Kahe Kabir Main Pura Paya #7

To fall in love with the Beloved is difficult, brother.
Love for the Lord is difficult. Why? Because love for oneself is too much; the attachment to ego is vast. That alone is the difficulty.
Kabir’s words will appear contradictory to you, for on one side he keeps saying again and again: the effortless yoga; attaining the Lord is utterly simple — and today suddenly he says, “To fall in love with the Beloved is difficult, brother.”
Both statements are true. Attaining the Divine is indeed simple, because it is our very nature. To be far from it would be difficult. How can one be apart from one’s own nature?
That which is the life of our life — how could we be separated from it even for a moment? Let us forget, if you must; forgetting changes nothing. You may not remember who you are, yet still you are exactly who you are. Forgetfulness happens, remembrance happens, but Being remains one and the same. When you knew, you were that; when you do not know, you are that; when you will know again, you are that.
Hence Buddha said: When I came to know, I knew only this — that there was nothing to know. And when I attained, I found only this — that there was nothing to attain. What I already was, to that I became fully acquainted. I had always been the same.
The Divine is the breath of your breath; permeating every pore of your being. You are the lie; the Divine is the truth. So how could attaining the Divine be difficult?
As the fish is in the ocean, so are we in the Divine. Is it difficult for a fish to find the ocean? Such talk is meaningless. The fish has never left the ocean. And even if a fish could leave the ocean, you cannot leave the Divine — because if the Divine were outside, it could be left; but the Divine is within as well. The Divine alone is.
Therefore, when someone asks, “Where should I search for God?” the question itself is wrong. If you search, you will go astray. To search means you have already assumed He is far. To search means you have already assumed you have lost Him. If you begin with such delusion, how will you find?
The Divine need not be searched for. The very moment you know that searching is futile — it is found.
To attain the Divine you need not run. Running is for the distant. That which is nearer than the near — where would you run to for it? If you run, you will go farther away; if you run, you will wander. Stop. Be still. Let the body not move — and the mind not move either. Where body and mind both come to a halt — union happens there.
This union is wondrous indeed. It happens not by running but by stopping. Not by hustle and bustle, but by stillness — by settling into oneself, by relaxing into Being.
If for even a single moment your consciousness goes nowhere else — if no wave of craving mounts you and rides you far away; if no desire flutters its wings inside you; when all is quiet and silent — right then you will find: there is nothing to be found. That which we were seeking has always been ours. Perhaps in the very frenzy to attain, we forgot. So eager did we become to get it that we forgot entirely!
Have you not seen it sometimes? A man wears his glasses upon his head and begins to look for his glasses — he looks for his glasses with his glasses: “Where are my glasses?” Have you not seen someone with a pencil tucked behind his ear, searching for it everywhere? Many times you too have searched for things that were in your very hand — you forgot for a moment. Just such a forgetfulness has happened.
We have not lost the Divine; we have only forgotten. It is a case of amnesia. Hence the saints say: by remembrance, by sumiran, union happens again.
So Kabir is, on one side, the expounder of the effortless way — that nothing is simpler than the Divine. But today he says: “To fall in love with the Beloved is difficult, brother.” This is the other side.
To attain the Divine is simple, but to fall in love with the Divine is very difficult. The obstruction is not the Divine; the obstruction is our ego.
In love the ego must burn. In love one must become mad. But our ego is very intelligent! Very calculating, accounting!
We never listen to the heart. If we listened to the heart, we would attain the Divine this very moment. We listen to the intellect. The intellect is arithmetic, not love.
The doorway to the Divine is love, not mathematics. With arithmetic, worldly things are acquired. With logic, the world is conquered. But one who moves toward the Divine will attain only through love. And the wonder is: logic wants to win, love wants to lose. By losing, love becomes the victor. Love is a kind of magic.
So when Kabir says, “To fall in love with the Beloved is difficult, brother,” he is saying: you are very difficult. You are very hard. Your heart has become stone. No surge of love arises within you. No thirst rises within you.
Even when you speak of the Divine, you do it only on the surface; you are not prepared to stake even a little. If even a small thing must be risked, you hesitate.
People come to me and say, “If we don’t wear the ochre robe, can sannyas not happen?”
You are only changing clothes — nothing significant is really changing! But even that should not have to change — such is your desire.
“Can it not be, without changing clothes?” people ask!
If you tremble at changing clothes, then changing the soul will be a great trouble indeed.
What hindrance will there be in changing clothes? People will laugh for a few days. They will make jokes. They will think: you have gone mad! Lost your senses! And what else? That your ego will receive a few blows — what else will happen?
You had an ego that you were very intelligent. Now people will say you have gone mad. For a few days people will laugh — that ego will be hurt.
An emperor once went to a Sufi fakir. He wanted to renounce. The fakir’s gathering was on; his disciples sat listening to his words.
When the emperor requested, “I wish to renounce; give me initiation,” the fakir said, “Will you be able to fulfill a condition?” The emperor was an emperor. He said, “There is no need to ask. Since I have come to renounce, I will fulfill any condition. My surrender is unconditional. Whatever you say, I will do. Once it is settled that I must attain the Divine, then let whatever needs to be staked be staked. I have come prepared to put everything on the line. No need to ask. Give me the command.”
The fakir said, “Then do this: take off your clothes, become naked. Pick up these sandals of mine, and go through the middle of the bazaar — keep beating your own head with the sandal and keep laughing. Go around the whole town.”
Naked — beating himself with a sandal — the emperor in his own capital! But the emperor took off his clothes; he picked up the sandal.
The disciples of the fakir felt compassion. One old disciple said, “What are you saying? You have never expected such from us. Why are you so harsh today? We have always found compassion and kindness in you. Why are you so stone-hard today? And he is an emperor; it is his own capital. You know well. To send him naked! To have him beat his head with a sandal in the bazaar and also keep laughing! People will mock. Crowds will follow. People will throw stones. They will abuse. They will say the emperor has gone mad.”
The fakir said, “I am harsh for this reason: when you came, your ego was small; there was no need to be so harsh. This man has been an emperor; his ego is very cultured, ornamented; very refined, very subtle, sustained and grown with great care, imposed upon him. With him I must be harsh.”
But the emperor had already started; he did not even hear this talk. He took up the sandal and began striking his head. The whole town laughed.
And remember: if a simple fakir went out beating himself with a sandal, perhaps not many would laugh. But when the emperor went out beating himself — and naked…!
The whole capital gathered; people shut their shops. Work ceased. A huge procession formed! When he reached the palace, his women were weeping; his sons were weeping: “What has happened?”
But when the emperor returned, he came back another man. Only two hours had passed. He had roamed the town for two hours. But when he returned, he was a different man.
He fell at the fakir’s feet. The fakir said, “Now you will need to do nothing more. You have done the last thing at the first step. You are certainly courageous. You are truly worthy of being an emperor. You are in truth an emperor.”
You come and ask me: “If we don’t change clothes?” What are you asking? You are asking that nothing be put on the line; that no one should even know you are doing something that ‘intelligent’ people do not do. You don’t want to lose even a scrap of reputation. You want to protect the ego and attain the Divine. That cannot be.
Hence Kabir says:
“To fall in love with the Beloved is difficult, brother.”
“Sāin” is the form of the Master, the Beloved. Sāin means “the dear one.” If you want to be in love with the dear one, it is only by love. The way to the beloved is love. What kind of love?
“Like the chatak, thirsty for a single drop, chanting piya, piya without cease.”
Like the chatak-bird crying, weeping; writhing for the drop…
“…chanting piya, piya.”
So too when the lover is filled with the chant; when nothing is seen or known except the Divine; when only His image appears in the eyes, and only His dreams float through the night; whether rising or sitting, only His tune pervades.
Whatever he sees on every side — he is reminded of Him. Seeing a flower open, he finds Him opening. Seeing the sun rise, he finds Him rising. Seeing the night filled with stars — it is His splendor, His miracle.
Wherever the lover’s gaze rests, there he finds only his Beloved. The lover sees nothing else. The lover becomes blind to multiplicity. Only One is seen; the many are lost.
“Love is the remedy for every sorrow,
Love is also a chronic malady.
Why so much censure of my ecstasy?
Is there anyone sober in this whole assembly?
Do not so lavishly applaud my bearing of grief —
This grief is inexpressible.”
Lovers know: the root of every trouble is love — and the remedy of every trouble is love.
Consider: what is your trouble? What is the anguish, the suffering of your life? What is your anxiety? — Too much love for the world, or too much love for your ego. That is your trouble. That is your disease. And the medicine? The cure? — Love for the Divine.
“Love is the remedy for every sorrow —
And yet the root of all upheaval is love.”
Understand love, and you have understood all. Understand love, and you have grasped the secret of life.
If love goes to the wrong, trouble; if love goes to the right, all is well. In love of the right you become right; in love of the wrong you become wrong.
Love is your hell — and your heaven. Love is your bondage — and your freedom.
If love attaches to Truth, if love clings to the Beloved, then a thousand lotuses bloom in life. Then life becomes a celebration. If love binds to the world, then suffering grows; day by day darkness thickens.
“Why so much censure of my ecstasy?
Is there anyone sober in this whole assembly?”
The lover says: So much condemnation of my intoxication, so much anger at my rapture, so much rejection of my ecstasy!
“Why so much censure of my ecstasy?
Is there anyone sober in this whole assembly?”
And in this world have you seen anyone truly sober? Only my love is condemned? Only my swoon is rejected? Only my madness is blamed?
Here all are mad. Yes, someone is mad after wealth — but you do not call him mad. And if someone becomes mad after meditation, you call him mad. How amusing! What logic!
Someone goes mad for status — you do not call him mad. If someone goes mad after the Lord — you call him mad!
Here all are mad. There are different ways of madness: the right madness and the wrong madness — but all are mad here.
“Why so much censure of my ecstasy?
Is there anyone sober in this whole assembly?”
And the lover says:
“Do not so lavishly applaud my bearing of grief —
This grief is inexpressible.”
The lover says: I am silent; I do not even voice my anguish, so do not praise me — do not praise my silence. It is my helplessness. This sorrow is such it cannot be spoken. This wound is such it cannot be told. Only the one who suffers knows.
“To fall in love with the Beloved is difficult, brother.
Like the chatak, thirsty for a single drop, chanting piya, piya.”
“When the thirsty life longs day and night, no other water will do.”
Come what may, he wants nothing else; he wants nothing else. All his desires have become a single desire.
Man has a thousand desires — the devotee has one.
Man wants this and that — wealth and position; prestige, honor, respect — a thousand desires. Hence man is split into a thousand fragments. The devotee has a single longing — that the Divine be. Therefore the devotee becomes undivided, one.
When there is a single longing, you become one. When there is a single longing, all your fragments dissolve into one another and unite. A center is born in your life. The Atman appears within.
When your desires are a thousand, you break into a thousand pieces. To fulfill a thousand desires, you must split into a thousand parts. With one hand you will seek status; with another, wealth; with one leg you will grope for something else. One part you send this way, one part that way. You scatter. You become fragment upon fragment. You shatter.
Hence you see people in the world broken — with no cohesion in their life. How would cohesion be? There is no single longing.
The devotee is integrated. His only longing is the Divine. Therefore he need not go in a thousand directions.
And the longing for the Divine is such that one need not go anywhere at all. There is no need to go out. He closes his eyes and begins to drown within. In the devotee the soul is born.
But it is difficult. For this mind says: indulge; four days of moonlight, and then the dark night. Enjoy this, enjoy that. The mind says: make a little effort and you will get everything. It is just a matter of effort. Exert yourself a little.
Ego says: How can you leave without tasting here! Make a name. Show the world you have come; let people remember someone was here. How can you come like a zero and go like a zero! No — leave lines upon the page of history. Sign your name upon stone. You will go, but your memory will remain. You are special. You are unique. Prove your uniqueness — the ego incites. The mind coaxes.
And life, little by little, is divided into so many parts that it is not even right to call you a person. You become a crowd. Then there is the uproar of a crowd within; the tug-of-war of a crowd.
As if one man is riding many horses, or standing in many boats which move in different directions — if there is not tension in his life, how will there be peace?
But we are ready to bear this tension! We are buried beneath this tension; we cannot even stand up. We accept it! But the quest for the Divine does not arise — because all this tension rests upon a hope: today or tomorrow I shall be wealthy, I shall come to power. It is only a matter of a few days; the goal is near. I will get there. A little more effort, a little more hardship. No one has ever reached. No one ever reaches. No one ever can reach.
Life is too short. These hopes are insatiable. These desires are such that they never fill. The nature of desire is not to be fulfilled. The more you pour into it, it is as if someone tries to extinguish fire by throwing ghee… The more you try to fill, the more ghee is served to the flames. The more the fire flares up.
Whatever you give to desire becomes its food. Desire becomes stronger.
If you crave wealth, the more wealth you get, the more the craving grows. If you crave status, the more position you get, the more the craving grows.
Look by observing your own life. These are not theories. These are simple facts of life.
Whatever you have tried to complete till now — has it been completed? Whatever you tried to fulfill — the more effort you made, the more the hunger grew, the thirst grew! What kind of water is this that the throat burns? Water does not quench; it only inflames the throat more. Such is the whole world.
Therefore Buddha said: this whole world is aflame. Wake up. Do not be scattered in it; do not be dispersed. Gather yourself together. This gathering is called yoga.
Yoga means: one who gathers oneself. Yoga means: one who joins oneself; who becomes one. Where yoga happens in life, the soul bears fruit.
Bhoga means: to be broken into pieces. Yoga means: to become whole.
“To fall in love with the Beloved is difficult, brother.
A gambler is needed!”
On the path of love for the Divine there will be many stages where the mind will say: turn back. Enough now. Who knows whether the Divine even is!
Deep faith is needed. The trust that even if the Divine were not, still He is worth seeking — and that even if the world is, it is not worth seeking. That is the meaning of trust.
The world is visible — it is, yet it is not worth seeking. The Divine is not visible — yet He is worth seeking. Perhaps precisely because He is not visible, He is worth seeking.
That which is not seen — seeing that is the joy. That which cannot be grasped — holding that is bliss.
That which is hidden — that is to be unveiled. The world stands unveiled, naked. The Divine veils Himself. This veil must be lifted. But one must pay the price to lift it.
“By burning the heart, how will the darkness go?
This is a night where dawn will hardly break.
Why not renounce this madness and turn back now?
Beyond this, the jungle will only be thicker.
Do not be so self-assured; it is not necessary.
The age that was not mine — will it be yours?
I saw them employed in the service of the palace
Who used to say they would dwell upon the gallows.
One who calls a perilous path easy —
He cannot be a guide; he must be a bandit.
He too is human, O heart, do not blame him so —
Who knows what calamities have surrounded him?
By burning the heart, how will the darkness go?
This is a night where dawn will hardly break.”
No — not only hardly: dawn never comes. This is that night in which there is no dawn at all.
The world is such a night that has no morning. And the Divine is such a morning that has no dusk. Scriptures have said it in different ways, but the essence is this — remember: the world is a night without morning; the Divine is a morning without evening. The Divine is light. The world is deep darkness. Then however much you burn your heart in it…
“By burning the heart, how will the darkness go?
This is a night where dawn will hardly break.”
And many times you will feel this; again and again it appears; daily it flashes for people — it is hard to find someone to whom it does not sometimes flash that there is no essence in the world.
There is hardly a person so unintelligent that he does not see: there is nothing of worth here. Yet we go on clinging — out of old habit, out of conditioning. If we don’t cling, what will we do? So we cling for that reason.
If we do not go into the world, where shall we go? Nothing else is seen.
All are moving into the world! The whole crowd goes there! In the crowd’s jostle you too are carried along. Many times you even understand: What is the gain? Where am I going! But where else to go?
“Why not renounce this madness and turn back now?”
Many times such a thought arises: What kind of madness is this! Let us drop this madness and turn back.
“Beyond this, the jungle will only be thicker.”
For the whole journey of the world ultimately leads into death. Where else does your life take you? Into death.
“Beyond this, the jungle will only be thicker.”
If you do not use life rightly, it will only lead to death. It will lower you into the grave.
Surely the jungle ahead is thicker. And the darkness that approaches is more dreadful.
If the darkness of life is great, the darkness of death is surely greater.
But our mind keeps whispering — Yes, perhaps Alexander did not succeed; Napoleon did not win; the great magnates left empty-handed; but who knows, I may win! Who knows, I may be the exception!
You keep believing yourself to be the exception. Whenever someone dies, you think: poor fellow! It does not occur to you that your hour is coming near too. You shed two tears, you utter two words of sympathy. You behave as if a misfortune has befallen that poor man. The misfortune that has come upon him is coming upon you too. Because it has come upon him, it has come nearer to you. He too was standing in the queue; one person moved off; your queue has moved forward. You have come closer to death — a little more.
With each man’s dying, you die. But the mind says: I will not die. Death is always someone else’s. It is always another who dies!
“Do not be so self-assured; it is not necessary —
The age that was not mine; will it be yours?”
Ask the ones who know. They say: the age that did not belong to me — how will it be yours?
“…Do not be so self-assured.”
Do not place such trust in your good fortune. This age has belonged to no one.
“One who calls a perilous path easy —
He cannot be a guide; he must be a bandit.”
And this path of life is twisted and knotted indeed — true.
“One who calls a perilous path easy —
He cannot be a guide; he must be a bandit.”
One who declares this tangled path to be easy cannot be a guide; he must be a bandit. He will lure you into some dark alley and rob you.
Therefore Kabir says:
“To fall in love with the Beloved is difficult, brother.”
Anyone who says that by reading a mantra ten minutes each morning all will be done; that by writing Ram-Ram in a notebook daily all will be done; that by lighting a lamp before a stone idol all will be done; that by stealing four flowers from the neighbor’s garden and offering them in the temple all will be done — those who make it so easy are not guides; they are robbers.
They understand your mind — that you want cheap things — and they give you a cheap Divine. In the hope of attaining a cheap God you are robbed.
So many Hindus, so many Muslims, so many Jains, Christians — they are being robbed in temples and mosques — not without reason. The logic behind it: they want the Divine cheap; preferably free.
What a fun it seems: someone thinks that by applying a tilak, by wearing a sacred thread; another thinks that by going and knocking the head in the temple each day; another that by reading the Gita or the Koran each morning — that is enough. No — the matter is not so easy. Ask the chatak.
“Like the chatak, thirsty for a single drop, chanting piya, piya.
When the thirsty life longs day and night, no other water will do.”
And if you bring other water, it will not accept it. The chatak asks only for the Swati-drop; it does not accept other water. Only when the drop of the Swati star falls does its throat accept.
Lions do not eat grass. And the swans of Manasarovar cannot be seated in the gutter’s filth. “The swan feeds on pearls.”
When the thirst for the Divine rises within you, you will pick only pearls. You will want only the Divine — nothing else will satisfy. The toys of the world will no longer be able to delude you.
“Though lamps burn, we are worshipers of the sun —
How could we breathe in darkness?
Tell the moths to dance if they like —
In the dim light of a lamp.”
“Forgive me, O delicate-eyed guide —
Even upon reaching the destination I did not find
The sweetness of that dream once tasted
In the weariness along the way.
A little indifference, a little coldness you gave to fidelity —
What more does my selfhood need
In the self-forgetfulness of my love?
Since it could not be hidden in the dust at your threshold,
Will it be hidden behind the goblet’s rim?
That little crease that rose upon the brow
In the helplessness of worship…
Here are the curses of darkness, there the troubles of light —
Where shall your travelers spread their bedding
In this desert of life?
Jamil — we stumbled and fell, and our caravan passed by —
No traveler asked even a word of the dust we raised
In their hurry along the way.”
When you fall… this caravan, with which you were moving, on which you relied so much — this crowd — will not even ask after you. When you fall, the caravan will go on just the same. It will not even look back to see who fell.
“Jamil — we stumbled and fell, and our caravan passed by —
No traveler asked even a word of the dust we raised
In their hurry along the way.”
People are in such a hurry to go that who will care if someone fell in the dust; if someone was trampled behind! You will die under the feet of this very crowd.
The crowd you took as companions — this crowd is no companion. These running people will go on running; if you fall, not a single hand will be offered to help. And none of them will be ready to go along with you.
“Though lamps burn, we are worshipers of the sun —
How could we breathe in darkness?”
Well said: even if a lamp is lit in the dark night, one who longs for the sun will not be pleased. One who longs for the sun will not be satisfied with lamps.
In this life, even if here and there a few moments of happiness occur, they are so fleeting — like water-bubbles — that one who has desired the Eternal will find no satisfaction in them.
Even if sometimes a glimpse of love is found here, one who has recognized prayer will not be content with that love. In that love much impurity is mixed. Its fragrance is not pure. It bears the stench of lust.
“Though lamps burn, we are worshipers of the sun —
How could we breathe in darkness?
Tell the moths to dance if they like —
In the dim light of a lamp.”
Yes, if there are moths — they may dance in the dim light of a lamp. But the worshiper of the sun…?
People of this world are like moths, who dance in flickering lights — now lit, now extinguished — lights that are bound to go out. They dance there.
Seek the Eternal, for what is found there is never lost again.
Become a worshiper of the sun. How long will you worship earthen lamps? Seek light. How long will you bow at the doors of darkness? How long will you wallow in the body’s pleasures and their illusions? Seek the bliss of the soul.
It is difficult. Difficult because these thousands of bodily pleasures will say: what is the hurry! Wait a little. Enjoy this too, enjoy that too; then the Divine is always there — later you can do it.
Therefore people say: we will take sannyas at the end of life. When we are old, then we will do it. Now life is here; life is in dance. Now it is fresh. Now let us enjoy a little. Now it is youth; let us taste the juice of youth a little.
Remember: only in youth is there energy and power — whether you seek the world’s juice or call upon the Divine.
In old age there is not even the strength to enjoy the world; when even worldly enjoyment is not possible, how will you move toward the Divine? That is the name of the tired, defeated man. He says: now nothing remains in the world to gain; now I have not the strength to walk in the world. Come, now let me call the Divine. If something happens, let it. That is deception, self-cheating.
Hence Buddha and Mahavira gave sannyas to the young. The Hindus were very angry, for Hindus had always held: sannyas is for old age — the fourth stage, after seventy-five. First, very few live to seventy-five. And in those days hardly anyone did, when that seventy-five was written. In those days people died by forty at most. For all the ancient bones found, in all the excavations the world over, not a single skeleton has been found of more than forty years.
Whatever your scriptures say, there is no evidence that people lived a hundred years. It is simply untrue. Not one skeleton has been found older than forty. People died around forty. But they did not have arithmetic, nor numbers, nor calendar, nor diary, nor watches — so forty might have felt like four hundred in the village even now.
Go in the countryside and ask a man his age — he does not know! When were you born? He does not know! His counting ends on ten fingers. Beyond that, counting is difficult. He doesn’t care either. In a way, it is good.
Perhaps that is why old books say: in those days even old men’s hair did not turn white. That would be possible only if old men died at thirty or thirty-five.
Old men’s teeth did not fall. People think they were strong. The whole matter is: they died by thirty or forty — how would the teeth fall?
Ancient scriptures say: in those days no son died before his father. True — if the father dies at thirty-five or forty, the sons do not need to die so soon. Now many sons die before their fathers. And the more the age rises, as in America or Sweden, where average life is eighty, eighty-five — where you easily find a man of a hundred — if his children die before him, nothing surprising. Sometimes even grandchildren die before him.
In Russia where some people have reached one hundred fifty, the sons’ sons’ sons also die. When a man lives to one hundred fifty, his journey is long.
Scientists say: three thousand years ago the final limit was forty. And the Hindus say: become a sannyasin at seventy-five! Brahmacharya till twenty-five, then householder till fifty; then forest-dweller till seventy-five; then sannyasin from seventy-five to a hundred! Perhaps no one could ever become a sannyasin.
Therefore as long as those scriptures were followed, this country had few sannyasins. There were a few seers and sages here and there, but no one lived that long.
The rise of sannyas in this country happened with Buddha and Mahavira, because they initiated the young. When the young were initiated, hundreds of thousands became sannyasin.
Yet sannyas still got stuck. The Hindus had stuck it to age; Buddha and Mahavira then gave sannyas the meaning of leaving the world — and stuck it there. Many could not leave the world. And it is not necessary that they be bad people.
Often it happens: bad people go quickly to leave the world — those with no sense of compassion. One with a little mercy will think of his child: I have sired him; how can I abandon him and flee to the forest — is it right? Is it nonviolence?
The Jains never asked this. They strain water to drink. But a man abandons his tiny newborn child and runs away — they do not see violence there!
You brought a woman home as your wife. You gave her your word: to be together for life. Then one day suddenly you go to the forest. You don’t even think that you have done violence.
You leave the woman alone in a dark night. She had come trusting you. It was upon that trust she became the mother of your child. And you are running away!
As I see it, bad men run off quickly to become monks — for they have no sense of compassion. The hard, the violent, the cruel become Jain monks. Those with even a little nobility will think a thousand times.
So Buddha and Mahavira freed sannyas from the barrier of age — numbers rose. There were many sannyasins — hundreds of thousands for Buddha, thousands for Mahavira. That was good. But they created another complication — that one must leave the world.
Not all can leave the world. And if all leave, no one could feed Mahavira. If all leave, there would be no one left to support those who left.
If all Jains accepted their monks’ ideal and said, “Let us all become monks,” then you would see Jain monks opening shops! Or standing in lines before job offices! What then?
You left the world — you could do so because there is someone in the world who takes care of you; who arranges food, clothing, shelter. If he too leaves, then you will know.
I want you to be sannyasin where you are. Sannyas should be a state of mind — an awakening of consciousness.
Let your relish for the world be gone — that is enough. Become tasteless toward the world. Let your running in the world cease; let your running turn toward the Divine. Then remain where you are. No need to go anywhere. If you are a husband, remain a husband; a wife — remain a wife. If there are children, take care of them. This too is a way of expressing your love for the Divine. This is His world. This wife, these children, sons — they are His. What of yours is here?
If sannyas is understood as I see it, then many can become sannyasin in the world.
No barrier of age, and not this extreme insistence on renouncing things. Renounce the attitude, not the objects. The objects belong to Him — they will remain His. Hence Kabir says: what is mine and thine? And shame on us to say mine and thine!
“Like the chatak, thirsty for a single drop, chanting piya, piya.
When the thirsty life longs day and night, no other water will do.”
“Like the deer, enamored of the sound, it goes to hear the sound.
Hearing the sound, it gives its life — not fearing even a little.”
The deer comes to the flute’s sound. The serpent comes to the pungi’s sound. It does not worry that life may be lost. So too the supreme lover of the Divine — even if death comes, he will not allow it to be a hindrance to his love. Neither life nor death will be a hindrance.
You must be prepared to stake everything. Only such madness, such ecstasy — then one can attain.
“Like the deer, enamored of the sound, it goes to hear the sound.
Hearing the sound, it gives its life — not fearing even a little.”
“The head says: no longer can we bear stoning in that rain.
The heart says: to that very lane we must go.”
In that lane of the lover — or of the beloved — the head says: go there no more. Do not go — do not go by mistake — says the intellect. Stones are hurled there.
“The head says: no longer can we bear stoning in that rain.
The heart says: to that very lane we must go.”
But the heart says: go there. If the head goes, let it go; if life goes, let it — go there. The temple is there.
“Like the deer, enamored of the sound, it goes to hear the sound.
Hearing the sound, it gives its life — not fearing even a little.”
“Like Sati ascending the funeral pyre — her heart set on the Beloved’s path.
Seeing the fire, she does not fear; she sits smiling, O mother.”
“Like Sati ascending the pyre — her heart set on the Beloved’s path.”
This unparalleled event happened only in this land. The phenomenon of Sati happened only here — because this land understood the element of love.
No country in the world has been so blessed as to understand the element of love so deeply. And in being Sati, women surpassed men. And women have proved forever that men’s talk of love is superficial.
Thousands of women ascended the pyre with their lovers. But not one lover ascended the pyre with his beloved. There were many Satis, not one ‘Sata.’ It shows that men do not live from the heart but from the head; they are rhetoricians.
Though amusingly, men write all the songs of love; men write the stories of love; men compose the novels of love — but women have given the proof of love. And a greater proof cannot be: the lover died — the woman decided, “What meaning is there in living without him? The joy of living was with him. The meaning was with him. He was the life of my life. Without him — what meaning? Life without him is worse than death.”
It was a unique event; extraordinary; beyond human. Not easy. You know: a small burn on the hand and how it pains! Bring your hand near fire and you will know.
To sit alive upon the burning pyre — to watch your body burn! Surely the power of love must be greater than the power of the body, or else it could not be. Attachment to the beloved must be greater than attachment to the body, or else it could not be.
That woman who has ascended the pyre and quietly surrendered her body into fire declares: man is not body alone; man is more than body. Man is soul. Otherwise this could not happen.
If man were merely body — as materialists and atheists say — then Sati could not occur. For the body does not want to burn. Why would the body want to burn? The body would say: if this man is gone, then he is gone; find another man.
Therefore in body-centered countries there is no question of Sati. There, divorce has spread — because rightly: as long as pleasure comes from this man, fine; when it does not, the matter is finished. The relationship is bodily; the body has no higher values. If pleasure is found with this man, fine; if not, finished; depart.
Those women who ascended the pyre and easily accepted death — in acceptance of death it is evident they had tasted something of immortality.
Just think: a woman, a young woman, a widow sits upon her lover’s pyre — think — what happens within? The body says, “Go, get up.” Those terrible flames; that unbearable pain; that hell. The body faints. The body pulls to run. The body would surely make you run. Who holds her there? Man is something more than body. She tastes that more.
Sitting upon that pyre, burning, the woman will experience the soul. Sati was an experiment of experiencing the soul.
Men could not gather that courage. Though men wrote scriptures that man is not body, man is soul; men wrote scriptures that truth is attained through love; men said everything — yet not one man had the courage to ascend the pyre with his beloved.
No sooner has the beloved died, the man looks for another woman. At the cremation ground itself the family begins to consider where to arrange his marriage next. This is a deep insult to man. It shows man is more body-centered; woman is more soul-centered.
“Like Sati ascending the pyre — her heart set on the Beloved’s path.”
She said: if life goes, let it; I will go with my beloved.
“…her heart set on the Beloved’s path.”
If the Beloved has died, then I die. Life was together; death too will be together.
The arrangement of Sati gradually became perverted — because in this world even the highest truths become corrupted — and men corrupted it. When did the perversion happen?
Slowly men got the idea: after my death my wife must ascend my pyre. It became a matter of prestige. So-and-so died; his wife ascended the pyre — now you wonder: if I die, will my wife ascend or not? If not, I will be disgraced. This too became a part of ego. So we must make sure my wife ascends — else people will say: there was no love; or that she was not truly attached; or that her heart was elsewhere; or she was immoral; or this man could not satisfy her. Who knows what they will say? Disgrace will come.
So people began arranging that their wives must ascend.
That which is natural carries beauty. That which is natural is a miracle. But when forced, it becomes ugly. And the ugliness men brought — through their ego.
So arrangements were made that whenever a man died, the whole village would drive his wife up onto the pyre. Women ran — they were forced upon it. To force her, they threw so much ghee and oil that the flames blazed so high she would be finished in one flare.
Priests stood all around with burning torches — lest the woman bolt out… fire is fire. And when you did not go of your own heart, you will run. If she ran out half-burnt, they pushed her back with the torches.
And drums and trumpets were beaten loudly — because she would cry, scream… who would not die thus? Yes, if one dies out of one’s own inner conviction, out of one’s own realization, out of natural surge — that is different. But when it is forced, she will scream. Her terrible scream would echo through the town. And it would prove it was forced — that this was not Sati, it was made to happen. So they beat drums and chanted loudly: Hare Krishna, Hare Rama — and poured so much ghee that smoke rose, so no one could even see what was happening.
This was murder! Therefore the British had to stop this murder. They did not stop the true Sati. The true Sati had died long before. What they stopped was the killing of women. So I do not say they did wrong. They did right. The real thing was lost; plastic flowers remained. And because of them thousands of women were being tormented — forced.
If some woman somehow escaped — did not become Sati — she was insulted all her life. Considered immoral. So the widow had no honor. She was humiliated. Her life was made unbearable — so that the woman would decide: better to die. Living would be harder. Death is a moment; the pain of fire will pass in two moments. But this life — who knows how long! Its humiliation would be heavier, longer.
The true Sati was a very lovely phenomenon — a magnificent proof of love; a great declaration of the soul.
“Like Sati ascending the pyre — her heart set on the Beloved’s path.
Seeing the fire, she does not fear; she sits smiling, O mother.”
She sits upon fire — but she is joyful. Joyful, going with her beloved. Filled with elation, holding the beloved’s head in her lap, hand in hand. In life they were together; even in death they are together. Death could not separate. Love has defeated death.
Only when someone loves the Divine in this way — that even if one must pay with life, one is ready; even to burn in fire, one is ready — only then does one attain.
“To fall in love with the Beloved is difficult, brother.
Abandon hope in your body, become fearless, and sing His praise.”
As long as you are too enamored of your body, you will not find the Divine.
The Divine is within you; hidden in your very body. Your body is a temple; the Divine is the deity of your temple. But your eyes are fixed upon the walls; therefore you do not see the deity enthroned within.
“Abandon hope in your body, become fearless, and sing His praise.”
Drop concern for the body. The day you drop concern for the body, fearlessness is born. Because through the body there is death. Through death there is fear. The day you know: I am not the body — that day death is gone, and fear is gone. Then you… “fearlessly sing His praise” — then you praise the Lord without fear; you sing. Then you dance. Only then will you be able to dance.
Kabir says: Listen, O seekers — do this, else the birth is wasted.
Granted, it is difficult to love the Lord — but do it. If you do not, your life goes in vain. You will not be fulfilled. No flowers will blossom, no fruits will ripen in your life. Your life will be like a barren tree.
“Know the glory of the Lord — do not forget, O brother.”
Kabir says: Know the majesty of the Divine — do not forget. Do not entangle your remembrance so in the world.
“Know the glory of the Lord — do not forget, O brother.”
The world is — fine; in its place, fine — but do not be so deluded by it that you forget remembrance of the Lord. Let His memory remain. For ultimately that is our home. Ultimately there we must go. Because from there we came; it is the source and the destination.
“The Creator is hidden in the creation; the creation is hidden in the Creator — He dwells in every house.”
The Creator is concealed in the creation.
“The Creator is in the creation; the creation in the Creator — He dwells in every house.”
And the creation is concealed in the Creator. Keep this in mind.
The Divine is not separate from the world — not sitting somewhere far in the sky. He is hidden here — in every particle, in every moment. The Divine is hidden in this entire existence.
As the Divine is hidden in existence, existence is hidden in the Divine. Both are united. Therefore you need not leave the world to attain the Divine. In truth, if you leave the world entirely, how will you attain the Divine? For the Divine is hidden in the world.
Find Him here; search here; dig here. As you dig the earth and water is found, so dig this world and the Divine is found. If you think, what is the point of digging earth, and you run away from the earth — then you will be deprived of the water-source hidden below.
“The Creator is in the creation; the creation in the Creator — He dwells in every house.”
Everywhere He is; in all, He is.
“The One God created all with one Light — how then do you condemn?”
Kabir says: the One Allah created all with one Noor — one Light — then why do you condemn the world?
“The One created all with one Light — how then do you condemn?”
With His own Light He made the world. This world is His creation. As a painter paints with love; as a sculptor shapes a statue; as a poet composes a song — so the Divine created the world. It is His joy. And you condemn it?
Do not condemn the world, for condemnation of the world is, in the end, condemnation of the Divine. Wake up from the world — yes — but no need to condemn it.
Think thus: if you see a sculptor’s statue and you condemn the statue — in the end it is the sculptor you condemn. Criticism of the statue points to the sculptor. Praise of the statue is not praise of the statue alone; it is praise of the sculptor. And it is true that one must awaken from the statue; one must not get lost in it. Otherwise how will you find the sculptor? Neither criticize the statue, nor get lost in it. The statue is not all in all. It only indicates that somewhere near, the sculptor is hidden.
Think thus: you are walking in a dense forest, with no path at all — not even a footpath — and suddenly you find a watch lying near your foot. At once, does not proof arise that there must be an owner of the watch nearby? And if the watch is still ticking, then not long has it been since it fell from the owner’s hand. Although there is no other proof — no footprints — yet if there is a watch, it gives the news of someone; someone must be there; near.
This world is moving; this watch is ticking. Such a vast arrangement cannot be without an Owner. This order indicates Him. It tells of some hands — wondrous hands. It points to the Creator.
When you see trees, birds, the moon and stars — do you not ever wonder: such an immense orchestration! Moving in such peace and music! Without a center this order could not be. There would be chaos by now. Things would collide; break; scatter; fall.
We cannot create order even by creating order — and here, though no order is visible, all is in order!
At the crossroads we place a policeman, yet people break rules. On the paths of the moon and stars no policeman stands. No signboards hang saying: keep left. No traffic lights: stop now; do not move. Let the others pass.
So many moons and stars, yet none collide. All moves in profound peace. Unique order. The administrator is not seen.
Such a vast arrangement — and nowhere any direct sight of the Administrator. It proves that the Administrator is hidden in the arrangement itself — not standing outside. If He stood outside, we would see Him. He does not command: O moon and stars! Keep left; stop now; others are passing. Traffic is halted. Let the others go.
No one commands anywhere. And yet all moves as it could not even by commands. The Administrator is hidden within the arrangement; His hands are not separate. He is spread in the trees. He is hid in mountains. In the moon and the stars. In you and in me.
“The Creator is in the creation; the creation in the Creator — He dwells in every house.
The One created all with one Light — how then do you condemn?
From that very Light all the world arose — who then is good, who bad?”
Kabir says: the One made all — then who is good and who is bad? Are Hindus good and Muslims bad? Are Brahmins good and Shudras bad? All nonsense.
Who is good and who is bad? All come from the One Divine — therefore all are forms of the Divine. Talk of good and bad is futile.
“You did not know the way of Allah — the Guru gave sweet jaggery.”
Kabir says: The Sadguru gives such sweet things, yet you do not taste!
What is the sweetness of the Guru? The Guru’s sweetness is this alone: that you come to know the way of Allah — the secret of the Divine.
“You did not know the way of Allah — the Guru gave sweet jaggery.”
The Sadguru distributes only one sweet!…
It once happened in a narrow lane of Kashi — Kashi’s lanes are narrow anyway — two shopkeepers got into a quarrel. Both were sweet-sellers. When the quarrel escalated, they began throwing laddus at each other. There was nothing else to throw — so a battle of laddus! A crowd gathered — enjoyed it well, for laddus were to be had. Laddus from this side, laddus from that. A fakir stood there watching — he laughed: “When Gurus quarrel thus, laddus alone are thrown.”
Between Mahavira and Buddha — to the one who can see — laddus fly from both sides. Between Shankaracharya and Buddha — laddus fly from both sides. If you have eyes, plunder them. But you are blind! You see no laddus. You pick up your stones. You have only stones.
So the followers of Shankara become against Buddha — “Throw out Buddhism from India!” They burn the monks. They boil them in cauldrons. You miss entirely.
Even when saints quarrel, sweets rain; and even when you talk, what have you besides abuse!
“You did not know the way of Allah — the Guru gave sweet jaggery.”
Kabir says: the Guru gives only one thing. In a thousand ways he says the one thing. In new colors, new modes he sings the one song. His refrain is one — that somehow you may see the hidden movement of Allah.
This entire world is in motion — behind this motion is His hand. He is the kinetic principle. The day this is understood, that day the sweet speech of all Gurus will be understood. The Vedas, the Quran, the Puranas — all will be understood.
Kabir says: When I tasted the Guru’s words fully, I attained completely.
“I have attained in fullness,” says Kabir.
What is the touchstone of full attainment? By what measure can you know someone has attained the Divine? Kabir says:
“…He is seen in every heart.”
One for whom the Divine appears everywhere — in mosque, temple, gurudwara, church; in woman and in man; in Brahmin and in Shudra; in Hindu, Muslim, Christian; in Jain and in Buddhist; in animals and birds; in stones and mountains; in Ram and in Ravana; in the virtuous and in the wicked; in saint and in non-saint — one who sees the Divine everywhere — in light and in darkness; in life and in death — for whom no duality remains — he has attained in fullness.
“You did not know the way of Allah — the Guru gave sweet jaggery.
I have attained in fullness, says Kabir — I have seen the Master in every heart.”
“When there was no doer,
No earth and no water,
No creation, no dissolution —
Of that time Kabir speaks.”
A wondrous utterance — among the most unique. In Jesus’ words there is one statement close to this.
Jesus was instructing in a village — a crowd of Jews, for there were only Jews there. A Jewish rabbi asked, “Sir! Have you heard of Abraham?”
Abraham — the first prophet of the Jews, the father of the Jews; as Ram is dear to Hindus, Abraham is dear to Jews. Some even say Ram and Abraham are the same man with two names. Abraham’s old name is Abram — and ‘Ab’ means ‘Shri’ in Hebrew — so what ‘Shri Ram’ means in Hindi, ‘Abram’ means in Hebrew.
It is possible that long ago, somewhere, those who revered Ram split into two streams. And these are the two oldest religions: Hindu and Jew. From these came the world’s religions: from the Jews, Christianity and Islam; from the Hindus, Buddhism and Jainism. These are the main ones.
Jew and Hindu seem the two root religions. Behind both stands Ram.
The Jew asked: “Have you heard the name Abraham?” Jesus answered with something astonishing: “Before Abraham was, I am.” This was a blow. The Jews felt insulted — “Before Abraham was, I am! I am older than Abraham!”
Jesus is saying: I am eternal. You too are eternal. Forms come and go. Abraham came and went. Jesus came and went. You came and went. It is only forms that come and go — shapes. But the inner truth is eternal.
Kabir says:
“When there was no doer —
No earth and no water;
No creation, no dissolution —
Of that time Kabir speaks.”
Kabir says: When there was not even the Maker —
…no water and no earth.
When the world had not yet been born; where then talk of dissolution!
“Of that time Kabir speaks.”
Kabir speaks of that original source from which all has come. He speaks having seen that. Before Abraham, Jesus!
And Kabir goes a step further: before the Divine — Kabir!
“When there was no doer —
No earth and no water;
No creation, no dissolution —
Of that time Kabir speaks.”
You too were then — before Abraham. You too were then.
…no earth and no water.
You are ancient — the most ancient. You are eternal. You simply do not remember; Kabir has remembered.
You are what was at the origin. This is the meaning of tat tvam asi — you are the Divine. All came after you. And when all dissolves, you will remain. You do not perish; you are immortal.
“You did not know the way of Allah — the Guru gave sweet jaggery.
I have attained in fullness, says Kabir — I have seen the Master in every heart.
When there was no doer, no earth and no water —
No creation, no dissolution — of that time Kabir speaks.”
The pundits and priests, mullahs and maulvis were very angry at Kabir — “Who does Kabir think he is! A weaver — who does he think he is? What is he saying — that when nothing was, he was! And he says: I speak of that time! Not a new thing I say — I speak of the time before the Vedas were written; before the Upanishadic seers; before Buddha and Mahavira were known.”
Such courage in Kabir… the pundits and priests were enraged. They said: this man is egotistical. This often happens.
The declaration of truth often gives the appearance of ego. But only one whose ego is utterly gone can declare truth.
If Kabir had even a little ego, he would hesitate; he would think: what am I saying? He would fear what people will say.
The egoist moves very calculatingly. In fact, the egoist declares his ego in indirect ways — never directly. Because if he declares directly, then all the other egos present will crush him.
The egoist declares his ego such that you catch it and yet can do nothing about it. He folds hands — like politicians — bows down: “I am the dust of your feet. I am your servant.”
Why does the ‘servant’ desire power so much? Massage people’s feet — people are ready; who forbids? But the ‘servant’ wants power. In truth, to gain power, they enact the drama of servanthood; they bow; they touch your feet. They are ready to touch your feet — but they want to climb on your head. They create a climate of great humility.
You will give more to that politician who displays great humility; who bows; who flatters your ego; who says: I am nothing — only your servant, a small servant — give me a chance to serve.
But for service there is no need to go into power. And sometimes it happens people say: we do not want your service. But you say: we will serve anyway. Whether you let us or not, we will do it. We love service so much.
I have heard: a priest in a school told children: do some service. After a week he asked: have you done any? One boy waved his hand. “What service?”
“I helped an old lady cross the road.”
“Very good,” said the priest. “Always care for the elderly.”
He asked another boy who was waving: “And you?”
“I too helped an old lady cross the road.”
The priest thought: he too found an old lady — not impossible; there are many.
A third was waving. “And you?”
“I too helped an old lady cross the road.”
Now it was too much. “You three found old ladies?”
They said: “Not three — just one.”
“Then why three?”
“It took three of us with great difficulty. She did not want to go that way. But you had said: help an old lady cross the road — we were looking for a chance to serve. She shouted and cursed — but we did it!”
Some politicians are just like this — eager to serve: “We will serve.” But their eagerness is not for service — it is for power. And power comes through service — at least through the show of service.
The egoist fulfills his ego by clever devices.
These declarations belong to the egoless. When Jesus says, “Before Abraham was, I am”; when Krishna says to Arjuna, “Abandon all dharmas and come to me alone — surrender” — or when Kabir says,
“I have attained in fullness — I have seen the Master in every heart.
When there was no doer, no earth and no water —
No creation, no dissolution — of that time Kabir speaks,”
— these are declarations of utter humility; of egolessness. The egoist cannot dare so much — because for his ego he depends upon people. Understand this.
Your ego depends upon others. If people respect you, your ego remains. If people stop respecting you, where will your ego be?
Therefore the egoist must gratify others’ egos, so that indirectly his ego is gratified. If the egoist declares himself, you will all move away: “This man is egoistic.”
If a leader stands and says: bow to me. You are the dust of my feet. I want power. I want to go to Delhi. Make me prime minister. Vote for me; if you don’t, it will not be good — will such a man ever win? He will never win. He will not get a single vote. That is not a way.
For ego one must depend upon others. One must enact the drama others want.
Kabir is declaring. His declaration means: Kabir no longer depends upon others. He has no desire to have his ego affirmed by others. This is the declaration of egolessness — though it appears most egoistic. Do not be misled.
When Jesus says: I am the son of God; when Buddha says: I have attained that Samadhi which is supreme, which once in millions one attains — do not think it is a declaration of ego. It is a communication of fact.
When Mahavira says: I have become Paramatma — my Atman has become Paramatma — this is not a declaration of ego.
The ego is society-dependent. The ego must beg. Beggars do not have such courage. This is the courage of emperors.
“You did not know the way of Allah — the Guru gave sweet jaggery.
I have attained in fullness, says Kabir — I have seen the Master in every heart.”
I have attained completely — says Kabir. Nothing is left to attain; I have attained all. I have attained the whole Divine. I have become Divine.
“When there was no doer, no earth and no water;
No creation, no dissolution — of that time Kabir speaks.”
And this is not a declaration about Kabir alone; it is a declaration about you. When Krishna says: come to my shelter — Krishna does not speak of ‘his’ shelter. He says: the One hidden in me I have recognized; you have not. Come to the shelter of one who has recognized — so you too may recognize.
There is no “mine” and “thine” here.
When Jesus says: before Abraham was, I am — he is only reminding you: you too were before.
History came later; we are from before; we are eternal. Time is a small tale — a dream. We are beyond time.
Kabir says the same. When he says: I was before — he is not saying “I” was and you were not. He says: I remembered; you have not yet remembered. You too remember — hence I shout from the rooftops. You too remember — that is why I say it. What I say about myself is equally true about you. Why? Because Kabir knows there is no ‘I’ and ‘you’ separate. There is the reign of One — the expanse of One.
That which is speaking here is the same that within you is listening. So whatever I say about myself, remember, it is said about you too. If I speak about myself and deny it about you — then it is ego. But if my declaration includes you, then there is no question of ego.
When you first read these utterances, they will appear egoistic — because your ego is hurt.
Often when your ego is hit, you cry out: this man is egoistic. But look closely: has this man said anything for his ego — or merely has your ego suffered a blow?
You call that man humble who nourishes your ego. Someone touches your feet — “Such a humble, good man.” And if someone bows your head and makes you touch his feet — he is making you humble; he is not doing you harm. He wishes your good. But then you are enraged.
When ego is hurt, you flare up. In revenge you say: Kabir is egoistic.
They tried to kill Kabir, to poison him — because the Brahmins could not accept that “we are nothing and this weaver says that when even God was not — when nothing was made… ‘no earth, no water — of that time Kabir speaks’… what is he saying? Is this weaver in his senses? Or has he gone mad?”
The Brahmins circulated: Kabir is mad. And they spread the rumor: Kabir is egoistic. Therefore this country remained deprived of Kabir.
We could not draw the full benefit of Kabir. His words could have conferred great benediction — they did not.
And Kabir is deep mystery, great magic — the magic that can awaken you; the magic that can make you Kabir; the magic that can take you to the source from which all has arisen and where all dissolves one day.
Enough for today.