do I change it. And often what happens is: you accept from me only what agrees with your scripture; and drop what does not.
People come to me and say: we accept from you as much as agrees with our scripture. What does not, we do not accept. And yet those are the very things that are essential for you. The things that do not agree with your scripture are the ones spoken for you—for your particular condition.
So there are differences among scriptures—but not enmity. There is otherness, but not oppositeness.
And then Shandilya adds: “Do not doubt on account of mixed teachings—and even where mixed, they are few.”
The mixed teachings are few, because however different men may be across places and times, most of man is the same. Whether he is born in Arabia, China, or India—there are small differences: customs, conditioning, climate, surroundings. But fundamentally, what differences can there be? Essentially, man is man. The basic drives are the same. Hence Shandilya says: the differences are few—not worth fighting over. About those differences, consult a true guru: what applies to you? Walk in accordance with that.
Scripture without a true guru is dangerous. With a true guru, scripture is supremely valuable. When the sound of scripture is heard again through the life of a true guru, the scripture is re-enlivened—and in a way that serves you: consonant with your capacity, fit for your circumstance. The meaning of “true guru” is exactly this: the scripture’s rebirth—again and again.
People are entangled in disputes: “The Gita says this, the Qur’an says that—whom should we follow?” Out of such fear, the reader of the Gita will not read the Qur’an—he is already troubled enough by the Gita! He thinks, “Even the Gita says so many things—devotion here, action there, knowledge there—the Gita alone is enough to confuse me! Which is right?” Then if you read the Qur’an too, the tangle worsens. So the so-called religious have decided: do not read others’ scriptures, or you’ll be more confounded.
I say to you: read all the scriptures—so that you are properly confounded, and finding no way through scriptures, you seek a true guru. Otherwise you will never seek. That is why I speak on so many scriptures—to strip you of the illusion that you “know.” It should become clear that you know nothing; there is nothing left to cling to—not Veda, not Qur’an, not Bible. I line up all the scriptures before you so that inside it becomes crystal clear: now what shall I hold? Where shall I go? I see no way! When this is clear, then you will bow at some feet and say, “Show me the way.” Otherwise you will not bow. If a book suffices, why go to a guru? A book is a cheap thing.
And besides, you are the master of a book; the true guru becomes your master. There is no harm in bowing before a book, alone in your room. Bowing before a living man—your ego is obstructed. Therefore people worship dead gurus and kill living ones. The living guru is the enemy of your ego; the dead guru is harmless.
Read all the scriptures! That is the way to become free of scriptures—and the way to seek a true guru. Blessed are those who find a true guru.
That’s all for today.