Kahe Vajid Pukar #2

Anand Arun! Krishnamurti is fully aware, because he is where I am. There is not the slightest difference between his consciousness and mine. Hence there is no need to come close. Neither is there any necessity for me to go to him, nor for him to come to me. There is not even that much duality that one could come near or remain far. Nearness and farness are relationships of two-ness, of difference. Where there is non-difference, such relations are impossible. I am doing exactly what he is doing; he is doing exactly what I am doing. They are two facets of the same work. I will do it in my way; he will do it in his. There can be differences in approach, not in the goal.

Krishnamurti is a man of wisdom, an awakened buddha. It is impossible that my voice not reach him. It has reached; it is reaching. For if it could not reach him, it could reach no one. If Krishnamurti could not understand me, then no one could. His voice has been reaching me; it is reaching me. These voices may issue from two throats, but they do not arise from two souls; they arise from one and the same life-breath.

You will be surprised to know that Buddha and Mahavira lived at the same time—in the same region, Bihar. Many times circumstances arose when they stayed in the same village, yet they did not meet. And once it so happened that both were lodged in the same dharamshala, still they did not meet. Centuries have pondered this, and whatever has been thought so far is mistaken. Jains think they did not meet because Mahavira was a man of wisdom while Buddha had not yet become one; why would a wise man go to an ignorant one? And since Buddha was ignorant, he was egoistic and could not go because of his ego. Buddhists think exactly the same in reverse: Buddha was the realized one—why would he go? And Mahavira knew nothing yet, so he remained stiff in his ego.

My seeing is different, my vision is something else—altogether different from twenty-five centuries of speculation. Mahavira and Buddha were not “other” to one another such that they needed to go to each other; therefore the question of coming near did not arise. If two zeros even come together, what is there to come close? Two zeros become a single zero. Our ordinary arithmetic does not work with zeros. Add one and one—they become two. Add two and two—they become four. But add two zeros and you still have one zero. Add a thousand zeros—still one zero. Add infinite zeros—still the same single zero. One who has attained samadhi has become a zero. Buddha and Mahavira did not meet even while living under the same roof, because there was no purpose, no meaning in meeting. Both were moving at the gesture of the One. The same flower had bloomed—the same flower!

So, between Krishnamurti and me there is no difference. It has happened that at times we have been in the same town, even stayed in the same neighborhood. But there is no reason to meet—no meaning in meeting. When one is already met, what kind of meeting is there to be?

Therefore, do not think Krishnamurti lacks awareness, or that he is unaware of what is happening here. There is full remembrance, full awareness. Although our ways are so different that Krishnamurti cannot say anything about me in this regard, I can speak about Krishnamurti. My way includes that.

I can speak on Buddha, on Mahavira, on Krishna, on Christ, on Lao Tzu, on Kabir, on Nanak, on Bayazid. The manner of my work is to make a Ganges out of what all the sages of the world have said. Krishnamurti’s work is different. He has never, even by mistake, taken the name of Mahavira, or Lao Tzu, or Krishna. He does not take anyone else’s name. He says only what he has to say—nothing even slightly different. He only speaks his own. Yet what he says is exactly what Buddha said, what Krishna said; there is not the slightest difference in the essential. But Krishnamurti’s way of working is not that. His way is to speak only what has arisen in his own being. My way is that, through what has happened within me, I want to bear witness to that very happening whenever it has occurred throughout history. My work is to call the entire past into this moment. His work is to give expression only to this very moment. Both are beautiful. Each has its own benefits and its own pitfalls.

Therefore Krishnamurti cannot speak about me; I can speak about him. For me the whole sky is open—no controls, no boundaries. He speaks only his own utterance.

The benefit of my way is that a Hindu can come, a Muslim can come, a Christian can come—there is no hindrance at all. All doors are in this temple. I have gathered all the doors into this temple. It is a great attempt at synthesis. But there is a danger in it. Because I speak on so many different sages, those who do not understand rightly, who do not listen with the heart, will fall into great confusion—who is right, who is wrong? What is right, what is wrong? They will begin to wobble. Those who listen only with the intellect will start to go out of balance.

Therefore one who listens with the intellect alone cannot stay with me for long! He will start finding it difficult. He will begin to see contradictions in my statements. Naturally, when I speak on Mahavira, I will be totally honest with Mahavira. Mahavira works in a way completely opposite to Buddha. And when I speak on Buddha, I will be totally honest with Buddha. Then my statements will become contradictory. One who listens with the intellect will be in trouble. He will say my statements are inconsistent, conflicting, mutually cancelling.

There is no single doctrine in my statements. The one who comes to grasp a doctrine will go away. I am speaking the essence of all doctrines. This essence can only be understood by the heart. This is my method too—to separate out those who are not heartful, not sensitive. Those who come carrying only the intellect, my method is to bid them farewell. But there is a risk in it.

In Krishnamurti’s talk there is an ease, a consistency. The ease is that the listener will never feel there is any contradiction. In the last fifty years he has said precisely the same thing—continuously the same. No one can find even a grain of contradiction in the line of thought. This is a gain: the one who listens to Krishnamurti becomes clear, more and more lucid.

But there is a danger: the listener remains stuck in the intellect. Because clarity and consistency are categories of the intellect. He will not get the opportunity to rise beyond consistency, logic, contradiction. He will not get the time to descend below the intellect. His intellect will be so satisfied that he will have no reason left to go to the heart. That is the danger.

The danger with my talk is that those who remain in the intellect will, sooner or later, leave me. They will have to leave. They cannot walk with me for long; at most a few steps. In those few steps, if they gather courage and climb down from the intellect, go deeper and plumb the depths of the heart, then they will be able to walk with me. The danger is that they will have to leave me quickly. The benefit is that, if they keep their courage, they will go beyond the intellect; they will transcend the intellect.

With Krishnamurti the ease, the benefit, is that your intellect will always remain satisfied. One who once begins to walk with him keeps on walking. No occasion will arise to leave, because the very reason for joining will never be contradicted—Krishnamurti will go on confirming it again and again, a thousand times. His intellectual conviction will become stronger and stronger. But the danger is that he will remain stuck in the intellect and never reach the heart.

And you ask about Kripalani?

Krishnamurti cannot come to me; there is no need. Krishnamurti is religion embodied. Kripalani also cannot come to me; there is no need—because Kripalani is pure politics; he has nothing to do with religion. Krishnamurti cannot come because he is established in religion; Kripalani cannot come because he has nothing to do with religion. His whole life has gone into politics—setting up moves and counter-moves, arranging pawns! A chess player! He is ninety years old, yet his relish is still stuck there! He has not yet heard the voice of death, nor has the longing arisen to seek the truth of life. He still keeps arranging the pieces! Although he has now been thrown out of politics because of his age—he no longer has the strength to remain there—whenever he finds an opportunity he becomes a guest even without invitation! Whenever a chance comes, he wants to interfere in politics as much as he can—even uninvited! Politics is his flavor.

And my work is utterly contrary to politics—non-political. So there is no meaning in his coming here, no purpose, no question; nor is there any welcome here for politicians. Nor can any relationship form between me and them. There is no bridge between us. Therefore Kripalani also cannot come. And even if my voice were to reach him, he still could not hear it; his ears would remain deaf. Even if he heard, he could not understand, because a politician has no such thing as understanding. He has only a blind ambition, a blind lust for position, a craving to gratify the ego. And religion is exactly the opposite: it is the dissolution of the ego.

Therefore no relationship can form with Kripalani either. It is not that my name does not reach him, that news of my work does not reach him. It is impossible to escape my name and my work in this country. In fact, in any country in the world it is impossible to escape! If not in the morning, then by noon; if not by noon, then by evening—news will arrive from somewhere. And the news will grow day by day, because I have told my sannyasins to climb onto the rooftops and shout loudly! People are deaf; only if you shout might they hear a little!

Even so, there is no possibility of Kripalani’s coming here. It is already very late—far too late. The birds have already eaten the crop! One who has been so badly entangled in politics all his life—at the moment of death the possibility of revolution is next to nothing.

Third, you ask about Vinoba, and fourth, about Jayaprakash.

Krishnamurti I call religion; Kripalani I call politics. Vinoba—religion on the outside, politics on the inside. Jayaprakash—politics on the outside, religion on the inside.

Vinoba—religion on the surface, politics within. His religion is only an arrangement of his politics. Vinoba is not a religious person; he is a religious show! So he wished to meet me; but being a political showman, he could not possibly come to me. For a politician also worries about who should go to whom! So he kept sending people to me. This happened in Patna: Vinoba was there and I was there. For three days his people came again and again, saying Vinoba-ji was eager to meet. I told them, “If he is eager to meet, let him come; he is welcome.” Then they would fall silent. Then they said he is old, his health is not good; would I please come instead?

One who is walking on foot all over the country cannot, in Patna itself, come across from one neighborhood to another because of old age or ill health! Think a little: how much sense can there be in this? If this were about someone else, it might be understandable. A man on a nationwide padayatra cannot come from one part of Patna to another!

So I said, “All right, if you insist so much, I will come.” I went to meet him. It took me an hour and a half to get there—because I was at one end of Patna and he was at the other. And the conversation was utterly useless, worth two pennies. Courtesies were exchanged. As people do: How is the weather? How is your health? How are you? All well? In two or three minutes the talk was over. I had no interest in such talk. I was a little surprised that if this was all there was to say, why trouble me needlessly? He did not touch any substantial matter, because all his disciples were gathered there. If he were to ask me about meditation, the disciples would suspect. If he were to talk with me about soul and God, the disciples would suspect: does Baba not know? In two or three minutes the entire conversation ended. There was nothing left to do. I sat silently a while. I said, “Then I should go now?”

He too became a little restless; he stood up to see me off. One of his disciples immediately said, “You are an elder, you are much older—why do you stand up?” And the way he instantly sat down as soon as the disciple said that was very surprising! As if he had stood up unwillingly! As if he were waiting for someone to tell him to sit! As if that is what he had been looking for. These are signs of a political mind. In such a mind there is nothing of religion—only its veneer; politics runs underneath; on the surface, religious talk. So I did meet Vinoba, but there was no meeting. How could there be? No basis for union could be formed. A formal meeting happened—futile.

Jayaprakash is more important than both Kripalani and Vinoba. Politics on the outside, religion within. The exact opposite of Vinoba. Because religion is inside, he got entangled with Vinoba. He is a simple, straightforward man, so he gave his whole life to Vinoba’s work. But gradually it began to dawn on him that inside there is politics, with religion as the cover. Then differences had to arise. They were bound to arise. Anyone who understands the depths of psychology will see that the coming together of Vinoba and Jayaprakash was inevitable—because Jayaprakash’s search is the same; the deep search is religious within, with a thin political cover outside. Jayaprakash was bound to connect with Vinoba; that relationship was certain. Jayaprakash probably could not go to a purely religious person, because that outer political cover would become a barrier. Nor could Jayaprakash be influenced by a purely political person. Therefore, although he had a continuous relationship with Jawaharlal Nehru, no deep relationship could be formed. He had relations with all the politicians of this country—close relations—yet no deep relationship could happen. Even while in politics, he remained almost outside politics. After Jawaharlal, Jayaprakash should have become the prime minister of India—there was no reason otherwise. But he could not form a deep bond with the political personalities of India. His quest is different. Politics is only a thin surface.

In Vinoba he saw a man on whom religion appeared to be on the surface. He was attracted to Vinoba and gave his life to him. Just as that event was certain, the opposite event was also certain—that one day they would have to part ways, even become opposed. For how long could Jayaprakash remain in that delusion? It soon became visible that Vinoba’s religion is merely the cover for his reactionary politics. There is no revolution within Vinoba; there is talk of revolution. And all the talk of revolution has essentially become an obstruction to revolution.

Vinoba received support in this country for only one reason: the old-fashioned, reactionary people of this land saw a hope in him—that this cover is good. Under this cover revolution can be stopped, made to stand still. In this hope we can give people opium. Sarvodaya turned out to be a kind of opium with which we kept people unconscious for thirty years! The person who first woke up from that opium—and who was deepest into it—was Jayaprakash. Jayaprakash is, inwardly, a religious person.

Anand Maitreya is a friend of Jayaprakash. When Jayaprakash was released from jail and his health was poor, Maitreya went to see him. Maitreya was very startled when he said, “Offer my salutations to Bhagwan; pay my respects at his feet.” Maitreya was astonished! He could not believe that Jayaprakash was sending pranam to my feet! When he came to me he said he could hardly believe it when JP said that.

His disbelief is understandable, because ordinarily we take Jayaprakash to be a politician. He is not a politician. If he were, then after this second revolution in the country he would be in power today. But the very person who made the revolution is absolutely powerless in this country today—he has no power. This is Jayaprakash’s inner conflict. He cannot quite get rid of politics—it has become his outer covering, his persona. And he cannot go fully into politics either, because his soul does not give its testimony there. This is his dilemma.

So among these three—Vinoba, Kripalani, and Jayaprakash—Jayaprakash is the closest to me. I cannot call Krishnamurti the closest, because with Krishnamurti I am in oneness. But I can call Jayaprakash the closest. There is a possibility in Jayaprakash. If he stays alive—if the body keeps him for a while longer—then among these three the person who can understand me is Jayaprakash. I have hope from him. And if not in this life, then in the next. But among these three, the one who will attain buddhahood first—this can be declared—is Jayaprakash. Any time—in this life, in the next, or after—the one among these three in whom there is the greatest possibility of the lamp being lit is Jayaprakash. My voice reaches him, but his political covering! The entire environment around him!

Jayaprakash is gripped by a great inner conflict. He is where he should not be; he is what he should not be. And you will understand this—many among you have the very same conflict.

Now Avatar Krishna’s difficulty will begin. Business is not his soul. If it were his soul, the question of sannyas would not arise at all. But business is his covering, a lifelong habit. He has done business all his life. And how to step out of it all of a sudden today? How to make a sudden leap? The longing for sannyas has arisen, but he is suppressing it.

But keep one thing in mind: you may certainly go back and sit in your shop, but you will never again sit there with ease! For it will keep pricking you again and again that you abandoned sannyas in order to keep this lie going; that you held back from sannyas to sustain this lie; that to run this business you sacrificed the supreme meaning of life—discarded diamonds for pebbles and stones! Now he will live in conflict. And I know, even if he takes sannyas there will be conflict, there will be hurdles—there is the shop to run, there are children, a wife.

But I say that this second kind of hurdle is far better. It is more creative to take sannyas and sit in the shop. And if you cannot tell lies, then don’t; whatever loss comes, let it come. But what real loss will there be? What have you gained from the shop that could be lost? What have you received; what is there to receive, that you will forfeit? Tending the shop, one day you will die—what will you take with you? Are you giving up sannyas so that there will be no obstruction to telling lies in the shop? Will you keep the door of sannyas closed for that? Will you protect the lie and abandon sannyas? Then now, even in the shop you will not be able to sit in peace.

Now the trouble has begun. Now Avatar will be in a quandary. He will sit in the shop, but it will rankle; it will pierce the chest like an arrow: What have I done? What am I doing? What did I save, and what did I drop?

One day a man came to Ramakrishna, fell at his feet and said, “You are a great renunciate!” Ramakrishna said, “Wrong—you are the great renunciate; I am an enjoyer.” The man said, “What are you saying, Paramahansa Deva—you an enjoyer and I a renunciate!” Ramakrishna said, “Yes, that is exactly my experience. For I am enjoying the Divine; you have renounced the Divine. And you are hoarding trash and rubbish—what kind of enjoyer are you? We are amassing the supreme wealth. People call us renunciates—they are mistaken. We are immersed in the supreme enjoyment—the bliss of samadhi, heaven is showering! You are picking up pebbles and stones, and people call you an enjoyer? What kind of enjoyment is yours!”

Avatar will go and sit in the shop, and now there will be a snag.

The same kind of snag is there for Jayaprakash: politics has become his way of life, his very persona. Within the circumference of that persona, a soul is writhing. A bird shut within the bars of politics wants to fly into the sky. That is why other politicians make use of Jayaprakash, but they do not listen to him or heed him. Inside, they all take Jayaprakash to be a dreamer, just as politicians see all religious people as fanciful. So they exploit Jayaprakash.

Now there is Morarji: by using Jayaprakash he sat in power. No sooner had he sat in power than he turned his back on Jayaprakash. His belief is that Jayaprakash talks in abstractions—has any state ever been run like that? Can a state be run on such talk? These lofty words, these dreams—are they ever going to be fulfilled? They are not practical matters.

The simplicity of Jayaprakash was exploited, and a totally wrong man came to power—a man like Morarji Desai sat on the throne. And because Jayaprakash is straightforward, this exploitation was possible. And Jayaprakash’s predicament is that politics has been his lifelong connection; it is his occupation. He cannot go all the way into it, because his soul does not consent. Remember Avatar again: now he will not be able to sit fully at ease in the shop, because the soul does not give its testimony. The soul says, “Become a sannyasin, be dyed in ochre.” Now he will sit in the shop; he will even keep the work going; it will go on half‑heartedly. Some crafty customer will come and cheat him; someone will even steal from the shop.

This is exactly Jayaprakash’s difficulty too. His persona is political; and because of that persona he comes into relationships with politicians. And those politicians extract every ounce of benefit; they take as much advantage as they can. He cannot go fully into politics, because his life‑energy wants to go elsewhere. And where that life‑energy wants to go, there is no passageway, no window in his persona to reach there. Such is the conflict.

And yet, among these three—Kripalani, Vinoba, and Jayaprakash—Jayaprakash is the most religious person. Now you will be very surprised, because ordinarily if you ask anyone they will say that among the three Vinoba is the most religious. On the surface Vinoba does appear religious: he lives in silence, recites the Vishnu‑sahasranama, lives in an ashram, teaches Brahmavidya. Outwardly his whole conduct is religious. But even his silence is not religious, it is political.

Vinoba took a vow of silence when Indira imposed the Emergency on the country. Because if he were to speak, either he would have to lie, and if he told the truth he would find himself opposing Indira. So he took silence. Now this silence was adopted in a thoroughly religious manner; outwardly it looks so devout—he took to silence! But behind this silence too is politics; behind this quietness is politics. He does not want to speak against Indira, and to speak in her favor would be awkward. He can speak neither for nor against. This silence created a political smokescreen. People thought it was silence. It is not silence; it is sheer politics. Vinoba looks religious on the surface, so he appears religious to you. My words may startle you, but inwardly Vinoba is a thoroughly political person. Jayaprakash looks political on the surface, so he appears political to you; but inside, his aspiration is deeply spiritual—there is a profound longing within him.

Arun, your question is important. You say: From the corners of the world all sensitive people are being drawn to me, but it is surprising that my voice does not reach saintly men like Krishnamurti, Vinoba, Jayaprakash, and Kripalani—why is that?

Krishnamurti’s voice and mine are one. My voice does reach Jayaprakash, and there is a stirring in his heart; but his persona hangs around him like a stone, a burden. My voice reaches Vinoba too—but only as far as the ears. And you will be surprised to know that my books are banned in Vinoba’s ashram. Vinoba reads my books—I know this for sure. The very people who take the books to him come and tell me. He reads them with curiosity, but he does not allow the ashram residents to read them. If in any ashram in this country my books are explicitly prohibited, it is Vinoba’s Pavanar Ashram. They are prohibited in many ashrams, but not so openly, not so plainly. And the great surprise is that in each ashram where they are forbidden, the head reads them anyway! They cannot refrain from reading—curiosity, inquisitiveness: What am I saying?

Now, the things I am saying today—do you think Vinoba will be able to avoid them without reading? Impossible. Someone or other will get them to him; he will have to read. But he will want that no one from his ashram should read them, because these would become very dangerous ideas. If the people of the ashram begin to understand that Vinoba’s inner personality is not religious but political, the ashram will fall apart.

I am striking at all vested interests—so there is difficulty. Jain monks read my books, they read them in hiding, in secret, with other book covers put over them. And they persuade their lay followers against me, telling them, “Keep away from these books—they are dangerous! They will destroy your religion, they will ruin your faith.”

Krishnamurti’s voice and mine are one. My voice reaches Vinoba, but his inner politics wants to suppress that voice. My voice reaches Jayaprakash too; his outer politics keeps him from coming here. His heart wants to come—I know this well. That is why when he told Maitreya, “Convey my salutations to Bhagwan,” Maitreya was startled; he had not expected it. Because Maitreya’s own understanding would be the same—that Jayaprakash is a political man; his connection with him was for that very reason, since Maitreya himself was for years in politics.

My voice cannot reach Kripalani—all doors are closed there. It reaches Vinoba, but he does not want to listen. It reaches Jayaprakash, and he even wants to listen; but his persona becomes an obstacle, his outer covering comes in the way. He wants to come. I know of his search.

But such things do happen. His wife used to come to listen to me. She informed me that whenever I sometimes spoke in Patna, Jayaprakash too would come to listen—but would sit in the car outside and listen. How could he come in front of everyone? Politics is a barrier.

But what is happening here does not depend for its future on whether such people listen or do not listen. The future of what is happening here lies with those who have a future. These others are bygone people. They are the past—only shadows now! I have to rely on the young, on small children, on new people. And they are coming. They are breaking through all the barriers and coming. The future is not built by the old; it is built by the young. Whenever a religion is alive, it attracts the young. When a religion dies, it attracts the old. In dead religions, in dead mosques, dead temples, dead gurdwaras, you will see the old. Where religion is still alive, where the new rays of the sun are descending, where new flowers are opening their petals, there you will find the young. And if you do happen to find an old person there, know that he is young in soul—otherwise he could not be there.

Here, anyone who is old in soul simply cannot be; only the young can be here. The old mind will run away; the old mind will find a thousand hindrances; a thousand doubts will arise for the old mind; his knowledge will become a cause for doubt. Only a youthful heart can understand here, only it can be in tune with me. And if you do find an old person here, know that he is not old—only his body is old; his soul is young, clear, fresh.

I place my trust in these young, clear, fresh, virginal souls. And they have begun to come, and they will come breaking through all obstacles. The more the obstacles, the more they will come. There are some unique laws of life: whenever truth manifests, the shopkeepers of untruth raise obstacles. But the more obstacles they raise, the more one thing becomes clear to truth‑seekers—that if there were no truth, the shopkeepers of untruth would not be setting up obstacles.

You can see it: Morarji’s government has made arrangements in India’s embassies around the world so that no one can reach Poona from anywhere. The moment one mentions Poona, people are denied entry. So people are finding new routes; it just takes a little route‑finding. The attraction is increasing. If Morarji would listen to me, I would tell him: remove all obstacles, otherwise the attraction will only increase! And it is increasing. Hundreds of letters are coming: “Now we want to come—what is the matter? Why the obstruction? There is no restriction on going to any ashram in India—why only to this ashram?” And people find ways. First they will go to Sri Lanka and from there come here. First to Nepal, and from there here. One may have to take a little detour—so what? But the one who comes after such a detour comes even closer, because the more effort he has made, the more his longing has flared up.

Why the panic? There is panic because there are vested interests. I am creating in your politicians and your religious priests the same panic that Jesus created, that Buddha created. The same panic is arising. But this panic will not create any real obstacle—do not be anxious about it. These are all steps. It is upon such steps that the temple’s pinnacle is reached. This is how the path is formed. These obstacles will go on increasing, growing denser, because these are the symptoms of stupidity. People never learn—almost the whole history of humanity has gone this way! Politicians and religious priests do not learn; they have learned nothing. They repeat the same old thing. They start creating the very same obstacles they created before. They start the same frauds they used before.

Those frauds did not work before; they cannot work now; they will never work. If there is truth anywhere, its victory is certain. There may be delay, but there cannot be injustice.

Religion is your intrinsic nature—neither conduct nor imitation. Imitation means you start walking behind someone else. And to walk behind another clearly means you have abandoned your own nature; you begin to become a carbon copy of someone else. But the divine makes each person unique—utterly unique. No one can be like another, nor is there any need to be. You are to be—you; you are to be yourself; you have to blossom in your own uniqueness!

Religion means: you can be what you are. Imitation means: you want to be like Buddha, so you become a Buddhist; you want to be like Jesus, so you become a Christian.

But look: there are millions of Christians, for thousands of years—has even a single Jesus appeared? Does so much experience tell you nothing? Two thousand years have passed since Jesus; in the meantime nearly a quarter of the earth has become Christian—the largest religion! But how many Jesuses have been born? Not a second Jesus, nor a second Buddha, nor a second Mahavira, nor a second Krishna! Repetition does not happen here; the divine always creates originally. You are simply as you are—there has never been anyone like you before, nor will there be anyone after you, nor is there anyone now. You are utterly alone.

This is man’s dignity; this is man’s glory. The glory and dignity of man lie in his uniqueness. Your glory and dignity are not in your wealth, nor in your position; a position is here today and can be snatched away tomorrow; wealth is here today and tomorrow you may go bankrupt. Your dignity and glory are not even in your body. Today the body is beautiful; tomorrow it will be ugly. Today it is young; tomorrow it will be old. It is dust and will fall back into dust. Where, then, is your glory? Only in one thing: that you are unique! And whoever tells you to imitate robs you of your uniqueness. This is the greatest assault, the greatest sin. And this is what goes on in the name of religions.

Jesus does not want your uniqueness to be taken away; but the sect that gathers behind Jesus—the web of pundits and priests and prelates and popes—wants you not to remain unique. It wants you to become nothing but an imitation. It gives you codes of conduct, not the soul; it does not give the awakening of the soul, it gives you methods of behavior. Understand the difference.

From the awakening of the soul a certain conduct arises—but it is spontaneous. The awakened person simply cannot do certain things, therefore he does not do them; and he can only do certain things, therefore he does them. An awakened man cannot kill, therefore he does not. Not because killing is a sin, not because if he kills he will go to hell, not because he will suffer afterward, not because it will be harmful—no, not for that. He does not kill because he cannot. His awakening has told him that the same dwells within the other as within himself. His awakening has told him that life is eternal; in truth, killing cannot happen—there is no way to kill. The awakened man does not renounce killing; killing drops from him. The sleeping man practices nonviolence; the awakened man does not practice nonviolence—nonviolence flows naturally from his soul.

I want to give you soul, not conduct. You, too, want me to give you conduct, because conduct is cheap; to walk on the line of conduct is not difficult; it is easy to regulate behavior.

You want conduct—you want me to tell you: behave like this and like that. You want direct instructions. But those instructions would be mine; they would not be born from your own soul. Conduct would be manufactured; the soul would not be born. I will tell you: meditate. Do not ask how to behave with your wife. Then whatever behavior arises from your meditation is right.

I don’t keep accounts of your behavior; I keep account only of your meditation. Meditation means the process of awakening. Begin to awaken, keep awakening; then your conduct will go on changing in accord with that awakening. One day, suddenly, you will find—who is wife, who is husband? One day, suddenly, you will find—who is man, who is woman? One day, suddenly, you will find—the flower of brahmacharya has bloomed by itself! One morning—the flower has opened and the fragrance is rising!

But this is not a planned flower. If you plan it, it will never bloom. Planning brings danger—great danger; you will force things, you will suppress sex. What is suppressed does not disappear; what you push down sits within, and will raise its hood whenever it gets a chance. And slowly you will grow weaker; the suppressor grows weaker day by day. Old age is coming. When the suppressor becomes weak, desire will raise its hood again! That is why those who suppressed sexuality in youth are filled with great pain in old age.

My mother told me the day before yesterday… There is a Jain sadhvi—Vimla Devi. I have known her since I was small. She was greatly honored in the Jain community; in my home, in my family, she was highly esteemed. In her youth she made great renunciations, many fasts; she dried up her body; she took a vow of celibacy. My mother told me the day before yesterday that Vimla Devi has gone mad. I was not surprised; this had to happen. And what is she doing in her madness? Exactly what she suppressed all her life! A sensitive woman, an intelligent woman, but she got caught in the circle of fools! She managed the outer conduct, but now her state is such that nothing occurs to her except eating. All her life she fasted, dried herself up! And those fools gathered around her would say: Ah, what purity! What conduct! That woman went on drying up, turning sallow with hunger.

Whenever I met her earlier—I’ve known her since childhood—whenever I went to see her back then, she always looked yellow to me; but her devotees would say, Look, what a body like gold! I would be startled, but I kept quiet. When everyone says “a body like gold,” it must be like gold! She had turned completely yellow—a body like a dry yellow leaf! But they would say: a body like refined gold! What luster, what radiance! It was a diseased condition.

Now Vimla Devi eats anything at all. If someone else is eating, she snatches and eats from their plate. All her life she did not drink water at night; now she eats even at night. Now her devotees say: She has gone mad! Earlier she was a great saint; now a great sinner! And this is the natural result—it is the outcome of a lifetime of repression. What was pushed down—now the capacity to suppress has waned, age has come, the body has grown weak, and the long-suppressed poisons have begun to raise their hoods; now great trouble has arrived!

My approach is different. I would tell her devotees—who have now become her enemies—bring her here. She is not mad. She was mad her whole life, caught in your talk; now a little awareness is beginning, and you call her mad! Ordinarily, if someone eats at night, we do not call them mad—how many people eat at night! But if Vimla Devi eats at night, she is mad. Why? Billions eat at night; no one is mad. Vimla Devi eats, and she is mad!

What a strange joke—your definition of madness is being drawn from the very definition with which you earlier defined saintliness! The very feeling you called “merit” was itself delusion. And by chanting “merit, merit,” you only fed her ego. Nothing else happened—the ego grew. It is good now that this woman has dropped the whole ego; she has become simple—earlier she was complicated. Now if she feels like eating, she will even take from someone else’s plate, and you say she is mad. This is the simplicity of a child! Childhood has returned! If she could now receive the right guidance, there is still a way. Not everything is lost yet.

But there is a great difficulty: those who once honored her in the name of virtue and austerity will now dishonor her. They will be the very ones to have her admitted to an asylum—the very people! They will be the ones to order electric shocks, to give injections. But they will not awaken to the simple truth that this is the fruit of their own doing!

I do not teach conduct; I teach only one thing—meditation. Become thought-free, become calm, become silent; then everything else will come from that. One day celibacy will come too. And one day your mad relish for food will also go. Your attachment to clothes will also drop. But I do not say “give up”; it should drop—naturally, by itself. Then such derangement never arises. Otherwise, if not today then tomorrow you will get entangled in a state like that of Vimla Devi. Millions are entangled—entangled in just this way. I want to free you from this entanglement.

Not conduct, but soul! Not imitation, but individuality! Freedom!

My sannyas is a declaration of this very freedom. Therefore I will not give you rules, I will not give you boundaries. I will not give you commands; I will give you counsel. I will help you see what is right, and I will tell you to wait in search of that right—wait attentively. Let it come on its own; do not tug and do not hurry. Tugging and haste bring harmful results.

That is exactly why religion has been lost. In your so-called civilization, your culture, and your so-called religions—there religion has been lost.

Religion is—the manifestation of the consciousness within you. Religion is—the kindling of the awareness within you. Religion is—the arrival of wakefulness, the coming of meditation, the descent of samadhi. Religion has nothing to do with the outside; religion is an inner revolution. Then what people say outside—who cares! One lives in one’s own bliss, one lives in the festival of life. Then what others say—who cares! If they speak well—good; if they speak ill—good. If they honor you—fine; if they insult you—fine. Once the taste and the fragrance of the within begin to arise, outer values lose all meaning. I give you such freedom.

But you do not want freedom; you want dependence. You say, Lay down rules. You feel meditation and samadhi are distant, beyond your capacity. “Just tell us not to drink water at night.” That is child’s play—if you don’t drink, what will happen; if you do, what will you lose! You want petty, trivial instructions—should one eat twice a day or three times? What difference does it make? Eat twice, you won’t go to heaven; eat thrice, you won’t go to hell. Who is to keep regulating the trifles of your eating and drinking, your getting up and sitting down!

And that regulatory mindset is dangerous, because what helps one can harm another. A rule may be a support to someone, but rules are blind—once made, everyone must follow them.

Therefore, knowingly, I give my sannyasins no rules. Otherwise I know: if I give rules, those who begin to follow them will become priests, and they will start tormenting others—“Why aren’t you following this rule?” They will coerce others, insult them, and sow guilt in their minds: “We are forgetting something; we are making some mistake.”

If there is any mistake happening through you, it is only this: you are asleep. And if ever anything right is to happen in your life, it is only this: to wake up. Everything else will decide itself. Whatever the sleeping person does is wrong; whatever the awakened person does is right. So I cannot give you rules of right and wrong—what rule is right, what rule is wrong. Awakening is right; sleep is wrong. Awaken awareness! And accept yourself; bring trust in yourself. Only then can your real birth happen!

We all live in references!
Whatever we are, we are all
products of references;
for our existences
we deserve no credit!
A circumference
is the soul of us all—
God!
Lakshmana’s lines
encircle us all,
whose crossing
is unimaginable;
outside, Fear, the ten-faced,
glares with eyes!
From fear, in us,
ice is packed vein to vein;
upon the heart’s beat
lie heavy stones.
We live—
merely signs of the activity of living;
beyond that
what is our concern?
What do we know, any of us,
of culture,
of conditioning!
We are not yet born;
we still live in wombs!
We all live in references!

As long as you live in civilization and culture and rules and propriety and sect, remember: you are not yet born!
We are not yet born;
we still live in wombs!
We all live in references!

Your real life begins when you drop all references—of Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Jain, Buddhist. When you stop taking rules from the outside and declare: Now I will live from within, and I will accept whatever consequences come. Now I will live in my own way; I embrace my uniqueness. I will live in the way that feels joyous, loving, true to me. What the world says is not my concern. I hold no contract with the world.

The world’s say is to be honored only so far as it makes living together convenient—no more. For example, on the road the rule is: keep to the left. That much is necessary, because if you keep to the right, there will be trouble—you will crash into a car. “Keep left” is not an eternal rule; it is a practical one. It brings ease to people moving on the road. Such rules you can follow. When the traffic light says, Don’t move forward, stop—don’t say, “I will live by my privacy.” Otherwise you won’t live at all—a truck will come and you will be crushed under it.

Living from your innermost does not mean you discard social arrangements. Social arrangements are fine; follow them. But social arrangements are not religion. Do not conclude yourself with them, thinking all is done—because we walk on the left, we don’t drink water at night, we don’t drink alcohol, we don’t eat meat—“finished, all is well.”

Nothing has been set right! All that is fine and practical, but there is nothing ultimate in it. Now someone thinks that because he does not smoke, he will attain liberation. Smoking does have harms, no doubt; but if smoking were a hindrance to liberation, liberation would be worth two pennies—the price of a cigarette! Some gentleman inhales smoke and exhales it—will that obstruct his moksha? You take a little smoke into the lungs and let it out—will that hinder liberation?

I am not telling you to inhale and exhale smoke; I am saying that taking smoke in and out is not sin, it is stupidity. You won’t go to hell for it, and not doing it won’t take you to heaven. But that you are foolish is certain! I do not call you a sinner; I call you witless—because you forsake the chance to take in clean air and fill your lungs with dirty smoke. Then you will suffer—tuberculosis, cancer—then rot in hospitals. You will endure all that—folly, nothing else.

How blind man is! The American government decided that every cigarette pack must say that smoking is hazardous to life. The cigarette companies were alarmed, greatly agitated: if every pack says your life is at risk, who will smoke? But those companies did not know that man is supremely foolish! They protested: we will be harmed, our factories will collapse.

But the rule came, and the packs were printed. Yes, for three or four weeks sales dipped—then they doubled! The fools who had not smoked for those weeks suddenly broke down, thinking they had maintained some restraint—“let it go; what will be will be.” Now the pack says it, but who reads! Now it has no meaning. Whether printed or not, no one reads; let it be printed. There was a fear; that fear too is gone. Tell someone, “You’ll die early!” He says, “We’ll die early—what else? Fine—but we will die smoking; we cannot miss that chance!”

Smoking does not make you sinful; it makes you stupid.

So with the rules you have made out of your life: walk with understanding—don’t be stupid. And in social dealings, don’t create needless disturbances; they won’t aid your practice, they will obstruct it.

Therefore there is no harm if someone walks naked on the street—no sin in it. But since people live by social conventions and wear clothes, they will be offended. When you walk naked, you make them naked. You remind them that beneath their clothes they too are naked. They get angry. Somehow they had forgotten that they are naked; seeing you without clothes, they are suddenly reminded: Ah! They are angered because your nakedness has exposed theirs.

Doesn’t it happen to you? Seeing a dead person, don’t you remember your own death—that I too will die! When the bier passes by, for a moment doesn’t it come to mind that my death—it isn’t far; it will come! This man was well yesterday; I am well today—who knows about tomorrow? Today his bier is passing; I watch. Tomorrow mine will pass; someone will watch. Don’t you remember? You do.

In the same way, seeing a naked person you remember that inside you are naked. Hence I do not say: walk naked on the street. Why remind those who do not wish to remember? That is their choice. Why remind anyone? Why interfere in another’s life?

And by your walking naked you too will be obstructed—police will come, people will surround and seize you: “He’s gone mad.” Though nothing has happened—so many animals and birds are naked; none has gone mad. In fact, animals and birds must be thinking: what has happened to man! Their numbers are vast—if democracy were to count, the naked would be the majority in the world—so many animals and birds, all nude! They must be sitting on trees wondering: What’s wrong with these humans? Why do they hang clothes on themselves?

And man is so crazy! In England there is a women’s society that runs a movement to dress dogs. You would think these ladies have lost their minds—dressing dogs! Perhaps seeing naked dogs reminds them of their own nakedness—or what else is happening! You will be astonished to know that in Queen Victoria’s time, even the legs of chairs were kept covered—because they are legs! The legs of chairs were draped, clothed—because the word “leg” evokes the leg; legs must not be naked.

The insanity has gone to extremes! If animals and birds were watching you, they would be amazed: God made you naked—why are you wearing clothes!

But among those you live with, everyone wears clothes; better that you too keep them on. It is proper, practical. Therefore I say, do not break social rules needlessly—unless some rule becomes a hindrance to your soul’s freedom, a barrier between you and the divine. Don’t break them; quietly accept them—their acceptance does no harm. As the country, so the costume; and keep engaged in the search within. Do not sell your soul; keep your soul’s freedom intact.

Then slowly, one day you will know what real birth is. Then you will no longer live in references. Then you will not be a Hindu, not a Muslim, not a Christian—then for the first time you will be a human being. And the one who has become human—his becoming divine is not far; he has completed half the journey.

This culture of gold and fables is stained with Adam’s blood;
this capital that drinks blood—how is it less than a bandit’s raid?
Now the time has come to erase this curse from the world.
In the palace of wealth the lamp of mirth still shines,
yet from the huts the light of life
is still in darkness—now is the time to kindle new flames.
Civilization is self-deception and politics is tight-fisted;
how sorrowful the desolation of Adam’s dwelling!
Now the time has come to rebuild this ruined house.
How long this storm of envy, these conspiracies of malice?
Ah, how long will hatred be the chain upon the threshold of God’s people?
Now is the time to call out love at every door.

A time has come for man to rise beyond petty boundaries!
Now the time has come to erase this curse from the world.
The time has come that we do not mistake petty practicalities for religion, but know the inner flame to be religion.
Now is the time to light new lamps in the darkness.
Now the time has come that we do not let man live without awareness—for without awareness there is no man. Without awareness you are an empty house with no master.
Now is the time to people this ruined house again.
We have lived long enough on the basis of hatred, hostility, jealousy, enmity. Let us discover a new way of life; let us give birth to a new humanity—a new human being, a new consciousness.
Now is the time to call out love at every door.

When meditation is lit within, love spreads in your life. As a lamp burns and its rays spread, light spreads; so when meditation burns, love spreads. And if you spread love, meditation will kindle. These two are two sides of the same coin.

If you want to ask me for a small definition of religion: meditation and love. Remember just these two words, and keep measuring yourself by them. In relation to others, measure by love. If love testifies “right,” it is right. If love says, “No—this is against me,” know it is against religion. And in the inner world, in your interiority, test everything on the touchstone of meditation. Whatever you do within, watch: will this hone awareness or diminish it? Will it build or will it spoil? If it builds, it is right—religion. If awareness deteriorates, it is irreligion.

Keep weighing your life on the two touchstones of love and meditation. These two will become wings; they are enough to carry you to the vast Divine.

Pradeep! The sentiment is noble—but where is your life yet? How will it be of use? Where are you yourself? The feeling is noble, but you’ve heard the saying: the road to hell is paved with good intentions! This noble intention too can end up paving the road to hell.

People think, “Let me be of use to someone.” But you have not yet been of use to yourself—how will you be of use to anyone else? People think, “Let me go and light someone’s lamp.” Your own lamp isn’t lit, and you hurry to light others! The danger is you may blow out a lamp that is already burning. Your own eyes are not yet open, and you’re filled with the desire to guide others! The intention may be noble—but if a blind man leads other blind men, both will fall into the ditch.

And still I say, your sentiment is noble. But where is the capacity in you to fulfil it? You will become a “social worker”—and that is the danger.

I do not want to produce social workers. I want people who are alive, filled with joy, and from whose joy service overflows on its own—so naturally that they do not even know they are serving. I am not asking you to perform duties. I want whatever happens in your life to arise from love, not from duty. Whenever something is done from duty, it goes wrong. Duty means: there is no wish to do it, yet you do it—because it is “duty.” “It is my duty” means: I do not want to, but I am compelled. When you act from love, it is no longer duty; then it is your delight, your very nectar.

So first awaken meditation, first awaken love; then it will all happen by itself. Don’t ask: “May my life be of use to someone.” Where is your life yet? Right now you live only second-hand, through borrowed references. You have not yet been born—you are still living in wombs!

And I know such thoughts arise in a sensitive heart; surrounded by so much suffering, anyone with sensitivity will feel, “How can I remove this misery? What can I do?” But also remember: countless have come into the world and could not remove suffering. So many remedies have been tried, but suffering does not lessen—it goes on increasing, increasing with every remedy.

Haile Selassie was the emperor of Ethiopia. Christian missionaries went to him and said, “We want to bring education to Ethiopia—open schools, spread education widely. There is no education in Ethiopia.” What the emperor replied was astonishing. He said, “In your countries education has spread widely—what benefit has it brought? If you have a solid proof that the spread of education has made your people more joyous, more peaceful, more radiant, more virtuous—then fine, come spread education in my country too.” The missionaries hung their heads; they had never thought of this.

People simply assume that spreading education is a good deed. But what has it produced? Look at the world’s universities. Those who leave them are more anxious, more stressed, more restless; more ambitious, more egoistic. Nothing satisfies them; their longing becomes such that nothing could ever satisfy it. A university graduate wants to do nothing and get everything. He becomes dishonest, cunning, manipulative; he loses simplicity and naturalness.

There is weight in Haile Selassie’s point: “By all means, spread it—provided you can show the benefit.” Where there is more education, there is more madness; more murder, more theft, more dishonesty; more immorality, more debauchery. So spread education—if you can demonstrate that it brings some good.

Now reflect on those who devoted their lives to spreading education. Thousands poured in their lives. What happened to their aspirations? Little good, much harm.

There are thinkers like D. H. Lawrence who said: “If man is to be saved, shut down all the universities for a hundred years. Forget education for a hundred years. Burn all the libraries and close every university. Let humanity remain uneducated for a while—perhaps man might be saved.” Perhaps we cannot do this; perhaps the cure demands more courage than we can muster. But it does seem that if we could, there would at least be benefit rather than further harm. As it is, education spreads—you give your life to spreading it—but what is the final result? What will you have done?

Service accomplishes nothing. Wake up! Become aware! Then you will see that man is not miserable because there is too little education, or too few medicines. Man is miserable because there is too little meditation. But even this you will know only when your meditation awakens and your own suffering dissolves. Then help kindle meditation in others. There is only one worthwhile work: to awaken people’s awareness. Man is so harassed because he is unconscious; and because he is unconscious, he suffers.

Mark this well: there is no other cause of suffering. All supposed causes have been examined. Marx said suffering is due to the unjust distribution of wealth. Millions died—were killed—and in Russia wealth was redistributed. Yet man’s misery remains as it was. In truth, today in Russia man is even more miserable. Wealth was redistributed, but all freedom of the soul was snatched away. To redistribute wealth, you have to take away the soul’s freedom. If the soul is free, people’s capacities to earn differ. If the soul is free, one will become wealthy and another will remain poor. If each person has the right to live freely, equality can never be.

Understand this a little: equality and freedom cannot coexist. Yet your so-called political leaders keep shouting the slogans—“We want equality, we want freedom”—as if both could be had together! If there is equality, there will not be freedom, because human beings are not equal; you will have to force them to be equal. Imagine someone makes a doctrine that everyone’s height must be the same. To equalize heights you must take away freedom—cut off some heads, cut off some legs, trim all to size! People will die, and heights will match. The soul will be lost. And if you allow the soul to grow in its own nature, then naturally one will be tall, another short; one skillful in making money, another not; one will make much, another none; one will become renowned, another not; one will succeed, another will fail. People’s qualities differ; man is not equal. There is no greater false doctrine than that man is equal. All the findings of psychology say: man is unequal. And yet the effort went on to make him equal.

So in Russia millions had to be killed—cut off heads here, cut off legs there—by force the wealth was distributed. And even distribution does not help. If once you distribute and then leave people free… Think a little: suppose everyone here is given a thousand rupees, and told to return in three months. Some worthy gentlemen would not even make it out the door—their pocket would be picked before they reached the street! Some would lose the thousand and also what they already had. Someone else would turn that thousand into ten thousand.

An emperor, close to death, called his three sons. He gave each a pouch filled with flower seeds and said, “I am going on a pilgrimage. When I return, I want these seeds back. Everything lies hidden in these seeds. Handle them with thought and care, for whoever wins in this will inherit the kingdom.”

All three pondered. The first thought, “What a hassle to keep seeds at home—rats might eat them, they might be stolen. They could rot, and father might say, ‘I didn’t give you rotten seeds; you spoiled them.’ Who knows when he will return—one year, two? In those days a pilgrimage could take years! How long? Better to be clever: sell them in the market, keep the money; when father returns I’ll quickly buy other seeds and hand them over. How will he know? Seeds are seeds—one looks like another. I’ll buy the same flower seeds.” He sold them and locked the money away.

The second thought, “If I sell them like my brother, father might say, ‘These are not the same seeds.’ He’ll find out, and I might lose the kingdom.” So he locked the seeds in a strongbox. By the time the father returned, the seeds had rotted and begun to stink.

The third son sowed the seeds in the garden. He thought, “A seed means potential. Father’s hint is clear: the one who actualizes potential will be fit to rule. Seeds are not ‘kept’; they are sown—that is how they are kept. And once we sow them, soon there will be a thousandfold more seeds on the plants. What does ‘keeping’ mean? If they can become a thousandfold, I should return a thousandfold—if a hundred thousandfold, then a hundred thousandfold.” He sowed them.

When the father returned, the first son said, “Please sit, I’ll go to the market and fetch seeds.” The father said, “But the seeds I gave you were to be preserved. These are not those; I cannot accept them. You have failed the test.”

The second son was pleased. “Come, father—these are the very same seeds!” He opened the strongbox; a stench of rot rose up. The father said, “But I gave you seeds that did not stink. I gave you seeds from which, had you wished, flowers and fragrance could have arisen. This is all wrong; these cannot be accepted. You have lost.”

To the third he said, “And you?” The son replied, “Come to the garden, for a seed’s place is in the garden. Is a strongbox a seed’s place?” The father followed, and there were flowers everywhere—thousands of them! The flowers were already yielding new seeds. The son said, “The seeds have returned—these are they, their offspring, their lineage. And the flowers are a gift, and the beauty of the garden is a gift. And the seeds have become a thousandfold! I thought, why merely ‘preserve’ them when they can multiply a thousand times?” The father said, “You shall inherit my kingdom. With you my kingdom will become a thousandfold. You will not merely preserve—you will increase. And only the increaser is the true preserver.”

People are different. In Russia equality was enforced by force. People became very miserable. The soul was lost; freedom was lost—how could they not be unhappy! There is no freedom to speak.

I have heard: there was a dog show in France. Dogs from all over the world gathered; Russian dogs came too—very robust! The French dogs asked, “How are things in Russia?” They said, “Wonderful. Everything in terms of food is provided; what men do not get, we get. Great fun! But we do not want to go back.” The French dogs said, “We don’t understand—if it’s so good, why don’t you want to return?” They said, “Everything is fine—except there is no freedom to bark. And what is a dog’s life without barking? Give all the food you like—food is not life; the joy is in barking!”

In Russia there is no freedom of speech—the walls have ears. People pray hiding in cellars. They read the Bible in secret so no one finds out. They take Jesus’ name fearfully, lest anyone hear. A husband fears his wife—she might inform in a fit of anger. A father fears his son—he might say something at school. Such fear pervades. Is this happiness? Equality achieved, freedom lost, the soul lost.

Whatever you do in the world will not bring happiness; it will only set new cycles of suffering spinning. And yes, the world is deeply miserable—this is true. So what to do? Break suffering at its root. The root is ignorance—self-ignorance.

So don’t ask: “May my life be of use to someone.” First ask: “How can my life become life? How can I be born?” Then, whichever path of life opens for you—however you come to know life and are drenched in its nectar—just pass on that news, Pradeep, and lamps will be lit in others’ lives too. When one lamp is lit, many others can be lit from it. From flame to flame the light spreads.

But I do not want you to engage in “service,” and I do not want you to seek power. Two approaches have been tried to change the world—service and power. “Serve, and people will be happy”—that too has proved false. Service has been done in plenty; no one has become happy. The other way is: enter power and make people happy by force. But can anyone be made happy by force?

People cannot be happy because the causes—the seeds—of their suffering lie within. Those seeds must be burned. They burn only in meditation. When the seeds are burned in meditation, the light of love arises—and love is bliss. Where meditation and love meet, there is the experience of the divine; that experience is sat-chit-ananda—truth, consciousness, bliss. Seek that nectar! Do not worry about others yet, Pradeep; first take care of yourself. If one thing is set right, all else is set right.

That is all for today.