Mare He Jogi Maro #3

Man lives in ego. Ego is a covering, not the soul. Ego is not your reality, it is your acting. Ego is not your truth, it is your credential. As in Ramleela someone plays Rama and does not thereby become Rama, in the same way you have become something which you are not. A great Ramleela is going on.
You were born; you did not come carrying a name. Then a name was given to you, and you became that name. You were born with no knowledge; then you were taught and trained, you went to school, to university. Then many thoughts were poured into your mind. You were cast into knowledge. Then you began to think—this is my knowledge. There is nothing of you in it; all is borrowed, all stale. Neither is the name yours, nor the knowledge yours; nor is the image you think of as yourself yours—others made that too. Someone said you are very beautiful, and you believed it. Someone said you are very unique, and you believed it. If someone praised you, you stored it up. If someone criticized you, you were hurt. Your personality has been made out of others’ opinions. It is a construction by others’ hands. Others have taken their brush and painted you. And if you take this to be your being, you will never come to know yourself.
Gorakh says: Die, O yogi, die. Let this false form of yours die, then the true form is experienced. Let this covering of yours fall away. If these clothes are reduced to ashes, good; then your truth, naked, can be revealed in its own nature. If ego does not go, no experience of Atman happens. And if even Atman is not known, how will one ever remember Paramatman?
Atman is the drop, Paramatman the ocean. Recognize the drop and the ocean too will begin to be recognized, because the ocean is hidden in the drop. And what is the ocean other than the total of drops?
You are a ray, Paramatman is the sun. And the sun is nothing but the totality of rays. Paramatman is the sum of us all. Paramatman is our togetherness. You set out to search for God without breaking the ego. Not even a single ray has yet been recognized, and you go in search of the sun! You will wander much... You are still false; whatever you find will also be false. Falsehood cannot reach truth; it can only reach greater falsehoods.
Ego is false, it is a drama. Whatsoever you do while this drama continues will be in delusion. Observe fasts, austerities, disciplines, vows; leave house and home, go to the forest. Nothing will happen. By all this, your ego will acquire new ornaments. It will be adorned even more, groomed even more. You will not die; your ego will gain further life, be further nourished. And until ego dies, there is no experience of Atman. To experience Atman, ego must be surrendered.
Die, O yogi, die; such dying is sweet.
Gorakh says: This death I speak of is very sweet. One who dies in this way finds only sweetness left in life. Truth is very sweet—when experienced. It is the taste of amrita. It spreads through body and breath, you become brimming. It begins to overflow from you. Those who attain truth are themselves fulfilled; and those who come near them, who sit in their shade, even they begin to receive drops of fulfillment, a gentle drizzle begins. But one must die—this is the condition.
Let falsehood die so that truth may be born. Truth is present within, but imprisoned behind the wall of falsehood. The sun of truth is hidden behind clouds of untruth. It has not been destroyed—what falsehood can destroy truth? Nor is it lost; it has only been forgotten. As if a veil has been thrown over the face, the face has not been erased, but because of the veil it is no longer visible.
In the veil of our ego we have hidden our own Atman. People think there is a curtain over Paramatman—this is a mistake; the curtain is over your eyes. The curtain is on you, Paramatman is utterly without a veil. Paramatman stands naked all around, but you need eyes to see.
Today’s sutras are about how this sweet death can happen, what its process is, what its essential practice—these are the threads of that. How shall we die? What is the death Gorakh speaks of? In that death die... Everyone dies. But there is a difference between deaths. You will die, Buddha also died; but there is a difference between your dying and Buddha’s. You will die only as a body while preserving your ego, your falsity—you will carry it within like a casket. Your ego will enter a new womb. You will die; the mind will not. And as long as the mind does not die, nothing changes. The wrappings change, the house changes; the journey remains the old circular movement of the oil-pressing bullock. Many times you have died, and many times you have been born again. Here you die and there you are born without delay.
Ego carries all your diseases within it and enters a new womb; it takes a new body. But the desires are old, the diseases are old, the sorrows are old, the roads are old. Again you set out. Again you will tire, again you will fall, again you will die—this has happened many times.
Buddha also dies, Gorakh also dies, but there is a difference between their dying and yours. Your ego does not die, only the body drops; they melt their ego, they burn it away. Before the body drops, they separate from the ego. And one who dies before death, he experiences the great-life. Then there is no need to come again. Because the very principle that brought him back again has died.
Atman has no birth and no death. Ego is born, ego dies. One who is freed from ego is eternal; then there is no more dying, no more birth. Then there is one life—everlasting, beyond time. Then you are vast as the sky. That is your nature.
In that death die, in which death Gorakh died and saw.
Therefore he says, do not think I am speaking of ordinary death. Everyone dies ordinarily—animals die, birds die, plants die, mountains die. Gorakh is not speaking of that death; he speaks of a special death—die in Samadhi, die in meditation. Let ego go and drown in meditation. And as long as ego is, no one can drown in meditation.
What is the secret by which ego lives? If you understand that, you will understand the art of dying. Ego lives by excess. Excess is the life-breath of ego. Perhaps you never thought this, never reflected, never looked with awareness—that ego dwells only in excess. More, and more, and more... this is how ego lives. If you have ten thousand rupees, let it become a lakh; if a lakh, let it become ten lakhs. More, more, more... In such frenzy ego lives. Ego lives in excess. Then no matter what the excess is—in wealth or in knowledge; in position or in renunciation—but always more...
One who has fasted thirty days begins to think, next time let me fast forty. One who has done forty thinks, let me do fifty. Where is the difference? One who has forty lakhs thinks, let it be fifty. Where is the difference? One who says I have begun to eat twice instead of three times, he wonders when he can start once. One who eats only once thinks, how can even that be dropped?
A young man was brought to me. He wanted to know how to live only on water. He wanted to take nothing else, because everything else is indulgence. How to live only on water? He had become emaciated. He had come from America to India seeking a formula for living on water. I said, if I give you the formula for living on water, will you be content? Close your eyes and consider. He was thoughtful; he sat with closed eyes for half an hour. Then he said, no—then I will ask, how to live only on air. Because why the hassle of water at all?
Such is the aspiration of the mind, such the race of ego—more. In which direction you run makes no difference. Ego lives in excess. Let there be excess in wealth, let there be excess in renunciation, in indulgence, in yoga—excess. Stand in the middle and ego dies. Therefore Buddha called his path the Majjhima Nikaya—the middle way, exactly the center.
A young man, Prince Shron, took initiation with Buddha. The capital could not believe it. No one had even imagined that Shron would become a monk! Even Buddha’s monks could not believe it; their eyes were wide when Shron came and fell at Buddha’s feet and said: Initiate me, make me a bhikshu.
He was an emperor, and a famous one. His fame was of a voluptuary. The most beautiful women of that time lived in his palace. The finest wines from all corners of the world were gathered in his house. Nights were filled with revelry; days he slept. He was so drowned in indulgence that no one had ever thought that the idea of sannyas could arise in him. Even for climbing stairs he had not installed a railing; naked women stood to support him, upon whose shoulders he would place his hands to ascend. He had made his house like heaven. Even the gods of heaven might feel jealous—such was his palace.
Buddha’s monks asked Buddha: We cannot believe that Shron is renouncing! Buddha said: Whether you believe or not, I knew that he would renounce. To tell the truth, I have come to the capital for him today. Because one who goes to one extreme will go to the other extreme too. Indulgence is one extreme; he has exhausted it. Now there is no road ahead there, the ego has no way to be satisfied. Whatever is possible in this world, he has it all. Now the ego faces a wall; where to go further now? Ego asks for more; when there is no more, the ego turns back—begins the reverse journey. As the pendulum of a clock swings to the right to its farthest end, then it returns to the left; and when it reaches the left end, it returns to the right. While the pendulum is going to the left, remember, it is gathering momentum to go to the right; and when it goes to the right, it is gathering momentum for the left. Those with subtle vision can see. One who goes to the extreme of indulgence will one day go to the extreme of yoga.
Buddha said: Wait a little; you will see the truth of what I say. And they saw. The other monks walked on a level path, but Shron walked among thorns and bushes. His feet were bloodied. Other monks sat in the shade when there was sun; Shron stood in the sun. Other monks wore robes; he wore only a loincloth—and even that seemed he was eager to drop. One day he abandoned even the loincloth. Other monks ate once a day; Shron ate once in two days. Others ate sitting; Shron ate standing. Others kept a bowl; Shron kept no bowl, he was karapatri—he took his food in his hands. He withered away. His body had been very beautiful; people came from afar to see it. His face was very radiant, extremely handsome. Three months after becoming a monk, if someone saw him he could not even recognize that this was Emperor Shron. Blisters had formed on his feet, his body had become dark, he had become nothing but bones; yet he tightened his austerities more and more.
Buddha said: Do you see, monks? I told you—one who goes to one extreme can go to the other! To stop in the middle is difficult, because in the middle the ego dies.
Then Shron stopped eating. Then he stopped even taking water. He moved toward more and more extremity. It seemed he was a guest for a few days and would die. Then Buddha went to his hut beneath a tree. He was lying down. Buddha said to him: Shron, I have come to ask you something. I have heard that when you were an emperor you had a great passion for playing the vina. You were adept in it, and had great taste in it. I have come to ask you one question—when the strings of the vina are too loose, does music arise or not?
Shron said: What are you saying! You know well, if the strings are very loose, how can music arise? There can be no twang at all!
Buddha said: Then I ask, if the strings are too tight, does music arise or not?
Shron said: If they are too tight, at a touch they will break. Music will not arise; only the sound of snapping strings will be heard, the instrument breaking—how will music arise?
Buddha said: I have come to remind you. As you have experience of the vina, so I have experience of the vina of life. I tell you, when the strings of life are too tight, music does not arise; when too loose, neither does music arise. The strings should be in the middle, Shron; neither too tight nor too loose. The greatest skill of the musician is to bring the strings exactly to the middle; that is called tuning the instrument.
Therefore you see, where classical music happens, half an hour, even an hour is spent just tuning. Tuning is a great art. To bring the strings to that middle point where they can be called neither loose nor tight requires great skill, great discrimination. Only a connoisseur of music can do it.
Such is the vina of life—Buddha said—Shron, now wake up; enough. I waited to let you exhaust the extremes. Earlier your strings were too loose; now you have tightened them too much. Neither then did music arise, nor is it arising now. Where is your Samadhi? What are you doing? Before you stuffed yourself; now you are dying of fasting. Earlier you never walked barefoot; velvet was spread on your path. Now you avoid the proper road and walk among thorns, bushes, uneven ways. Earlier you may never have drunk even water except wine; now you are afraid to drink even water! Now you do not want to drink even water. Earlier your house prepared rare meat dishes; now you are not even ready to eat dry bread. See— from one extreme you have gone to the opposite. There was dissonance there, and there is dissonance here. I call you: the time has come—come to the middle.
Tears flowed from Shron’s eyes. He understood; the point became clear to him.
Today’s sutras are formulas for bringing the strings of the vina to the middle. And the moment one comes to the middle, ego dies—ego cannot live. Ego is a disease; it can live only if your mind is sick. Ego’s life is in your sickness. And the art of becoming sick is excess.
I tell my sannyasins too that I am giving you the lesson of life’s vina—the middle. Be in the world as if not in the world. Let neither the world dominate you, nor is there any need to run away from it. Be neither a hedonist nor a yogi; stand in the middle. Do not chase money, and do not flee money; stop in the middle, exactly where excess is not. There you will find—the music resounds! The vina comes alive. The anahat nada begins to ring...!
Habki na boliba, thabki na chaliba, dheerai dhriba paanv.
Habki na boliba...
Those who have written commentaries on this sutra have all taken its meaning thus: do not speak without thinking. Linguistically that is fine. One should not blurt; if someone says something, do not answer at once; answer after considering. As a linguistic meaning it is correct, but as a meaning for practice it is not. To answer after calculation means the answer will not be spontaneous; it will be contrived. And later Gorakh says:
Garab na kariba, sahajai rahiba, bhanat Gorakh raav.
Then it will not connect with living in sahaj. Your way will become very unnatural. What you answer after thinking, planned, is not spontaneous.
Spontaneous answering, spontaneous speaking, is something else. It has nothing to do with thought. Whenever you think and calculate, your answer becomes unnatural. Someone asked something; before answering, you weigh what to say and what not to say, which will have a good effect and which bad, what brings benefit and what loss—having done all this calculation, if you speak, your statement will lose spontaneity. Your statement will become false. A spontaneous statement arises out of no-thought.
Habki na boliba...
People say it means: speak after thinking. I say it means: speak from no-thought, from awareness. A sudden blurting means a trance. Let there be watchfulness inside, let the lamp of awareness be lit, let attention be awake. Not thought-out speaking, but speaking from no-thought.
Consider two words—speaking from avichar (carelessness) and speaking from nirvichar (no-thought). Avichar means: you said whatever came to your mouth, and later you repented.
One night I was a guest at a friend’s house. Another guest there was Anand Swami, an old disciple of Mahatma Gandhi. We both were in one room; the household gathered; conversation began. I asked Anand Swami: How were you influenced by Mahatma Gandhi? For he had dedicated his life to Gandhi. He said Gandhi first impressed me when he came from Africa to India. He gave a speech in Ahmedabad; I was a reporter for a newspaper. In that speech he used some abusive words for the British. I removed those words from my report; I did not include them in the papers. Next day Gandhi called me, patted my back and said: You did right. Reporting should be like this. You removed those abuses—very good.
Anand Swami said: Gandhi patting me in that way won me over.
I said to him: This is upside down. Did you ever try the reverse—that Gandhi did not use abuses and you added some, and would he still pat your back? It only means Gandhi had blurted.
Habki na boliba... He spoke in rush, excitement, exuberance. In the flow of speaking he uttered them. Later he must have repented. Reflecting, he must have thought those abuses, those insults, do not suit a Mahatma. He repented. You removed them, protected Gandhi’s ego; so he patted your back. Your ego enjoyed that the Mahatma patted me and I am a journalist, a great journalist! Yet what you printed was false. If Gandhi loved truth, he should have told you to print exactly what was said. If it was said, why alter it? Then Gandhi was not a votary of truth. His talk of truth becomes meaningless; he gave shelter to untruth. That which was not said was printed; what was said was not. This is to shelter falsehood. You protected his ego, he flattered yours; in this way you influenced each other.
I told Anand Swami: If there is an abuse in my speech, it should be printed. Because if I said it, I said it; and if later I see it should not have been said, it only means at the time of speaking I was not conscious—I was unconscious.
Language too intoxicates. Many times you say things in speaking which you did not want to say. But whether you wanted or not is not the question; if you spoke, somewhere in your unconscious it was lurking.
By printing that report, Anand Swami—I told him—you gave shelter to a lie. Now for centuries people will say Gandhi never abused; and you will be responsible. You should have printed what was spoken—as it was. If Gandhi wanted to change, there should be no way to correct it afterwards. Then one must speak with discrimination, with awareness. Gandhi spoke from avichar; later cleverness arrived. He must have thought—what have I said. Seeing the result would be bad, he wished the words could somehow be withdrawn.
This happens daily. Political leaders say something and next day deny it—no, I did not say that; or I did not mean that; or my meaning was twisted; or my statement was garbled. Then they retract. You see it daily in the papers. It is astonishing. Later they realize, because later when they sit to calculate, to set up the arithmetic, it becomes clear that it would have been good not to say this; if said, such-and-such consequences will follow. At the time of saying there was such hurry there was no leisure to consider consequences. In the hurry, they blurted. Later they sit in peace, think, calculate—what meanings will be taken, how many voters will be influenced, how many adversely influenced, what result in the political game; having already moved, what will be the final outcome in the chessboard of politics—when they sit to think, the desire to change arises, so they change. But this change reveals only one thing—it was spoken from carelessness.
I have heard: In a medical college in England a student was being examined orally. He had passed all subjects; this was the last exam. If he passed, he would receive the highest medical degree. Three doctors were examining him. They described a patient and a disease, and asked the dosage of a certain medicine. He quickly gave the dose. The three doctors laughed and said: Fine, you may go. The examination is over. As he was leaving through the door, it occurred to him—that much dose would kill; it is poison! He turned back and said: Forgive me, I will give half of what I said! But the doctors said: The patient is dead now—whom are you telling this? The matter is finished; this is an examination. If it were a real patient and you had given that medicine, the patient would be dead—whom would you seek forgiveness from? Come next year and prepare. Statements cannot be altered afterwards, and if altered, they become false; the patient will die.
Do not take it to mean: do not speak without thought—and then conclude it means speak thoughtfully. In my understanding it means—nirvichar. Where there is thought, there will be error. Where there is no-thought, the mind utterly quiet, mirror-like, silent, empty, where awareness is awake—there is never any mistake. There is no need to look back later. There is never regret.
So I take its meaning as: speak mindfully—what Buddha called right remembrance. Speak awake. Speak with awareness. Not by thinking, for there may or may not be time to think. Where is there time in life? Often you want to say a good thing but cannot; it occurs later.
A great Western thinker, Victor Hugo, was returning from a gathering with three or four literary friends. Something was said. A writer said a very lovely line; and Victor Hugo exclaimed, if only I had said that! The third writer said: Hugo, do not worry. You will say it; someday you will. If not today, tomorrow. It will come from your mouth, do not worry. In some other circumstance you will say it; but you will, you will not leave it.
But the moment is gone. You too often feel: I wish I had said that—as if someone snatched the words on my lips. And sometimes you feel: if only I had saved one word, how much trouble would have been saved! Because sometimes a small word can transform a whole life. A small abuse you gave may change your entire life; and a sweet word from your mouth may renew it—nothing can be said. A small thing!
An American actress, Greta Garbo, was very poor in childhood. She used to lather men’s beards in a barber’s shop. She had never thought she would become such a great, world-famous actress. One day a film director came for a haircut and she lathered his beard. As she was lathering, the director looked at her face in the mirror and a single word slipped out: Beautiful... a beautiful face! That much became a revolution in Greta Garbo’s life. A woman who lathered beards for two pennies died the owner of millions of dollars—all from one word. It was not even thought out; it slipped spontaneously. But Greta Garbo remembered her beauty. She looked into the mirror with attention for the first time. Though she stood before a mirror daily to do others’ beards, she never noticed. She had never even thought I am beautiful, or could be. The poor do not have the capacity for such thoughts.
Greta Garbo asked: Truly, you say I am beautiful? The director said: Not only beautiful—among the most beautiful. And if you wish I will bring proof, for I am a film director; I have come to make a film. I can take you into the film; you have a face that is photogenic, that will appear even more beautiful on film! I have worked with images all my life.
Thus it often happens that someone, actor or actress, if you meet them in person may not appear so beautiful; but they have a photogenic face. They appear beautiful in photographs, whether in person or not—these are different matters. Sometimes very beautiful people in person do not look as beautiful in pictures.
Greta Garbo rose to the skies. A small event, a chance word changed her whole life; otherwise she might have died lathering beards. A small word can create waves—make a friend, make an enemy, give beauty to life or ugliness.
Habki na boliba...
But I take the meaning thus—not that you speak thoughtfully. In thought there is arithmetic, cunning, cleverness, politics. I say: speak from no-thought, quietly, from silence. Let the innermost speak out of silence. Then what you say will be right, for it will be born of peace. Right speech—and you will become steady. Otherwise your ego will take you from one excess to the other.
Habki na boliba, thabki na chaliba...
Do not stamp your feet as you walk. Do not create commotion in life. Pass in such a way that none comes to know. Be absent. This is how Paramatman is. Paramatman is—present all around—but it does not show. What art has he? Thabki na chaliba... he does not walk beating his feet. He does not poke your eyes with his fingers saying, look at me.
Paramatman is present—by being absent. He is present; only those see who themselves become absent, who become utterly empty. Only in their eyes can his image form.
Thabki na chaliba...
How stiffly people walk! They stiffen themselves—needlessly.
Have you noticed? On an empty road when you walk alone, you walk in one way. If the road is deserted, no one around, you go for a morning walk, you walk one way. There is no swagger in your walking. But if two people suddenly appear on the road, your gait changes. Walk tomorrow and see—your gait changes. Two people appear, your gait changes. And if two beautiful women appear, your gait changes more. You quickly dust off your clothes, twirl your moustache, adjust your tie, tilt your cap. You begin to walk with swagger. Even if there is no moustache, people still give it a twist. A moustache is not necessary for twirling. Twirling is a different matter; it can be given to anything—someone twirls the moustache, someone the tie. But the twist must be there.
People walk as if the whole world must notice them, that all eyes should stick on them.
Thabk means: I should become the center of everyone’s eyes. Why? Because ego demands others’ attention. And the more attention the ego receives, the more it is nourished. The more people greet you on the road, the more who acknowledge you as somebody, the more your ego gains strength. If one day you pass and no one even looks, no one greets you, if the whole village decides to behave as if you do not exist—you will be very miserable. You will return very defeated, tired. You will say, what has happened? Your swagger yielded no result.
You see small children do this experiment daily. And the grown are no different—only children from small to big! If you want to see children of large size, sometimes go to Delhi—children of sixty-five, seventy, seventy-five, eighty, eighty-three. One is a prime minister, one a home minister, one a defense minister—and they are behind one another like small children! As small children quarrel near a garbage heap about who will stand on it, and if one stands the others push, a great scuffle—each twirls his moustache, each says I will defeat everyone, see how I knocked him flat!
From small to old, people are children. As long as you attract attention, as long as you say look at me, you are a child—childish.
Every day you see it with children. Guests come to your home; you tell the children—guests are coming, be quiet. Then the children cannot remain quiet. Otherwise they might sit quietly in their corner playing with dolls. But as soon as guests arrive, the children come and stand in the middle, ask absurd questions... I want ice cream, I’m hungry. You are puzzled—the child was quiet until now, what happened? The child has become a politician. He is saying—shall these guests leave without seeing me? I will show them; I will prove that I too am someone! In this house things go my way—I will demonstrate it. If you say something to the child in private, he agrees; say it in front of four people, he refuses, becomes stubborn. Therefore take a child to the market; at home he behaves well, but in the bazaar he will disgrace you—I will buy this, I will buy that. And why your disgrace? Because in front of four people you cannot say no; you cannot say you have no money, that your pocket is not warm, please do not harass me. He is watching his opportunity—let us see...
Small children express your same tendencies simply. Grown up, you express them more intricately, more cleverly; but there is no difference. You do not mature. Ego never matures; ego is always childish.
Thabki na chaliba...
See the children—how they stamp their feet, create a racket, throw utensils! Women in the home? At a small thing, plates go down, pots begin to fall, noise spreads through the house.
Thabki na chaliba...
The woman is telling you—“I will show you.”
Mulla Nasruddin’s wife was chasing him with a rolling pin. Mulla panicked and crawled under a bed. The wife was stout; she could not go under. Mulla stiffened sitting under the bed. Someone knocked at the door—guests came. The wife quickly hid the rolling pin and said: Come out, guests have come—come out quickly. Mulla said: Let them come; today I will show who rules this house. I will sit where I want.
The wife whispered: Hush, not loudly. But Mulla took a stand: Do I fear anyone? Who is the master of this house? Today it will be proved—you or I.
The wife pleaded: Quietly, come out! But Mulla had stiffened. He said: Ask forgiveness; rub your nose.
She had to rub her nose. Guests at the door and Mulla under the bed—if he begins to speak from under the bed, what will it look like? So she rubbed her nose!
Thabki na chaliba...!
Gorakh says: Speak with awareness; walk as if empty; as if you are not. Let none know. Do not go beating drums; do not beat tom-toms.
... Dheerai dhriba paanv.
Place your feet so gently there is no sound of stepping. Come to this world and pass, like a breeze comes and goes. Let not a whisper reach anyone’s ears—when you came, when you left. Pass like a silent, soundless note. And you will know Paramatman. You will recognize Paramatman.
Those who are eager only to show themselves to the world become actors. You will find most people on the streets are actors. People prepare so long before leaving home! Women stand for hours before the mirror; even the mirrors have become tired! The husband sits honking the horn in the street while the wife is still before the mirror thinking—shall I wear this sari or that?
I was a guest in a house. The husband was taking me to a meeting, honking; time was passing. The wife peeped angrily from the window and said: I have said a thousand times I’ll be there in a minute! (If you have to say it a thousand times... a thousand times takes hours!) You are snatching my life with that horn. After all shall I wear a sari or not?
When we returned in the evening I asked: Truly, a sari must be worn, but why so long? She said: How can it not? Come, I will show you—there are three hundred saris! One must think, consider—which one to wear, this one or that; some merits here, some there. It’s a hassle. Sometimes I wear one and then change. So it takes time.
People are actors. That is why other men’s wives appear more beautiful to you than your own. Because you see your wife in her natural form, the other’s wife on a stage—decorated, painted.
Mulla Nasruddin says: For birth control no other method is needed—just stop the wife from applying cosmetics. That is enough to make the mind dull. Remain simple, natural—enough...
Habki na boliba, thabki na chaliba, dheerai dhriba paanv.
Do not take the world as a stage and do not remain absorbed only in acting here! There is a truth within—beyond acting. You will know it only when it no longer matters to you whether others notice you or not. Because when you want others to notice you, you must notice them—this is mutual give-and-take. So when will you pay attention to yourself? You must pay attention to others if you want them to pay attention to you. If you want people to ask about your sari—how much it cost—you must first ask about theirs: how did you buy it, the pattern is beautiful, where from? Then the other will ask you. Naturally this world is give-and-take. Give attention to others and they will give attention to you in return. For they too desire attention, and so do you. We decorate each other’s egos. Then when will you attend to yourself? Then you will miss knowing that which sits within you—and that is the supreme treasure, the supreme bliss. Paramatman is hidden within that very consciousness. If you taste that consciousness, you taste eternal life.
Habki na boliba, thabki na chaliba, dheerai dhriba paanv.
Elsewhere Gorakh has said:
Bharya te theeram, jhalajhalanti aadha.
Siddhe sidh milya re avadhu bolya aru laadha.
Bharya te theeram...
A vessel full of water is steady—it does not slosh.
Bharya te theeram, jhalajhalanti aadha.
It is the half-filled one that splashes. A filled pot makes no sound; a half pot makes sound. The more noise you make, the more you stamp your feet as you walk, the more you broadcast that you are hollow. The more you march with bands and flags—“May our flag fly high”—the more you show you are hollow, half-filled. Jhalajhalanti aadha.
One who knows, who has had a taste of life, becomes grave, deep; there is no noise, but a hush around him; a silent music...
Bharya te theeram, jhalajhalanti aadha.
Siddhe sidh milya re avadhu bolya aru laadha..
You make noise needlessly. What is in your speaking? There is nothing in your speaking, for you have known nothing. What have you to say? Yet how much speaking goes on, how much babble! Others pour garbage into your ears, you pour yours into theirs—the garbage piles up. Observe a little—of all you say through the day, ninety percent is utterly useless; had it not been said, everything would still be fine. But jhalajhalanti aadha... the half-filled must splash. Noise arises. People are engaged in talk; the whole earth is filled with chatter. Causeless, useless chatter!
Gorakh says: Siddhe sidh milya—those who know speak only with those whose thirst to know is clear. Siddhas speak to those who are potential siddhas; they do not speak to everyone. There is no purpose in speaking to all. Siddhas sit only with those in whom the possibility of becoming a siddha is visible. The true guru speaks to those who are true disciples. Not to everyone.
I am asked why not everyone who comes here is given facility? Because not all are needed here. I am speaking to those who are potential. I am speaking to the eager, to the thirsty.
Siddhe sidh milya re avadhu bolya aru laadha.
Then speaking has some benefit. One who has become a siddha speaks to those who are going to become siddhas—then there is benefit; otherwise it is useless babble.
Garab na kariba, sahajai rahiba, bhanat Gorakh raav.
Do not indulge in ego, live in the sahaj—such a small instruction, yet the greatest instruction there is. Gorakh says: I tell you only this much—understand this much, practice this much, and all will happen.
Garab na kariba, sahajai rahiba...
Remain sahaj. What does it mean to be sahaj? Do not live by calculation; live innocent. Trees are sahaj, animals and birds are sahaj—only man is not. Where does his awkwardness come from? From wanting to show people what you are not; to prove what you are not—that creates unnaturalness. I am poor, but I will impress people that I am rich. I am ignorant, but I want people to know I am wise. I am nothing, yet there is the fascination, the insistence to appear to be much. Only then can ego be filled. So you tell people what you are not—inside something, outside something else. From this deception comes unnaturalness.
You can be sahaj only when you drop this journey of ego. Say: I am as I am—bad then bad, good then good. As I am, so has Paramatman made me. I will not put on veils needlessly; I will not hide. Right now your condition is like having a wound, and putting a rose on it to conceal it. Then you become strained. The wound is inside; a rose lies above. And because of the rose the wound cannot heal—no sunlight can reach it, no fresh air.
Expose yourself as you are within. Then you will become sahaj. Drop fear. What if people say bad things—what is the harm? If they do not notice you, do not honor you—what is lost? What is gained by their honors anyway?
Nath kahai tum aapa rakho, hath kari baad na karanaa.
Protect your own self. Nath says—preserve your Atman. Gorakhnath says: guard your own self; do not get into useless disputes that I am this, I am that.
... Hath kari baad na karanaa.
You are what you are. Thus has Paramatman made you. Preserve that self.
Nath kahai tum aapa rakho, hath kari baad na karanaa.
Yahu jag hai kaante ki baari, dekhi dekhi pag dharanaa..
Here there are hedges of thorns. The hedges are very enticing. From afar they appear as flowers; when they prick, you will know they were thorns. From afar certain drums seem charming; when you come near and get stuck, then there is trouble. Even fish get caught seeing the flour; the hook hidden within the flour even they cannot see. Others praise you—that is the flour. Inside that praise is the hook; now you are trapped.
That is why flattery has such power in the world. If you call even a donkey insightful and wise, he will agree. The donkey will not think—me, intelligent and wise? Because he wants to believe. You have spoken his heart’s desire. There is a saying: in times of need one must even call a donkey father. And the donkey agrees. He knows inside that he is a donkey and cannot be anyone’s father; yet he feels like believing—why miss the opportunity? If you call a crow a cuckoo he will not refuse. If you praise him a lot and he gets excited, he will caw-caw to prove he is a crow; still he will think he is cooing like a cuckoo!
Hence flattery’s influence. Flatter anyone—they are ready to do your work. Everything can happen. You too get trapped by flattery. Walk carefully! Dhekhi-dhekhi pag dharanaa—this world is a hedge of thorns. There are many thorns; flowers are above, thorns beneath. If you go to pluck the flower, you will be pricked, and then it is hard to get free. In this way people are caught in greed, anger, ego—and become unnatural.
Garab na kariba, sahajai rahiba, bhanat Gorakh raav.
And the roads of pride are many. Do not think only emperors are full of ego; beggars too have egos. Beggars too have egos.
I have heard: A beggar who used to beg daily in Mulla Nasruddin’s lane did not show up for some days. Mulla met him in the market and asked: Brother, you have not been seen; earlier you used to trouble me daily! You gnawed at my life so many years that now I am habituated. Many times I recall—why did you not come? What happened? You did not come to the door and bang your stick!
He said: I have given that lane to my son-in-law. Mulla asked: Meaning? He said: That lane was mine. No one else can lay foot there; I will break hands and legs. He is lame, he drags himself, and says he will break hands and legs—no other beggar can set foot there. That lane was mine; I gave it to my son-in-law. My daughter was married!
Mulla thought the lane was his—today it was known whose it was. Do not think only emperors have ego; beggars too have. They too have kingdoms, boundaries. If you enter their district, you are in trouble. If you beg there, you must pay their tax. If new beggars beg in an old beggar’s lane, they must pay toll. Naturally, you perhaps think nothing of it; you do not even know whose beggar you are! On the road some beggar has bought you. He has the right, the license to beg from you. If another begs, he must pay tax to him. You do not know you have been sold, that some beggar on the road owns you and has the right.
Do not think only the rich have ego. Do not think only worldly people have it. Yogis have great egos, renouncers even greater—so much I have left! Do not be proud... Pandits have huge egos.
Gorakh has said:
Panth bin chaliba, agni bin jaliba, anil trisha jhatiya
Sansaved Shri Gorakh kahiya, boojhilyau pandit padhiya.
He says: Listen, O learned pandits, O parrot-like reciters! What do you really have? Yet you strut. Some rubbish, some borrowed stinking words!
Sansaved Shri Gorakh kahiya...
Gorakh says: I know from my own experience; and then I found that you have nothing but words.
... Boojhilyau pandit padhiya.
O learned pandits, O so-called scholars! Understand what I say, come to your senses. Panth bin chaliba—there is a way that is without a way; in which there is no path and the goal arrives. Do you know anything of it? You have become scholars by reading and reading—do you know the path that is not, and yet the goal is reached?
Panth bin chaliba, agni bin jaliba...
Do you know that fire in which burning happens without fire? I know a fire which is not, but burns! I know a death that does not occur, and yet happens. I know a goal to which there is no way. I know what sits within you; what path can there be to that? Paths are for going far. If Paramatman were far, there could be a path. But Paramatman is you—what path? You already are Paramatman.
Panth bin chaliba...
Therefore if you stop, you arrive.
Agni bin jaliba...
This ego is false; to burn it no actual fire is needed. Understand—and the fire of understanding is enough; it will burn.
Gorakh says: My teaching is simple—that of sahaj. As Kabir said, on the basis of Gorakh: Friend, Sahaj Samadhi is the best!
Swami banashandi jaun to shudhya byaapai, nagri jaun ta maya.
He says: O swamis, O runaway sannyasins! If you go to the forest—hunger will seize you. In the jungle you will brood twenty-four hours on food—will someone bring it or not? And if you go to the city—maya will seize you, attachment, possessiveness. You will see a beautiful woman passing and desire will catch you; you will see a beautiful mansion and a longing will arise—if only it were mine! In the city maya seizes; if you go to the forest to escape maya, hunger seizes. What will you do? You will be in a great fix.
Bhari bhari shaau ta bind biyapai!
If you eat to your fill, stuffing yourself, only sex-desire will be created. That extra eating manufactures lust. Why? Because the extra energy you take in beyond your need cannot be contained; it must go out; it is unnecessary, a burden.
What is lust? A way for energy to go out. What is fornication? A method to throw energy out. When you have more energy than needed and cannot contain it, it will begin to flow outward on its own. It must go out. A vessel can hold only so much water; if you fill more, it overflows. Lust is the energy overflowing from your vessel. Therefore if you eat more, lust will seize you. Now the difficulty: if you eat less, you will be thinking only of food day and night.
So what to do, what is the way?
Become sahaj, says Gorakh. Come to the middle. Eat as much as is necessary. Do not go to the jungle, because hunger will seize you; do not get so immersed in the city that only the city remains for you, because desire will seize you. Then what? Live in the city as one lives in the forest—that is the middle. Live at home as one lives in the wild. Live in the world, but do not let the world enter you. Be like the lotus in water.
… Kyon seejhati jal byand ki kaya.
Then you will know how even this body made of semen and blood attains siddhahood! You will know. If you choose ways out of fear—afraid of the city because desire seizes, and running to the forest—there hunger will seize. Where will you go—city or forest? There is no other option. If you choose one pole of the duality, you will not remain there long, because the opposite will begin to attract you.
So take right nourishment—just enough for meditation; enough for worship and prayer. Take right food, give the body what is needed for its natural functions. Do not put in more; the excess will hinder. Do not do excess.
Some only stuff themselves. Their whole business is food, food, food—nothing else. Then extra food creates extra energy. Then there must be an outlet, otherwise energy becomes heavy, a burden. Then they go into lust. In lust they pour out the energy. Then they drown so much in sex that however much energy there is, they waste it all. Then they become empty. Empty, they must now fill with food again. Now the emptiness bothers. This is mischief. From one excess to the other, and back again—like the pendulum of a clock. The clock of life keeps ticking; the round of birth and death continues. Stop in the middle. Have you tried to hold a pendulum in the middle? The moment the pendulum stops, the clock stops. The coming and going ends, time ends. When time ends, the world ends.
Dhaye na shaiba, bhukhe na mariba, ahanisi leba Brahman-anani ka bhavam.
Hath na kariba, padiya na rahiba, yoon bolya Gorakhdevam..
These are simple sutras—but if they strike, they enter like arrows to the heart and life is transformed.
Dhaye na shaiba...!
Do not pounce on food, do not break upon it!
Dhaye na shaiba...!
Do not launch an assault.
... Bhukhe na mariba...
And do not die of hunger either. Do not fast and starve.
... Ahanisi leba Brahman-anani ka bhavam.
Live rightly and contemplate day and night the mystery of Brahman. This whole world is filled with mystery, suffused with the beauty of the Supreme. That grace is present everywhere—in these sun-rays, in the coins of light falling through leaves, in green leaves, in flowers, in birds, in people; this vast life—drink its mystery, fill yourself with it.
O my mind, speak of Him!
In comparison with His image,
all colors and forms are pale;
I am sated by drinking
the waters of His compassion;
float upon His every wave, flow with Him!
O my mind, speak of Him!
His fluid, playful movements—
unlike all the world;
his sweet, sweet speech—
how dear it is to me;
become His shadow, every moment remain by Him!
O my mind, speak of Him!
The joy of His simple nearness
is the treasure of life;
but if some hour of the Beloved’s
separation arrives,
then within, within, bear the heat of the distance!
O my mind, speak of Him!
Remember the Lord. Do not become a glutton, and do not go to the opposite—forever fasting. Remember the tale of Shron again—the strings of life’s vina should be neither too tight nor too loose; then the music arises. That very music is bhajan. That very music is kirtan. That very music is remembrance.
O my mind, speak of Him! Remember the Beloved. Ponder His mystery. And His mystery is abundant, scattered all around.
Voice-bird!
Spread the pearl-white wings,
blow the conch in my life-breaths;
rise in upward speed,
sky-hued!
Cross the horizon of mind,
open the heart’s heaven-door;
showering streams of nectar,
O wave of sound!
Pierce the subtle ether of buddhi,
drink the Soma of immortality;
sing, intoxicated with bliss,
ever unattached!
Pierce moon, pierce sun,
proclaim the trumpet of truth;
remove the duality of vision,
O breaker of dreams!
Shed the slough of darkness,
kiss the shining sahasrar;
in the navel’s cave awakens
the serpent of consciousness!
Outside He is the same, within He is the same; dive a little into His mystery. You will see Him rising in trees, dripping from moon and stars, stirring in your every breath, hidden in your every heartbeat, diffused in your consciousness—drink His mystery.
The more a person is filled by the beauty of the world, the closer he comes to Paramatman. All this beauty is His.
Hath na kariba, padiya na rahiba, yoon bolya Gorakhdevam.
And do not be obstinate. Do not try to strain the body beyond need.
Hath na kariba...
Do not over-exert; otherwise you will tire and break. But do not do the reverse either.
Padiya na rahiba...
Do not be lazy. Do not just lie around—saying if we must not strive, let us lie. The middle of the two... Act in such a way that it is as if non-acting. Do, and yet do not become the doer. Let Him be the doer; you be only an instrument, a mere channel—as Krishna told Arjuna in the Gita: become only the instrument. The doer is Paramatman; be the string on His bow. If through you He shoots an arrow, it is an arrow; if through you He waves the temple’s aarti, it is the aarti. Do not become over-active—as those do who grasp the concept of karma-yoga and become hyperactive. Nor become over-inactive. There is also akarma-yoga. They too have made doctrines; they too have found support in scriptures and saints’ words. They have taken meanings of their own. As Baba Maluk said—
Ajgar kare na chakari panchhi karen na kaam,
Das Maluka kah gaye sabke data Ram.
The lazy have taken this to mean: lie like a python. Some sadhus simply lie around. They think, why do anything? Baba Malukdas said, the giver is Ram—He will give... Let us remain on fate.
This country has died depending on fate; laziness has gripped it; it has become sluggish and dull—and painted its sloth with a spiritual color: whatever is in fate will be. Then poverty is poverty, beggary is beggary, slavery is slavery. All will happen by fate. When He wills, all will be well; we must drag ourselves.
This is the sorrow of this land: we grasped a sutra of laziness and lay down. The West’s affliction is that it grasped activity so much that now they have forgotten how to sleep at night. Without tranquilizers they cannot sleep. So active, so many ripples, the mind so restless that they lie on the bed but the mind does not sleep—it keeps thinking, calculating, scheming; tomorrow’s shop, tomorrow’s market, tomorrow’s world—they remain absorbed in planning; the night passes thus.
The West is going mad from hyperactivity; the East has become destitute from hyper-inactivity. Understand Gorakh’s word and you need neither madness nor destitution.
Gorakh says:
Hath na kariba, padiya na rahiba, yoon bolya Gorakhdevam.
I tell you the middle way: work, but without desire for fruits. Enter karma, but quiet and silent—so that karma does not agitate you. Enter karma, but do not become unhinged.
Ati ahaar yandri bal karai, nasai gyanam maithun chit dharai.
If you overeat, the senses gain in strength. Awareness is destroyed.
... Nasai gyanam maithun chit dharai.
And as awareness is destroyed, so the mind has nothing but sex. Understand this. As the measure of awareness increases, lust decreases. As awareness lessens, lust increases. These two always affect each other.
Experiment and see. If you overeat, stupor will seize you; sleep comes at once. Therefore sleep comes after meals. If one night you do not eat, you will not sleep—it is because without food stupor does not come. Thus one who fasts has less sleep. In old age sleep decreases because food decreases; the body cannot digest much. As age ends, sleep too is not needed. Sleep increases with stupor; in sleep the body must overpower the soul—only then can sleep increase. When you eat, the body gains, the soul weakens. If you overeat, the body becomes heavy; you fall into torpor.
As awareness grows, you will find lust diminishing—because the body’s power over the soul decreases. Therefore Gorakh, and I, do not tell you to fight lust; we tell you to awaken awareness. Become more aware. Whatsoever you do, do it with awareness. Even when you enter sex, enter with awareness, with watchfulness. You will be surprised— as awareness grows, lust withers on its own. One day suddenly you find that without suppression, without struggle, lust has vanished—you seek it within and it is not found. Everywhere within is light, the light of awakening.
The relation of lust and meditation is like that of darkness and light. When light is lit, darkness disappears. There is no need to remove darkness—who can remove it, how? Can anyone remove darkness? Take a sword to cut it, it will not help. Beat it with sticks, it is useless. Push it out, gather the wrestlers of the village—darkness in a small room will not be removed. Light a small lamp—and where did darkness go? It is not that darkness was, and went somewhere; there was only absence of light. When light comes, that’s all.
Lust is the absence of meditation. When the lamp of meditation is lit, lust goes.
People ask me here: Why don’t you teach brahmacharya? Brahmacharya cannot be taught; only meditation can be taught. Brahmacharya is the result. As meditation deepens, brahmacharya ripens by itself. Put all your effort into meditation. One who tries directly for brahmacharya will suppress lust in the name of brahmacharya. He will not become celibate—outwardly he will be, inside the worms of desire will crawl. Inside the snakes of lust will raise their hoods. His life will become strained, difficult. Peace will not arise in him, nor harmony; he will be caught in conflict. A constant quarrel will rage within—how can Paramatman be experienced in quarrel? The mind must be non-dual; only then Paramatman is realized.
Ati ahaar yandri bal karai, nasai gyanam maithun chit dharai.
Byaapai nyandra jhampai kaal...
Sleep seizes; death seizes.
... Taakai hirdai sada janjaal.
Then within there is always a tangle, an upheaval. A madness grows. Look within and see how mad you are! There is craziness going on. How will you know truth while this madness remains? Impossible! This madness must go. It goes by one means only—hansiba kheliba dhriba dhyanam. Laugh, play, dance, be intoxicated—and hold meditation. Then it goes.
Doodhadhari parighari chitta...
There are those who decide to take only milk. They think milk is a pure food.
I was a guest in Raipur. There is a monastery—the Doodhadhari Math. They live only on milk. People think milk will make everything fine. Are you mad? First, the milk you drink is not made for you. If it is cow’s milk, it was made for calves. It makes bulls. Milk is not pure food. Milk will arouse lust. And lust of the kind bulls have— not small—because milk is made by existence for bulls, not for you. In the nature of milk is the arrangement that it is given to the infant until it can digest other food. No animal drinks milk beyond a certain age, except man. Man behaves unnaturally. So a little in tea or coffee is fine; but do not become doodhadhari.
When I was in Raipur, a mahant of the Doodhadhari Math came to meet me. He asked how to conquer lust. I said: first leave milk; leave this monastery. Otherwise—not just a man—you will become a bull! ...and they drink milk only. People bring milk to the saints, thinking—pure food! What is pure in milk?
Recently there was news in the papers that in Japan meat has been produced from milk. Because milk is part of blood, meat can be produced. Scientists have succeeded in producing meat from milk. In two or three months, white meat produced from milk will be available in Japanese markets. Because milk contains the same elements as meat. That is why milk increases flesh and blood, one becomes hefty.
What do you think—when a child is born, where does the mother’s milk come from? Her blood transforms through the process of the breast into milk. So the child is receiving blood. And the child can digest nothing else, so it is fine. Milk has no such sacredness as you think. There is more purity in fruits; more purity in wheat, rice, gram.
Gorakh says: Doodhadhari parighari chitta... Do not become a doodhadhari. Otherwise the milk-drinker’s mind is fixed on others’ houses—whose house has milk, whose doesn’t? Parighari chitta! His mind is in the neighbor’s house. Whose cow is good, whose is not...
Once I was traveling with a saint who drinks only milk from white cows! I said: you have gone mad; use a little intelligence: because a cow is black, the milk does not become black; milk is white anyway. He feared that some blackness might enter the milk from a black cow! He said: no, my guru said white cow’s milk. Whether the cow’s hide is white or black—what difference does it make to milk? Then the milk of black women would become black and that of white women white. Milk is white; but nothing is purified simply by being white.
Have you not seen white herons—khadi-clad herons? Mulla Nasruddin once wore a khadi kurta, achkan, khadi cap and churidar pajama; he went to the market. Someone said: Mulla, how dazzlingly white! Mulla replied: Do not be deceived; however white the clothes, my heart is still black.
By the clothes being white, neither does the heart become white; nor will the soul be purified by drinking white milk. But people create such confusions. The saints who traveled with me had great troubles. First they would inspect the cow from all sides—lest there be any black speck. Only when the cow was utterly white would someone bathe, then milk; and he had to milk in wet clothes so that the state of bathing remained! People had to milk while wearing wet clothes, trembling—winter days, they shivered and milked... And the saint drinks milk and thinks he is doing great merit!
I said: You will fall into hell; complaints will be lodged against you. Those who shiver in the cold, if someone gets pneumonia or a cold—all this is being done for you. You will bear the consequences. Better wake up now.
Doodhadhari parighari chitta, naga lakadi chaahai nit.
And those who go naked need wood daily for burning. In that case what is wrong with a blanket, with clothes? If you become naked, you must burn wood. This is greater himsa, because to burn wood you must cut trees. Their mind is fixed on whether wood will be available today or not. They need a dhuni burning twenty-four hours, because they are naked. And with that fire, how many microorganisms die. Trees cut, creatures burned— had you worn clothes, what harm? Why create these hassles?
Gorakh says: We need a simple life. These are unnaturalnesses. Now useless concerns have been taken up—will there be wood today or not, will a white cow be found, will there be milk, full measure or not? Simplify life, do not make it complicated. Make it sahaj, ordinary. Do not take on useless anxieties.
Mauni karai mitra ki aas...
And the one who is a mauni wants someone to accompany him; he wants a friend. A mauni sadhu came to meet me with a companion. He gestured, and the companion told me. I said: Why don’t you speak directly? The friend said: He is a mauni; he does not speak. I said: This is another hassle. Wherever he goes, you have to go. He said: Yes. And the mauni Maharaj does not touch money; I have to keep the money. In a rickshaw or taxi, someone must pay; he will not touch money.
But whose money is it, I asked.
‘It is his. People give to him; I keep it. People place it at his feet; I quickly gather it.’
I asked: Does mauni Maharaj keep accounts? He said: What to hide from you—he watches, he counts how many notes came. With his hand he signals: five—keep it carefully. Why this foolishness! If you must count, count yourself; keep it in your own pocket. Counting yourself and making another keep it, then worrying that he might run off, that he might exchange it in the morning!
I said: Come to meditation tomorrow. It was in Bombay, at Birla Matoshree, where meditation experiments were going on. I said: Come tomorrow morning. He gestured through his friend that he could not come; because he would be elsewhere, and without him he could not come—who would hire the taxi, who would seat him, who would bring him down? He does not speak.
This is to make yourself crippled with your own hand! Paramatman has given you feet and a tongue; and you have refused them! The other’s tongue is also Paramatman’s tongue— it is His tongue in that mouth too. Yours also is His. To abandon the near tongue and use the far one—what sense is in that? Yet people fall into such nuisances, such tangles.
Mauni karai mitra ki aas...
He depends on a friend.
... Bin gur gudadi nahin besaas.
All this useless talk goes on because without finding a guru, the essence of life has not been found. They have fallen into useless babble by reading books and scriptures.
Tason hi kachhu paiye, kije janki aas.
Reete sarovar par gaye, kaise bujhe pyaas?
Rahim’s dear word!
Tason hi kachhu paiye...
Only from him something can be received, who has something.
Reete sarovar par gaye, kaise bujhe pyaas?
Is there water in scriptures? There are only words. There is the idea of water, the description, but where is the water? Only with the sadguru is the gur found—the formula, the key.
Gorakh’s word is—
Baasa saheeti sab jag baasya, swaad saheta meetha.
Saanch kahun tau satgur maantai roop saheta deetha..
Gorakh says: He is spread like fragrance throughout the world. By His fragrance the entire world is scented.
Baasa saheeti sab jag baasya, swaad saheta meetha.
And His sweetness is in the whole world; but unless someone shows, how shall we taste it? Unless someone tells, how shall its aroma reach our nostrils? How shall its music reach our ears?
Saanch kahun tau satgur maantai roop saheta deetha.
The true thing is this much—that until one finds someone who has seen, a seer, your connection cannot be established.
Bin gur gudadi nahin besaas...
Without a guru, confidence does not arise; trust does not come. Only one with eyes can create in you that self-trust—that yes, Paramatman is. Only one with eyes can be a witness—an eye-witness.
Without seeking a guru, nothing is attained. People fall into such useless tangles. The guru’s word is small, a small sutra: be sahaj.
Habki na boliba, thabki na chaliba, dherai dhriba paanv.
Garab na kariba, sahajai rahiba, bhanat Gorakh raav..
A small sutra: drop ego, live simply. Do not do excess, come to the middle, the sahaj feeling...
Suni gunvanta, suni budhivanta, anant sidhan ki vaani.
Sees navaavat satgur miliya, jagat rainim bihaani.
Gorakh has said: Listen—if you have the quality to listen, then understand.
Suni gunvanta...
If there is a little virtue, listen.
... Suni budhivanta...
If there is a little awareness, grasp it.
... Anant sidhan ki vaani.
And it is not only I who say it; infinite siddhas have said the same.
Sees navaavat satgur miliya, jagat rainim bihaani.
Only bow your head, and the guru is found. The moment the head bows, the guru is met. The guru is always here; bow—and the guru is available.
An old Egyptian saying: when the disciple is ready, the master appears. Whenever the disciple is ready, the master appears. Not a moment’s delay. There the disciple bows, here the guru comes.
Sees navaavat satgur miliya, jagat rainim bihaani.
Then the night of the world is no night; then it passes in wakefulness.
Understand these small sutras, contemplate them, and begin to practice them a little in life—taste them. I will end today’s talk with Rahim’s verse—
Rahiman neer pahan, boodai pai seejhai nahin.
Taise moorakh jaan, boojhai pai soojhai nahin..
Just as a stone lies in water and still does not get soaked; so the foolish, even if they sit in satsang, do not get moistened.
Rahiman neer pahan, boodai pai seejhai nahin.
He remains immersed, remains submerged in water, yet he is not soaked, not moistened. He lies in water and remains untouched.
Taise moorakh jaan, boojhai pai soojhai nahin.
He who sits in satsang and hears the words, understands them intellectually but does not live them, does not experience—know him to be foolish; he is a stone.
This is satsang! Be moistened, be drenched, live it...!
Habki na boliba, thabki na chaliba, dherai dhriba paanv.
Garab na kariba, sahajai rahiba, bhanat Gorakh raav.
That is all for today.