Kahe Hot Adheer #15

Waves, waves of the mind-ocean
leaping from the deepest bed, drowning lofty palaces;
palaces and turrets of hope, rocks of knowledge and prestige —
does the flowing water, in its carefree gait, even recognize them?
Changing the shape of its own body, melting and melting, it breaks into tears.
Waves, waves of the mind-ocean,
leaping from the deepest bed, drowning lofty palaces.

The whole world become water-water, the earth all land-and-water —
one single stream of intoxication, one single, rapturous tune;
growing and growing till it could swallow the globe into its heart.
Waves, waves of the mind-ocean,
leaping from the deepest bed, drowning lofty palaces.

You are one ocean of consciousness! A small wave of your own awareness can drown this whole world. Seen from the surface you are a drop; recognized from within, you are the ocean. From the surface you look so small; from within, you have neither beginning nor end. From the surface you are fleeting; from within, you are eternal, sanatan. From the surface there is a name, an address, definitions, caste, religion, nation; from within you are the inexpressible, you are Brahman-svarupa! One small wave risen in your consciousness can drench the whole of existence.
The one who has recognized this ocean of his awareness is the saint. The one who has known Truth is the saint. Not only known — the one who has recognized himself as one with Truth, that one is the saint. To know, a small difference remains — between knower and known, between jnana and jneya. But even that slight gap is not there between Truth and the saint. The one who has drowned in Truth, who has found his end in Truth, who has immersed himself in Truth and ended himself in it — that one is the saint.
A saint has nothing to do with conduct, character, social codes. Not that a saint has no discipline; he has. But it is not imposed from without — it is self-arisen. His life has a subtle order, but it is not maneuvered by anybody else; he is his own master. He has dignity, but it is born of his own awakening, not of any borrowed ideals.
A saint is one who has become capable of knowing himself apart from mind and body. Whenever such a saint has walked the earth, a flood of light has come with him; a rain of bliss has showered with him; flowers of love have bloomed with him; the earth has become young with him. In their presence the earth has known that she too is a bride. When no Buddha is present, the earth is a widow. When a Buddha is present, the earth is wed and adorned; the parting in her hair is filled; anklets tinkle on her feet; bangles sing on her wrists. In the presence of a Buddha, creation dances — with joy, with festivity.
Today’s sutras are very sweet.

“All saints are great; Paltu, none is small.”

Remember, the saint is the one who has recognized his inner ocean; who is freed from the drop and has become the sea. A saint is one only by becoming one with the Vast. And can the Vast be small? The Vast is infinite, boundless! And whoever has recognized his identity with the Vast — he is no more.
As long as you are, you will remain small; you cannot be great. However much the ego may try, it remains small. At the very center of the ego is inferiority — a complex of inferiority, psychology says. Because of that inferiority complex we set out on the journey of ego; it seems to us we are small, so we strive to become big. Let there be wealth — we will seem big. Let there be much knowledge — we will seem big. Let there be a high office — we will seem big.
But seated in the president’s chair, when you look big — you are not appearing big; it is the chair. The moment you get down, you are the same. If you are big because of wealth, a bankruptcy tomorrow, a change of governments, a change of currency — and your greatness is gone! Your greatness was on paper. A small rain and your colors will run. It was on loan. You had hung ornaments on the ego, worn fine garments; but all were false, and their reins were in others’ hands.
Whoever is big by the ego has to depend on others — and what sort of greatness is that which depends on others! Only saints are great, for their greatness depends on none — not on wealth, not on position, not on reputation, not on people. Their greatness is in their inner realization. Their greatness is not the ego’s ornament; it is the dissolution of the ego.
A saint’s greatness cannot be stolen. You can cut off his head, but you will not touch his greatness. You cannot stain it even a little, you cannot wound it at all. His greatness is far beyond your reach. As if someone spits at the sky and the spit falls back upon him — those who spit at saints are buried in their own spit. The sky remains untouched, pure.
Paltu speaks rightly:
“All saints are great; Paltu, none is small.”

And remember this too: between two saints, one is not big and the other small. And between two un-saints also, one is not big and the other small. Two non-saints are both small; two saints are both great. The sleeping — all small. The awakened — all great. And greatness has no yardstick: that Buddha is greater, that Mahavira is greater, that Krishna is greater, that Christ is greater.
So-called religious people are greatly worried — who is greater? Their real concern is not whether Buddha is greater or Mohammed is greater. Their real concern is: the one whom I have adopted as saint must be the greatest, for in his greatness is my greatness. This is the Muslim’s worry — is Mohammed greater or Buddha? This is the Buddhist’s worry — is Buddha greater or Mohammed?
Buddha and Mohammed — they cannot be compared; they are incomparable, unique. And both have gone beyond that boundary which we call ego. Both have dropped the drophood. Two drops fall into the ocean — which drop is now larger? Both have become the ocean. Two persons dissolve into Paramatman — who is now greater? Both have become Paramatman. Their proclamation is one: Aham Brahmasmi! Ana’l‑Haqq!
Paramatman is not two; He is one. We are many. And as long as we are many, we are small. The day we become one with the One, how could we be small?
Paltu says: Do not compare saints; they are all equal. If one is a saint, awakened, enlightened — then none is small.
“All saints are great; Paltu, none is small.
He who has seen the Self is subtle as the finest; all others are coarse.”
Those who have known themselves have entered the subtlest; leaving them aside, all the rest are very gross, very heavy, material; they can be measured. The ignorant can be measured; the wise have no measure, no scale, no standard.
If you set out to measure the sky, how will you measure it? Our largest measure is the light‑year — yet the sky cannot be measured by it. Our inches, feet, yards, furlongs, miles — too small. Not even by light‑years can space be measured. Scientists have not yet measured how many light‑years the sky is. Understand a light‑year: in one second light travels one hundred and eighty‑six thousand miles. Sunlight reaches us in about eight and a half minutes — at that speed. A light‑year means: a ray travels at one hundred and eighty‑six thousand miles per second for one entire year. That is the largest yardstick. The nearest star is four light‑years away. And the most distant star yet recognized is billions of light‑years away. How vast the sky! Beyond that star are still stars, and beyond them, more stars — without end. Space is infinite.
Those who have seen this expanse as consciousness have recognized Paramatman. Those who have become one with the Vast — how will you measure them? How weigh them? Your words are small, your logic small, your hands small. They have gone beyond all your calculations. They have become nirguna, without qualities; nirakara, formless.
Because of their qualityless, formless nature Paltu says:
“He who has seen the Self is subtle as the finest…
…and all the rest are coarse.”
Leaving them aside, the rest can be measured: how much wealth, what high office, how much reputation — all can be weighed. Only one element here cannot be measured: Samadhi, the ultimate flowering of dhyana.
And a saint is one who has entered Samadhi; in whom all problems are solved, no question remains, no mind remains to raise problems. The questioner himself has dissolved. Who has drowned himself in existence, become one — there is no way to measure him.
Hence never mistakenly ask: Is Buddha greater or Mahavira? Is Mahavira greater or Mohammed? Mohammed greater or Moses? Don’t ask. Krishna greater or Christ? Your very asking shows ignorance. They have all dissolved into One. From that very Shunya the Upanishads are born; from that Shunya the Koran is born; from that Shunya the Bible issues forth; from that Shunya the Dhammapada appears. Buddha stands where Christ stands; Zarathustra sits where Lao Tzu sits.
These names are for our convenience. Otherwise what name for Lao Tzu now? What identity for Buddha now? What address for Mahavira? The fragrance has flown from the flower into the sky — where will you search it now? The flower can be grasped, for it is gross; fragrance cannot be caught. And a saint is only fragrance.
“Paltu is a mirror; whoever looks may see himself there.
Crooked or straight, it is your face — the mirror is not crooked.”
Paltu says: the saint is a mirror, a clear glass.
“Paltu is a mirror; whoever looks may see himself there.”
Whoever wishes may behold his own face. The saint has no face of his own left. He is only the capacity for immaculate reflection; whoever wishes may see his own face. The Guru has no face. What you see in the Guru’s face is your own. And as long as you keep seeing something in the Guru’s face, know that your face still remains. A moment comes — a blessed moment — when you see nothing at all in the Guru’s mirror. It means your face too is gone. Now two mirrors face each other. When two mirrors face each other, what appears? The mirror mirrors the mirror — nothing appears.
The Sufi faqir Bayazid has said: The first time I went to the Kaaba I saw the stone of the Kaaba. The second time I went I did not see the stone; I saw the Master hidden behind the stone. The third time I went I saw neither stone nor Master — nothing at all; only silence, only emptiness! So I never went a fourth time — what need was there? Even if I had gone, where would I go?
These are the three steps the disciple crosses. First only stone is visible, because you are stone. Then, from behind the stone, the Master glimmers, because now you have sunk into dhyana; mind has receded. And the third time when you slip from dhyana into Samadhi, then even Master does not appear — the seer is not, what would be seen? Now two mirrors are placed face to face; and it is a wondrous event when two mirrors face each other.
“Paltu is a mirror; whoever looks may see himself there.
Crooked or straight, it is your face — the mirror is not crooked.”
If ever, in the mirror, your crooked stream of life, your twisted face appears, do not think the mirror is skewed. Usually that is what happens. Think, says Paltu, that it is my face that is crooked.
I have heard: there was a very ugly woman. She never looked into a mirror. For she said, all mirrors are wrong, no mirror has been made correctly. If ever someone, as a joke, showed her a mirror, she would break it. These wicked mirrors — because of them I become ugly!
You may laugh at this woman as mad, but she represents you all. Even at the feet of true Masters you keep seeing something — it is your face alone. But you do not understand this; you imagine you have detected a flaw in the mirror. If there is a smear of soot on your face, the mirror shows it. Your face you do not see; you see the mirror.
Mulla Nasruddin, drunk one night, staggered home. He fell along the way, quarreled with another drunk; the fellow scratched up his face. At home his mouth hurt and was bleeding. He thought, in the morning my wife will see — trouble will start: you drank too much again. Before the wife finds out, better to hide the wounds. So he went into the bathroom and stood before the mirror, took out ointment and applied it, and went to bed.
In the morning the wife went into the bathroom and shrieked. Nasruddin, so you came home drunk again! Who has smeared ointment all over my mirror?
A drunk, half-unconscious: he was applying it to his face, but he could see only the mirror. Wherever in the mirror he saw a cut, there he applied ointment — coating the mirror. This is our condition: we cannot see our face. And the one who begins to see his own face — only he can enter satsang.
A famous politician was in court; he was refusing to return a man’s umbrella. The magistrate said, Why don’t you return this poor man’s umbrella? What is it? Will you say something in your defense?
The leader said, Your Honor, I know this man well. He is a first-rate miser. I couldn’t even think of asking him for an umbrella. And if by some mistake I ever asked, he is such a cheat he would never give me his umbrella. And even if, taking it for his own, he gave me his umbrella, I must have returned it long ago. And if, Your Honor, I have not returned it, I won’t return it now either, because the rains have started again and I may need it.
No one is willing, in any way, to see his own fault. We can see a thousand faults in others — magnify a speck into a mountain. And if a mountain is lodged in our own eyes, we don’t even feel there is a pebble.
Mulla Nasruddin went for a job interview. The officer asked, Nasruddin, tell me, who invented the radio?
Nasruddin thought and thought, beat his head, and said, I don’t know, sir.
All right, then tell me who discovered penicillin?
Nasruddin dropped his head and stood. Minutes passed; half an hour. The officer said, Will you say anything or not? All right, leave that; I’ll ask another. He asked two or four more; to each Nasruddin either said, I do not know, or stood with head down and would not lift it. At last the officer grew angry: You son of Nasruddin, whenever I ask you anything, you either say you don’t know, or stand mute! Your head is full of dung.
Now Nasruddin spoke — calm, grave, impressive: Sir, if my head is full of dung, why are you licking it?
Such is man’s tendency — everyone’s. We are instantly ready to pounce on the other. This tendency is so ancient, so deep, that even when you come to saints you cannot drop it. You start finding flaws in them. You have learned to count thorns; the rose escapes you. You have learned to count nights; day you do not see.
“Crooked or straight, it is your face — the mirror is not crooked.”
Paltu says: Be alert, do not forget, else saints will come and you will go on missing. Your face is crooked — not the mirror. Once this becomes decisive and clear before you, becomes your very stance, revolution is not far.

After a dry, searing, blazing noon —
this dust‑choked storm!
Sand has settled on everything; even the mind seems scoured raw.
Colorless, burning days — twitching nights;
again and again I ask, whom — and what do I know to ask:
O, tell me:
what is all this for? What is the remedy?
When will this inertia end, this indecision end?
How long must I go on burning — how long?
When will there come a single drop of rain, a speck of love —
harbinger of the green to come?
And in answer, only this sky above —
dusky, sandy —
and this storm beating on the door!
After a dry, searing, blazing noon —
this dust‑choked storm!
Sand has settled on everything; even the mind seems scoured raw!

But the sky is not dusky, nor sandy. The dullness is in you; the sand is in you. And as long as you keep seeing the fault outside, how will you transform yourself?
To see one’s own fault is the first sign of a seeker. This does not mean that others have no faults. They may have; what concern is that of yours? You have no responsibility for their faults. And the most dangerous result of the habit of seeing others’ faults is this: someday even if you meet a faultless one, you will find faults in him as well. You have found faults even in Buddhas! Your habit has become so thick, you will invent where none are. You invent nothing else. All your creativity gets spent in manufacturing faults. If you see flaws in others, it may pass; but when you start seeing flaws in saints, you are chopping your own feet.
Paltu speaks truly:
“Paltu is a mirror; whoever looks may see himself there.
Crooked or straight, it is your face — the mirror is not crooked.”

“In this world, Paltu, none is your well-wisher;
he to whom you give your love — that very one becomes your foe.”

In this world, other than the saints, none can do your true good. Other than the saints, there is no well-wisher. There cannot be. The sleeping — what friendship can they give you? How can they bless you? Lost in sleep, unconscious — in desires and ambitions — how will they support you? They are full of their own self-interest, running their own races; how can they serve you? Yes, they will give assurances that they will — for that is how you can be exploited.
“In this world, Paltu, none is your well-wisher.”
Here, there is none to care for your ultimate good. Each is concerned with himself. And even if someone speaks of your good, beware — he likely wants to use you, to make you a means.
Immanuel Kant, the great German thinker, said the fundamental principle of ethics is: never use another as a means.
But here we all use one another as means. The wife uses the husband; the husband uses the wife. Parents use the children or hope to. Children use the parents. Hence endless quarrels. Every hand is in someone else’s pocket; everyone is picking someone else’s pocket.
Bernard Shaw was asked one cold morning as he walked in the garden, hands in his trouser pockets, Can a man spend his life with his hands in his pockets?
Shaw said, Yes, he can — only one thing is necessary: the hands must be his, and the pockets someone else’s. Keep just that in mind and there is no problem.
Everyone’s hands are in others’ pockets. Exploitation everywhere — even in the name of love.
“He to whom you give your love — that very one becomes your foe.”
The moment you love, the door opens; you become available; you are eager to fulfill his demands. Exploitation begins. He becomes the enemy — meaning, he begins to use you as a means.
In such an unconscious world, do not expect otherwise.

Mulla Nasruddin robbed the simplest man in the village — emptied his house. He showed great friendship, stayed as a guest, then tied up everything at night and vanished. Later he was caught. The magistrate said, Nasruddin, the whole village knows this man is saintly, straightforward. Were you not ashamed to cheat him?
Nasruddin said, Whom else should I cheat? All the others here are bigger cheats than I. Only this poor fellow is there for me to cheat; the rest cheat me. You say, don’t cheat even him — then whom shall I cheat? Shall I come empty-handed and go empty-handed?

Once Mulla, Chandulal and Dhabbujii got thoroughly drunk. In his intoxication Dhabbujii said to Chandulal, Today I feel like buying the Taj Mahal.
Chandulal said, Splendid! How will you buy it? I will sell only when I want to sell — for now I have no such intention.
Nasruddin cut in: You son of Chandulal — even if you want to sell, how will you? Only when I vacate it will you sell. You think I’ll vacate so easily?
If you look at people’s behavior with awakened eyes, you’ll be stunned — they move in such stupor; they say something, they do something else. What are they doing? Why — they do not know. Hence their statements are momentary. Now they say one thing, in a moment another. Their words can’t be relied upon. How will you trust their love? Truly, they have no soul yet. Only waves of mind, confusion. No steady center, no consciousness.
Consciousness is available only when, through dhyana, you quiet the mind until you reach that moment where no waves remain; then life appears in a different light.

“Let the past day go, O fool, awaken even now.
Paltu says: Love only Hari.”

In this world you have made many ties, many friendships — who came through? All relationships here are of words, of talk — webs of words. The love here is false, the friendship here is false.
Let the past day go…
But Paltu says: Do not sit weeping for the days behind — how much got wasted! How much life has gone for naught!
“Let the past day go, O fool, awaken even now.”
Even now, wake up. The child of morning who returns home by evening is not called lost. And evening hasn’t come yet — wake up now.
“Paltu says: Make your love with Hari.”
And awakening has only one meaning: you have loved many and failed. Hoped much in love, received disappointments; sought success, got failure. Make one more experiment — the experiment of love for the Divine. Those who have made that experiment never lost — not even in losing! Losing, they won; winning, they won. In that love there is no defeat — for even defeat turns into victory.

Mulla’s friend said to him, My God! With a quarrelsome wife like yours, a madhouse is better than your home.
Mulla said sadly, If only that were possible for me.
Why not? What’s the problem?
My first two wives are already there.

The relations you create in this world end in lunacy. You cannot live alone — because to live alone needs meditation. You cannot live together — that too needs meditation. The one who cannot be with himself — how will he live with another? One who is not delighted in his aloneness — how will he be delighted with someone else? Two unhappy people together — misery multiplies. Two darknesses together — the darkness deepens. Two new moons do not make a full moon. Two mistakes do not create Truth. You are miserable alone; the one you love is miserable alone; you come together and begin to throw your miseries at each other — misery becomes not just double, but infinite, a product.

“Human birth is passing, Paltu — a fair and lovely body.
Serve the sadhu; sing the name of Raghubir.”

And if you are to love the Divine, how will you? Where will you find Him? He is not visible anywhere. The Kaaba is empty, Kailash empty, Kashi empty; temple empty, mosque empty, church and gurdwara empty. Where will you search? Only in a sadhu can He be found. Only in a sadhu can His reflection be caught. For the sadhu is a mirror; in him you can see your face — and the face of Paramatman. Do not let this lovely human body, this beautiful life, slip away.
“Human birth is passing, Paltu — a fair and lovely body.”
It is going — it is going. This is gone, this is gone. It will not take long. It is a stream of water, flowing away. Do not sit relying on something else. With every moment it wanes. From the day you were born, you have been dying.
“Human birth is passing — a fair and lovely body.”
Having received such a sweet temple, such a beautiful form, will you go on gathering pebbles? When will you search for diamonds? Will you keep collecting shards? When will you know yourself? Will you run only in the world? Will you not be acquainted with God?
True Masters have never condemned the body; they cannot. It is God’s greatest gift. And this body — the human body — is the supreme gift. In it is everything; in it are all the doors that lead to God. In it is the energy that can give you wings, let you fly into the open sky. In it are great mysteries. What a magic! No other creature has such a body.
To be born human and not to find God is like this story I heard: an airplane had to land in a dense forest — fuel finished. The pilot and crew set out to find a path, perhaps fuel. Where in the jungle fuel! After much searching they barely found a way to the city. They reached the city but never returned to fetch the plane; too much trouble. The plane fell into the hands of tribals. What would they make of it! They examined all around and said, surely this is a new kind of bullock cart. They yoked two bulls and, pulling it like a cart, were highly pleased.
Then someone who had been to the city saw this. He hadn’t seen a plane but had seen trucks and buses. He said, Fools, this is no cart, this is a bus. I will bring petrol and show you. He brought petrol, the bulls were removed, the plane was used as a bus. Being tribals, what would they load — sometimes grass, sometimes firewood.
Later a traveler, a hunter from the city, came, saw this and said, Fools, what are you doing! This is an airplane; it can fly in the sky. He showed them how it rises.
Such is our state. This body that could be a bridge to God — we use like a bullock cart. Gathering coins — wealth, position, prestige. That by which the Lord of lords can be found — with that we serve slaves. We are beggars, when the whole kingdom could be ours.
“Human birth is passing — a fair and lovely body.
Serve the sadhu; sing the name of Raghubir.”
Paltu says: Enter the seva of a sadhu. Seek out a true Guru. There is no other way to God. You will sing to God only when the color of the sadhu has dyed you.
“Serve the sadhu…”
Understand the word seva. In the modern world its meaning has changed; understand it well. Christianity gave seva a meaning that distorted the ancient Eastern sense. There, seva means: massage a leper’s feet, give medicine to the sick. This is not bad — beautiful, useful in the world. But it is not the Eastern meaning. The Eastern meaning is just the reverse: not service to the lame, blind or leprous, but seva of the one who has found God; the one who has eyes to see within; whose inner wings have opened; whose lamp is lit. Because in seva you will sit and rise with him; you will be soaked in his flavor. Serving, you will see your own face in his mirror. Serving, in some silent moments, you will glimpse the reflection of God in his mirror. Serving — perhaps, pressing his feet, suddenly one day you will feel you are touching not a man’s feet but the feet of God.
This unprecedented event has happened, again and again. Many have attained through seva of the true Guru. And note, I do not call the Christian meaning wrong; it is fine, practical, worldly. The Eastern meaning is spiritual. Eastern seva is a way of meditation; a process of prayer and worship. Seva is a pretext. The Guru does not need his feet pressed; the disciple needs to press. The sick need seva; that is their need. The Guru’s feet need none. But the disciple needs the touch of those holy feet. We have called the Guru’s feet lotus-feet. To touch those lotus-like feet, to absorb their fragrance. The Guru has no need — the disciple has. Understand this distinction.
The disciple serves — for the blossoming of his own joy, his meditation, his love. The Guru is a temple for him. Seva is his prayer. And the Guru is the visible form of God — an avatara of the Divine for him. To recognize God directly is difficult — He is invisible. The Guru is God made visible, translated into forms and language you can understand. Once the Guru is understood, God will not be far.
And you will not understand through the Guru’s discourses alone. Surrender is needed. The Guru speaks, you listen — useful; but to sit in his presence — that is of the highest use. Perhaps speaking and listening are only devices to bring you into his presence. By that pretext you sit near; by that pretext your breath mingles with his; by that pretext you are stirred by his fragrance; by that pretext a few notes from his veena pluck your heart-strings. It is only a device.
“Serve the sadhu; sing the name of Raghubir.”
He says a wondrous thing: serve the sadhu, and the bhajan of Raghubir has been done. You may go on repeating Ram-Ram — nothing will happen. Wherever a little of Ram appears — where your eyes can recognize, your ears can hear, and your heart can be moved by a touch — bow there.
Seva is bhajan. But people have chosen cheaper paths — counting on beads for an hour, quickly, for the shop or office awaits. Chanting in a hurry — as if God can be tricked. We have become so adept at deceiving others, we even plan to deceive God.
One night when Nasruddin’s friend Chandulal came to his home, he saw a mosquito net on the bed but Nasruddin himself lying peacefully under the bed. Astonished: What’s this? You below, and the net above! What’s the matter?
Smiling, Nasruddin said, You don’t understand. Look what a terrific way I’ve found to trick the mosquitoes! Seeing the net they think I am sleeping above, and here I lie merrily below. How is that!
Deceiving humans, you will begin deceiving mosquitoes. What to say of God! Your worships and devotions are all deceits. True worship happens only between disciple and Guru. Whoever has ever attained — that unprecedented happens there.
The Guru is shunya; when the disciple too becomes shunya, between two zeroes the Full is experienced. The Guru became Full by becoming empty. Sitting by him, you will also learn the art of becoming empty. Seva is the lesson in emptiness. Seva means: you will have to bow; voluntarily become a servant; voluntarily surrender — saying, I am not, only You are! If you can say it with your whole being, in that very moment you enter another world. In that moment you receive the first proof of God. Logic cannot give proof — seva can.

“Such love I make, says Paltu, as the madder’s dye:
though the cloth be torn to shreds, the color does not leave.”

If you find a Guru, a Buddha — love him as madder dyes: once the cloth is dyed, let it be torn to pieces — the color does not leave.
Whether the disciple lives or dies, is cut into fragments — he does not drop the love. Even if the Guru cuts off his head — he does not drop the love. Even if the Guru tests a thousand times — he does not drop the love. Even if he behaves harshly — he does not drop the love.
And the Guru must often strike — as the sculptor with chisel and hammer on the uncut stone; sparks fly, pieces break — only then does a form appear.
You are uncut stone. When you come to the Guru’s feet, you are unhewn rock. If the Guru has compassion, he will strike. If he is truly Guru, he will lift chisel and hammer and break you in many places. You will bear so many blows only if you understand Paltu.
Come what may, do not drop love. Then quickly, swiftly, revolution happens. The delay is yours. The Guru wants it now; immediately. But you keep saving yourself, hiding, not opening in nakedness before him. You do not even bare your illness. The problem is one — the question you ask is another. The knot is one — the talk is of metaphysics. Lust torments — you ask about celibacy. Sex is your pain — you demand proofs of Ram. So the delay — needless delay.

“Drunk all the eight watches, lost in his own ecstasy —
all fear the one of whom Paltu says: he is the Beloved’s son.”

When you come to a true Guru, fear will arise. Why?
Always intoxicated, twenty‑four hours, in his own wine. He has drunk a liquor whose effect never wears off. To approach him is as for the moth to approach the flame — a tremor arises, for the moth is nearing its death. The nearer to the flame, the more the danger of being burned. Yet moths keep coming.
Do not think only the moth burns. To burn the moth, the flame too must burn. Long before the moth, the lamp has been burning. Only the lit lamp calls the moths. Have you ever seen moths come to an unlit lamp?
But man is dishonest: he goes to unlit lamps. He makes a statue of Buddha and worships that. If Buddha is alive, he trembles — for a living Buddha means you will have to die; this flood of Buddhahood will sweep you away without trace.
Lost in his own ecstasy… whose only vision is God, who pours from the divine pitcher and drinks and drinks — people fear such ones. In fear they slander, criticize, abuse — devices to save themselves. Abusing, criticizing, they console themselves: there is nothing there; why bother! Some voice has called from the depths; the letter has arrived — they do not open it. The signature seems known; they fear if they read, they will not be able to resist. So they explain from the surface: there is nothing there! A thousand arguments, scriptural proofs, dead traditions are placed between them and the Guru so that he not be seen.
In Buddha’s day how many devices were raised! The Jains did not go — because Buddha was not naked and a Tirthankara must be naked. So what if he wears a robe; not yet Tirthankara. Why go!
In Jain scriptures it is written: one who attains kevalya knows all three times. Is Buddha trikala‑jnani? But news says he asked the way to a village. If he knows all three times, will he ask the way? Not trikala‑jnani — why go!
The Hindus would not go — for Buddha gave sannyas to the young. The shastras say: sannyas is the fourth ashrama, after seventy‑five. Are our sages fools then?
Not fools — shrewd. For to live to seventy‑five itself was hard. All scientific findings suggest in Manu’s day the average life was around forty. There are no skeletons found older than forty from those times. That people live long now is medical science. In those days, even forty must have felt like four hundred — time is relative. Go to a remote village without cinema, hotel, radio, television — forty years will feel like four hundred; time does not pass. In the rains, go to a village — what do people do? They recite Alha‑Udal — nothing to read there! But what to do? Or play dice, day and night — time won’t pass.
Five thousand years ago they had no counting; no birthdays; even now in remote places ask a man his age — he does not know. At Manu’s time, no one over forty. If sannyas is at seventy‑five — the trick works; they die before renouncing. Hence before the Jains and Buddhists there were no large communities of renunciates. The Hindu rishis and munis were all householders — with wives, children, homes, wealth. The rise of sannyas came with the Jains and Buddhists. The Jain sannyas was so life‑denying, very few were drawn. Buddha made it natural, easy, graceful — hence millions flocked. Hindus were hurt: youth and sannyas! What kind of God is this man!
And Manu said there are four varnas — Brahmin, Vaishya, Kshatriya, Shudra. Buddha said: these are not true castes. He said: the knower of Brahman is the Brahmin. This won’t do! Then even a Shudra may become Brahmin. Birth makes the Brahmin. Buddha says: not birth, but experience. He speaks against the scriptures.
He says: not Upanishad, not Veda — by dhyana you will find God. Appa dipa bhava — become a light unto yourself!
This hurt the priests most. If everyone becomes his own lamp, who will come to us? If everyone goes into meditation and needs no Vedas, what about the Veda‑scholars? The Veda‑chanters?
Buddha was opposed bitterly. Most afraid were Brahmins, for Buddha was ruining their profession. Yet the courageous who came were transformed — Sariputta, Moggallana, Manjushri — all Brahmins. Those who dared the flame like moths burned themselves. Many would not come. When Buddha entered a village, people would leave for another so that his words not fall on their ears by mistake. Brahmins fled. Kshatriyas fled — for Buddha, being a prince, drew many Kshatriyas into sannyas. Their sword is their trade and this man speaks of nonviolence: hatred is not ended by hatred; only love ends hatred. If love wins, what of the sword? It will rust.
Brahmins opposed because Veda was questioned. Kshatriyas opposed because the sword was declared inhuman. Vaishyas opposed because Buddha said: the race after wealth, position, prestige — it is foolishness. The greatest class touched deeply was the Shudras, for they had no vested interest. Dr. Ambedkar’s later attempt to make Shudras Buddhists was meaningful. They had nothing to lose — no Veda, no sword, no wealth. Nothing.
Often only those reach the Buddha who have nothing to lose. Those who have something — they fear.
Understand this touchstone: the one whom all fear — he is the Beloved’s son, he has found God.

“With Sitaram, says Paltu, I have made my love —
and seeing it all are burning. What a way of the world!”

Paltu says: What a world! What a custom! We have loved the Divine and are blissful — yet people burn with envy. If someone accumulates wealth, envy arises — understandable: if one hoards, another is deprived; wealth is limited; competition arises. But God is limitless; let any number attain, nothing is less — there is enough for you.
What a way of the world! Such mad people! We loved God — you too love. Our loving will not hinder yours. Not that if we have found God you cannot now find. The truth is: because we have found, it is proven you can. If we have, it is proven all can.
“With Sitaram, says Paltu, I have made my love.”
Not with wealth, not with office — with Ram. Yet strange people!
“Seeing it all are burning — what a way of the world.”
Great jealousy arises — even in this. Not because someone’s attainment deprives others; but because you attained while I am here! You attained God‑knowledge while I am present! This cannot be tolerated. The ego is hurt.
Someone asked the other day: Why are India’s intellectuals against you?
First, in India it is hard to find intellectuals — there are intellectual‑workers. There’s a great difference. A laborer sells his labor; an intellectual‑worker sells his intellect. An intellectual does not sell his intellect; he sharpens it, polishes it. If he truly has intellect, sooner or later he must meditate; he cannot escape. Sooner or later he will knock at the door of meditation.
Where are the true intellectuals? Were they present, there would be queues of Buddhas. There are intellectual‑workers — living by selling their intellect. What intellect remains to understand me? And then jealousy arises.
I was a university teacher. I had relations with hundreds of professors. Only one has come to meet me in these five years — and he said, I came though everyone opposed. Barely I could come.
I said, You are courageous. Professors think they already know — what more to know! And I said, You are even more courageous, for you are a professor of Sanskrit, a knower of Veda and Upanishad. You dared to come — you have courage.
He said, What I have seen here — I want to come for a month. Drown me in meditation.
His eyes were full of tears. But such are rare. People are full of ego; where are those full of tears!
Jealousy must be rising. Paltu was a simple baniya. People must have said: This Paltu, this shopkeeper — a knower! Have you heard a tradesman become a Buddha! And Paltu himself says again and again, Paltu baniya. He does not hide — he says it with pride. Once we did small trade; now we do a great trade. Once we sold earthen pots; now we have opened the shop of God. Once we weighed and gave; now we give without weighing.
Just yesterday a London magazine wrote an article about me. Whoever wrote seems thoughtful; for the first time someone wrote like this: It seems the growing multitude of sannyasins worldwide is becoming a cause of envy to India’s politicians. So Delhi is annoyed with me; hence all sorts of obstacles are being put in the way of my work.
The man seems insightful; he has caught the root — jealousy, obstruction, trouble. Even when ministers come, they want special treatment.
Four days ago the deputy chief minister of Madhya Pradesh was in Poona. His secretary phoned: I am the secretary, the minister wants to meet now.
Laxmi said: Impossible now; seven o’clock is possible.
He repeated: Perhaps you have not understood — I am the minister’s secretary.
Laxmi said: I’ve understood perfectly. Kindly remain secretary — we have no objection. But before seven it is not possible.
Then the minister himself came on: I myself am the minister — I want to meet now! I have met many maharajas, many munis and mahatmas — whenever I wish, I get time!
Laxmi said: Elsewhere it may be so. Here, only when we give time.
It hurts. Time must be given now! Special behavior! Ministers send word they want to come to the ashram — but only if invitation comes first from the ashram. They themselves inform us they want to come — but first we must invite, then they will accept and come.
If you want to come, come. Everyone is welcome — you are welcome.
Jealousy, ego, intoxication with power — people are badly possessed. Hence accepting that someone has known is exceedingly difficult.

“Paltu says: I have won the wager both ways with Ram.
If I lose, I am Ram’s; if I win, still Ram.”

Let the world burn — let it. I have won both ways, says Paltu. If I lose to Ram, I am Ram’s; my defeat is not defeat. If Ram conquers me, that is my victory. What greater good fortune than that Ram has overcome me!
“And if I win — that too is Ram.”
If my victory happens, it is victory. If my defeat happens, it is also victory — for in all cases, it is Ram’s victory, and I am not separate.

“Paltu says: The lines of destiny — the saint can turn them.
If the heart be not true, there will be delay.”

A precious utterance. Paltu says: I have seen this happen — my destiny changed! My Guru changed the lines of fate.
If there is delay, it is that your heart is not true; thus the delay. Otherwise your destiny can be changed. Destiny belongs only to the unconscious; the awakened has no fate — he is free. And saints awaken — so they change fate.

“Once the arrow of remembrance struck, anxiety was shattered.
Paltu says: torn to pieces was Paltu — and the victory was mine.”

Ever since the Guru pierced me with the arrow of zikr — remembrance of God — all worry has vanished. And a wondrous thing happened: the one we called Paltu was torn to pieces — yet we won. Nothing of Paltu remained — and Paltu won. Dying, he won. Losing all, he gained all.
Jesus has said: Blessed are those who are able to lose everything — for they are the ones prepared to receive everything.
“Armored now in love, mounted on the horse of the Guru’s knowing —
with the bow of remembrance in hand, Paltu rides the field and wins.”

Now love is our armor; the horse is the Guru’s jnana — the awakening he gave, the shaking that broke our sleep. And remembrance of God — that is our bow. We have won the field; we have won by dissolving; we have won by losing. Do something like this yourself.

“Human birth is passing — a fair and lovely body.
Serve the sadhu; sing the name of Raghubir.
Let the past day go, O fool, awaken even now.
Paltu says: make your love with Hari.”

Paltu says: We go, having won the field. We tell you — win! You have wasted much time. Waste no more. O fool, awaken even now!
Enough for today.