Piya Kokhojan Main Chali #8

Krishna Chaitanya! There is a great difference between imagination and truth. For Meera, Krishna is not an imagination, and Krishna is not outside either. For Meera, Krishna abides in her innermost core. The Krishna she speaks of—you will not find that Krishna in an idol. That Krishna has no form, no shape. You imagined—and there you missed, there the gap arose.

For Meera, Krishna is an inner truth; for you, only a matter of imagination. How could imagination make you surge with ecstasy, make you dance, make goosebumps arise? Understand it like this: if someone imagines food, how will the stomach be filled? If one is thirsty and imagines water, how will there be quenching? Water is needed.

But this was not only your delusion; it is the delusion of millions upon millions. Imagination is cheap; truth is costly—very costly—you have to pay with your very life. For imagination you need do nothing; whenever you wish, do it—it is the whim of the mind.

Meera risked everything. No one can risk anything for imagination. But if you read Meera, her words can affect you. There is juice in her words. There is the resonance of Meera’s veena in those words, the tinkling of Meera’s anklets; but through those words you will not reach truth. If you make those words your source of inspiration, you will be lost in dreams.

It was in such a dream that you were lost. Meera influenced you. And naturally, if Meera influenced you, Krishna became your chosen deity.

Now, you hear the cuckoo’s call from afar! You too can make that sound—there’s no difficulty in coo-cooing. But it will be an imitation. Nothing will arise in your life-breath; it will be only in the throat, on the surface. There will be no life in it. No truth. No reality. You will just be repeating. And it may even happen that you outdo the cuckoo, because the imitator can practice imitation, practice it deeply. But in the final outcome you will lose, and lose badly, because you will have nothing in your hands.

Upon the idol of Krishna you projected all your imaginations. The idol of Krishna became merely a support, a peg on which you kept hanging imaginations and emotions.

When you came to me, you forgot Krishna. You forgot because what you had always wanted to happen began to happen. Why imagine now! When the actual stream of water is found, why dream of water! Only the hungry dream at night of food; the well-fed do not. Only beggars dream of being emperors, not emperors.

Here, in fact, the thrill began to arise. The cuckoo within you awakened. Now you do not have to live here leaning on any imaginary Krishna. Here, what you were seeking is actually present; you are living in that energy, that energy is showering upon you. I do not teach you imagination; I teach you meditation. And to learn meditation means: to become free of imaginations; to become free of the mind itself. Then what imagination, what memory, what thought! So everything dropped—your imagination dropped, your sentimentality dropped, your worship dropped, your rituals dropped.

And naturally, now when you look at that peg you feel ashamed—because with that very peg you deceived yourself so much! That is why today even looking at Krishna’s image you feel hesitant. Even meeting its eyes you feel hesitant.

In that hesitation there is only one declaration: you remember your own foolishness. That hesitation has nothing to do with Krishna. What you did in your folly for years—how you could do such foolishness—that is what returns. That memory brings pain; your head bows in shame. But there is no longer any need to imagine about Krishna; your relationship with the real has begun.

That is why you say today, “I was stirred; I wept; I laughed.”

This is exactly what you wanted. What you wanted has happened. Why look for useless supports now! You have found Krishna. I gave you the name “Krishna Chaitanya” for exactly this reason—seeing your deep attraction to Krishna. But the false Krishna has to be dropped. He was your imagination. And when you drop imagination, there can be a direct encounter with truth. In the true Krishna are contained Christ as well, Buddha, Mahavira, Jesus—whoever has known truth is contained there.

The word Krishna is very lovely. Krishna means: the one who draws, who attracts. It means magic. You have come into that magic. Someone has drawn you. You are now in that gravitation. What will you do with pictures now? When the Master is found, what is there to do with pictures? All pictures grow pale. All pictures become false.

A lady once said to the famous painter Picasso, “Yesterday I saw one of your pictures, a photo of you, hanging in a house. It was so lovely. Some very important photographer must have taken it. I liked it so much that I couldn’t resist kissing it.”

Picasso said, “Then what happened? Did the picture kiss you back or not?”

Startled, the lady looked at Picasso. She said, “Are you in your senses? How can a picture return a kiss?”

Picasso said, “Then it was not me. Kiss me, and then you will see the difference. That was only paper, an illusion. If the picture did not answer, if such a lovely woman’s kiss brought no response, if the picture did not say a word, not even thank you, did not embrace you—it was false. It was not me, that much I tell you.”

Picasso was right.

Krishna Chaitanya, you were bound to Krishna’s picture all these days. Coming here, you have recognized and known the reality of Krishna. Why would a picture bind you now? But it is natural that a question should arise.

You ask: “What is this, Bhagwan? I feel hesitant to go near that image, to meet its eyes—the one I worshiped for years, to whom I offered worship!”

You feel hesitant for this very reason: thinking, considering, “How mad I was! What was I doing! In what childishness was I lost! What foolishness I was engaged in!”

But you are fortunate; you awoke in time. Many unfortunates will die just like this, stuck in pictures.

One who is stuck in scriptures is stuck in pictures. One who is stuck in idols is stuck in falsehoods. A seeker of truth has to find a living Master; apart from that there has never been, is not, and will not be any other way.

And to be connected with a living Master is certainly an act of courage—an audacity. Because to be connected with a living Master means: the death of the ego. Only one who is ready to die can be a disciple. One who wants to save himself cannot be a disciple. With an idol there is this convenience—you can put Krishna to sleep when you wish, seat him when you wish, offer food when you wish, ring the bell and worship whenever you wish—do whatever you like—open the temple doors when you like, close them when you like. Krishna becomes your toy.

You will not be able to do this with a living Satguru. With a living Satguru, you will have no control. With a living Satguru the matter turns upside down—his control will be over you, his magic will work on you.

That is why people worship the dead. When Jesus dies, then millions become Christians. When Jesus was alive, not even a hundred or a hundred and fifty people were with him. On the day Jesus was crucified, even his disciples had fled. What disciples must they have been!

The night Jesus was arrested, when his enemies took him away, one disciple followed behind. Jesus spoke as though speaking into the air, as if talking to the sky. He said, “Go back! Because before morning comes—before the rooster crows—you will deny me three times.”

Surely the disciple understood. Others were a bit amazed! But people already thought, “This man is mad. What is he saying, and to whom—before the rooster crows you will deny me three times!” But the disciple understood. In his mind he said—he didn’t even have the courage to say it aloud, for he would have been caught—he said inwardly, “Never.” But Jesus said, “I tell you, before the rooster crows you will deny me three times.”

And that is what happened. A little while later, the crowd of enemies leading Jesus away—night had fallen, it was dark, torches were lit—noticed an unfamiliar man with them, not one of their own, certainly not an ally. “Who are you?” they asked. “Are you a companion of Jesus?”

He said, “No. Who Jesus? I don’t even know him. I’m a traveler from outside. I too am going toward the city; seeing the torchlight, I joined you.”

Jesus smiled and said, “See, the rooster hasn’t crowed yet.” The disciple was startled: he had denied once, but vowed not to do it again. Jesus said, “You wait and see. You will deny me three times.”

And so it happened again and again. After a little while, someone else asked, “Who are you? Your manner seems suspicious.” Because he looked like he was hiding, skulking. Trying to save himself. Walking in such a way that his face didn’t come into the light, keeping to the shadows. “Who are you?”

He said, “I am a stranger. I’ve come from a village outside. I’m not familiar with the roads of this town, so I tagged along.”

That man asked, “Do you know this man we are taking away?”

He said, “I’ve never seen him.”

Jesus said, “See? The rooster hasn’t crowed yet and you’ve denied me twice!”

Inwardly he swore—by you, by God—that he would not deny a third time. But before morning he had to deny a third time as well. And the rest had simply run away. The one who had come along denied him thrice!

When Jesus was on the cross he asked for water... The Jewish method of crucifixion was very crude, very primitive. They would drive spikes into the hands and feet and fix the man to a plank. A man would not die easily; they did not even hang him by the neck. Some took six hours to die, some twelve, some eighteen, some twenty-four, some forty-eight hours. Sometimes it took three days, because the blood would slowly flow, flowing from the hands and feet, and slowly the man would become exhausted and die.

Jesus was thirsty and said, “I am thirsty, give me some water.”

A disciple was present. He did not have the courage even to give Jesus water. He stood silently in the crowd.

To be with a living Master is a dangerous affair—a very dangerous bargain.

And those eleven who ran away, and the twelfth who was there—these very twelve became Jesus’ apostles. These twelve got the opportunity to give birth to Christianity. Now you can understand that Christianity became false right from the beginning.

Today millions are Christians. Today being a Christian is very convenient. There is no obstacle in it. No trouble. Today how many people sit and shed tears before Jesus—before his picture. Today how many homes have a picture or an idol of Jesus hanging on the cross! How many people go to church! Today is Sunday; all over the world churches will be full of Christians. Sermons will be given; the priests will explain. But now there is no danger. Now you can comfortably listen, discuss. Now there is nothing at stake. No hindrance.

But how many were with Jesus? How many were with Buddha? Today the whole of Asia is Buddhist—then how many stood with Buddha? How many stood with Mahavira? How many stood with Nanak? How many stood with Kabir?

The reason is clear—to be with a living Master is to walk on the edge of a sword. What difficulty is there in imagining! Sit and imagine whatever you want—of Krishna, of Buddha, of Christ—as you please. And in imagination, color it as you like.

Krishna Chaitanya, you are fortunate that you did not keep coloring with the brush of imagination. You are fortunate that what you expected, what you desired, could actually happen; what you longed for could be fulfilled. You dared, so it could be fulfilled. You had courage, so it could be fulfilled. You set out. And for one who sets out, the destination is not far.

You do not feel hesitant because you have any objection to Krishna. What objection could there be to Krishna! I am mad about Krishna. Perhaps the love I have for Krishna, even Meera may not have had. The esteem, the reverence in which Krishna abides within me has perhaps been in no one.

This hesitation arising within you is not towards Krishna; it is towards your own foolishness. But now, when you look at that peg, you feel troubled—“Ah, I was tied to this very peg! This peg is evidence of my bondage. My worship, my ritual—all were false. How did I get deceived so long, how did I deceive myself?”—this gives rise to your hesitation.

But the truth is that for the first time you have begun to come close to Krishna. And for the first time a Meera-like thrill has arisen within you. For the first time your feet have gained the capacity to dance, your heart too is singing. A moment of blessedness has come into your life.

Krishna Vedant! The mind of this country is a deeply repressed mind. And the fundamental basis of this repression is the suppression of sex. Sex has been pressed down for centuries so it erupts in all kinds of perverted forms. These are perversions. Those you saw performing are deranged people.

What kind of madness is this? What can it possibly have to do with religion? God did not give human beings genitals to pull jeeps. What religiosity is this? If this is religiosity, what will you call stupidity? It is sheer boorishness. It is sheer exploitation.

But those Naga sadhus know very well that the Indian mind is tremendously curious about nudity. The more it condemns, the more curious it is. The condemnation itself arises from curiosity. Deep down it is a lid on curiosity. What has been suppressed for centuries keeps bubbling up.

Understand one law: whatever is natural—if you repress it—it will appear in unnatural forms. Anything natural that is suppressed is bound to manifest in unnatural ways. You cannot avoid that until your nature is transformed. And repression never contributes to transformation; it obstructs it. Whatever you repress you will never be able to transform. No nation’s mind is as afflicted with sexuality as the Indian mind. And the reason? Indian religion is very old, and for centuries we have been taught one thing: sex is sin.

Why has there been so much propaganda against sex?
For a straightforward reason. If you want to fill a person with guilt, the easiest way is to declare some natural urge—something he cannot change no matter how hard he tries—to be a sin. He will naturally develop a sense of guilt. And the moment guilt arises, the pundit and the priest get their chance to exploit him.

A guilty person becomes frightened and nervous. Then if you threaten him with hell, he gets scared, because he “knows” he is a sinner. One who is not a sinner—why would he fear hell? For him the very notion of hell is meaningless.

There is no hell anywhere. It exists in your mind only because of guilt, and priests succeeded in exploiting that. As the other side of the coin, they offered the temptation of heaven. Between greed and fear man has been ground to dust.

Priestcraft is the trade of exploiting people. And if you want to exploit someone, first make him weak. If he is strong, stands on his own feet, trusts his own intelligence, you will not be able to exploit him, nor enslave him. He will declare his freedom. He will live by his own genius. He will not go to touch the feet of these two-bit pundits and priests. But once you shake him, frighten him, make him panic—once you send a wave of fear through him and whip up a vortex of greed—then it’s easy. Then he falls into anyone’s hands. Even the most intelligent have fallen under fools.

A great Western scientist, Niels Bohr, a Nobel Prize winner, was visited by an American mathematician. The American was shocked to see a horseshoe hanging upside down behind Bohr’s desk. In the West there is a superstition that an upside-down horseshoe brings good luck.

The mathematician was amazed that someone like Bohr would believe in such superstition. He asked, “Why have you hung this upside-down horseshoe? Are you superstitious too? Do you think it brings luck?”

Bohr laughed and said, “Never. I don’t believe in such superstitions. I have no faith in it.”
“Then why hang it?” the mathematician asked.
Bohr said, “The priest who gave it to me said it brings luck whether you believe in it or not. So I thought, what’s the harm in hanging it?”

Even in the greatest scientist the same foolishness, the same fear—“let it be auspicious!” It is easy to make man do any stupidity, but first frighten him, make him panic. And religions have used two easiest tricks. One is food. Because man cannot live without food, some religions attacked food—don’t eat this, don’t eat that. They made so many rules that living itself became difficult.

Naturally, man will want tasty food. If he eats it, guilt arises. If he does not, he suffers, is tormented, troubled. If you strictly follow all the rules, it becomes hard to stay alive. Perhaps nothing is left that you can eat. What will you eat?

Only ripe fruit that falls from the tree by itself—till it does not become too sweet. Because as soon as it becomes very sweet, bacteria arise in it. Its sweetness invites them. Then eating it becomes violence.

Understand: until it is very ripe, it won’t fall by itself. When it ripens fully, bacteria multiply. In fact, the very process of ripening is due to bacteria. The sweetness too is produced by bacteria. So when fruit is fully ripe, filled with bacteria, then it drops by itself. If the fruit is unripe, there are fewer bacteria—that’s why it is unripe. If you pluck it while unripe, the tree is hurt. The tree is alive. So you cannot pluck fruit to eat; that too is a sin.

You drink milk—that too is sin. You may be surprised, because Indian religions don’t consider it so. But among Christians there are Quakers who consider drinking milk a sin. And there is force to their argument. They say milk is a kind of mother’s blood. Blood and eggs both come from the body. That’s why drinking milk increases your blood; your face glows. Nothing builds blood better than milk.

So don’t drink milk.

A Quaker was a guest at my house. In the morning I asked, “Will you have tea, coffee, milk—what would you like?”
He was shocked, as if I had asked him to commit some great crime. “What are you saying? I and coffee, tea, milk? Never! Do you drink milk?”
I said, “Why so heated? What’s the matter?”
He said, “Drinking milk is a sin. No Quaker can drink milk.”

Though all Quakers drink milk, guilt arises. Coffee and tea they cannot drink because you add milk. And even without milk, tea has nicotine—so they say; because of that it cannot be drunk. Nicotine means intoxication. Coffee and cocoa too are intoxicants. The same nicotine that is in cigarettes.

What will you eat? What will you drink? How will you live? They have made living impossible. If you go by their rules, there is no way except to starve to death. And naturally, if you starve, you will think of food day and night.

Ask the Jains in Paryushan who fast for ten days—what do they think about during those ten days? Do they remember the soul and God?
Perhaps sometimes the soul and God may come to mind, but never in those ten days. In those ten days only delicacies come to mind. What God! You see marvelous things—rasgullas floating! Pakoras flying with wings! What dreams you see at night!

And from that too guilt arises: “I am such a sinner!” And the monks keep scolding: “Control your tongue. Your tongue will take you to hell. The tongue is the cause of sin.”

Remember: religions have used two things to declare you a sinner—food and sex. And both are connected. Just as the individual cannot live without food, the group cannot live without sex. If your parents had not been filled with sexual desire, you wouldn’t be here. If Mahavira’s parents had not been, Mahavira wouldn’t be here. If Buddha’s parents had not been, Buddha wouldn’t be here.

Just think: if these few people had been celibate, what would have happened to the earth? Mahavira, Buddha, Jesus, Krishna, Zarathustra, Lao Tzu, Kabir, Nanak—if their parents had been celibate, what would be the condition of the earth? A desert everywhere. Humanity nowhere. Thank God their parents did not listen to the babble of pundits and priests. The ghost of celibacy did not possess them. But somewhere deep down the sting of sin must have remained: “What are we doing—sinning!”

Society lives by sex. It is the nourishment of society. Hence food and sex are connected. If you are not fed, your sex will also die. After twenty-one days of fasting, sex wanes.

That’s why those who fast long fall into the illusion that their sexuality has ended. Nothing has ended; it has only dried up. Feed them again and it is back. Nothing has changed.

Jain monks fall into the illusion that they have conquered sex. But they eat so little that even the minimal needs of the body are not met. Sex arises when enough food goes in that it creates energy beyond your needs—then sex arises. Think of sex as the flowering of your life. A tree that gets no energy—what flowers will it produce? It won’t even grow leaves, forget flowers. It will remain a dry stalk.

For centuries man has been branded a sinner. The result is that deep down each person has become highly curious and avid for the very things that are forbidden. Prohibition has a quality: deny something—taste arises. In what you forbid, the relish increases.

So, Krishna Vedant, you say: “At the Simhastha fair there was always a big crowd at that place.”
Of course there will be. This is India. In any other country, these Naga sadhus would be caught and put in a madhouse. They would be treated—given electric shocks. They are not in their senses. What are they doing! They are deranged. But here they are called mahatmas! Here madmen are considered paramahansas! Here the deranged are thought liberated! And the crowd will be thickest there—why miss such an opportunity! The urge to see a naked man is very strong. And then such vulgar stunts…

Your question is right: crowds gather to see such vulgar displays and there is no protest.

Why would there be protest? It is an ancient tradition. This is a traditionalist country. An orthodox country. Here any stupidity is fine—provided it is old. The older it is, the better.

You ask: nothing like this happens in your ashram, yet people are angry at you and your ashram.

That is precisely why they are angry—because I am not orthodox, not traditional. I am anti-orthodoxy, anti-tradition. I am anti-past. I am anti-nation, anti-caste, anti-varna. I want to free you from all boundaries so that no limit remains upon you. That you are pure consciousness—this awareness is enough. You are only a witness. If you are not even the body, how can you be Indian? How can you be Hindu? How can you be Muslim? These are all mind’s games, mind’s nets.

So the Hindu will be angry with me, the Muslim will be angry, the Christian will be angry. They all live in traditions. Their life is rooted in the past. I want you utterly free of the past; only then will you touch the present. And the present is God. Connect with the present and you will taste the divine.

Such foolish things—like pulling a jeep tied to the penis, lifting huge boulders—have gone on for centuries. Temples have been their dens. After all, in the temples of Khajuraho, Konark, Puri there are all kinds of sexual displays. On their walls are carved the most obscene of images. Yet in Indian films we will obstruct a kiss, obstruct an embrace. Even if you kiss, six inches of distance must be maintained! And the same Indians go to these temples and feel no difficulty.

Anything goes in a temple because tradition stands with it; so there is no problem, no obstacle, no protest. You’ve forgotten—you even take your little children along, because whatever the sadhu does must be right. Here there is no question of doing what is right; the sadhu’s doing defines what is right.

I am not a sadhu. I am not a rishi or muni or mahatma of any tradition. I am a rebel. Who will stand with me? Opposition is perfectly natural. I accept it. I welcome it. At least there is some stir! At least a storm has risen! Let some ripples rise in the mind petrified for centuries, some sense of life awaken.

You go to Shankarji’s temple: there is the Shiva lingam. Do you ever feel awkward, ashamed? You take your children, your daughters! Although, if you go to a movie, you first check if it is for adults or also for children. Films are labeled: adults only. Then you don’t take your children, because there will be scenes of man-woman love, and you don’t want to show them to your children.

But what is there in Shankarji’s temple? What you call the Shiva lingam is a symbol of the male genital. And not only the male: beneath the lingam is the female genital. The male and female genitals are in the state of coitus. But we have forgotten—because it is traditional, it is accepted, so it is fine.

Whatever is traditional is fine! Then how can one object to a kiss? When pure genital symbols can be placed in temples, what fault can there be in a kiss! What objection to the embrace of a man and a woman!

And for how long will you hide it from children? And why hide it? What is true is true. If they don’t learn from you, they will learn by wrong paths, from wrong sources. Better they learn from the right source.

I am in favor of films showing whatever is true, so that children become familiar with truth from early on. Otherwise one day a heavy obstacle arises. We keep children in darkness for long, then one day we marry them! Then the newlyweds feel guilty, because until now the girl was told that touching a man is sin. If for twenty years she has been told that touching a man is sin, how can it suddenly be a virtue to sleep with a man tonight! She may sleep, but her very being will shrink. Inside there will be a sense of sin.

In my experience…thousands of women have told me, “Our husbands drag us into sin, not into love.” They call it sin.

And it is not their fault; that’s what they were taught. A conditioning of twenty years doesn’t evaporate. Their whole being has been poisoned. How can such women give their husbands full love? Impossible. They lie there like corpses. Then the husband gets no juice from them. Then he becomes interested in other women. Then jealousy arises, enmity arises, anger arises. And the same man gives birth to prostitution. Because his wife lies like a corpse, utterly cold—as if there is no warmth, no life in her. And if she shows warmth and life, he objects that this is not a good sign. “Good women do not relish such things; only bad women are into such matters.”

A strange condition! “Bad” women enjoy the “bad,” but they alone seem alive. And “good” women do not enjoy such things!

A policeman once pulled a woman out of the sea—she had drowned. Evening was falling. He laid her on the shore and tried hard to revive her, but she was dead; so he left her there and ran to the police station to report. When he returned, he saw a man having intercourse with her. He shook him and said, “You fool, get up, this woman is dead!” The man said, “How would I know? I thought she was Indian.”

An Indian woman must lie absolutely like a corpse; she should not even move! If she moves, it means she is enjoying it. She must lie with her eyes shut; even opening the eyes is dangerous—it means she is enjoying. The light should be put out. In the darkness of night, silently, without a word…the great theft goes on!

And from that great theft, children will be born. What kind of children will they be! What beauty will they have! What soul will they carry!

But you will not object to the scriptures. Your Puranas are full of obscene stories. Your temples are full of obscene images. Stories so obscene that if you think about them you will be shocked—but since they are in scripture, they are “beautiful.” And since I oppose them, naturally—who will stand by me!

A friend sent me a story from some Purana. I don’t know which; surely it must be in some Purana.

Once Parvati quarreled with Shiva and went to her parents’ home. She didn’t return for many days. Shiva became restless. He said to Nandi, “Nandi, I so much feel like making love, and Parvati hasn’t returned yet. Couldn’t it be that I make love to you?” Nandi said, “Shivji, what are you saying! Am I worthy of your love?”

After much persuasion, Nandi agreed on the condition that later he too would make love to Shiva. Shiva made love to Nandi to his heart’s content. When it was Nandi’s turn, he picked up his staff and ran. “You fool! You are a bull and will make love to me? Understand your place, you idiot!”

Nandi grew furious and ran after him. But Shiva slipped into a temple and sat inside—naked. That is why Shiva’s image is nude. The Shiva lingam is a symbol of the naked image. Nandi then sat in front of the temple and said, “Shivji, when you come out, I will make love to you; I won’t spare you.” And since then Nandi has been sitting there. They say, “You will come out sometime!”

But that is nothing. There are stories in the scriptures that will leave you stunned. I have read this: one Purana says that Brahma and Vishnu were caught in a deep dispute and went to Shiva to resolve it. When they arrived, as often happens with doorkeepers—like the saints here who keep the door, think of Nandi—he was probably asleep. Ganesha was the doorkeeper. Having eaten too much, he must have dozed off, stroking his belly; the trunk waved a little and then nodded off. Brahma and Vishnu thought, “Why wake the poor fellow; let him sleep.” They slipped inside quietly. Shiva was making love to Parvati. The two gentlemen remained perfectly Indian—did not move away. A Naga baba’s performance was going on—how would they leave! Anyone else—some Englishman—would have immediately begged pardon and gone out. But they stood there watching. And you know Shiva—he must have had too much bhang; he had no idea who had come or gone. His love-play went on—for six hours! And these two gentlemen were also remarkable—they stood there. When a jeep is being pulled by a penis, where would Brahma and Vishnu go! They stood there. But they felt insulted that they were standing there and Shiva didn’t even bother. It didn’t occur to him that they should withdraw—that is not the Indian way. What occurred to them was: “What kind of behavior is this? Misbehavior! We have been standing here for six hours, and Shivji has no idea and remains engaged in his act.”

When Shiva came a little to his senses, he saw two gentlemen standing and stood up. But they were enraged: “You didn’t even offer us a seat; we have been standing for six hours!”

See the fun! First, one should never be standing there in such a place…

In India, privacy is not acknowledged, not accepted. It is not part of our culture.

Once I was sleeping one afternoon in Udaipur. I heard a rustling on the tiles. I opened my eyes: a man had lifted a tile and was peering down from above. Not some illiterate fellow—a High Court lawyer! I asked, “Brother, what are you doing? Is there some rain leak—you’re fixing the tiles?”
He said, “No, I just came for your darshan.”
I said, “Will others also come for darshan like this, or only you? Is this a time for darshan—when I am sleeping…!”
“No,” he said, “a sage should be seen in all his states. I was curious to see how you sleep.”
So I said, “See.” I went back to sleep. But he was no less than Brahma and Vishnu. When I woke two hours later, he was still sitting on the roof. I said, “Brother, now get down or you’ll fall.”
Brahma and Vishnu did not move, but they were angry that they were not treated respectfully. “We curse you: you will always be worshiped in sexual symbols.”

That is why in temples there is no full image of Shankar—only the sexual symbol. Because of that curse. This is the story behind the Shiva lingam.

I call these scriptures garbage. They should be burned. It would be good to be rid of them.

Vedant, you ask: why are people angry with me and my ashram?
That is why. I see no connection of religion with any of these things. Religion is concerned with only one thing—meditation. Religion has one quest, one exploration—samadhi. The science of how meditation reaches samadhi is religion. The rest is nonsense. We should be rid of the rest.

But in the jungle of that “rest,” the real has been lost. I want to save only what is valuable—truly valuable—and set the rest of the rubbish on fire. Therefore people are angry with me. Their anger is natural.

I do not want to force anything on your food. Yes, I want you to have a sense of beauty in life. A sense of taste too. Because whatever senses God has given you—each should be refined. I would like your eyes to see the most beautiful. Your ears to hear the most melodious. Your taste to savor the most exquisite. I want your life to be sensitive.

I am not against sensitivity, because whoever opposes sensitivity slowly becomes inert. He ceases to be alive—he becomes dead.

What is the difference between a dead and a living man? Only this: a dead man has no sensitivity. A beautiful woman may pass by and he won’t even raise an eye.

Chandulal, the Marwari, died. Everyone was weeping, but his wife was not. People thought she was in shock. Just then a beggar came, rattling his tin and said, “Give something, Sethji!” He was blind. When Chandulal said nothing, the wife burst into loud sobs. People asked, “So far you were silent; what happened now?”
She said, “When he didn’t get up even after hearing the beggar and didn’t run, I understood he was dead. Until now I wasn’t sure. Doctors can be wrong—perhaps he was only unconscious. It’s happened before—twice. Chandulal died, but he hadn’t; it was the doctors’ mistake. I was thinking, perhaps they are wrong again. But when the beggar rattled his tin and he neither spoke nor ran, nor said, ‘Move on!’ then I’m certain he’s dead. This is proof of his death.”

What is the difference between a corpse and a living man?

I call religion the art of living. So I won’t suggest you pluck out your eyes like Surdas. I want your eyes to be luminous. I want them to be far-seeing. I want them to learn the appreciation of beauty, to be freed from the gross, to recognize the subtle.

An Indian had gone to Paris. He went to see the Louvre, the world’s most famous museum, where the finest masterpieces are housed. He stood before a painting and his mouth began to water.

By coincidence the painter himself was passing. Seeing the man stand so long, he thought he must be a connoisseur from a far-off land. Curious, he asked, “Do you like the painting very much?”
“Very much,” the Indian said. “My mouth started watering at once.”
The painter was puzzled. “Your mouth watered?”
“These jalebis you have made—what jalebis!” the Indian said.
“Damn it!” said the painter. “These are not jalebis; they are symbolic depictions of life’s tangled problems. This is symbolic art. Fool, you call them jalebis!”
“They look just like jalebis,” the man said.

One level is the gross—you show even the most beautiful painting and you will see only what you can see. The other is that your senses become subtler.

For centuries religion has told you: deaden your senses. That is why if someone lies on a bed of thorns, we honor him. I will not. Lying on thorns means the sense of touch has been deadened. He has killed his body. His back has become a corpse, insensitive. To that extent he has died. I will not honor him. He is no mahatma, just a fool.

If a man gouges out his eyes because eyes arouse desire—he is a complete yokel. Eyes do not cause desire. What has desire to do with eyes? Desire belongs to the mind. The blind feel desire too—more than the sighted: repressed, pent-up, buzzing inside with no outlet. If that were not so, the blind would be blessed—born Surdas! That’s why we call the blind “Surdas.” Blessed is their fate?

God made a great mistake giving you eyes. He should have given you a tortoise’s back so you could lie on a bed of thorns and be a mahatma. And no eyes—so you would be born Surdas. No ears either—lest some sweet sound fall upon them. He should have made you deaf. In fact, he should not have made you at all. Your birth itself is a mistake.

Our notion seems to be that the most fortunate are those not born at all. Second most fortunate are those who died at birth. Third most fortunate are those who are “alive” in name only. We call them mahatmas.

My vision is utterly different. Hence I will be criticized. People will be angry with me. I stand to dismantle their entire religious outlook. I say their whole outlook has been wrong. They have not been for life; they have been worshipers of death. They have worshiped corpses; they have not honored life. For me, life is God. There is no other God than life—not some Brahma somewhere, or Vishnu, or Mahesh. Life is God. And life sings in birds, blossoms as flowers in trees, awakens as love in humans, is light in the eyes, music in the ears, the heartbeat in the heart. What is life not! Life is the name of the whole.

I want your life to be sensitive—filled with deep sensitivity. And amidst all this sensitivity, the sensitivity called meditation is born. Meditation is the name of supreme sensitivity. When all your senses, in their totality and fullness, are active and awake, then in their midst a new flower blooms that you had never known. In just that soil it blooms—that is meditation.

Meditation means sensing the deepest of life; sensing what is mysterious; seeing what the eyes cannot see—yet it becomes visible; hearing what the ear cannot hear—yet it becomes audible; touching what the hand cannot touch—yet it becomes tangible. Meditation is the essence of all your sensitivities.

So I do not want to deprive you of anything. I want to refine everything, sharpen everything. I want to keep an edge on the blade of your intelligence. I do not want to smother your inner wisdom under superstitions.

I give you no superstition. I say: do not believe in heaven or hell. Because there is no hell anywhere, no heaven anywhere. Hell is your foolish way of living; the suffering you produce is hell. Heaven is your conscious way of living; the bliss you produce is heaven. Heaven and hell are inner states.

And God is not a person who created the world. God is life. Not a creator—simply that which is—eternal, never created, never destroyed; whose forms change, like waves in the ocean.

And the way to know that God is the deepening of your sensitivity—deeper and deeper, subtler and subtler.

Therefore, Krishna Vedant, people will oppose me and be angry. It is not their fault. When beliefs held for centuries are struck, restlessness and irritation arise. It is natural. But it has to be done; otherwise there is no hope for man. The so-called religions have killed man.

I am against repression; I favor transformation. Whatever you repress, you will have to keep repressing again and again. However much you repress, it will resurface. Nothing that life has given you is sinful or wrong. Whatever life has given you is supreme wealth—but like uncut diamonds. They need polishing, faceting, cleaning—then they become Koh-i-Noor.

You must know: when Koh-i-Noor was found, the man who found it let his children play with it for three years, thinking it a shiny stone. By chance a sannyasin came who had been a jeweler before renouncing. He saw the children playing and said to the father, “Are you mad? I was a jeweler—I have never seen or heard of a larger diamond. What are you doing?”
The man said, “It’s been in our house for three years. I found it in my field, in the sand of a little stream. I thought the children would play with it—so it lies in the courtyard. Anyone could have picked it up; how would I know it was a diamond?”
They took it to a jeweler.

Today Koh-i-Noor is the world’s greatest diamond. Its price is in crores. It sits in the British queen’s crown. When it was found it weighed three times what it does now; now it is only a third of that, yet its value is millions of times more. What happened? Where did two-thirds go? Two-thirds had to be cut away. It was cut—and beauty appeared. It was faceted—and beauty appeared.

Whatever is in you is still raw stone. Much has to be trimmed, cut, sharpened, polished. But they are diamonds. All diamonds.

Sex itself becomes celibacy within you. Think of sex as a man standing on his head, and celibacy as the same man standing on his feet. No more difference than that. The anger within you becomes compassion. Without anger, compassion cannot arise. The attachment within you transforms into love.

I am for transformation. I call the alchemy of transformation “religion.” You were taught repression. And repression never transforms.

Therefore, at the Simhastha fair there will be crowds to see Naga sadhus. At every fair, every Kumbh, the biggest crowds gather around Naga sadhus. Women, men, children—all gather. For who would miss such a chance under the name of religion! And look at the faces of those Naga sadhus—you will be shocked; there is nothing of saintliness there. Not a trace of saintliness. The expressions that appear on the faces of goons are the same on the faces of these Naga sadhus—no difference. The same viciousness, the same arrogance, the same tendency to create trouble. At every Kumbh the riots, brawls, bloodshed—happen because of Naga sadhus.

But repression inevitably produces such results.

I was in Bhavnagar. After speaking in the Town Hall, I came out. The crowd was large—thousands outside could not enter. The organizers asked me to stand in an open car so people could see me. I stood up. What I saw I can never forget. Every time I see an open car, I remember it.

A Sarvodayi leader—whom I knew, who used to meet me, who talked big about Brahma-knowledge—an old man, around sixty, all hair white… The crowd was dense; such pushing and jostling… I could not believe my eyes. I rubbed them. My eyesight is perfect; I don’t need glasses. What I saw I could not believe. That Sarvodayi leader had grabbed a woman’s breasts and she was screaming!

I had the car stopped. Flustered, he let go. He was behind, the woman ahead. A young woman—and that old man mauling her…

I asked him, “What happened to your Brahma-knowledge? What happened to Vedanta?” He stood with his head down. I said, “What I was speaking inside—this is its proof.”

I went to Bhavnagar many times later; he never appeared again. Whenever I went, I asked, “Where is the Sarvodayi leader? Doesn’t he come to discuss Vedanta, Brahman?” People said, “When you come to Bhavnagar, he leaves town. He knows you ask for him first. Since that incident, he’s in a fix—everyone knows. You did not do right stopping the car; his reputation is ruined. His whole Sarvodayi-ness is finished.”

These are your so-called sadhus, your Sarvodayis, your mahatmas, your servants! This is bound to happen. I see no inconsistency in it. What you are sitting on top of, repressing—it is looking for any opportunity to erupt.

I am in favor of this: repress nothing. Your life is yours. Wake up! Experience life with awareness! Pass through all feelings and urges—recognize them! There is no liberation except through awareness.

Mulla Nasruddin was leaving home when a friend arrived after many years. He got off his horse. Mulla said, “You have come after years, but at a bad time. I have to visit two or three places. You rest, bathe, eat; I’ll be back soon.”
The friend said, “After so many years, I don’t want to lose a moment. I’ll come with you; we can talk on the way. But my clothes are shabby. If you have proper clothes, give me some.”
The emperor had gifted Mulla a beautiful outfit—turban, shoes, churidar. He had kept it for some ‘proper occasion.’ That occasion never came. He always postponed: “I’ll wear it on the right day.” He thought: “Today a friend has come after years—what will he think?” In excitement he brought it out.
He dressed his friend—and then repented. As they walked, everyone’s eyes were on the friend; no one noticed Nasruddin. He felt hurt: “What a fool I am! Such a precious outfit—I never wore it myself; I gave it to this idiot! So what if he came after years!” He fumed.
They entered the first house. As soon as they went in, the host and hostess glanced at the friend; who would look at Nasruddin! Next to him, Nasruddin looked like a servant, while the friend looked like a king.
They asked Nasruddin, “Who are you?”
“I am Nasruddin!” he said. “Am I visiting, or is he visiting? I am Nasruddin!”
“We know you,” they said, “but who is he?”
“He is my friend Jamal,” Nasruddin said. “And as for the clothes—these clothes are mine.”

The friend was shocked at such a crude remark. Outside he said, “What did you say! No one asked about the clothes. Is this proper? If you were going to do this, why dress me at all? Did you want to disgrace me in public?”
By then Nasruddin too repented. “Forgive me, I made a mistake. It won’t happen again in the next house. I won’t say it.”

In the second house the same thing happened. The beautiful hostess greeted them at the door: “Who are you? And Nasruddin, who is he?”
Nasruddin was pierced to the heart. He forgot his resolve and blurted, “Who is he! He is my friend Jamal. And as far as the clothes are concerned, what do you care whose clothes they are? Why are you after the clothes?”

Outside, the friend said, “It’s not right to go another step with you. You always bring up the clothes. You did it again! Why talk about clothes? They ask about me; why do you talk about clothes?”
Nasruddin said, “Forgive me; I made a mistake again. Give me one more chance.”

They went to a third house. Same question: “Who is he?” Nasruddin said, “He is my friend Jamal. And as far as the clothes are concerned, it’s better we do not discuss them at all. Best not to raise the matter. I have promised not to bring it up. Whoever’s they are! Mine or his—it’s all the same. He is my friend, come after many years. And what is there in clothes anyway? Look at the friend; why get stuck on the clothes?”

Whatever you repress—press it here, it will pop out there. Press it there, it will pop out elsewhere. It will keep surfacing.

I am against repression. I am against hypocrisy. And you have worshiped hypocrisy so much. So it is natural I will be abused, people will be angry at me.

Only those will be pleased with me who have some intelligence, some intellectual capacity, some inner strength, some self-respect, who are a little self-possessed; who have the courage to drop the entire past and set out with me on the journey into the unknown. Apart from them, the crowd cannot walk with me.