Es Dhammo Sanantano #25

Before the sutra, one very fundamental thing must be understood.
We can divide a human life into two parts: one is the human being — being — and the other is the human act, his doing.
Doing is on the surface, on the circumference. What we do is not our whole, it is not our totality. Doing is like the waves on the ocean’s surface. Granted, the waves belong to the ocean — but the ocean is not only waves. In truth, even to say the waves belong to the ocean is not the whole of it — the waves arise out of the friction, the tussle between the ocean and the winds; they belong to the winds as much as to the ocean.
A man’s actions are born out of his friction with other men — from the rubbing of winds and sea. But the man’s being does not end there; in fact, it does not even begin there — that is only the perimeter. The boundary wall you have built around your house — that is action. Your inner house, your Antaratman — there, action has no reach. One arrives there only when one attains to non-doing, akarma. One arrives there only when one comes to know: I am not the doer, I am the witness, the drashta.
But to arrive there you will have to journey through the world of doing. You are standing on the circumference; you have no map of the inner palace. You are at the gate, at the boundary; you know nothing of the sanctum of the temple. So the journey must begin from where you stand. Hence, even in the realm of action, a little doing is necessary. That very discernment is the inquiry into sin and virtue.
That action is virtue which takes you beyond action.
Try to understand this.
That action is virtue which does not bind you, which does not keep you stuck on the circumference, which gives you a passage inward, becomes a staircase. And that action is sin which does not let you enter within, which keeps you tangled at the gate.
That action is virtue by which your eyes turn inwards, and that action is sin by which you set out blindly toward the outside. What takes you away from yourself — that is sin. What brings you nearer to yourself — that is virtue.
Do not be overly concerned with what the scriptures have said. Whoever measures sin and virtue only by scripture does not go very far. Time changes, circumstances change. Yesterday’s virtue becomes today’s sin; today’s sin becomes tomorrow’s virtue. If you have a touchstone within, you will never be at a loss. Amid changing circumstances, keep testing on this one criterion: that which leads you inward is virtue; that which drives you outward is sin. Whatever makes you wander, whatever increases the distance between you and yourself, whatever brings you to such a state that you no longer know who you are, where you have come from, why you are, where you are going — when all knowledge vanishes and you fall into a swoon — that which brings this fainting is sin. That which assists your awakening is virtue.
Therefore do not think in fixed lines; fixed lines will not solve it. You may act in accordance with scripture and yet, if it does not take you inward, it becomes sin.
Understand. You can give in charity. There is no scripture on earth which says charity is not a virtue. You may give, thinking that giving is virtue, and by giving you may strengthen your ego — “I am generous; none is as giving as I.” You missed. You fulfilled the word of the scripture, but you did not understand the scripture of life. Even that virtue carried you away from yourself. You became more egoistic, walked with more stiff-necked pride. No humility arose, no guilelessness. You grew more clever. You managed not only the accounts of this world, you began to manage the accounts of the other world. You built houses not only here, but also there. You arranged not only the world, you began to arrange God. You went farther away from yourself.
That charity did not become virtue, because it was not grounded in understanding. If charity is based on fear or on greed — that God will be pleased, that charity will bring merit, that the doors of bliss open to the doer of merit, that the meritorious will not suffer the torments of hell, that the meritorious will be saved from sorrow — that merit stands upon greed and fear.
I have heard: there was a Muslim tailor. He fell ill, almost to the point of death. One night he dreamt he had died and was being buried in the grave. He was astonished — the grave was filled with many colored little flags. Being a tailor, his curiosity about cloth was natural. He asked an angel standing by, “Why these flags?” The angel said, “For every piece of cloth you have stolen, these flags stand as symbols. God will settle accounts with these.”
He trembled. “Allah! Mercy!” There was no end to the flags. In the fright he cried out to Allah — and woke. He recovered. Back in his shop, he had two apprentices learning the trade. He said, “Listen, take care. I do not trust myself. If costly cloth comes, I will steal — old habit, understand. And at this age, changing is difficult. Do me a favor: whenever you see me stealing, just shout, ‘Ustad ji! Flag!’ Shout it loud: ‘Ustad ji! Flag!’”
The disciples asked much, “What does it mean?” He said, “Don’t you bother, it will work for me.”
Three days passed thus. Many times a day the boys had to shout, “Ustad ji! Flag!” — and he would stop. The fourth day, trouble came. A judge’s achkan arrived — very expensive, imported cloth. The master grew nervous: “They keep shouting ‘Flag!’” So he turned his back to the boys, and was just about to snip a piece when they yelled, “Ustad ji! Flag!” He burst out, “Shut up, you fools! This color wasn’t even there! What is this flag-flag all the time? And even if it was — where there are so many flags, one more will hardly matter.”
Rules on the surface do not go deep. What is learnt in dreams cannot become the truth of life. How long will fear keep you straight? And how can greed become virtue?
So if charity is given out of greed, it becomes sin — because greed takes you outward. If charity is given out of fear, it becomes sin — because fear takes you outward. Fearlessness takes you in; freedom from greed takes you in.
Therefore it is not a matter of fixed lines. Many people walk on rails, but never arrive. Life is no railway train to run on laid tracks. On laid tracks no one has ever reached God. If only it were that easy!
That is why you see so many in the world carefully performing virtues, yet virtue never happens.
The real question is not of acts. The real question is: does the act bring you nearer? If you keep this touchstone within — that which brings you close to being is virtue — then you will find, slowly, from every act a ray of meditation begins to radiate. And you have a measure by which you can weigh — what to do, what not to do. That is the only value of action.
Action means: you will do something. In doing, do not lose the witness. If the witness is lost, action becomes bondage. If the witness remains, action does not bind you — it remains just a simple act, with no force in it. The force is what you lend to action by your identification. The moment you get attached to an act, become the doer, energy is infused into it; and by that very energy you are bound.
Keep another test of sin in mind, and then we will enter the sutra.
Ordinarily people think, to cause suffering to another is sin. Even this gaze is turned toward the other. This too is no longer religion’s vision. Religion has no business with the other; religion concerns the self. To cause suffering to yourself is sin.
Yes, whoever suffers himself, causes many to suffer — but that is secondary. One who is full of stench within — whoever comes near him will have to suffer that stench. But that is not essential.
Do not worry about others. For concern about others creates a great mischief — you do not cleanse the inner stink, you spray perfumes outside. Others may not smell your stench, but you will go on living in it. There is no passage to carry perfume into the soul. There fragrance will be only when fragrance arises from within. No trick will work there. Fragrances bought in the marketplace will not help there.
Therefore, keep in mind: sin has no direct relation to the other, nor does virtue. Virtue means: a state of joy, of ahobhava, within you. Virtue means: your dancing, bliss-filled consciousness. Virtue means: the flute playing within you. Naturally, rain will fall upon others from your music — that will happen of itself. What is there to calculate about it! If the flute of your being plays, others will be showered — without your keeping accounts, even if you forget it completely. Virtues will go on happening through you.
If the essential virtue of returning to yourself happens, then all other virtues follow like a shadow. And if the essential sin of going away from yourself happens, then all other sins follow like a shadow.
Ordinarily, religious teachers tell you: serve others — virtue; cause pain to others — sin. I do not say this. The Buddhas have never said this. They have said: that action is sin which fills you with sorrow, which fills you with remorse, which, having done, makes you weep and wish it undone, which, having done, leaves you restless, pricked by a thorn that keeps pricking. While doing, you may not know — for we are intoxicated with doing — but later it is known. While doing, it is a seed; time is needed. Then the crop ripens, then the thorns prick. Sooner or later you will know — you will repent, you will hide, you will wish with all your heart it had not been done; you will wish to return somehow and erase it. But there is no way to return in time. What is done is done; there is no direct way to wipe it away. Only repentance remains. The taste of sin is remorse; the mouth fills with bitterness.
So attend to yourself. It may be that your sin does not give suffering to another — because whether the other suffers or not is his freedom. Whether he agrees or not is his whim. No one can force suffering upon anyone; no one can force happiness upon anyone. Nothing runs here by force. At the core of each is supreme freedom.
Even if you abuse a Buddha, you cannot give suffering to the Buddha. You gave — it did not reach him. You offered — he did not accept. What will you do? You tried your best, but all efforts fail. The Buddha just stands there laughing.
So it is not necessary that your sin must cause suffering to others. Ordinarily it does, because others are ready to suffer — grasp this well. Ordinarily it does, but not because of you; because they are ready to take it. If not from you, they would take it from someone else — there are a thousand shops, not only yours. Had your abuse not been available, they would have bought it elsewhere. If no one were to give, they would give it to themselves. But suffer they would, for they were prepared to suffer. You only provided a peg; the coat they were going to hang, they would have hung somewhere — if no peg, on a door.
Giving suffering to others is not the essential point. Others do suffer, true — but for their own reasons. Therefore sin has no direct relation to the other. There lies the mistake. There the religious teachers go on instructing you: do not give suffering to others. Again the gaze is on the other. In the world it is on the other, in religion too on the other — then is there any release from the other?
No. Religion has nothing to do with the other. Religion looks at oneself. Do not give suffering to yourself — and you are virtuous. Do not give suffering to yourself. Live in such a way that there remains no cause for later regret. Live in such a way that you need not look back at all. Live so that no thought ever arises — “If only I could undo…!” Then your life is a life of virtue.
If you must again and again turn back in remorse, if you fear to look back, and your own past becomes your pain and trouble, if your own past frightens you, becomes a burden, sits on your chest like a rock, hangs round your neck like a noose — know that you have sinned.
Nothing can be done now for the past. Nor is anything needed; simply awaken and change the present. What has happened has happened — do not be frightened; do not try to erase it, that is futile. Awaken in the present, and begin to live now in such a way that your life fills with bliss.
Virtue is the key to bliss; sin to sorrow. Naturally, when you are blissful, others receive bliss from you. You can give only what you have; you distribute only yourself — there is no other way. If there is a song within you, you will hum; someone’s ear will catch the thread of the song. And if there is abuse within you — that too will come out, and strike someone’s ear. The real question is within.
I am terrified by the thought of my past;
I feel only hatred for my bygone days.
Ashamed of my useless longings,
Repentant for my barren hopes.
Let my past be buried in the dark—
My past is nothing but my disgrace;
The fruit of my hopes, the wages of my striving—
Nothing but a nameless anguish.
You too, if you think about the past, will find the same: a load! A useless load! Broken expectations! Shattered desires! Needless sins — it would have been all right had they not been done. Needless lies — it would have been all right had they not been spoken. A life of two days would have passed anyway. Useless hurts inflicted, needless thorns sown everywhere — they return again and again upon your own path. Flowers could have been sown — it takes no more time. In truth, as I have seen, it takes a little less time to plant flowers.
A flower is delicate — it springs quickly. A thorn is hard — it takes long. In nursing thorns a man loses everything. Flowers come forth with ease. It would have been easy for you to sow flowers; it was difficult to forge thorns within yourself, for they will pierce you too. Whoever molds thorns will be bloodied. But you accomplished the hard task. Looking back, most people find only this—
I am terrified by the thought of my past;
I feel only hatred for my bygone days…
And beware: if you hate your past, you will come to hate yourself — for your past is you.
Ashamed of my useless longings…
If there is repentance in your life, if shame lies upon you like a wound — what you did, what you wanted to do, what you wanted but could not do, what happened — if you are ashamed before all that, how will you blossom today? Who ever flowers under so much weight?
Repentant for my barren hopes…
Let my past be buried in the dark…
This is what we all do — we shove the past into the dark, as if it never was. It is not so easy to be rid of it. For you are but the outstretched hand of your past. Whom do you push into the dark? Yourself. Even after “removing,” you have not removed it; at most you have hidden it.
Psychologists say that in the very attempt to push aside and to hide, man has split his mind in two: the conscious and the unconscious. The unconscious means: what has been pushed into the dark.
We go on shoving. As people at home arrange a place to throw all the trash and useless things into one room — they do not live there. So too in the mind. What is useless, we throw into the back room. And almost all is useless. The heap grows and grows. There remains no room to live in our own house. You are forced to live outside your own house; the house is full of refuse.
Let my past be buried in the dark…
My past is nothing but my disgrace…
Have you ever noticed? If you open your past like a book, you will weep thousands of tears. Nowhere will you find ease. Nowhere will you find shade for even two moments’ rest. You will find a burning desert.
The fruit of my hopes, the wages of my striving—
Nothing but a nameless anguish.
A useless hustle, a running about; much was done, nothing was gained. Now what to do? What can be done?
Do not hide it from yourself. Do not be afraid of it. Rather, look at it closely. Analyze it rightly. Become a witness to it. For if you see it rightly, your present will change.
Mistakes repeat because you do not look at them closely. You keep doing the same again and again because you do not learn the lesson.
The past is a school. If one understanding arises from it, everything arises; then life acquires meaning. That understanding is this: you can only give suffering to yourself; you cannot give suffering to another. And whenever you thought you were giving suffering to another, you were sowing the seeds of your own suffering. Nothing can really be done to another. When you indulged the foolish hope that you were doing something to another, tormenting another, destroying another, you unwittingly destroyed yourself. In your anger, you burned yourself. In your hatred, you wounded your own being. In your jealousy, you stacked the wood for your own pyre. But man is like this!
I have heard: a devotee prayed to God for many days. It is said God was pleased and granted him a boon: “Whatever you ask, whenever you ask, I will grant — but whatever you receive, your neighbor will receive twice.”
He spoiled everything with that one clause. The devotee’s heart sank! For man desires a big house only so that the neighbors’ houses look small. He asked — but there was no joy in asking. “Let there be a seven-storey mansion,” and it was so — but he did not dare step out, because the houses next door had become fourteen storeys. The whole town rose to fourteen storeys. “What kind of boon is this?” thought the devotee. “This is a curse! It would have been better to manage things in my own way — that was fine. This prayer has gone to waste.”
Understand this. There is a great difference between man’s ways and God’s law. Whatever you ask will be given; but God will add a condition to make your asking meaningless — because you asked from the wrong cause. You ask for millions; they are given. You ask for jewels; given — and next door, jewels rain down in double measure.
Imagine the devotee’s dilemma. Put yourself in his place. At last he could bear it no longer. He said, “Build four wells in front of my house.” Four wells appeared — and in front of the neighbors’ houses, eight, eight wells. No way to come out. He said, “O God! Now put out one of my eyes.” One eye was put out — and both eyes of the neighbors were put out. Eight wells! A blind town. He became king. People fell into the wells and died; his happiness returned.
But remember: to blind both the other’s eyes, you must first at least blind one of your own. And I think the story errs somewhere; the truth is the opposite: to blind one of your neighbor’s eyes, both of yours get put out.
In the very desire to make another suffer, you have sinned. In the very desire to attain happiness by making another suffer, you have sown the seeds of sin. Now do not hide them. Now expose them. Lay them before your open eyes. Become their witness.
Take your whole life as scripture; therein lies all the essence. If you have seen your mistakes rightly, you need go nowhere else to learn. Your master is hidden within your life; from there the ray of understanding will arise, from there revolution will begin.
Now beware of making the second mistake. Hitherto you erred by giving suffering to others; now do not commit the second mistake — “Having given suffering to others, I shall now give happiness to others.” This is precisely the mistake so-called religious people keep making.
My teaching is altogether different. I say: your mistake was not that you gave suffering to others — your mistake was that you were giving to others. Now again you repeat the same mistake — now you want to give happiness to others.
Many spend their lives trying to make others happy. Who has ever made another happy? How can anyone make anyone happy? Happiness comes from sakshi-bhava, from witnessing. How will you make another a witness? You can become a witness, and the other can become a witness — but no one can make another a witness.
So freedom from the other is virtue.
Now let us understand Buddha’s sutra.
“That action is not wholesome which, having done, one has to repent later, and whose fruit one must undergo weeping and lamenting.”
That action is not wholesome! The criterion? — that which, having done, you must repent.
So those acts which, having done, you have repented — please, do not do them again. True, the difficulty is that sin is known only afterwards; when it is done, then it is seen — not before. How could it be known before? The thorn will be known only when it pricks. How will fire burn your hand if you do not put your hand into it? Granted — a few sins are likely for all. But there is no sense in putting your hand again and again into the same fire. Once — understandable; twice — understandable; thrice — understandable… but how many times? The thorn may be of another hue, but a thorn is a thorn.
We do not learn from life. The greatest miracle is that no one seems to learn from life. That is why so much effort must be made to learn. And if you cannot learn from life, where else will you learn? Where will you find a greater master than life? A greater university? If you miss here, you will miss everywhere. If life cannot teach you, who can? Your master is present in each moment! Examine your actions a little.
Buddha says: “That action is not wholesome which, having done, one has to repent later, and whose fruit one must undergo weeping and lamenting.”
With our own hands, O companion,
The garden of gardens we made into thorn and scrub.
With our own hands — where there could have been only flowers, a blossoming garden — only weeds and thorns have sprung up.
With our own hands, O companion,
The garden of gardens we made into thorn and scrub.
But nothing is ruined beyond repair. Whenever you awaken, that is dawn. And awakening means: learn something from what you have done so far.
In Buddha’s original sutra there is another beauty which the translations miss. Translators often lose much. They translate word for word, with no sense of the living. When someone like Buddha speaks, each word carries a precise weight; a dictionary cannot capture it.
Buddha’s word is “sadhu” — not “shubha.”
Na taṃ kammaṃ kataṃ sādhu…
That deed is “sadhu” — not “auspicious.” In Hindi the inversion sounds odd, so translators say “shubha,” auspicious.
“That deed is not sadhu which, having done, one must repent.”
Understand this. When we say “auspicious,” the emphasis falls on the act; when we say “sadhu,” the emphasis falls on being. You can be unholy within and yet do an auspicious act. A thief can give in charity — indeed, who else has the wherewithal? The unholy can do an auspicious deed — there is no hindrance. A murderer can build a temple. An act can be contrary to your being.
Hence Buddha’s word is precious. He says “sadhu,” not “auspicious.” He says: you may do a good act — what will that do? You must be good within. Do not keep accounts of deeds; keep account of being. Let your way of being be virtuous. Do not worry that you should perform good deeds — become good. As long as you perform good deeds, it is not necessary that you have become good.
Often the opposite happens: a man is unholy inside, and to cover it he performs auspicious acts. Sinners go on pilgrimages — who else would go? The deceitful and dishonest pray in temples and mosques — who else would?
We fear what we are within, so we drape ourselves in its opposite. The more soot within, the whiter the clothes without. The deeper the poverty within, the more costly the garments to hide it. Lest anyone discover the inner indigence. If there is autumn within, we spread rumors of a borrowed spring without.
Look closely at people. You will mostly find: they are the opposite of what they do. Doing is part of their cleverness. They chant “Ram-Ram,” because they must do such things that unless they chant “Ram-Ram,” the curtain will not fall. They draw a curtain, behind which the real game goes on.
Buddha’s word is vital. He does not say, “Do auspicious deeds.” He says, “Become sadhu.” Deeds will correct themselves; become sadhu. Let your being be auspicious; then do not worry.
And understand: if an unholy man does a good deed, even then the result will be unwholesome. A sadhu cannot do an unwholesome deed — although it may appear so to you; but unwholesome it cannot be.
Sadhu means: his deeds are not to cover anything; they are not hypocrisies; they arise from the inner harmony. If he builds a temple, it is not to spread a rumor in the village that he is religious. He builds because building a temple brings him delight. No one else is in the reckoning. He builds because in that very making, a contentment, a peace, a festival of joy arises within.
Do not try to gauge my morning’s intoxication today—
In this desolate heart an amazing festival has gathered.
This earth has begun to shame Eden’s fields;
From withered blooms, a newborn fragrance has begun to rise.
Today’s morning is the dawn of longed-for nights—
Do not try to gauge my morning’s intoxication today!
When joy descends into someone’s life — not as a deed, but as his very being…
Do not try to gauge my morning’s intoxication today—
Then you will not be able to estimate his morning! The sun that has arisen within him is beyond your imagining.
Do not try to gauge my morning’s intoxication today—
You cannot calculate his ecstasy. A sea is surging within him, and you do not even know of drops. How will you guess? How will you reckon?
Do not try to gauge my morning’s intoxication today—
In this desolate heart an amazing festival has gathered—
The heart that till yesterday was a barren desert — a festival has descended there.
In this desolate heart an amazing festival has gathered—
Even the one in whom it descends is astonished. He himself cannot believe what is happening!
In this desolate heart an amazing festival has gathered—
A celebration has come! Where never a sound was heard, a song has begun to echo. Where deserts stretched far and wide, greenery has sprung up.
Do not try to gauge my morning’s intoxication today—
In this desolate heart an amazing festival has gathered—
This earth has begun to shame Eden’s fields—
This very earth has begun to shame heaven. Heaven is abashed! Heaven is jealous! For one in whom sadhuta has arisen, the earth becomes heaven; this very moment becomes the supreme moment.
This earth has begun to shame Eden’s fields—
From withered blooms, a newborn fragrance has begun to rise—
What you thought was a wilted, dried-up flower — from it a new fragrance begins to rise! A new birth! A rebirth!
Today’s morning is the dawn of longed-for nights—
What you had only waited for — only waited — that morning has arrived. The night is gone; it is dawn!
Do not try to gauge my morning’s intoxication today—
From such an incomparable festival, one builds a temple. From such a festival, one worships. From such a festival, when the inner fragrance arises, one sets out to share it.
But remember, the gaze is not on the other. A ray has burst within — what else can you do but share? When the inner space is filled with fragrance — what else can you do but scatter it? When the inner sky is laden with clouds — what else can you do but rain?
Do not try to gauge my morning’s intoxication today—
In this desolate heart an amazing festival has gathered—
This moment of festival, this hour of virtue — Buddha called it “sadhu.” The translation misses the point. The translation says: “That action is not auspicious.” But the question is not of action; the question is of you. It is this obsession with deeds that has caused all the trouble. People think, “If we do good deeds, we will become good.” Wrong! The truth is the reverse: “If you become good, good deeds happen.” Deeds arise from within.
This idea has deluded and misled multitudes — that by doing good, one will become good. So we keep improving ourselves from the outside. We take vows not to lie; the lie remains within and we speak truth on the surface. The lie remains within. We take a vow of ahimsa, non-violence; the violence remains inside.
There was a Jain muni — very famous — named Shital Prasad. He came to Agra. There lived a poet, Banarasi Das; he went to see him — a carefree man. He asked, “Maharaj, may I know your name?” The muni said, “My name is Shital Prasad.”
After a few lines of talk, the poet forgot; he was absent-minded. He asked again, “Maharaj, may I know your name?” The muni grew a little annoyed: “I told you: Shital Prasad!” A little while later the poet forgot again. “Maharaj, may I know your name?” Shital Prasad raised his staff and said, “Fool! How many times must I tell you: Shital Prasad!” The poet said, “Maharaj! If it were Jwala Prasad, it would fit. ‘Shital’— cool — does not sit well.”
Cover it outside as you will, inside it will not change. Within, the blaze remains; you may become “Shital Prasad” on the surface.
Do not superimpose ahimsa from outside; do not drape yourself in truth. This is not a Ram-nam chadar that you can throw over yourself and become a devotee. You will go on doing the same things you did in the name of violence, now in the name of non-violence. You know nothing else. Your non-violence will become a medium for violence.
Just observe: if, by misfortune, one person in a household becomes “religious,” he throws the whole house upside down.
A woman used to come to me. She said, “Somehow explain to my husband — he has become religious.” I asked, “What is the problem in that?” She said, “He gets up at two in the night and loudly recites Japji. He is a Sardar. Two in the morning! And a Sardar! And Japji in full voice!” I said, “That is indeed troublesome. Bring him.”
He came — very pleased with himself. “I recite Japji in the early morning — what is wrong with that?” “You call two in the night morning?” In English time, it is correct — after twelve, morning begins.
I said, “If you recite softly, would it hurt?” He said, “Then there is no joy.” “But think of the children, the wife, the neighbors!” He replied, “What harm to them? Let them also get up. And even if they lie there and the nectar-words of Japji fall upon their ears, it is only beneficial.”
This is violence — not the recitation of Japji. Better he got up and hummed a film song — at least that would be non-violence. This is not Japji; this is inner madness choosing a religious form so that no one can object.
His wife said, “When we complain, people say: ‘But it is religious — what can we do?’ We take him to sadhus; they say, ‘He is doing the right thing.’”
With great difficulty I persuaded him: “At least shift from two to four.” He agreed with much sorrow, as if he were losing heaven. With difficulty I got him to agree to lower his voice somewhat. “God is not deaf; He will hear even softly. Why give pain to the children, to your wife?” But he did not feel he was giving pain at all.
Notice this: those whom you call religious become more irritable, more egoistic. Perform a small “good deed,” and their pride knows no bounds.
Keep in mind: if you do not change, nothing changes. What you know, what you have been doing, will continue, only under the opposite name. Your ahimsa will be an instrument of himsa.
In my village there was a Muslim dyer — perhaps he still lives. Five years ago, when I went, he was alive — very old, above a hundred. When I was small, he was already about seventy. His shop was in front of our house. Khudabakhsh was his name — a lovely old man. His eyes were weak. I would often sit in his shop, watching him dye cloth — I enjoyed it. One thing puzzled me: when women came — mostly women came with odhnis, saris to be dyed — one would say, “Dye it in rainbow shades,” another, “Onion-skin color,” another, “Peacock-feather green.” The old man would say, “For my daughters and daughters-in-law, red, green, yellow, black will suit — but as you wish, I can dye it as you say.”
I heard this many times. I asked, “Baba, they say this or that — why don’t you dye accordingly?” He said, “What to tell you? I do not see well — and I only know four dyes.” It had nothing to do with anyone’s daughter-in-law.
Whoever came, he would say, “Green will suit my daughters — but as you say.” Sometimes the woman insisted — “No, dye it onion-color.” He would say, “All right.” But when the odhni returned — green, red, yellow… He knew only those colors.
If you know only the color of violence, you will dye even non-violence in that. If you know only the color of anger, your compassion will be tinged with anger.
Beware of this deception. This hypocrisy is the greatest danger in the religious journey.
If the inner changes, the outer colors change by themselves. Change not the outer colors; nothing changes within. Within is where your power lies. The outer is only the circumference.
When conduct flows from the soul, it is auspicious — sadhu. If you try to change the soul through conduct, it is neither sadhu nor even “auspicious”; far from being virtuous or auspicious, it is not even intelligent.
“That deed is sadhu which, having done, one does not have to repent.”
That deed is auspicious which, having done, one does not have to repent, whose fruit one can enjoy with a gladdened heart. Virtue is the doorway to bliss.
Keep recognizing in life from where the glimmer of joy comes. By adding all such glimmers, you will open life’s lock. Wherever a glimmer of joy appears, know that from there the Divine peeped. If you can distill all your joys, the key will be in your hand. It will not be found by searching the Vedas, by seeking the Upanishads — but by recognizing life with open eyes.
And do not be deceived by looking at the outside. Seeing people’s smiles, do not think they are happy. Often we smile only to conceal our tears. We fear that if we do not smile, tears may come.
You know this. At home you were weeping, sad; stepping out, how you dress up and adorn yourself! You go out as if spring has arrived. Husband and wife quarrel — if a third person enters, at once Ram-rajya is established: the fight stops, they smile.
We are deceiving others.
In every dust-storm of autumn we have seen caravans of spring;
In bodies robed in pashmina we have seen souls torn to shreds.
In bodies robed in pashmina we have seen the soul torn and tattered! Nothing will be changed by your garments. Wear the costliest clothes — if your soul is in tatters, fragmented, a ruin, you may deceive the world, but you cannot deceive yourself. How will you deceive the Divine — for that is your own being. The deepest depth of your being is what we call God.
Seek this in life.
Buddha has given a science of life. These are not dead theories to be handed to you for belief. Not dead lessons to be memorized and parroted to change your life. These are living truths. Do not believe because Buddha says, or because I say. Believe only when your own life says, “Yes.” And it is certain: if you search, your life will say, “Yes.” For when the Buddhas sought, they found this.
Life is not different for different ones. Its essence is one. Its law is one. Esa dhammo sanantano!
The same life holds you all. Those who sought found this; if you seek, you will find the same.
And one who once receives news of virtue, who understands even once that it lies in his own hands whether his life be a garden or thorn and scrub — then autumn never returns to his life; fall never comes. His life becomes a perpetual spring.
I am a wine-lover — when did I rely on another’s support?
In the eye, the ocean; in the gaze, the tavern — I keep.
Then there is an ocean in his eye, and in his glance, the house of wine. His life is filled with nectar; he need search nowhere else — everything is within.
I am a wine-lover — when did I rely on another’s support?
Then he relies on no one. His life depends on no other. Neither his happiness nor his peace depends on anyone. For the first time he stands on his own feet — the one who has found the key to joy. That key is scattered all around you — only gather it, it lies in fragments. Arrange it. It is not difficult — it is not difficult at all. If you will, it can be arranged today.
If you have invented tricks to numb yourself in sorrow, if you have determined to live in sorrow, then that is another matter. But in the hour of joy — if ever, even for a moment, such an hour has come, even for a moment such a light has flashed — then you have found one thing: in the hour of joy, you are not; joy is. In the hour of sorrow, you are — and sorrow is.
Sorrow is dual. Joy is non-dual.
Let me say it again: in sorrow, you are and sorrow is — two are there. Therefore you want to get away from sorrow, to be free of it. Sorrow walls you in, becomes a prison. In joy, you are not. It is not that you are and joy is — you are not; there is only joy. Where you are not, there is joy. Where you are, there is sorrow.
So the sum of all sins is ego, and the sum of all virtues is egolessness.
The intoxication of selfhood turned the wave into a boat;
With God’s remembrance alive, I fear no lack of a boatman.
Once you have glimpsed joy, and along with it the glimpse of your own non-being — they come together, two sides of one coin: on this side joy, on that you are not —
The intoxication of selfhood turned the wave into a boat—
Then you need no separate boats; the very waves become boats.
With God’s remembrance alive,
And then there is no worry about God.
I fear no lack of a boatman—
Nor any grief that there is no boatman. When the wave itself becomes the boat, when it carries you across — and when there is no one left to drown, for you are gone — what fear of drowning? What need of a boatman?
You have gone to God’s door again and again — because of sorrow. You need God — because of sorrow. It is strange: because of sorrow you are — ego; and because of sorrow your God is. When sorrow is gone, you are gone, God is gone.
That is why Buddha never spoke of God, did not raise the topic at all.
The intoxication of selfhood turned the wave into a boat;
With God’s remembrance alive, I fear no lack of a boatman.
“As long as sin is not ripe, the fool thinks it sweet like honey. But when sin ripens, then the fool meets with sorrow.”
Naturally, when you sow seeds, how can you taste the fruit? There is no taste in the seed. You sow neem; the tree grows; in time, bitter fruit comes. Neem brings poison in leaf after leaf. Then you panic and cry. By then you have forgotten that you planted the seed. You say, “Fate has done this!” Or, “God is displeased with me.” Or, “This society, this world, gives me suffering.” You invent a thousand ways to throw responsibility elsewhere. You do not look at the simple truth — you sowed the seed.
Whenever you suffer, search for when you sowed its seed. One thing is certain — you did sow it. There is no doubt. You reap what you sow, exactly as you sow.
But you are clever. You sow — and when the time comes to reap, you hold others responsible. Only the names of the responsible change.
In the past, thousands of years ago, man said, “The decree of destiny.” Now that sounds old, hackneyed; people of “new light” say, “What foolishness — destiny!” Ask them, “Then what?” Marxists say, “Society, economy.” Freudians say, “Society, education, conditioning!” Only the names have changed. The old name was not so bad either — the job is the same: “I am not responsible.” Earlier it was destiny, God, fate; now history, society, economics, politics. Only the labels changed; the point remained: “I am not responsible.”
The religious person is born when you accept: I am responsible. The day you accept that, revolution has arrived. Now no one can stop you. For now you are the master. If you accept responsibility, it means you can change. The past cannot be changed; the future can. When the future changes, the past changes too — for what is future today will be past tomorrow. The present can be changed. At least now do not sow the seeds of poison.
“As long as sin is not ripe, the fool thinks it sweet like honey…”
He only thinks so. It is merely a belief. And how many times man repeats! You will be amazed, when you awaken, how often you repeated the same mistakes. Like a broken gramophone record, the needle stuck in one groove.
“If the fool should month by month eat his food with the tip of kusa-grass, even so he is not worth one-sixteenth of those who know the Dharma.”
Even if you come to understand, “I am responsible — I sowed the seeds of sin, I reaped their fruit, I suffered” — there is a danger: do not rush to the opposite extreme. Till now you were a sensualist, sowing seeds of sin; now do not become an ascetic. Do not move to excess.
Buddha’s path is the Majjhima Nikaya — the middle way. My path is the path of the middle, beyond extremes.
The sensualist is at one extreme, the renunciate at the other. The knower of Dharma is the one who stands in the middle, who has abandoned extremes.
“If the fool should month by month eat his food with the tip of kusa-grass…”
As fools are doing — fasting, counting their fasts. Earlier they erred by excess in eating, suffered for it; now they suffer by fasting. As if you have resolved to suffer anyhow. Either overeat and suffer — the body grows shapeless, heavy, vital energies grow dull — or, becoming “wise,” you go to the other extreme.
A curious thing: you can test it. In whichever religion and society there is abundance of food, there fasting has great importance. One excess demands the other. The Jains, among the most affluent communities — there fasting is of great value. The poor man, when a holy day comes, prepares sweets. The wealthy man, when a holy day comes, fasts. The poor man, on a holy day, buys new clothes. Look at Muslims on Eid — even if they wear the same clothes all year, on Eid they wear new ones. Joyous day! Look at Jains — when Paryushana comes, they strip off fine garments and drape the cloth of sadhu-sannyasis — they are to fast!
Man swings between extremes — indulgence on one side, renunciation on the other.
But if foolishness were destroyed by renunciation, the matter would be simple — fast, and become wise. What has foolishness to do with fasting? It does not break like that. If you are foolish and you become a renunciate, you will be a foolish renunciate — that is all. Earlier you were a foolish sensualist; now you will be a foolish ascetic. Drop the foolishness! The question is not indulgence or renunciation. If you are a fool, you have two options: change indulgence into renunciation — the fool within remains.
I have seen many renunciates — I have not seen one wise among them. Fools in the marketplace, fools in the temple — the same. Nothing has changed. They merely went from one extreme to another.
Real revolution is not changing indulgence into renunciation, but changing foolishness into awakening. Let me say it again. If you stand in indulgence, there are two facts — you are foolish, and you indulge. If you were not foolish, you would not be indulging. Now you have two possibilities. One is easy: drop indulgence and become renunciate. Till now you ran after women, now run away from women — but run! If not this way, then that — keep running. Till now you were mad for money, counting and counting — now count how many lakhs you have renounced. Till now you clutched; now you “let go.” But in both, your foolishness remains.
Foolishness does not go by grabbing or dropping; it goes by awakening. Not by running, but by waking. That waking is called dhyana, called awareness, called amurchchha, called apramada.
“If the fool should month by month eat his food with the tip of kusa-grass, even so he is not worth one-sixteenth of those who know the Dharma.”
Buddha says: it is of no use; he gains nothing.
Who is the knower of the Dharma? One who has lit the inner lamp; who has recognized the law of life; who has steadied himself a little in awakening; whose flame burns steady — no longer flickering, trembling, wavering.
How could the secret come to your understanding in a hurry?
First the pious must befriend the cup and the crystal.
If you smash your head upon the wall, it will be called the frenzy of madness—
The point is when each prison-wall turns into a door.
You are locked in a jail. It is no method to smash your head against the wall. That will not get you out.
If you smash your head upon the wall, it will be called the frenzy of madness—
It is but the weakness of insanity.
The point is when each prison-wall turns into a door—
The point is to learn to turn walls into doors. What will smashing your head do?
First you lay there like a sensualist; now, like an ascetic, you are smashing your head. Has any wall broken by head-banging? Only the head will break. Open the door — you need understanding, wisdom, awareness. Turn the wall into a door.
And remember, where the wall is, there is the door. Wherever you have found sorrow, there you could have found bliss. Wherever you sowed seeds of sorrow, there too the seeds of flowers, the seeds of joy, could have been sown. Nothing is beyond repair — but awareness is needed. Buddha puts all his emphasis on awareness.
The pride of paradise, O pious one, grows on renouncing the world—
Beware, O unaware one — why does the desert-guide get ruined?
If you imagined that by leaving the world you will know the Divine — impossible. Yes, your ego may grow stronger. In the pride of paradise, O ascetic — on the faith of renouncing the world, do not imagine you will attain God.
God is hidden here. He is to be sought. The joy is when the wall becomes a door. Wherever He is hiding, the curtain must be lifted. He is hidden in you. Close your eyes, lift the curtain of thoughts — and He is revealed right there.
Beware, O unaware one — why does the guide of the caravan get ruined?
The renunciate is only ruining himself. The sensualist ruins himself too — in other ways. Both ruin themselves — because both stand on foolishness.
Sometimes sannyasins come to me who have been renunciates for forty years — they left home and hearth. Seeing them, one feels pity, and laughter. For forty years they have been knocking their heads on walls; now their death approaches. They come to me and say, “How to meditate?” Forty years — what were you doing? “Renouncing,” they say.
And meditation did not happen even after forty years of renunciation? It will not happen in forty lives. When meditation happens, renunciation happens as easily as a man’s shadow follows him. Then renunciation has a poise, not an excess; a beauty, a blossoming. Then renunciation does not wither you — it makes you bloom.
Do not try to gauge my morning’s intoxication today—
In this desolate heart an amazing festival has gathered.
This earth has begun to shame Eden’s fields;
From withered blooms, a newborn fragrance has begun to rise.
Today’s morning is the dawn of longed-for nights—
Do not try to gauge my morning’s intoxication today!
Enough for today.