Maha Geeta #59

Someone asked Bokuju, “You are a knower; what is your practice?” Bokuju said, “When I am hungry, I eat; when sleep comes, I sleep.”
The man said, “Is that any kind of practice? We all do the same. When we are hungry, we eat; when sleep comes, we sleep.”

Bokuju said, “No. When you eat, you are doing a thousand other things in your mind; I only eat. And when you sleep, you see a thousand dreams; I only sleep. Even when you are awake, you are not fully awake; even when you sleep, you do not sleep totally. You are split, fragmented into a thousand pieces. You are a crowd. I am not a crowd. My sleep is pure. Even your sleep is impure—leave aside your waking.”

What is Bokuju saying? He is saying that in the eyes of the world he appears to act and yet does nothing; within, he remains a non-doer. Not even the line of karma is drawn. Inside he knows, “I am only the witness.”

“Whenever any action comes to be done, having done it, the man of steadiness remains at ease, and he does not cling to activity or to withdrawal.”
Listen!
प्रवृत्तौ वा निवृत्तौ वा नैव धीरस्य दुर्ग्रहः।
He has no insistence, because all insistence is obstinacy. There is really no such thing as “truth-insistence”; insistence as such is mere obstinacy. The moment you say, “It must be like this,” you have invited anxiety. The moment you say, “It should be so,” you have gotten yourself into trouble. If it doesn’t happen that way, you will be miserable—and there is no guarantee that it will.

This world does not fulfill anyone’s desires. The world has taken no contract to satisfy anyone’s longings. If by chance your private wishes happen to coincide with the totality, you feel fulfilled; if they don’t, you are not fulfilled—and mostly they don’t, because you know nothing of this vast orchestration. You go on carrying your little notions.

Our condition is like the ants roaming in your kitchen. They probably think that all the cooking, the food that falls here and there, all your shop-going and office-going, earning a livelihood and making meals—all this is arranged for them. These people moving about the house are busy only so that a few grains of sugar may fall in the kitchen and the ants may relish them.

Our situation is the same. We think this immense universe is running for us, to satisfy our wishes.

प्रवृत्तौ वा निवृत्तौ वा नैव धीरस्य दुर्ग्रहः।
यदा यत् कर्तुमायाति तत्कृत्वा तिष्ठतः सुखम्।।
When whatsoever action comes to be done—he doesn’t call it, it simply arrives—having done it, the man of steadiness abides in ease. Whether he succeeds or fails, he has no worry. He simply does what can be done. Whatever situation arises, whatever challenge comes, he responds. And he has no rigid insistence either on involvement or on withdrawal. He does not say, “I am a sannyasin—how can I do this!”

There is a Jain sect called Terapanth. If someone is dying by the roadside and a Terapanthi monk is passing, even if the man cries, “I am thirsty, give me water,” the Terapanthi monk will not give water, because he is a renunciate—how can he give water! And they have discovered clever webs of logic. They say, this man is writhing because of sins from a past birth. He must have done something sinful, tormented someone, hence he suffers. Why should we interfere in his karma? If we give him water, we obstruct his karmic result; we won’t let him reap it now, then the poor fellow will have to reap it in the future. He will have to reap it anyway; we have only increased the tangle. It could have ended in this life; now it will be postponed to the next. So better we do not interfere; let us walk on.

This is harsh. This is violent. And one can find many arguments. The Terapanthis have many. They say, if a man has fallen into a well, do not pull him out, because suppose you pull him out and he goes to the village and murders someone—then you are responsible for the murder, because had you not rescued him, he would not have killed. So the real culprit is you; you become a partner in the crime and will reap its fruit—rot in hells.

So if someone has fallen into a well and is crying out, just pass by silently. Do not interfere.

But this is not the way of the witness. The witness’s way is exactly this: “Whenever whatsoever action comes to be done.” If someone has fallen into a well, he will save him. He does not think, “By my saving he is saved,” nor, “Tomorrow he may kill someone and I’ll be responsible.” He does not take himself to be the doer. He has left all doership to God. If His will is there, the man will be saved. It is His will—only then have I arrived at the edge of the well. The situation has come before me; I do what I can—let the result be what it may.

यदा यत्कर्तुमायाति तत्कृत्वा तिष्ठतः सुखम्।
And when such action happens, having done it he remains established in ease. No one can rob him of his joy. He has no insistences. He doesn’t say, “I am a sannyasin; therefore I will behave only like this,” or, “I am a householder; therefore I will behave like that,” or, “I am a brahmin; therefore I will act thus.” No, he has no insistence. With a free heart, whatever situation arises, whatever spontaneous stirring awakens in his consciousness in that situation, that is what he does. The matter ends there. He keeps no accounts. Whatever the Lord gets done, gets done. In whatever the Lord makes him an instrument, he becomes an instrument. But he always remembers: I am only the instrument.

यदा यत् कर्तुम् आयाति...
Whatever comes, do it. Whatever spontaneous urge arises, let it happen. Live simply. Do not carry a beforehand plan for living. Do not impose any rigid structure on life. Do not walk thinking, “This is duty, that is not.” Remain free. Stay open to the moment. Whatever the moment awakens, let it be done—and then forget it and move on. Do not carry the burden. Do not drag it on your head: “Look, I saved a man from the well; he was dying, I saved him!” Do not carry the weight of the past, do not blueprint the future; let whatever is to happen, happen in the present.

Look at this word vartaman—present—it comes from vartan: “that which is in play.” The past is what has gone; it is no more. The future is what has not yet come. The present is that which is coming into play now. What is presently happening, that alone is the present.

Only the witness has a present. You move from behind. You are influenced by the past—that is not present. Or you are influenced by the future. Even when you say hello to someone, you first calculate whether to say it or not—“Is it of any use? Is he going to be a mayor or a minister? Might I need him someday?” So you salute. Or you salute because of some past account—“He helped when I needed it; better salute!” Even your greeting is not in the pure present.

The witness’s whole life is in the present: what happens without any reason, spontaneously.

यदा यत् कर्तुम् आयाति तत् सुखं कृत्वा।
And then, naturally, in spontaneity, joy arises. Spontaneity flowers as joy.

तिष्ठतः धीरस्य।
And such a man of steadiness becomes established in himself. His seat settles within. He becomes an emperor, seated upon the throne—on the throne of joy, of himself, of peace, of heaven.

प्रवृत्तौ वा निवृत्तौ।
He has no taste either for involvement or for withdrawal. He does not say, “I am worldly,” nor does he say, “I am a renunciate.”

This is the meaning of my sannyas: neither renouncer nor indulger. Simple. In the middle. If at times one has to behave like a enjoyer, behave so; if at times like a renouncer, behave so. But never lose the middle—come back to the center. That right balance of the middle is sannyas. Samyak nyasa—sannyas—means settling rightly. Resting in the middle. Becoming balanced. Balance in spontaneity is sannyas. For spontaneity is the middle. That is the golden thread.

These are such unique sutras. Do not think that just by hearing them the work is done. Hearing only begins the journey. Ruminate! Chew these sutras well. Taste them. Masticate. Digest. Slowly they will mix with your blood, flesh, marrow. And then an incomparable fragrance will arise—such a fragrance as you have never known before, and yet it has been hidden within you. “Kasturi kundal basai!” Your musk will open, your musk will be revealed—God will be victorious again, He will live again through you. Another flower will bloom. Another festive moment will come for the divine.

Even listening to these sutras has a flavor; but in ruminating there is a great nectar. And when you live them, you will find the whole meaning of life; the full cascade of life will be available to you.

The doors of nectar can open. And you are standing at the door; it is only a matter of knocking.

Jesus said: Knock, and the doors shall be opened unto you.

The fakir Hasan was standing outside a mosque, shouting, “O Lord, open the door, I have been calling for so long!” A woman mystic, Rabia, passed by and said, “Hasan, stop your nonsense! The doors are not closed. The doors are open—open your eyes!”

Rabia is right—more right than Jesus’s words. Jesus says, “Knock, and the doors shall open.” Hasan was doing exactly that—“O Lord, open the door.” And Rabia said, “Stop the nonsense, Hasan. The doors are open—open your eyes. There is no need even to knock.”

You are already enthroned in the temple; there is no need even to go inside. Within, you already are. Wherever you are, everything is available. Wake up a little. So “knock” means knock at yourself a little, shake yourself a bit. As in the morning you shake yourself out of sleep, in the same way, shake yourself out of this sleep of the world. Otherwise, there is only misery; not a trace of essence. Only when awake is there essence.

Hari Om Tatsat!