Jin Sutra #11

There are some faded footprints too upon the path of passion—
someone has passed here before us.

Scripture can be used rightly—and wrongly. If you accept scripture like a blind man, it becomes a burden. If you understand, if you contemplate impartially, if you meditate upon it with awareness, a great fragrance rises from scripture, a fragrance that liberates.

Do not clutch scripture—reflect. Do not accept it like the blind. To accept blindly is to insult scripture. Open your eyes, step into scripture, allow scripture to descend into you—that is to honor it.

No true Master wants to make you blind. In truth, your Master is hidden in your very eye. So all true Masters only wish to be with you until your eyes open—until you find the inner Guru.

Jains read Mahavira’s words—blindly. And why would a non‑Jain read them! Hindus read the Gita—blindly. Why would a non‑Hindu care! Muslims read the Quran, repeating like parrots. Why would a non‑Muslim care!

As I see it, you will understand scripture only when you are neither Hindu, nor Muslim, nor Jain. If your bias is already fixed—if from birth you have decided what is right—how will you seek the Right? If you have already assumed where Truth is, what room is left for discovery? You accepted too soon—without searching—and you will be deprived of the search.

These footprints of the Great Ones are not to bind you, but to set you free. And these footprints are very faint now. Much time has passed; others have also traversed these paths. Do not follow these footprints blindly—otherwise you will be lost. Wake up, inquire. In these footprints you have to discover the movement of your own feet, the strength of your own steps.

There are some faded footprints too upon the path of passion—
someone has passed here before us.

And we are fortunate that others passed here before us. What they have said, the experience they have scattered through their lives—you can gain much from it. But to gain it, great intelligence is needed.

Understand. Much can be gained from Life. But you do not gain even from Life itself. Scriptures are only shadows of Life, reflections. Scriptures arise from Life; Life does not arise from scripture. You have been given Life and yet you gain nothing from it; then how difficult it will be to gain anything from scripture. If nothing is gained from the source, what will you get from the shadow?

Those who know, who live awake, who live with courage—whose life is founded not on safety and convenience but on courage—they squeeze Truth from Life itself. And they squeeze Truth even from scripture. The awakened can find the original even in the shadow, because even in the shadow—“some faded footprints”—some dim traces of the feet remain.

Unfortunate are those who remain deprived even of Life. Fortunate are those who discover even through scripture.

We are discussing Mahavira’s words—not so that you accept them. Nothing has ever happened by belief. Belief is the habit of the weak.

He says, “Who will walk, who will bother? They must be saying the right thing. We are ready to worship. We will offer flowers to scripture. Say the word, and we will take out a procession. But do not ask us to change our lives. That is a bit too much.”

Worship is our device to escape scripture. Temples are not symbols of your religion; they are symbols of the cleverness you have played with religion.

The mind is very cunning.

Mulla Nasruddin said to his servant, “Polish my shoes.”

“Hey Fazlu, so late—and you still haven’t polished my shoes?”

“Sir! This second boot is in my hands.”

“And the first.?”

The servant said, “I’ll take it in my hands after this one, sir.”

The first!—after the second!

The mind is very cunning! It invents devices. Such devices that others get deceived—and it deceives itself as well. Be a little awake to this mind. It is the mind that does not let you reflect. It is the mind that does not let you descend. Wherever you go, your dirty shadow falls. You read scripture, and scripture gets buried under your shadow. Words you hear—by the time they reach you—their meaning has been transformed.

These words of Mahavira are very precious. Today’s sutras can change your life. They are factual. Mahavira has no taste for theories. He is no philosopher. Mahavira is a scientific seeker of the direct path.

Understand these words, contemplate them. And if you can, embody them little by little. Only by embodying will their meaning open. Their meaning is not in reading or hearing them, but in living with them a while. Even for a moment—if you live with them—you will find their truth, their depth, their gravity. And if you live even a moment, these truths will become your heritage; they will become your very part. They will permeate your blood, bone, flesh, marrow. Let them enter.

The first sutra: “Do not sit assured thinking, ‘The debt is small, the wound is minor, the fire is tiny, and the kashay is little.’ For these small things soon grow big.”

“The debt is small.…” Whoever takes a loan first considers it small and thinks: “I will pay it back. It is such a small sum. The interest isn’t much either—I will repay.” Whoever borrows, borrows with this hope. But the debt never seems to end, it goes on increasing. Interest thickens; even the interest cannot be paid—let alone the principal. Leave aside the common debts of life—the deeper debt of life itself never seems repayable. All take—and become entangled.

Mahavira says, if all keep taking, there must be some reason in the mind to take. Everyone thinks, “It is little; with a little effort I will pay it back.”

“The debt is small, the wound is minor.…” However small the wound, do not sit back confident thinking, “It is small—why worry,” because the wound grows every moment; just as a tiny seed becomes a great tree. It would have been easy to destroy the seed; cutting a tree will be very hard. The wise do not borrow at all. They say, “We will live in poverty; there is no essence in becoming rich by borrowing—for that riches will be only on the surface, deceptive; inside there will be burning and inner poverty.” “We will sleep after eating dry bread—once we will manage—but we will not borrow; for debt grows. Perhaps bread will reach the stomach, but the peace of the soul will be lost. Outwardly there may be glitter, inwardly there will be darkness.”

Mahavira is not merely speaking of ordinary debt; that is only an example. In life we have taken many such debts. Our whole life is filled with borrowing. Mahavira says: do not borrow even from Parmatma. Do not cultivate the habit of taking—for habit grows. The seed becomes a tree. Today you will take a little, tomorrow a little more, the day after still more—and you will become a beggar. Here even emperors are beggars; they keep on taking.

Mahavira says: do not take at all. And when, like a seed, a tiny sprout arises—an inner impulse, the first ripple—stop it then and there. Do not consider a wound small; small wounds grow into ulcers. Only he who stops them at the first stage can truly stop them.

Mahavira says: if the wound becomes big, then you will worry about treatment; but it can be stopped very easily when it is very small—or before it is born. Kill it before birth.

A wave of anger arises—a wound has arisen in the soul. You say, “Let me do it today; from tomorrow I’ll not do it. Now that it has happened today, let it be!” After anger you repent; you resolve also: tomorrow I will not be angry. But whenever anger arises you do become angry. Then you say, “It is such a small anger—I haven’t started a war, I haven’t killed anyone. So what if I used a couple of harsh words? And besides, when has anything in this world moved without harsh words! If one sits here like a Buddha, people will take you for a fool. This is a world of force. If you do not attack, others will attack you. If someone flashed his eyes and you did not reply in kind, everyone will start flashing their eyes; then living will become impossible.”

You find excuses, you invent devices. Then you say, “It is so little—what harm will it do? What hell is being created, what great sin is being committed! It is small; I will ask forgiveness, I will pray, I will bathe in the Ganges, I will perform worship, I will give charity—something I’ll do; but for now, let me do this.”

“The wound is minor, the fire is tiny.…”

A small spark can burn palaces down.

“And do not consider kashay little.…” Anger, greed, possession and attachment—this is kashay. The word ‘kashay’ in Mahavira is very precious—that which tightens you, binds you, that which is your bondage. As in the Hindu scriptures the word ‘pashu’ is used; what ‘pashu’ means, ‘kashay’ means in the Jain scriptures. Pashu means: one who is bound in pash—bonds. Pashu does not only mean animal; it means: one who is bound, chained in every direction. The bound one is pashu. The one who is free is Manushya. So those who appear human are not necessarily human. If only humanness were so cheap as to be obtained by appearance alone!

No. The one whose bonds have fallen, who has cut his animality, cut the pash, who is free—that one is Manushya. The one who attains to manan—reflection—is Manushya, the one who becomes Manu is Manushya.

The Jaina word ‘kashay’ carries the same meaning—that which binds, that which constricts you, that by which you shrink and become small, and the chains become more and more burdensome.

Do not consider ‘kashay’ little and sit back assured. Smallness is a deception.

It is the device by which ‘kashay’ enters you. It is the way disease makes a house in you. It is the method by which the seed enters the womb of earth.

Consider: if the seed were very large, trees would be impossible! How would such a large seed enter the earth? The seed is very small—this is the tree’s device. The largest tree produces a very small seed. Through any pore, any tiny hole, it will slip into the earth. The earth will not even notice. But if a seed were as large as the tree, trees would vanish. How would it enter the earth? Where would you find such big holes, such large cracks?

However great the tree, it makes a small seed. Smallness is its strategy. The tree wants to be born again and again. It devises many strategies. It grows beautiful flowers to entice butterflies—because the tiny grains of pollen will stick to their feet, and reach the male or female plant; union will take place, seeds will be formed, and progeny will continue. The flower is the tree’s advertisement, its invitation to the butterflies: come! The butterfly itself is not the purpose; the purpose is that pollen stick to its feet so that male finds female, or female finds male; so seed-creation happens—and the lineage goes on.

Have you seen the semal’s cottony pods! Around the seed it creates fluff—because the semal is a huge tree. If the seeds fall directly below, they will not grow—the tree’s shadow will prevent it. The tree is very intelligent; it produces cotton around the seed. Not for your pillows, but to send its seeds on a journey by wind, so that the seeds go far and do not fall beneath the tree. If they fall exactly below they will die. How will they flourish in such a great tree’s shade? They will get no sun, no water—the big tree will drink it all, squeezing the soil completely. These tiny seeds will perish. For its sons and daughters the tree creates a little cotton; riding that cotton they drift on the wind, travel far. Somewhere distant they will find ground; there they too will grow tall.

Lust, anger, greed, attachment enter the soil of your mind like seeds. Therefore Mahavira’s sutra is priceless. He says: do not think, “What harm is there?” A little anger toward the child—he is my own; I am angry for his own good. And then it is just a little anger. So what if I give him a slap—he is my own! By such small excuses anger enters, possession enters, attachment enters, greed enters. A man says: I ask for nothing much, only a little. In this world there are people brimming with desires; I ask hardly anything. God, just a small house, a modest household, some comfort and peace.…

When the small is granted, you will start asking for the big. Because once the small arrives, it will be too small to contain your craving. Then you will say, “More.…” Then again, “More.…” That which entered like a seed will quickly begin to sprout into a tree. And what was easy to destroy when it was a seed will be hard to cut when it is a tree; for this tree will spread its branches throughout your soul. To uproot it then will feel like uprooting your very life. You will begin to wither.

Have you ever noticed how one who has been angry all his life thinks so much about dropping anger! Who does not think so? For anger burns; it throws one into a futile fire, it fills one with poison, it robs life of all ease and joy. Who would not want to drop it! Yet the angry cannot drop anger. A thousand times he thinks to drop it—and cannot. Because now he no longer knows where to uproot it from—where are the roots! Now he even begins to fear: but I have always been anger; anger is what I am. If anger goes, what will remain of me? He feels his very image dissolving. Without anger he will seem utterly powerless. Anger was his strength, his glory. Through anger he climbed onto others’ chests. Through anger he defeated someone, competed in the marketplace, fought and wrestled for position. Riding the waves of anger he has known life. Suddenly the question of leaving anger arises—it arises within him even if no one else says so—because anger gives pain. But anger has entered his image so deeply—in the very fibers—the roots have spread into the smallest nerves; a mesh of tendrils has formed!

Have you ever tried to uproot a great tree! How far its roots spread! They entangle the roots of other trees as well. They enter the foundation of your house, slip into the footing, grip the bricks.

Near Bangkok there is a statue of Buddha—very valuable. A tree has grown into the statue; the statue has cracked into many pieces. The tree has sent roots into every corner of the statue. You may say, why not separate the tree? But if you separate the tree, the statue will collapse. The tree is breaking the statue, and the tree is also holding it together. In its roots the fragments are held; the nose is separate, yet caught among the roots; the hand has broken off, yet it is stuck among the roots.

Whenever I have seen this statue in pictures, I have remembered man. Devotees wish to be rid of this tree—it is ruining the statue. Such a precious statue destroyed by a tree! Yet they water the tree, water the enemy—because the day they remove the tree, that very day the statue will fall to pieces. The tree has broken it—and the tree binds it. This is the difficulty.

Anger is what is breaking you—and anger is what is holding you together. Greed is what is breaking you—but greed is what sustains you. Greed is carrying you toward hell—but greed is your boat as well. You are in difficulty. If you leave the boat you will drown; if you sit in the boat, the boat is drifting toward hell. You wish to leave; you lift a foot—but if you leave, you will drown.

Hence Mahavira says: be alert! Be careful!

“Do not sit assured thinking, ‘The debt is small, the wound minor, the fire tiny, and the kashay little.’ The small of today becomes big tomorrow; for these small things soon grow vast.”

When the father’s seed drops into the mother’s womb—what is it? So small that you cannot see it with the naked eye; a microscope is needed. In a single union about ten million sperm cells enter the mother from the father—ten million! In a single drop of semen there are hundreds of thousands—so tiny! That very conception grows large; the one cell becomes two, two become four, four become eight—thus it grows. It keeps dividing itself. Fed and nourished, one becomes two, two break into four, four into eight—spreading. Your whole body is made of that.

There are some seven billion living cells in your body. From one it began—reaching seven billion. And very quickly they multiply—doubling by day, quadrupling by night. What was invisible to the eye becomes your friend, your brother, your son, your wife, your beloved. What was unseen, visible only under a microscope—becomes so vast!

Expansion is the law of nature. Whatever you give space to will expand. Expansion is its nature. Hence the Hindus call the cosmos Brahman—Brahman means that which expands—knows not how to stop—goes on expanding; whose expanse is infinite; whose spread has no limit. Take hold of a small thing here—it soon grows large. Because of such small things you go on wandering astray.

Sometimes you do not even notice. You were going on urgent work—your mother was ill and you were going to fetch medicine—and someone on the road abused you—you forgot your mother, forgot the medicine, forgot the treatment; you stood to quarrel: first I must settle this! Even if my mother dies because of it—then afterwards you return and find she has gone, and then you repent. Even though it was a trivial thing, utterly trivial, utterly futile—once it came into your eyes, it possessed you completely. Thus the Goal is lost. You are like a piece of wood tossed by the waves of wind; wherever the wind comes, wherever the waves of water carry you, you drift. You have become accidental. There is no direction in your life, no growth, no destination, no goal. Where are you going, why are you going—nothing. Accidental events—accidents—have become decisive in your life. Anything rises up, even if it has no real bearing on you, and you get busy doing that.

I went for admission to a university; I was filling out my form. A boy beside me was also filling out his form. He saw mine and said, “So you are taking philosophy? Then I will take it too.”

I said, “Wait. What concern have you with it? It is purely accidental that I am standing here filling out my application, and you are too. There is no need to look at my application; even if you have seen it, there is no need to choose a subject because of it. You do not know me.” He said, “That too is true. I didn’t even think.”

Notice—this happens to you every day. You go to a shop to buy something; you come back with something else—because the shopkeeper was skillful and sold you something. Even if the shopkeeper is not skillful, something displayed in the shop window catches your eye—something you had not the least need for a moment before, had not even dreamt of—but the eye was caught and you slid. Perhaps you will leave your important work undone and come back with something else. Do you return with what you went to buy?

In the West, psychology researches deeply into what people buy. They have discovered many devices—and amazing conclusions.

A novel was not selling; it was printed and did not sell. Specialists advised, “Change the title; the name is not right—it does not attract.” They changed the title; the book sold—sold by the millions. For a year it had lain printed—no buyer. The book remained exactly the same; not a single word changed; only the cover changed—and it began to sell!

Psychologists have calculated what color the package should be when you sell an item—because they tested all colors of boxes. Women come to buy; they tabulate which colors attract more. Some colors attract no attention; if you pack your product in that color—bankruptcy. The color has nothing to do with what is inside, but people are accidental. The color first draws them. The box can be empty even—but the color pulls the eye. At what height should the box be on the shelf so the eye catches it quickly? Five feet is eye level. People are so lazy they will not lift their eyes up. If the box is a little higher—or very low.… There are now experts who will tell you: when you make a product to sell in the market, what color the box should be, how big the letters of the name, at what height on the shelf it should be placed, how far the customer should stand from the counter, how far the counter should be, what the seller should say, what words he should choose—because tiny things.…

A beggar went to a house. He was handsome, healthy, young. The lady came out and said, “You are young, healthy, beautiful—why don’t you work? You could be successful in life—why beg?”

The man said, “What should I tell you! I have seen many women in the world—never one as beautiful as you. Film actresses are nothing compared to you. What are you doing in this house? You could have been a film star.” She said, “Wait, wait. I will bring you food right now.”

Even the beggar must understand what to say, what words to use—because people are blind. They do not know what they are doing, or why. Others are making you do things. You have bought hundreds of things which the sellers needed to sell—not which you needed to buy.

The old rule of economics was: where there is demand, there is supply. The new rule is: where there is supply, demand will be created. Just produce the thing! Do not worry whether there is demand. Demand will be manufactured—people are mad.

When Bernard Shaw wrote his first books, they did not sell—because a name sells, and he had none. No one knew him. What did he do? He himself went around bookshops and asked, “Do you have a book by George Bernard Shaw?” The shopkeeper asked, “Who is George Bernard Shaw?”

“Arre! You don’t know George Bernard Shaw? And you run a bookshop? Such-and-such a book has been published.” He himself went from shop to shop; he would inform them of the title; he would strategically persuade. He asked his friends as well: “Whenever you go anywhere—no special trip—but if a bookshop comes on the way, do me this favor: ask, ‘Do you have such-and-such a book by George Bernard Shaw?’” Several customers began to come, every day—“Who is George Bernard Shaw?” Shopkeepers inquired, procured the books. Shaw said: that is how my books began to sell.

You need a hook around the thing, and flour around the hook. Someone will get caught. The world is very foolish. Wake up a little!

Mahavira’s only purpose is that you wake up a little, otherwise this road will go on endlessly—without end.

Since time without beginning I have been afire on the journey, yet to this day
I have not found the caravan from which I was separated.

You have fallen away from your own nature. You are entangled in the accidental.

I have not found the caravan from which I was separated!

Since time without beginning I have been afire on the journey—
from the very beginning, from the birth of the world, I have been searching for myself—and I do not find. Because other things come in between and hold me back—sometimes wealth, sometimes position, sometimes prestige, sometimes fame, sometimes form, color, words, fragrance—there are a thousand nets of the senses. Something or other comes by. You never reach home. Something or other arrests you.

Remember, no one arrests you—you are ready to be arrested. Even if no one arrests you, you will find some device to get arrested.

Do not consider the small as small. Everything is great. The seeker of Truth keeps awareness of every grain of life. Everything is great. He does only what is necessary. He goes only where it is necessary to go. He cuts the futile—so that only the meaningful remains. What is not to be done—he does not do. He does not play games with life.

His life is a sadhana, a discipline, a staircase. There is a direction in his life. He is going somewhere.

If you run in all directions like this, you will reach nowhere. If you have not reached anywhere—seek the cause! The cause is this: you take two steps left, then you change your heart; then two steps right, and again your heart changes. Is your heart mercury—that scatters the more you try to hold it? You have scattered in all directions. Because of this scattering you have no experience of the soul.

Mahavira says: do not think the small is small. The small becomes big. Therefore, before the sowing of the seed, wake up to that from which you wish to be saved.

“Anger destroys love. Pride destroys humility. Maya destroys friendship. Greed destroys everything.”

Kohō pīiṃ paṇāsei, māṇo viṇayanāsaṇo.
Māyā mittāṇi nāsei, loho savvaviṇāsaṇo.

“Anger destroys love.…”

People want love. Who does not! Have you ever found a being who does not thirst for love? All, without exception, hunger for love. Then where has love gone? Where all want love, where all think to give love—why do no flowers of love bloom? Where has love disappeared? Mahavira says: what will happen by talking of love? Anger destroys love. You keep giving space to the seeds of anger, and cry and shout for love. You go on screaming, “Love, love, love”—and you keep cultivating the seeds of anger! You sow poison and ask for nectar! Then if thorny poison-bushes fill your life and no shower of nectar descends—whose fault, whose responsibility?

“Anger destroys love.…”

If there is no love in your life, know that there is anger—even if by force of habit you no longer notice it. So deeply have you become soaked in anger that you do not even recognize anger anymore. Tell an angry person he is angry—he instantly says, “Who says I am angry? I am not angry.” This is what the angry say: I am not angry. You too, when caught in anger, do not admit you are angry. No one admits anger—and people demand love.

If there is anger—admit it. Admission will be the diagnosis. If there is anger, admit it, so that some remedy can be found. That which you will not admit—how will you remove it? And if there is no love—this sutra says: if there is no love in your life, know for certain there is anger—whether you know it or not; whether it has become an old, strong habit, dissolved in your blood, or anger has become your very nature so that you no longer remember what non‑anger is, and distinction is difficult—but if love is absent, anger is present.

“Anger destroys love. Pride destroys humility.…”

Ego destroys your humility. And when humility is destroyed, something very precious is lost. The capacity to learn disappears. The humble are capable of learning; they are open, ready. When something new arrives, their doors are not closed. And the humble recognize a truth of life—that I am only a fragment of this Vast.

The egoist lives in a great delusion: as if I am the center of the whole universe; as if all exist for me and I exist for no one; as if all are my means and I am the end.

If we understand ego rightly, it means: the whole world is means and I am the end. Even if all must die for my life—it is right. If all must suffer for my pleasure—it is right. I am the end, and all are means. If I must place my feet on everyone’s shoulders, if I must make steps out of everyone’s heads and climb to the palaces, I will climb—because all others are only to be steps.

The egoist takes himself to be the center of Existence. What does humble mean? The humble says: how can I be the center? When I was not, Existence was; when I will not be, Existence will be. What difference does my being or not being make? I am a wave, granted—but only a wave of the Vast. The Vast is true; my being is a dream—seen at night, lost by morning. My being is not a solid stone, it is a line on water.

Thus the humble can learn the truths of life. And ultimately he can come to know Parmatma—because he has fulfilled the first condition: he has not embraced the false. He began with Truth; if the beginning is Truth, the end is Truth. If the beginning itself is untrue, where will you find Truth? Untruth will go on increasing.

The egoist slowly becomes intoxicated with pride. His eyes lose the capacity to see; awareness disappears. He lives in a stupor, in sleep.

“Pride destroys humility.…” And if humility is absent in your life, know that somewhere the enemy ego is lying in ambush.

“Maya destroys friendship.…” Deceit, cunning, duplicity—these destroy friendship. Friendship means: you are with someone as you are with yourself. Friendship means: there are no secrets between you and your friend—no concealment, no distancing. Friendship means: you can make yourself utterly naked before your friend. You know, you trust love; you know that as you are, your friend will accept you. His love is unconditional. If you must hide even from your friend, you are taking your friend also as an enemy.

Machiavelli wrote… He is exactly the opposite of Mahavira. To understand Mahavira, it is useful to understand Machiavelli as well. Machiavelli wrote: do not say to a friend even that which you would not say to an enemy—for who knows, the friend of today may be the enemy of tomorrow; then you will repent that you had said such a thing. He is saying: behave with your friend exactly as you behave with your enemy—for here even friends become enemies. Ask Mahavira and he will say: leave the friend aside—behave with your enemy as you would with your friend; because who knows, the enemy of today may become a friend tomorrow. Do not say such things that will be difficult to take back tomorrow; it will be like licking your own spit. To those with whom we have hostility, we say exaggerated things: “He is a demon.” Yesterday he was Narayan hidden in man, today he is a demon! But if tomorrow friendship is restored—where will you hide your face? How will you return? How will you say: “He is Narayan among men—no demon now.”

Mahavira says: keep friendship as your base. The one who is friend today—he is friend; the one who is not—he too may become friend. And one who walks according to Mahavira finds that his enemies become friends. He who walks by Machiavelli finds his friends become enemies—for you never behaved as a friend with them. If you must hide even from a friend—this is what Mahavira calls maya.

“Maya destroys friendship.…”

Maya means: not being true. Maya means: deceiving. Maya means: to appear other than you are. Maya means: to be inauthentic. Maya means: pretension, show; tears in the eyes—but you begin to smile—this is not friendship. At least before a friend we can weep. Before whom else will you weep? If you cannot weep before a friend, where else will you weep? Before a friend we can reveal our sorrow, pain, poverty—everything. Before a friend, we can expose our stains, our sin, our crime—everything. Because we know—the trust of love is there. In the shelter of that love, all is accepted. For the friend has loved us—not for reasons; he has loved without reason. Therefore friendship will not break for reasons. It is not that your friend will see, “Ah, you have committed such a sin! Friendship over!” No—your friend will hold a feeling of compassion even toward your sin. He will say: it happens to all, it happens to every human being. A friend will try to understand. He will not condemn. If needed he will criticize—but not condemn. And even criticism will be with the intention that something higher may arrive. Even criticism will be with the thought that you can become bigger, you can open more; this bud is not meant to remain so small—your destiny is far greater.

Even when a friend criticizes you there will be deep love in it. And even when an enemy praises you there will be sarcasm inside it; a deep tone of condemnation, a cutting edge.

Friendship is possible only when maya is not in between. That is why friendship has gradually disappeared from the world. People call acquaintances “friendship”—call it acquaintance, fine; nothing more. The flower of friendship has almost vanished. Because for friendship to bloom, simplicity is needed, guilelessness is needed. If deceit, maya, comes between, friendship ends. If arithmetic enters, friendship ends. Friendship is poetry—not mathematics, not logic. Before a friend we reveal ourselves as we are. Therefore with a friend there is relief. At least there is someone before whom we need not be false; otherwise twenty‑four hours false. A wife—false before her. The office, the boss—false before him. The marketplace, companions—false with them. False everywhere. Where will you open? You will die sealed. How will a breeze or a ray of the sun enter you? You have become a grave. At least somewhere let there be a place where you can relax, where you are free to be as you are; where there is no demand; where the friend’s eyes are not saying: not like this—be like that.

Friendship is a rare phenomenon. In the world only the word remains; the flower blooms very rarely. Because for this flower two persons are needed who are guileless, between whom there is no maya.

“Maya destroys friendship. And greed destroys everything.” If in your life there are ruins upon ruins—no oasis anywhere, only desert—then know one thing: you have learned to live in greed and nothing else. Greed destroys everything.

Mahavira is diagnosing. He says: if there is no shower of flavor in your life—do not blame anyone—know only this: you have descended very deep into greed; you have climbed down the many steps of greed; you have drowned in the well of greed. Only then does it happen that everything is destroyed.

He fulfilled God’s intention
who took the steps of love upon his eyes.

One who learned friendship, learned love—who dropped maya for friendship, dropped anger for love, dropped pride for humility—and bid farewell to greed to give a creative movement to life—he fulfilled God’s intention; he fulfilled the longing of Parmatma.

Who took the steps of love upon his eyes—
then the shadow of love falls upon his eyes; then lotuses of love bloom in his heart.

Love is the supreme event. Now let us understand it.

Mahavira says: greed destroys all—and love grants all. He says: “Mitti me savvabhuesu”—friendship with all, love with all, with all beings. Because Mahavira says: if loving one brings so many lotuses, just imagine love for all! Let love become your nature. Let love not remain a relationship: not that you love one and not another; such love will remain limited, something will be missing. Let there be just love—love as your way of being; love as the fragrance of your existence. Love as your inner climate. Even if no one is there—you sit alone in a room—still you are filled with love; you pour love into that emptiness. Sitting by trees—love’s dialogue arises with the trees. Seeing moon and stars—there begins the embrace of love right there. By river and ocean—friendship’s tune begins to play. Whether alone or in a crowd, in pleasure or pain—but the veena of love goes on sounding; let it become your breath day and night! Whether you know it or not—like your breath—let love move within you.

For this supreme event of love, Mahavira gave the name ahimsa. Jesus called this love God. Love is God.

Greed destroys everything—“loho savvaviṇāsaṇo.”

Greed and love are opposites. Understand this. A greedy person cannot love—cannot. Because love demands sharing, giving. The greedy will be miserly—how will he share? Greed collects; once collected, it is engaged in guarding it—lest someone draw even a single coin. Hence, in this land there is a saying: when a greedy person dies he becomes a snake—coiled, guarding his treasure. A snake cannot enjoy gold—there is no question of it.

The greedy person is a strange being—understand him, for he is hidden in everyone. He is as extraordinary as the lover—both are extremes. The greedy does not enjoy—he only enjoys the hope of enjoyment. He collects wealth but does not spend it; spending would reduce it. His enjoyment is only in accumulating. Money is only a potential. Whether you clutch a gold brick or a clay brick—without using it, what difference? Difference arises only when you go to use it. Without using, a gold brick and a mud brick are equal. Whether there is money in your pocket or not, you will know only when you go to spend it. If you never go to buy anything—whether there was money in your pocket or not—makes no difference.

The greedy accumulates money but does not enjoy—so he remains poor even with wealth. For money is money only when… Understand: a rupee lies in your pocket. Many things are hidden in it: if you wish, someone will massage you all night—that too is hidden in this rupee. You cannot carry a man in your pocket—too heavy. If you wish—you can drink a glass of milk—that too is hidden in this rupee. You can sit three hours in a cinema; you can eat in a hotel; you can give charity to a hungry person. Thousands of possibilities are hidden in a rupee. That is the charm of money.

Money is an amazing device! If you needed only one thing—if you needed massage, you could hire a man—but then you could not use that man for anything else. If you wanted breakfast—what would you do? If you wished to see a movie—what would you do? Money is unique—one of humanity’s deep inventions. In it all things are contained. But as yet nothing is actual—everything is potential. Nothing is real yet—only possibility. Therefore infinite possibilities are hidden in money. That is why people are mad after money—because if money is in the safe, infinite possibilities are in hand.

But money is empty until you use it—until then it is nothing. It has no meaning. Locked in a safe it is useless. Money is meaningful only when it passes from your hand to another’s. In the passing, money becomes wealth. In giving there is wealth; in enjoying there is wealth. In hoarding, wealth becomes clay.

And this is true of all kinds of wealth: only that is yours which you give away. This will seem a paradox. That which you never gave was never yours—for how could it be? A thing becomes manifest only when you give it. In exchange wealth appears. Closed in your fist, it dies. What difference does it make whether there was a hundred thousand in your safe or not? The safe remained closed; you lived outside, died outside. Whether the hundred thousand lay locked or not—what difference does it make? None at all—unless you shared it. The greedy does not share. When he does not share even outer wealth, how will he share inner? If he cannot share petty rupees, how will he lavish the glory of life? If he cannot give away shards, how will he pour out his heart? And love requires a heart that is willing to be squandered, to be given.

Love is the art of giving. Greed is the art of hoarding. But what you hoard is futile. Therefore none is poorer than the greedy. Watch the thrill, the upsurge when you give—watch that moment. Whether it is a coin or a hundred thousand—it makes no difference. Even if it is not money—it makes no difference. You take someone’s hand in yours with love; you sit near someone for two moments in deep sympathy; you pluck a wild flower from the roadside and offer it. In that moment, watch with awareness—what happens! When you give, what arises within you! What grace! What shower!

Hence the wise have said: when someone agrees to receive from you, thank him. Give to him—and give dakshina as well. Dakshina means: give something more in gratitude. For if he had refused, your wealth could not have become wealth. You gave a coin to a poor man; by taking it he made your coin into wealth; before that it was not wealth. He made it wealth. Who should thank whom?

The old scriptures say: give him something also in thanks—“Your grace; you could have refused. If you had said, ‘I won’t take’—then?”

In the world of love, the receiver also gives—that is the joy of love. The receiver also gives. Not only the giver gives—the receiver gives too. Both give—and none is at a loss. Someone gave wealth; someone took it; by taking he endorsed your note. It was a promissory note; now it has become money. He made you wealthy. By accepting your compassion he made you compassionate. By accepting your love he made you a lover. When the act of giving happened through your hands, a flower bloomed in your heart.

By giving, a man becomes blessed.

The greedy cannot love—because the journey of love is exactly the opposite; it is of sharing, of giving. Greed is a kind of constipation, a disease.

Take also—give also—life is give and take.

Now I want to say one more thing: some people get caught in a delusion—they say, either we will not give, or we will not take. The greedy first clutched wealth and said, “We will not give.” Then they saw that this wealth is turning to dust in the clutching; it is becoming earth through holding. Then they say, “We will give, now we will not take.” You call such a man religious. He is not religious; he is irreligious—for he is not giving the other a chance to turn his dust into wealth. How is that? The truly religious is skilled in give and take—skilled in both. This man is not religious; he is egoistic. He says, “I will only give—I cannot take. I—and take!”

A very wealthy person, a friend of mine, once traveled with me. With time he opened his heart—he could not hide. He said one deep sorrow: “In my life I have given much to all my relatives, to friends.” And this is true, I know—he has given. “But how unfortunate I am that whoever I give to—none of them are pleased with me!” And I also know that all those whom he has given to are angry with him. And he is not lying; he has given—given much! He has and still has plenty. He made all his relatives into rich men; every friend into a rich man. Whoever related with him soon became rich. Yet all who took from him are angry with him. He asked me: What has happened? What is my fault?

I said: your fault is that you only gave and never gave them a chance to give. Give them a chance also. You do not need money—but you need a thousand other things. To the friend to whom you gave lakhs—sometimes say even this much: “Today I need a car—send it.” The car is the very one you gifted—but give him a chance to do something for you.

He said: I have no need. I have enough.

“When you are ill, call a friend and say, come; sit with me—your presence will give me joy. Have you ever done even this? Do something. If your son marries—tell your friends, come; without you the wedding cannot be. Do something. You are like a stone. You give—but your giving is full of ego; because your hand never opens to receive. That is why those to whom you give are angry; they feel you have lowered them—you kept your hand always above; you kept theirs always below.”

To me the religious man is one who gives to you and also takes from you—and keeps balance. He takes some tiny thing from you—but gives you a chance to give—so that you too may blossom. If people blossom by giving, you too should blossom. Some small thing—the value is irrelevant. If someone says, that stone there—bring it for me—and then thanks you—you will feel fulfilled. Because whenever you give, your soul fills and blossoms.

So I want to make your delusion clear: love is not only giving—otherwise it becomes ego, not love. Love means: you become big, and let the other become big; you expand, and let the other expand. Give—and take. And keep a balance between giving and taking. These two wings will lift you into the open sky.

And be quick. Do the giving and taking—for the market will soon close. The time for shops to shut has come. Evening is falling; people are gathering up their wares. Do not be late, lest you repent—when the market is gone, there will be no one to take and no one to give.

I have not yet drunk even a seer of the wine of life—
and already I hear the shattering of the goblet.

You have not even tasted the wine of life to your heart’s content—and see, the sound of the breaking cup has begun!

I have not yet drunk even a seer of the wine of life—
not yet drunk fully the honey of life,
and already I hear the shattering of the goblet.

With birth itself the sound of the breaking cup begins. Before it breaks—drink, and let others drink. Take, give. Meet and mingle. Expand, and let others expand. Let life be kinetic, dynamic—unfettered on either shore. Let waves rise from this shore to that; let waves come from that shore to this. Become the expanse between both shores. Then the sunrise of right religion happens in your life.

“Conquer anger with forgiveness; slay anger with forgiveness. Conquer pride with humility; maya with straightness; greed with contentment.”

“Conquer anger with forgiveness.…” What are you doing when you are angry? Anger is a viewpoint which says: what should not have happened—happened. Someone said something—anger means: you say, he should not have said it. You had a different expectation. Behind anger is expectation. If a dog barks at you—you do not get angry, because you know he is a dog; he will bark. But if a man barks—you get angry; he is a man—you had great expectations.

Forgiveness means: you have no expectations; what the other is doing is exactly what he can do—therefore he is doing it. He who can abuse—is abusing. He who can sing—is singing. Forgiveness is a perspective: we have no expectations; who am I to expect of you? Who am I to demand that you behave like this—and if not, I will be angry!

A Zen fakir was walking; a man came and struck him with a stick. In panic the man was about to run—his stick even fell from his hand—the fakir picked up the stick and handed it to him, saying, “Brother, take your stick.” A young man walking with the fakir asked, “What is this? He hurt you—and you are handing him his stick? You said nothing?”

He said, “What is there to say? If I were passing and a branch fell from a tree and broke my head—what would I say? Nothing. It is an accidental matter—the branch was about to break and I happened to pass. The meeting happened by chance—what is there to say? This man had to hit someone—and I happened to be there. The branch broke, and at the right time upon the head—what is there to say? And he did only what he could do; if he could not do it, why would he? What could arise in him—has arisen. Who am I?”

It is because the world should run as per my expectation—that anger is born. Wherever you try to run someone by your expectation—you will be angry. Therefore, the more expectations you have from someone, the more anger toward that very person. A wife becomes fire upon the husband—not upon everyone—there is no expectation from everyone. A father becomes angry with the son—there are expectations. Great hopes were woven—and he is breaking them all. You dreamed he would become this or that—everything is turning out opposite.

Wherever there is expectation, notice—anger will arise there. Where there is no relationship with you, no anger arises. The neighbor’s son is also getting ruined, also drinking—but it does not bother you.

I have heard: a Jew went to his rabbi and said, “I am in great trouble. My son went to America; he returned a Christian. My son—a Christian! And we are traditionally very orthodox Jews. I cannot bear it; I feel like committing suicide.”

The rabbi said, “Do not worry too much. Listen to me; you have only one son. It happened—no matter. You are not even a rabbi; I am a rabbi—my son too went to America and returned spoiled—a Christian. And I am the rabbi—at least my son should not have done this.”

“What shall we do?”

“Let us pray to God—what else!” They prayed in the synagogue: “O Lord! What are you doing? My son… I am an ancient Jew, and my son became a Christian! The other said, I am a rabbi—your representative on earth; at least take care of mine. My son too became a Christian.”

And it is said, a voice came from above: “What nonsense are you talking—think of me! I sent my son Jesus—and he too…!”

Everyone has expectations. “And I am God; you are only a rabbi.”

Where expectation is, there is anger. Forgiveness means: you drop expectation. Who are you? Granted, a son is born through you—but who are you? You were a passage through which he came. You gave a place for arrival. You did not make the son—Someone else made him. You were only the medium, the instrument. You are not the decider.

Whatever happens—the expectation‑free person accepts. In that acceptance is forgiveness.

Now understand this.

Ordinarily preachers teach you something that makes it seem forgiveness is the opposite of anger. They teach: do not be angry—forgive this man. He has sinned—don’t be angry, forgive him! But they too accept that he has sinned—otherwise what would you forgive? If he has done nothing wrong—what is there to forgive? Forgiveness is possible only if error has occurred. Then both anger and forgiveness share one thing: that error has occurred. One is angry at the error; the other forgives the error—but both accept the error.

My forgiveness—and Mahavira’s forgiveness—mean something utterly different. When Mahavira says “forgive,” he is only saying: understand—who are you to judge right and wrong? Drop expectation—and forgiveness happens by itself.

Forgiveness is not the opposite of anger—forgiveness is the absence of anger.

Therefore, you do not have to do forgiveness; drop expectation and forgiveness is.

“Conquer anger with forgiveness; conquer pride with humility.…”

What is humility?—simply knowing your factual situation. It is not a practice—only recognizing the fact: what is my state? I am caught in breath. If breath stops—I am finished. What is my situation? I am today—tomorrow I will be no more. Today I walk upon the earth; tomorrow the earth will be upon me. Today I try to sit upon the heads of others; tomorrow the same feet will tread upon me.

Humility is to know one’s real condition—what is my being? Upon what strength can I say “I”? A wave—come and gone.

“Conquer pride with humility; conquer maya with rectitude.…”

Rectitude—rijuta—means simplicity, authenticity, straightness. Even your saints are crooked—not rijus. Rijuta means child‑like innocence. Your saints are very un‑riju; very inverse. Not straight—zigzag, complex. They calculate each thing with arithmetic. If they fast—they keep accounts: how many fasts this year. They will appear before God with full ledgers. There is no simplicity in their life. There is great arithmetic. If they have dropped anger, maya, attachment—they have dropped in order to gain heaven; yet the desire to gain remains. This renunciation is not straight, clean, simple.

Rijuta is a priceless word—like a straight line. Between two points the nearest distance is a straight line—nearest. If you make it a little longer, it becomes crooked. Between two persons the nearest distance—that is rijuta. Between two points the nearest distance—that is the line.

When someone asks you something, you can behave in two ways: go crookedly, through lanes and alleys; do not go straight; do not speak straight; play tricks—intend one thing, say another; want to tell this and tell that.

They say: Mulla Nasruddin was inverted from childhood. Inverted—meaning he would do the opposite of whatever he was told. His parents understood—what to do!—so they began to tell him exactly what they did not want done. What they wanted done—they would tell the opposite. If they wanted him to sit quiet—they would say, “Son, make some noise.” And he would sit quietly. Once they learned the arithmetic, they managed this way.

One day the father and son were crossing a river. Sacks of sugar were loaded on the donkey. Midstream the father saw the sacks on Nasruddin’s donkey leaning to the left. He wanted the boy to shift them to the right. But if he said “right,” the boy would never do it; so he said, “Son, shift the sacks to the left.” They were already leaning left. But that day, to his surprise, the boy pushed them further left—into the river. The father said, “This behavior is not consistent today!” Nasruddin said, “I am eighteen now; I have learned the trick. Now I will not simply do the opposite of what you say; I will do the opposite of what you intend.”

But the father too was Nasruddin’s father—he found a device. Now things became even more crooked. If the father wanted the sacks to move right, earlier he would say “left.” Now, if he really wanted them to go right—he had to say “right.” Because the boy would think, he wants them left—so he will move them right. More crookedness, more tangled arithmetic.

The straight line between two points—that is rijuta. Say what you mean; mean what you say. Become what you say: that is rijuta. Otherwise the opposite happens. You go to someone and say, “I am the dust of your feet; I am nothing.” You want him to reply, “You—the dust of my feet! You are a great man!” Suppose the other says: “You are saying exactly right—you are the dust of my feet. What is there to say?”—you will be angry: “This is the limit; he doesn’t even know courtesy!”

Notice—this inverted head is hidden in every head. You desire one thing, you say another. This deception spreads wider and wider.

Mahavira says: “Conquer maya with rijuta.” That crookedness—defeat it with straightness. The more you fill with deceit, the more tangled your life becomes; the more your life gets cut into shards.

The simple person is at peace. Have you observed—whenever you lie, unrest follows. You must then remember the lie: to whom did you say what. The one who lies to everyone—imagine his memory! One thing must be admitted—his memory deserves applause. He must remember. Truth needs no memory—the truth is always the same. But you told one thing to one, another to another, a third to a third—then you must keep accounts: what was said to the first, what to the second, what to the third.

Mulla Nasruddin was in love with two women. Very few love only one. Duality is everywhere. He told one woman: there is none in this world more beautiful than you. He told the other the same. Both statements could not be true; at least one was false. One day, by accident, both women met—and both suspected already. They asked Nasruddin, “Now tell—who is the most beautiful woman in the world?”

Nasruddin hesitated, then said, “Each of you is more beautiful than the other!”

More beautiful than each other! Man finds a device. But we go on lying; the web grows. After long lying there comes a state when you yourself feel perhaps this is true—because you have said it so long you forget when you began. By repetition the lie begins to seem true even to yourself. Then you become a‑riju—crooked.

Krishna’s entire effort in the Gita is to make the crooked Arjuna straight. The very name ‘Arjuna’ is meaningful. Krishna pulls Arjuna to straightness: be simple and direct; you are a kshatriya—speak the kshatriya’s truth. Suddenly Arjuna begins to talk of non‑violence—he who never spoke of non‑violence. And his non‑violence is not true—if they had not been his dear ones, not relatives—brothers, cousins, gurus, grandsire, uncles and kin—if they had not been his own—he was frightened seeing his own. He said, “These are my own—whom shall I kill!”

This raised a thought: a man attains wealth, status, a throne—pleasure comes only when one’s own are there to see. If in some other village where no one knows you—you are honored—it will not give the same joy as in your own village. In another village where no one knows you—what sort of honor! You will wish your own villagers to know—what honor is being given! If you were to become emperor of the world, but all who know you die—you too would stand where Arjuna stands. You would think—what is the essence! If you were king in a jungle where there are no people—what is the point of being king among wild animals! Better to be a deputy collector, a police inspector, a patwari—in one’s own village! Where someone knows you—only there is the fun of swagger. Before those with whom we began the journey we want to prove: see—you stayed where you were; see where I have reached!

Arjuna grew up among these—brothers and kin; all his life the contest was with them; if they all perish, then even if he sits upon the throne—vultures will be around, jackals howling—and strangers with whom he had no contest; whether they existed or not made no difference. It began in Arjuna as a deep grip of ego, a great attachment. The joy is to prove before these very people. Let Duryodhana remain—and we win. Let Bhishma remain—and see Arjuna upon the throne. Let all these—Karna and all kin—stand defeated—only then is there fun. Otherwise what joy! This is what arose; but he spoke something else. He said: I do not want to kill—violence is a great sin. To this day he had been violent, a meat‑eater; suddenly he became non‑violent! Krishna could not be deceived. He pulled him again and again to straightness.

The whole Gita is Krishna’s effort to make Arjuna rijut—to be straight. He keeps catching him: bring your mind back—what are you talking! Sannyas does not befit you; it is not your inner truth. Otherwise who has stopped you all these days from taking sannyas? Suddenly on the battlefield you speak the language of renunciation! There is something else hiding in this renunciation.

Seek rijuta within. Whenever you speak—watch: is this what you want to say? Is this your deepest longing—or its opposite? Little by little practice being straight and simple.

By rijuta, complexity falls; maya is defeated. By contentment, greed is conquered. Rejoice in what you have. Contentment means: so much has been given—at least give thanks! So much has been given—feel grace! You have eyes to see the light, flowers blooming in the sun, the greenery of trees. Consider—the blind exist in the world, who cannot see color! And one who has not known color—what has he known of the world! One to whom form is not visible—who has not glimpsed that through the face and the eyes God manifests. You have ears—you can hear the deepest music—the birds’ song, the river’s murmur, the ocean’s roar, the thunder of clouds! Consider—those with no ears—how empty their life! Where no sound ever echoed—what a desert! How much you have been given! Through the five senses how much rain has fallen upon you! Through this inner awareness how many doors of joy have opened and kept opening—one closes—another opens.

But no—the greedy says, what is there in this! The safe, the wealth! He does not care for what is given; he destroys himself in the race for what is not given.

Mahavira says: conquer greed with contentment. Look at what is given. Bring your gaze to what is given.

There are two kinds of people: those whose eyes look at what is not given—they are greedy. Those whose eyes look at what is given—they are contented. And the contented receive much—for their gaze is upon receiving; so more comes. And the greedy receive nothing—for their gaze is upon not receiving; not receiving increases. Greed breeds more greed. Contentment breeds more contentment. One who dips even a little into contentment will find—

The caravans have either perished or moved on;
not even the dust of the road rises now.

Those caravans of desire, discontent, craving, greed, and longing—either they have perished or they have moved away.

Not even the dust of the road rises now.

When enjoyment passes, the dust of renunciation remains. The caravan of enjoyment moves on—then the dust of renunciation stays. But supreme peace is only when enjoyment goes, and renunciation also goes.

The caravans have either perished or moved on;
not even the dust of the road rises now.

Then a supreme fulfillment, a ceaseless rain of peace begins. Then for the first time you know what life is—and how blessed that we are! Then mere being is such wealth that to desire anything more is foolishness.

“Just as a tortoise withdraws its limbs into its shell, so the intelligent withdraws sins through adhyatma.”

Adhyatma means the process of awakening—the science of becoming soul‑centered. Like a tortoise that draws back its limbs; wherever it senses fear or danger, it curls inward, sinks into its deep security—so too, wherever you feel fear, sorrow, pain, discontent, lack, anxiety, burning—withdraw your consciousness from there; sink into the depth of the inner soul—there is all you seek.

Be assured that here every assurance is deception;
what of the song—do not trust even in annihilation.

Hold on to awareness! Trust nothing here. Here great deceptions lie in wait. In all you have leaned upon so far—there is deception. Not only life—even death deceives; for death is not proven death—you are born again!

Be assured that here every assurance is deception;
what of the song—do not trust even in annihilation.

All this is deception born of the eye’s discrimination—
otherwise in the world there is no good or bad.

Here there is nothing good, nothing bad. You deemed something good—attachment arose. You deemed something bad—aversion arose. Here nothing is good, nothing bad. It is a matter of perspective. Turn your gaze within and a deep balance arises where good and bad fall away—no friend, no enemy.

“If, knowingly or unknowingly, some adharmic act happens—withdraw your soul from it at once, and do not do it a second time.”

If, knowingly or unknowingly, an irreligious act happens—instantly—do not even complete it! If, in anger, half a sentence of abuse has been spoken and you remember—leave it half‑spoken and ask forgiveness; do not complete it.

If in lust one step has been taken and the second is about to be—and you remember—do not take the step that is not yet taken; pull back the one that has.

Only if you walk very carefully will you reach. The path is thorny, the ascent steep—and your habit is to descend, to slip. You even find ways to slip from religion.

A man asked the doctor, “What is wrong with me?”

“You eat too much,” said the doctor, “you drink too much, and you are lazy—slothful, supremely lazy. That is your disease.”

The man said, “Doctor! Please write it in your medical language so that I can get a month’s leave from my office.”

He eats, he drinks, he is lazy—and from that too he hopes to pull a month’s leave—so he can be even lazier, eat more, drink more. But write it in medical language—because with ‘laziness’ it will not do.

Scriptures serve you as medical language—you extract your meaning from them. You slip even from them.

If, knowingly or unknowingly, some adharmic act happens—withdraw your soul from it at once. And do not do it a second time. If once an error becomes visible—even halfway—turn back from there. And remember then not to set foot upon that journey again. If you remember—and remember—and remember—slowly remembrance will ripen and become strong; then, as a seed, that which is wrong will not be able to enter you.

I am not going to get caught in its cycle again—
then why does the whirl of the world keep searching for me?

Now I will not enter the wheel of the world again. Once awareness is gathered—then however much the world’s temptations search for you, however much the objects of greed stand around you, however many apsaras invite you toward lust—you will not go. One who begins to awaken—who begins to be aware, to examine and test the state of his life—naturally, where there is fire, he withdraws his hand.

Love is not bound in the chains of madness, ‘Ravish’—
if you long to see the beauty of the self—come to your senses.

Your inner Self—your deepest heart—is bound in no chain. Your love is not imprisoned—only you are unconscious. If you want to experience real beauty—just do this one thing—

If you long to see the beauty of the self—come to your senses.

—just come to awareness. Unconsciousness is your prison—the chains.

Mahavira’s greatest emphasis is on awareness. Unconsciousness is sin; awareness is virtue.

“One who is freed from all possessions, who is peace‑filled, cool, and cheerful—such a shramaṇa’s bliss of liberation is not attained even by a chakravarti.”

Even if you become emperor of the entire world, a chakravarti of all six continents—you will not attain the joy that comes to the bhikshu, to the shramaṇa, or the brahmin—who is free of possession, free of greed, cool within, peaceful, cheerful.

These sutras are very precious. In life you have known only heat—not coolness. You have known only the hot season—not the cool. You are still boiling, burning—not stilled, not cooled. Slowly make yourself cool, make yourself quiet. Whatever stokes your boiling—feeds your passion—burns you—wake up to it and move away. Then you will become capable of that peace, that bliss of liberation, which even the possessor of the whole world does not attain. It is attained by being the master of oneself.

Go find for us too, O flower‑bearer—
that life which passes in smiling.

But you will not get that life by asking from someone. That life you will find only if you seek, only if you create. You will receive only what you create. The soul is your creation, your artistry.

Who says life is a futile dream!
O trustee of awareness! Life is the intoxication of the eternal.
It is a measured path, caravan after caravan is life.
Life is a running wave, a running stream, a running ocean.

Who said life is useless!
Who says life is a vain dream!
Who says life is only a dream! O guardian of awareness—hold your awareness. O trustee of awareness! Life is the ecstasy of the eternal.

It is a measured road—caravan after caravan is life!
It is a fellowship of travelers on the journey—ever moving.

Life is a running wave, a running stream, a running ocean—
life is the wave of delight, the river of delight, the ocean of delight—but only for those who, like the tortoise, can withdraw within; for those who have awakened. Those who do not know this art begin to speak against life—beware of them.

Mahavira is not against life. He is against your so‑called life—so that you may attain true Life.

He who did not learn the way of life—
he alone became angry with life.

Whoever did not learn the art of living—that very one became resentful. Resentment is not religion—understanding, awareness is.

Mahavira is a partisan of the great bliss. That great bliss he calls Moksha. So whenever he speaks against life—always remember—he speaks against your life; where life has turned wrong—turned into poison; where life has become a disease—become deranged. He speaks against that—and only so that you may seek true life. Only so that if your life seems sorrowful to you—you may awaken.

Sorrow awakens. When the memory and understanding of sorrow dawns—then the search for the direction of joy begins. Mahavira is not anti‑life. He is a partisan of the Great Life. He is against counterfeit coins—because real coins exist and you keep deluding yourself with the false. Awake!

Enough for today.