Kano Suni So Juth Sab #1

Athato prem jijñasa! Now, the inquiry into love. Again the talk of love. Only two things belong to the Divine—either meditation or love. Only two paths—either become empty, or become utterly full in love. Either dissolve totally—no ego remains, no thought remains, no mind remains; or dye yourself in love in every possible way—leave not even a grain undyed.

So either someone arrives at Truth through emptiness, or through love. Saint Daria will speak of love. He knew through love. Before we enter his sayings… they are unique sayings. And the sayings are those of a completely unlettered man. Daria did not even know words; born in great poverty—he was a carder of cotton, a Muslim. But from childhood one single obsession beat in his heart—how the nectar of the Lord might shower, how prayer might ripen.

He knocked on many doors; who knows how many mullahs, how many pundits he approached—but he found them all hollow. There was much talk there, yet what Daria was seeking—no trace of it. There were many doctrines, many scriptures—but Daria had nothing to do with doctrines and scriptures. He was in search of those eyes that had become the eyes of the Divine. He sought that heart in which the ocean of God had begun to surge. He wished to sit in the shadow of the one in whose every pore the spring of love was flowing. So he knocked on many doors, yet returned empty-handed. But at one place, a meeting with the Master happened.

Who seeks—finds. Sooner or later, the Master appears. Those who only sit and wait—do not find; those who set out on the quest—find. And remember, before one comes to the right door, one must knock on many wrong doors. Before the right is found, wandering in the marketplace of the wrong is inevitable. This too is an indispensable phase of the search. When at last you find, you will see that even the wrong gave support. To recognize the wrong as wrong becomes itself a step toward recognizing the right as right.

He went to many doors. Wherever news came, he went. But he found much talk, many doctrines, many scriptures; of Truth—no glimpse. Yet he did find, in one place. And the name of the one from whom he found—this too is not precisely known. The man’s body and soul were so soaked in love that people began to call him Sant Prem ji Maharaj. Hence no one knows his given name for sure. The moment Daria arrived, it happened.

There is no delay, not even for a moment. If the eyes are those of a seeker, if the eyes are searching—wherever the light is, the connection happens by itself; no one has to seat you; if seating is needed, then you have not really been seated. What is forced never truly settles.

Meeting the Master is like love. As when, upon seeing someone, love suddenly surges—helpless! You can do nothing; you are powerless. You say, it has happened—love has happened. Such is the Master’s glance. This is the ultimate love. All other loves bring you into the world; this love takes you beyond the world. This is the summit of love. All other loves, in the end, descend upon the body; this love carries you beyond the body. All other loves are gross; this is the love of the subtle. Seeing this one saint, it happened. In a single instant—lightning flashed.

This Prem ji Maharaj was a disciple of Dadu Dayal—of Saint Dadu. And on his deathbed Dadu opened his eyes. A hundred years earlier… a century before Daria, Dadu lived. As he was dying, disciples were gathered; Dadu opened his eyes and spoke a strange thing—a prophecy. Dying Dadu said:
Deh padanta Dadu kahe, sau barsan ek sant.
Rain Nagar mein paragate, tare jiva anant.

Daria was born a hundred years later, in Rain Nagar.

Sant Prem ji Maharaj was a disciple of Dadu. It is entirely possible that Dadu’s declaration was about Daria. For it was through one of Dadu’s lovers that the door opened. The Dadu-panthis hold that Daria is Dadu’s very avatar. In one sense they are right, for what Dadu said, the glory of love that Dadu sang, that very glory Daria also sang. In truth, all incarnations of love are incarnations of the One. Individuals do not incarnate—Truths incarnate.

Deh padanta Dadu kahe… The body was falling, the body was going, the final moment had come, the messengers of Yama stood at the door—and Dadu said: deh padanta Dadu kahe…

My body is falling, but as it falls I announce—after a hundred years a saint will come. In Rain Nagar he will manifest, and countless beings will be ferried across. To his weeping disciples he said: do not fear; with my going, nothing is lost. Another will also come—wait.

Then came Daria—into the house of a carder, a Muslim carder. But from childhood, only one flavor, one love. He never went to school, was never sent; he did not read, he did not write. He could not even sign his name. As Kabir said, “Masi kagad chhuyo nahi”—I never touched ink or paper. Exactly so—just like Kabir.

Daria said: Jo dhunia to bhi main Ram tumhara. Granted that I am a carder of cotton—unlettered, without learning, ignorant—what difference does it make! Jo dhunia to bhi main Ram tumhara—yet I am yours, O Ram!

The devotee says, what I am is a useless matter; your glance of grace is upon me—then all is done. This is the difference between the egoist and the devotee. The egoist says, I am something—see, I am educated, wealthy, I have status, I am virtuous, I am renunciate—this, that. The egoist claims. The devotee says, jo dhunia… I am just a carder, I am nothing; in me there is no special quality—and yet I am Ram’s. But I have this one great quality, that I am yours. And this is the greatest quality—what else is needed? What more could be asked, or become? If only you turn toward Ram, light will dawn in your darkness. From the birth of this single trust, the whole revolution happens, the entire balance shifts.

He saw Prem ji Maharaj—and the event happened: he was seeking…

Koi dil-sa dard-ashna chahta hoon,
Rahe ishq mein rahnuma chahta hoon—

He sought a guide upon the path of love.

Koi dil-sa dard-ashna chahta hoon,
Rahe ishq mein rahnuma chahta hoon.

He went to many pundits—but what light can a pundit give upon the path of love! Only a net of hollow words. No mad intoxication, no ecstasy, no wine. And the devotee is not eager to talk of wine—he is eager to drink it. The pundit talks of wine, analyzes, discusses—never drinks. Wine has never touched his throat; tears have never flowed from his eyes; his ankles never wore the anklets of dance; he never danced in ecstasy; he never hummed; he never drowned himself. All scholarship is only the decoration of the ego, a cosmetic.

The moment he saw Prem ji Maharaj, a bud blossomed, a closed bud opened.

This has happened many times in the history of man’s spiritual life. If someone has sat at the feet of a Buddha and learned something, taken some lessons, and then Buddha departs—this man will wander holding those lessons within, guarded in his unconscious, searching—until he meets again someone like a Buddha. Until a Buddha-like being approaches, his spark will remain hidden. Just coming near to one like Buddha, the flame will appear. Only proximity—and it flares into light. If one has been with Krishna, for lifetimes and lifetimes he will seek him again—knowingly, unknowingly, in awareness or unawareness, waking or sleeping, he will grope for Krishna. And until someone like Krishna comes to him, his lamp will remain unlit.

In my seeing, Daria must have been among Dadu’s disciples. I do not say he is Dadu’s avatar—what avatar of Dadu! One who has awakened—has gone; he does not incarnate again. There is no return. So I would say to the Dadu-panthis: do not say Dadu’s avatar. Say only—an incarnation of the same love of which Dadu was an incarnation. But do not say Dadu himself. For Dadu is gone. The song is the same, the melody is the same, the note is the same. The flower is of the same fragrance and color. But do not say it is the same flower—only like it. For Dadu has gone.

That disciple who stood around Dadu’s deathbed—this one is among them. These words were spoken to awaken him:

Deh padanta Dadu kahe, sau barsan ek sant.
Rain Nagar mein paragate, tare jiva anant.

This seed-mantra must have been spoken for one disciple in that crowd.

Many times words have been said to you that you did not hear. Many times words have been said to you that you did not understand. And yet those words will someday be fulfilled. Whoever once comes near a true Master—his journey for lifetimes will continue in that very nearness. Whether the Master remains in the body or departs the body, returns or never returns—once this bond is made with a true Master, it is a bond of births. This knot, once tied, never opens. If you do not join—another matter; but if you join, then it continues birth after birth.

Daria wandered, went to many; but then, with one of Dadu’s own lovers, where the same light as Dadu’s was shining, where Dadu himself seemed to appear again—there the flame was kindled. The extinguished lamp suddenly blazed forth, radiance came.

Khili ho kitni koi khile veeran mein jaise,
Nikal aayein nai baalein kunaare dhaan mein jaise—

—something blossomed within.

Hai yaad hai kisi ki vo pehli nigah-e-lutf,
Phir khoon ko yun na dekha ragon mein rawan kabhi—

That eye of Prem ji Maharaj—meeting eye to eye created a revolution.

Hai yaad hai kisi ki vo pehli nigah-e-lutf,
Phir khoon ko yun na dekha ragon mein rawan kabhi.

What had to burn—burned. What had to be effaced—was effaced. What had to happen—happened. Sometimes, in a single instant, in a single moment, it is done—when you meet precisely the right person.

In the search for the spiritual, the search for the true Master is the greatest search. More important even than the search for God is the search for the Master, because you will not be able to connect directly with God. You will need some window, some door. God is present everywhere. He is present—what is there to search? Understand this a little: God is already present—what is there to seek? But though present, you do not see; for you he is absent. He will be present for you only when you sit with one for whom God has become present. When two hearts become one—with such a person for whom God is a living presence—in that very joining he will become present for you also; before that, he will not. Yes, once seen, once the window opens, once the curtain lifts, then there is no hindrance. Then there is no distinction between Master and God. Then God and Master become two names for the One.

Kabir has said:
Guru Govind dou khade, kake lagun paon?
Balihaari guru aapne, Govind diyo bataye.

Whose feet shall I touch? Now both stand before me—a great dilemma. Whose feet first? If I touch the Master’s, perhaps God is insulted. If I touch God’s, that too does not seem fitting, for through whom I reached God—he might be slighted. The words are sweet: whose feet shall I touch? But Kabir did not say whom he touched; so different people have made different meanings. Some say the Master signaled: do not doubt—touch God’s feet. Balihaari guru aapne, Govind diyo bataye—thus the doubt is resolved.

Most interpret it so. I do not. I say Kabir touched the Master’s feet. Why? Because he says, Balihaari guru aapne—my infinite gratitude to the Master who showed me Govind. In that very Balihaari he has already bowed. That word itself reveals that he touched the Master’s feet—even though the Master pointed toward God. Precisely therefore he touched the Master’s feet. The Master’s whole work is to point. The Master is a gesture.

Have you seen milestones, on which an arrow marks the way ahead? The Master is such a sign of the arrow. He says, farther… and farther… and farther! He keeps saying farther until the meeting with the Supreme happens. Balihaari guru aapki…

With the meeting of Prem ji Maharaj—Daria’s life changed. The search was over—as when the thirsty finds water! One brief glance ushered a revolution.

Geet apne ab nahin kunaare rahe,
Meet ke svar se bhanvar kar aa gaye—

Now Daria was not a virgin anymore—the knot was tied, the union with the Master happened. That supreme marriage occurred, after which only one destination remains—the union with the Divine.

The Master is the door; the Divine is the temple.

These sayings of Daria—if you try to understand them with intellect, you will miss. Understand with the heart. Vibrate with them. They are the sweet words of an unlettered man, yet how dear. Even the Upanishads and Vedas could compete—such are these sayings. For what has literacy to do with it? When the event happens in the heart, even broken words become sheathed in gold. One who has something to say—whatever words he uses, those words become golden. And one who has nothing to say—even if he arranges the most beautiful phrases—they are ornaments placed upon a corpse. Soon stench will arise. Dress a corpse in the finest garments—it does not become alive. But the living—even if standing naked—are beautiful.

Listen to these sayings—

Jan Daria Hari bhakti ki, guran batayi baat.
Bhula ujhad jaye tha, narak padan ke ghat.

Jan Daria Hari bhakti ki guran batayi baat. The Master showed the way of love to Hari. He showed the way—do not think this means he explained a great deal. He did not explain at all. This is not a matter of explanation. In the very presence of the Master the indication is given. Simply sitting near the Master—it begins to happen. It is a contagious disease. This is satsang. Sit by the Master and it begins to happen. Sitting near the Master, a thrill arises; every hair vibrates, trembles. Breezes from an invisible realm surround you. A spring arrives. The heart that lay empty and silent, where no note arose—there a thousand notes begin to rise. But this is a contagion—a catching fever.

Therefore on the path of love, satsang means to be near the Master. If sometimes he speaks—listen; if he speaks not—still listen; but drink the Master. Drinking, the indication becomes clear.

Jan Daria Hari bhakti ki, guran batayi baat.
The Master signaled—set me on the path, seated me in the boat—of devotion to Hari.

Daria is a Muslim; but the song is neither Hindu nor Muslim; the song is neither Ram’s nor Rahim’s—or else it is both. Saints like Daria have given true dignity to religion. Not a trace of discrimination. Seeing Prem ji Maharaj, he never thought—this man is a Hindu, I am a Muslim. The thought did not arise at all. Since when has love been Hindu or Muslim! What has devotion to Hari to do with Quran or with Gita? Hari-bhakti is not a doctrine, not a philosophy. It is a plunge into a realm where we arrive only by abandoning reason and thought and all analysis of the mind. It is abiding in one’s own innermost core.

Jan Daria Hari bhakti ki…

Bhakti is love’s supreme form. Love has three forms—lust, love, devotion. Lust is the lowest form—downward, descending; bound to the body. The second form—neither going upward nor downward; moving on a level—neither descending nor ascending; in the middle—is love bound to the mind. Devotion is the third, ultimate form—ascendant, rising upward; bound neither to body nor to mind; immersion in the soul.

Man has three planes—body, mind, soul. So too love in man has three planes—lust, love, devotion. Until your lust becomes love you will not find happiness. And until your love becomes devotion you will not know bliss. If your lust remains lust, you will know sorrow upon sorrow. If your lust becomes love, you will know sometimes sorrow and sometimes happiness. If your lust becomes devotion—you will know happiness always. You will become happiness itself. Lust is bondage; in devotion there is freedom. Love is in the middle; therefore in love there is a little bondage and a little freedom. Love is a compromise. Hence in love there is a slight shadow of lust and a slight shadow of devotion. Therefore whom you love—you sometimes glimpse a little of the Divine in them. In the one you love you sometimes sense a visitation of God. Sometimes you behave toward that one like an animal, and sometimes like toward God. Love is in the middle.

Hence in love there is a tension. The lustful has less tension. He is bound to his animal nature. There is no dilemma in him. That is why animals have no dilemmas. The devotee too is free—no dilemma in him either. He is wholly joined to the Divine. And the lustful is wholly sunk in the body. The dilemma belongs to the lover. He stands between. One hand reaches toward devotion, the other toward lust. He is wobbly—like one walking upon a rope, trembling all the time.

In love there is anxiety, for love wants to fly in the sky while its feet are sunk in the earth. Lust is like roots; devotion like birds. And love stands in a great quandary, a great difficulty.

Keep this in mind. On the path of devotion there is no opposition to love; there is transformation of love. Turn lust into love, love into devotion. No battle anywhere. Therefore, the one toward whom you feel lust—at least love them; move a little upward. Toward the one you love—bring a little devotion.

No need to fight; slowly, gently, the revolution happens. Without even a footfall being heard—the revolution happens.

Jan Daria Hari bhakti ki, guran batayi baat.
Bhula ujhad jaye tha, narak padan ke ghat.

I was lost. And I was rushing toward that direction—toward lust—which is in truth a wasteland; a desert in which afar mirages appear. It seems there are lakes of water, green trees and shade—and the mind runs toward them. I was running toward lust.

Bhula ujhad jaye tha, narak padan ke ghat.
Lust is the very ghat to hell. If you wish to go to hell, that is the pilgrimage; from there the descent begins. But the Master showed the way. And he showed it—not with words, but with his very being. With his very being of love the Master gave the news that within lust a great glory is hidden—free it.

Understand it thus: when water flows, it flows downward—by itself it goes downward. That is the nature of water. Then freeze the water into ice—then it goes neither downward nor upward; it stops. That is the nature of ice. Then vaporize the water, heat it, make it fly—then it begins to rise upward as steam. It is water all the while. When it ran downward—it was water; when as ice it stood still, moving nowhere—it was water; and when as vapor it ascends toward the sky, turning sunward—it is water. As water has three states, so has love. In lust it goes downward. In love it neither goes downward nor upward—it stands. In devotion it rises upward. Below is hell; above is heaven. The lover remains caught between—heaven and hell. One foot in heaven, one in hell. The lover rides two boats.

Therefore in the world, the lover will one day decide either to become lustful or to become a devotee. Long he cannot remain only a lover; it is a time of dilemma. People one day or another decide—either now become lustful, or become a devotee.

The materialist slowly forgets love, remains stuck in lust. The seeker of the spiritual slowly forgets love, and drowns in devotion. But a decision is needed, for love is a great state of quandary. If you do not decide, you will remain in pain and restlessness. Therefore you will not find one more tormented than the lover.

Something must be done. One must bring unity into life. Either bring unity on the lower plane, or on the higher. Either become unified as an animal…

Look, animals are unified! Animals do not go mad, do not become deranged, do not become restless, do not commit suicide. They are uniform; wherever they are, they are wholly there. They do not know that there can be anything above this.

And the devotee too is unified. He too has forgotten that there could be anything below. But the one who stands between—his suffering is great.

Bhula ujhad jaye tha, narak padan ke ghat.

Nahin tha Ram Rahim ka, main matihin ajan.
Daria sudh-budh gyan de, Satguru kiya sujan.

Nahin tha Ram Rahim ka…

Until you belong to Ram, how will you belong to Rahim? And until you belong to Rahim, how will you belong to Ram? People talk of Ram and Rahim; none belongs to Ram, none to Rahim. For the one who truly belongs to one—belongs to all. The one who is truly a Muslim is also a Hindu, a Jain, a Christian. And the one who is truly a Hindu is truly a Muslim as well.

In truth, it is a matter of being religious; not of being Hindu or Muslim.

Nahin tha Ram Rahim ka…

Daria says: I belonged neither to Ram nor to Rahim—only talk. Even when I went to the temple it had no meaning; I had no acquaintance with the Ram who dwelt there. And when I went to the mosque—it was futile; I knew not the Rahim who dwelt there. Without knowing the God within, one cannot know the gods of temples and mosques. The first knowing is self-knowing.

Jan Daria Hari bhakti ki, guran batayi baat.
But the Master showed the path. The Master opened the eyes. The Master lit the extinguished wick.

Daria sudh-budh gyan de, Satguru kiya sujan.
—I was witless.

Mind—everyone has; but awakened intelligence—very few.

What does mati mean? In dictionaries—it means mind; but existentially, the sleeping mind is “mind,” the awakened mind is “mati,” “sumati.” The mind when unconscious is manas; when awake—mati. This very mind, awakened, becomes right understanding—mati.

Nahin tha Ram Rahim ka, main matihin ajan.
I had intellect, thought and consideration—but no mati. I had intelligence, but not the understanding to use it rightly. Most people misuse their intelligence. Most are as if cutting their own throats with their own hands. Their very intellect has become their greatest difficulty. By their intellect they only devise ways by which their life cannot be raised higher. So sometimes it happens that simple-hearted people—whom you may call fools—advance upward; while those you call intellectuals—overfull with thought—cannot move at all. They argue a thousand arguments, and all their arguments undo only themselves.

Reflect: when you argue against God, notice—you do not undo God; you only undo your own future. What harm to God? Whether you accept or not—what difference to God? But by not accepting you close the door of your own possibility. By denying, the seed that could have sprouted—you said sprouting does not happen; the seed will lie like stone.

If you say something against Truth—Truth is not falsified; you are falsified. It is like spitting upward toward the sky—the spittle falls back upon you.

But the intellectual does such things. There is no mati. If there were, he would use all his energy for one thing—to know who am I. Leave God! The word God is of no use. If you are truly intelligent, do at least this much—know who am I. From where do I come, where do I go, how have I come to stand at this crossroads—who am I? Know at least this much!

Nahin tha Ram Rahim ka, main matihin ajan.
Daria sudh-budh gyan de, Satguru kiya sujan.

Sudh-budh gyan de…

Notice—he did not give scriptural knowledge; he gave sobriety, awareness.

There are two kinds of knowing. One is scriptural—found in schools and universities. Scriptural knowledge—word-knowledge—has a vast jungle. If you get lost in it, even lifetimes will not be enough to come out. If you get lost in forests, you might come out; in books, you cannot—for the forest has a boundary; words have none.

Sudh-budh gyan de…

Sudh means—he made me aware. He shook me awake to who you are. In that shaking—buddhi, bodh arises. And this sobering awareness is knowledge. All else is vain prattle. The rest is like this: hunger has struck—and you open a cookbook to read recipes. Read as much as you like; your hunger will not be stilled. Thirst flames—and you hold a formula of how water is composed—H2O. Keep this formula; make an amulet of it; hang it on your neck; chant it—H2O, H2O, H2O! Hum it. But thirst will not be quenched. Thirst is not quenched by mantras. For thirst—you need water. And the wonder of wonders is that you are chanting H2O while the river flows before you. But you are so absorbed in your recitation—you have no leisure to see the river!

Daria sudh-budh gyan de, Satguru kiya sujan.
I was unknowing; he made me wise.

Satguru sabdan mit gaya, Daria sansay sog.
Aushadh de Harinam ka, tan man kiya nirog.

Satguru sabdan mit gaya…

Listening to the true Master’s words—all doubts vanished, all sorrow ceased.

Understand this well. Do not imagine that everyone who went to Daria’s Master had all their doubts removed. There is an art of listening. You can even go to the Buddha and still carry your doubts back with you. Listening has an art. A rare way is needed. One must listen in such a way that your intellect and its net of arguments do not obstruct. One must listen in love, not in logic. To listen without argument—that is faith.

Daria’s doubts ended, his sorrows ended, because he fell in love with this man. He saw this man, his eye met his eye—and he lost his wits.

Now this is the great wonder! With the one in whose presence you lose your wits—in that presence, true sobriety is born. A deep paradox.

Kuch tumhari nigah kafir thi,
Kuch mujhe bhi kharab hona tha.

You must have seen those eyes—steeped in nectar! Those eyes like a silent lake, upon which lotuses float! You must have looked into those eyes—and drowned in them. Love seized him. He was possessed. Had he been very learned, very scholarly, he would have thought: perhaps this man is hypnotizing me! What net is this I am falling into? He would have guarded himself. He would have sharpened his reasoning. Even if listening—he would not have listened by drowning, he would have listened from afar. He would have listened as a judge listens in court. He would have listened as an examiner, coming to test. He would have listened thinking—the decision is mine, whether this is right or wrong…

Now, if only you knew what is right and wrong—why did you come at all?

The listener should listen this way: I do not know what is right or wrong; how shall I judge? I drop judgment and listen. I do not know what is true or untrue—perhaps this man knows. Give him a chance. Open my heart before this man. Let him raise music in my heart. Let him touch the strings, let him play the veena of my heart.

But the logic-bound man does not allow anyone to enter the heart. He himself does not know how to play his own veena; and those who know, he does not let their hands reach within. He says, keep your hands outside—do not hypnotize me; I might get entangled; I might fall into some snare.

Now this is most surprising—that you have nothing to lose, yet you are very afraid of losing something! What is there you can lose? What can be taken from you by hypnosis? Your soul is utterly empty. Why fear? What is the danger? What will you lose? What do you have? Yet you are greatly afraid. You listen very cautiously. Caution meaning—not awareness—only distance. You stand far, ready to run. You go only up to a point, and then go no farther. You see to it that you stand at such a distance that if the need to flee comes, you can flee, you are not caught. You listen with great cleverness, with guile, with cunning. Whoever listens with cunning—will miss. These matters are not for the cunning—they are for the mad in love.

Satguru sabdan mit gaya…

What vanished? Daria vanished. He heard those words—those love-filled words—those honeyed words—those words of ecstasy! It is not that those words had great logic—that is why they struck. They had great love—these are matters of another order. Not that those words were rich in doctrine. Daria had gone to doctrinaires aplenty; he had knocked at doors of pundits and mullahs. Doctrine was thick there. Logic was well-established. Whatever they said, they provided proofs from scriptures. Here—there was neither scripture nor proof, nor logic; here—only unreckoning talk was happening. Here—the drinkers sat. It was a tavern. He drowned in the tavern of Prem ji Maharaj.

Satguru sabdan mit gaya…

Here, things were being said that cannot be said. If you stick only to the words, you will never understand. One must listen to the spaces between. One must peer into the blank that lies between lines. Here, with every word was linked the unspoken. That unspoken must be glimpsed. When someone listens to words with great reverence, the unspoken arrives in his hands. When one listens to words with deep sympathy and love—then the void hidden within the words begins to give its glimpse. If you listen with too much cleverness—you kill the word; it dies in your hands; dead words remain with you. At most you will have collected a doctrine, but the emptiness will be missed. And that was the real thing.

Think of it thus: I sent you a letter; you kept the envelope—and never looked at the letter inside, or forgot it, or lost it, or never opened it—fascinated by the envelope alone. Words are envelopes; within them, hidden, is the emptiness—the message. But to hear the unspoken, if your heart guards itself even a little—you will not hear. You must become unguarded, surrendered in every way, offered…

Satguru sabdan mit gaya, Daria sansay sog.

Daria himself disappeared—then where doubt! Doubt is a shadow of ego. As long as you are, doubt is. You go—doubt goes. And when doubt goes—all sorrow and suffering go; for doubt divides us, splits us into fragments.

Banti hai toot kar yeh zindagi is bhanti tukdon mein,
Daraaren jodna inki nahi itna saral koi—

We have broken into pieces.

Banti hai toot kar yeh zindagi is bhanti tukdon mein,
Daraaren jodna inki nahi itna saral koi.

Until you flow utterly in someone’s love, you will not be joined.

Until you become helpless in someone’s love, you will not be joined. Love joins; logic breaks. Thought fragments; thoughtlessness makes whole.

You are listening to me—there are two ways to listen. One is Daria’s way—then you are fortunate. One day you too will be able to say: Satguru sabdan mit gaya, Daria sansay sog. The other way is as a student listens—taking notes, judging if what is being said is right or not; we’ll think later, we’ll analyze later. And even as you listen, your past speaks within you: yes, this fits the Ramayana, this fits the Quran; this does not fit—this is against our religion. You go on commenting within. I am speaking here; you are speaking there. Then it will be difficult. You will hear something else; something will be lost; something will be added. Things will go awry. Then you will not prove as fortunate as Daria.

Satguru sabdan mit gaya…

Whoever listens in love to the true Master’s word—he dissolves. In that dissolving—there is becoming. In that death—a new birth.

Aushadh de Harinam ka, tan man kiya nirog.

And all became healed; all became whole; all disease departed. For all diseases are of mind. All diseases are of ego.

Aushadh de Harinam ka…

The medicine of the Name of Hari can be given only to one who is ready to listen in love.

Listen—an extraordinary verse—

Rinji shastra gyan ki, ang rahi liptay.
Satguru ek hi shabd se, dinhi turat uday.

Rinji means—dust.

Rinji shastra gyan ki, ang rahi liptay.

Daria says: my every limb was coated with the dust of scriptural knowledge. Heard-and-told things, read-and-taught things—clung to me on all sides. Borrowed talk, stale talk.

Rinji shastra gyan ki…

I was coated all over in the dust of scriptures. It was all babble, yet I was smeared with it. I was becoming filthy with it. I needed a bath. And that dust I took to be my treasure.

Rinji shastra gyan ki, ang rahi liptay.
Satguru ek hi shabd se, dinhi turat uday.

And with a single word of the Master, I bathed—the dust flew away. A true Master is one who snatches away your scriptures. The one who gives you scriptures is not a Master—the one who snatches your scriptures is. The one who gives you knowledge is not a Master—the one who gives you awakening and takes away all your knowledge is. Not the one who makes you more doctrinal—the true Master is the one who brushes off the dust of doctrines from your life; makes you alive, alert. He does not give you a scripture—he makes you the scripture.

In you is hidden exactly what was hidden in the sages of the Upanishads. How long will you cling to the Upanishads? When will you give the inner seer a chance to hum, for the song to rise? When will you give your inner rishi a moment? The very consciousness in which those wondrous Vedic words were sung—that same consciousness you carry. When will you allow your own Veda to emerge?

Jesus and Buddha and Mahavira are eager to speak within you, for your ultimate potential is the same. You too are destined to be a Buddha; anything less will not complete your journey. But as long as you bind yourself to the borrowed, carrying the bundle upon your head—your own wealth will not arise.

The Master is the one who snatches your scriptures.

I have heard—there was a wondrous Zen fakir in China, Huineng. He was passing by the garden of his monastery; one disciple sat beneath a tree memorizing Buddha’s words. Huineng listened awhile and said: Listen! Beware lest the scripture confound you; you confound the scripture!

A marvelous saying—confound the scripture; do not be confounded by it. Then the Zen masters worked much upon this.

Another Zen master, on his deathbed, gathered all his disciples; he collected all the scriptures and had them burned, saying: see, this is my final message. Until all such scriptures within you are burned, your inner Master will not be born.

Rinji shastra gyan ki, ang rahi liptay.
Satguru ekahi sabd se, dinhi turat uday.

But how does this happen? So many listen to so many—and nothing happens. With one word, how could it happen?

If listened to in love, even one word is enough. If not listened to in love—even millions of words are not enough. For the intelligent, a hint suffices.

Buddha used to tell: One day a man came and said, Say it in brief—I am in haste. Speak the essence and I will accomplish it. Buddha said nothing—just sat silent. The man sat silently for half an hour; then rose, overjoyed—he touched Buddha’s feet and said: Thank you! I have understood. He left. When he was gone, Ananda asked Buddha: What did he understand? I have been with you thirty years—listening and tired of listening. And this man sat half an hour—you said nothing—what did he get? What is this? And you too were pleased when he said he got it—and he was blissful! Surely something happened—some secret transaction!

Buddha said: Ananda, remember when we were princes—you were my cousin. I loved horses; in horsemanship you were number one. Horses are of many kinds. One horse—you beat and beat—and it will not move. Another—just one stroke and it moves. A third—no need to strike; only crack the whip and it moves. And the fourth—the supreme horse—Ananda, we had such horses—do you remember? Even cracking the whip was an insult—merely holding the whip in the hand sufficed. Not even to crack it. And you saw that last supreme horse—one did not even need to keep the whip with him; that too was an insult—only the shadow of the whip was enough. A distant shadow sufficed. Such was this man—he was the horse to whom even the shadow of the whip is enough.

People listen in different ways. Daria must have listened in deep drowning. One word broke the prison, the darkness. One ray awakened the inner light.

Jaise Satguru tum kari, mujhse kachu na hoye.
Vish-bhande vish kadhkar, diya amiras moye.

And Daria says: What a marvel you wrought! How you did it!—Jaise Satguru tum kari, mujhse kachu na hoye. For I know—this did not happen by my doing. By my doing it never happened; I tried and tried and failed. I was tiring, filled with melancholy; despair was encircling me. By my doing—nothing was happening.

Jaise Satguru tum kari, mujhse kachu na hoye.
Now I know with certainty—it happened by grace, by prasad.

Remember—on the path of meditation: effort. On the path of love: prasad, grace of the Lord. The first ray of the Lord’s grace—the grace of the Master.

Vish-bhande vish kadhkar…

A miracle you performed: I was a vessel full of poison—you removed the poison; and when you filled me with ambrosia, I did not even know!

Satguru ekahi shabd se, diya amiras moye.

With a single word! With a mere hint! Eye meeting eye—and all was done!

Vish-bhande vish kadhkar…

A difficult task—yet it happened in a wink.

The Divine happens in the wink of an eye. It is difficult—if you try to do it. If you allow it to happen—it is not difficult at all; very simple, very natural. Only do not obstruct.

Understand the difference. On the path of meditation—labor. Hence the path of meditation is the path of tireless effort. Therefore the cultures of Buddha and Mahavira are called the culture of the shramana—of labor. There is no provision for bhakti there—meditation alone is the path. Hence on the paths of Buddha and Mahavira, woman has remained a little troubled, for there is no way of devotion. The Jains even say that in a female embodiment there can be no liberation.

What does female embodiment mean? It means—the mode of love. Buddha for years refused to initiate women; when he did, he did so with hesitation; and after doing it he said to Ananda: You insist, so I give; but remember—my dharma that would have lasted five thousand years will now not last more than five hundred.

What is the matter here? Why? It is not related to religion as such—in a particular view. Meditation is masculine—labor, tireless striving, resolve, discipline. Love is feminine—prasad, receptivity, wonder, waiting, prayer. Woman receives; man seeks. Man goes on a journey; woman waits at the door.

And do not assume that all men are men and all women are women. Do not assume so. Some women will be fulfilled by meditation; and many men will be fulfilled by love. Therefore the division of man-woman is not only bodily, not merely biological; it runs very deep. Consider Chaitanya: spiritually, if we must say—he is a woman, not a man, for he attained through bhakti. Exactly like Meera—no difference. What matters the bodily difference? A few hormones here and there—what difference? That difference is only of the body. Chaitanya’s consciousness is exactly like Meera’s.

In Kashmir there was a woman, Lalla. She is like Mahavira. She remained naked. A man’s remaining naked does not seem so difficult; for a woman it seems very difficult. But Lalla remained naked all her life. Even Mahavira did not dare tell his ordained nuns—be naked. Men went naked; women were forbidden. Perhaps for this reason he said—once more you must be born; when you are born as a man and abandon all and become sky-clad—then you will attain. But in this life—how will it be?

But Lalla of Kashmir remained naked. To call Lalla a woman is not right. She is exactly as Mahavira.

So do not take this division as bodily only; it is more of the self.

Jaise Satguru tum kari…

Daria has a woman’s heart. All devotees have a woman’s heart.

… mujhse kachu na hoye.
You did it; it happened. By my doing—nothing would have happened.

Sabd gaha sukh upaja, gaya andesha mohi.
Satguru ne kirpa kari, khidki dinhi kholi.

Sabd gaha sukh upaja…

The moment I grasped the word—took it within—joy arose. You gave the word here—and bliss burst forth there. From your word a shower of felicity fell.

Sabd gaha sukh upaja, gaya andesha mohi.

All fear vanished.

Understand this. You ordinarily think love and hatred are opposites. Not true. Love and fear are opposites. Love and hatred are not opposites—hatred can walk with love. Hence they cannot be called opposites. The very one you love—you sometimes hate. In fact, you will hate only the one you love—who else? The husband the wife; the wife the husband—the one you love is the one you will quarrel with! The one you are devoted to—you will be angry at; the one you love—you will sometimes hate. For the one you would give your life, sometimes thoughts arise to take their life.

Love and hatred can move together—no hindrance. But love and fear never move together; the real opposition is between love and fear. Where love comes, fear departs. Where fear comes, love departs.

I have heard a Japanese tale: a young warrior, newly married, was returning home with his bride. They boarded a boat. A storm rose. The boat rocked—now it would sink, now not. The young man sat unconcerned. His wife began to tremble. She said, You sit so unconcerned—as if nothing is happening! Don’t you see the boat is sinking? It will be hard to survive. We have just been married, we had not yet even tasted the joy of marriage—and such an ill day has dawned! What a disaster approaches! Why do you sit? You sit as if at home—as if nothing is happening!

The young man drew his sword from the sheath, and held it to his wife’s neck. The blade was so close that only a hair’s breadth remained; one slight stroke—and the head would fall. The young woman began to laugh. The young man said, You laugh? You do not fear? A naked blade is at your throat; with one gesture—you are gone. You do not tremble?

She said: Why fear? The sword is in your hands.

The young man said: That is my answer. When the storm is in God’s hands—why fear?

He put the sword back into the sheath. As he sheathed his sword—the storm too was sheathed.

Where love is, fear is not. Therefore none is more fearless than the devotee. The meditator, whom you so call, remains afraid—very afraid—that he may not fail, may not err, may not commit sin, may not break a rule! For Buddha’s monk there are thirty-three thousand rules! Think—wouldn’t worry persist—thirty-three thousand rules! Even to remember them is hard; some mistake is bound to happen. Hell is certain. With thirty-three thousand rules—how to be saved from hell?

But the lover has no fear. He says, You know. If you wish me to err—let me err; if not—then not.

The devotee’s fearlessness is total; complete.

Sabd gaha sukh upaja…

I just took your word—and joy arose.

This word gaha—grasped—keep in mind: as a woman conceives. When a new life is born on earth, the man gives, the woman receives—she only grasps. The moment she receives, the seed begins to sprout in her womb. Like the earth receiving the seed—once received, sprouting begins. Birth starts; the journey of life begins; the festival commences.

Daria says: Sabd gaha sukh upaja.

I took your word within—and flowers of joy blossomed.

… gaya andesha mohi.

And astonishingly—in that moment I found all fear dissolved. No fear remained. Where love is—fear cannot be. As in light darkness is not; bring a lamp and light arrives—and darkness goes. So too, ignite love—and fear disappears. And only in a life without fear—can joy happen.

In the devotee’s life there is no fear—for this world is no accident; it is in the hands of God. This storm is in his hands. The sword is his.

The devotee does not fear even in the face of death, for death too is his maidservant, arrives at his gesture. The devotee can embrace death—and does. He befriends death too—for whatever comes from him—is his.

I have heard—Mahmud of Ghazni had a slave whom he greatly loved. He was worthy of love. It is said Mahmud would not even let his wives—he had many—sleep in his room at night; he was afraid—someone might kill him, ally with enemies, cause trouble, poison him. But this slave slept in his room—he had no fear of him. One day both lost their way in a forest. They had gone hunting; they lost the path; companions scattered. Only the slave was with him. Hungry and thirsty they came to a garden. On a tree—only a single fruit. Who knows what fruit, of what kind—never seen before. Mahmud plucked it, drew a knife, cut it. As was his habit, he gave the first slice to his slave. The slave took it, delighted. He said—one more. I never tasted such sweetness. Mahmud gave another. Now only half the fruit remained. The slave asked—one more. Mahmud gave it—now only one slice remained, a quarter. And the slave said—give me this too. Mahmud said—this is going too far. I am hungry too, and there is only one fruit; you have eaten three parts—leave me one. The slave said—No, master, give it to me, please; he tried to snatch it. Mahmud said—Wait, this crosses all limit. Yet the slave kept pleading—give it, give it. Meanwhile Mahmud tasted that last slice. It was bitter poison. He spat it out, threw it away. He said—Fool! Why did you not say it is poison? And you still begged for this too! And you ate three slices as if they were ambrosia!

The slave said—From the hands that have given so many sweet things, if once in a while a bitter thing also comes—is that a matter for complaint? From the hands that give so much joy, if sometimes a little pain also comes—that too is fortune. It comes from those very hands. It was enough that your hands touched it.

Mahmud has written this in his memoirs. This is the devotee’s outlook toward the world. So much joy God gives that if once in a while a thorn pricks on the path—is that a matter for complaint? Hide it quickly and remove it—lest he come to know, lest unconscious complaint happen, lest an ‘ah!’ escape! We never offer even a little gratitude for all that is given; but let a small trouble come—just a small one, a headache—and a man becomes an atheist. It suffices for a headache to turn atheist. All theism vanishes in a moment. If the boy does not get a job, atheism raises its head. If a son dies, you throw out the idols and images—Enough now!

Your God is worth two pennies. You have no communion with God. You have forged no relationship.

Sabd gaha sukh upaja, gaya andesha mohi.

Daria says: all fear vanished, all anxiety vanished. What a marvel you wrought! What a miracle! And I did nothing—only grasped the word! On my part—nothing done. I only received what you gave. I became the earth; your word became the seed. I became a woman; your word entered and became pregnancy, began to sprout.

Satguru ne kirpa kari, khidki dinhi kholi.

And by your grace—you opened the window I had been seeking—the window of love. For through the window of love, one reaches the Divine. Through the window of meditation, one knows the Atman. Through the window of love, one knows the Paramatman. The Atman too is Paramatman; the Paramatman too is Atman. But thus the meditator speaks of Atman, not of God. Mahavira does not speak of God—of the self he speaks.

Through meditation the window opens into one’s within; an inwardness is born. Through love the window opens into the All; everywhere only That is seen. And to the lover, first it is seen that everywhere is That—and then he discovers, I too am That. To the knower, first it is seen—I am That—and then all is That. Such is the difference. The final result is one.

Yet the path of love is full of flavor—rasa. Raso vai sah—the Divine is flavor.

Satguru ne kirpa kari, khidki dinhi kholi.

You opened the doors; your grace descended.

Paan bel se beechhude, pardesan ras det.
Jan Daria hariya rahe, us Hari bel ke het.

And now—I will remain joined to you; as the paan leaf remains joined to its vine—then it stays green.

Jan Daria hariya rahe, us Hari bel ke het.

Now I am joined to you, one with you; no one can separate me.

The disciple can no longer be separated from the Master. Once the event happens, that knot never opens. All other loves arise and fade; this love only arises—and never fades. If it does not arise—another matter; once arisen, it does not die.

Paan bel se beechhude, pardesan ras det.

The paan leaf, when it breaks from the vine, goes roaming to give its flavor to others; it will enter someone’s mouth and give juice, redden lips.

Daria says: I have no desire now to go anywhere, to wander in foreign lands, to give flavor to anyone, to impress anyone, to redden anyone’s lips—none of this is my desire now. I have only one desire: Jan Daria hariya rahe, us Hari bel ke het. That the bond with you remain, and this leaf stay green.

And so it happens. Whoever once joins with the true Master—has joined. For joining with the true Master ultimately means joining with the Divine. The true Master is no one; the true Master is pure emptiness. The true Master is a window into the sky. The window opened—your connection with the sky happened. Balihaari guru aapne, Govind diyo bataye! How can one escape this window now! Only if you wish to escape the sky—can you escape this window. But who wishes to escape the sky! Who wishes to remain petty! Who does not wish to become vast! Who wishes to be bound by limits! One who has seen the Infinite—why would he return to the finite!

Our entire search is one—how to become infinite, how to become endless, how to be vast and all-pervading.

A word about Satguru. Satguru means—one who has known; who has experienced; whose lamp is lit. If your lamp is unlit—go to a lit lamp. There is no other way. Come near a burning lamp; draw nearer—and nearer. Nearness has a point—suddenly you will find the flame of the lit lamp leaps to the unlit. In a single instant the revolution happens. The burning lamp loses nothing. It continues to burn as before. The unlit lamp gains; the lit lamp loses nothing. Light a thousand lamps from one—still the first burns as before. It has not lost even a little.

The Master loses nothing; the disciple gains infinitely. Such is this wondrous commerce—nothing is lost here. Therefore the Master does not even think for a moment that he has shown you kindness. In truth, the Master is grateful that you came near, that you dared so much; for as the Master’s light spreads into more and more lamps, his joy deepens. As a gardener rejoices when flowers blossom upon his trees, so the Master rejoices when his disciples blossom. The Master is obliged—that you came so near, that you shared his burden a little.

Even bliss wants to be shared. Bliss too grows dense. As a cloud, when filled with water, wants to shower—so do not think only the thirsty earth thanks the cloud; the cloud too thanks the earth—for it has been unburdened.

When a flower is filled with fragrance, it blossoms—it must blossom; and spreads on a thousand thousand paths—dispersing its fragrance, traveling in color and scent upon the winds to those nostrils that will be thrilled and rejoice.

It is not without reason that awakened ones wander from village to village, door to door, seeking people, knocking. Just as the disciple seeks the Master—so the Master too seeks the disciple. And when the true Master and the true disciple meet—the whole world is filled with joy. For that event is the supreme event in this world.

Jan Daria Hari bhakti ki, guran batayi baat.
Bhula ujhad jaye tha, narak padan ke ghat.

Drown in Daria’s words. Make Daria a pilgrimage. Learn from Daria. Learn from Daria the art of dissolving.

And if you can dissolve—everything is attained.

Enough for today.