Sadhana Sutra #13

In the search for the truth of life the greatest difficulty is this: a fundamental disrespect for life. And within all of us there is a disrespect toward life. It may sound upside down, and a little hard to grasp, that the so‑called religions have filled us with disrespect for life—whereas real religion will fill us with reverence for life.
Because Paramatma is hidden in life. Life is His garment, His covering. Life is His very breath. If there is disrespect toward life, to seek Paramatma becomes impossible. Only from reverence will the doorway open. Disrespect turns our back to Him.
Such a tangle has arisen: religion says, “Seek Paramatma.” And religion also says, “Paramatma is hidden in every particle of life.” But the neurotic mind hears the call to seek Paramatma as if it meant seeking by denying life—as if the search for God were an opposition to life, as if to attain God one must abandon life.
If it were true that to attain Paramatma one must renounce life, then life could not be revered; life would be condemned, dishonored. And when life is dishonored, how could the supreme secret of life be revered?
Krishna is filled with reverence for life. Jesus is filled with reverence for life. Buddha is filled with reverence for life. Yet a large portion of their followers are filled with contempt for life. The fault is not in Buddha, Krishna, or Christ. The fault is in the understanding of the followers.
They all say: seek the ultimate truth. We too want to seek it. But whenever we think of seeking, we at once feel that the present moment—the life that is here now—must be abandoned for the search to happen. We must turn away from this, destroy this, then the search will be possible. Not because it is necessary to turn away in order to search—but because we are so bored, so harassed, so miserable, so wretched with this life that whenever we get a chance to leave it or break it, we are ready. Any excuse will do, we are ready to destroy life. We are suicidal, we are sick. These sick ones gather, they change the definitions of life, they invert the whole approach. They turn the whole order upside down.
Pathological, sick minds are intensely eager for religion. They have a reason: they are anti‑life. Life has not given them joy and peace—not because life has no joy and peace, but because their way of seeking joy and peace in life was wrong. So they become filled with hostility toward life. And whenever a teacher points toward a larger life, they instantly conclude that sin resides in this life, sorrow resides in this life. “Only if we abandon this shall we attain the ultimate life.”
There is no sorrow in life itself; sorrow is in the way you look at life. And if with the same way of looking you enter the ultimate life, you will find sorrow there too. That way travels with you. Where you are is not the question. Wherever you go, your eye goes with you. Even if you meet Paramatma, you will be miserable with Him! You cannot be happy without changing your way of seeing. But you do not want to change your way; you become eager to change circumstances. You relish condemning life. It is difficult to consider that you yourself are at fault.
This group of denouncers harms life, but cannot help you take even a single step toward Paramatma.
Understand this: if there is an ultimate life, it is nothing but the depth of this very life. If there is a life beyond, the path to it still goes through the steps of this life. This life is not your enemy. This life is your ally, your companion, your friend. If from this life no path opens for you, change your way of looking. Transform your way of seeing. But no one is ready to change himself!
I am astonished: even those who say they are ready to change themselves are not ready—they only say so. Their eagerness is that everything else should change, and they should not. For to change oneself hurts the ego deeply, it is very painful.
People come to me. They even bring plans to change me! They say, “If you would do this, it would be so good; if you would say that, it would be so good; if you would live like this, it would be so good!” I ask them, “Why have you come here? To change yourself—or me? As I am, I am blissful. There is not a question of changing even an atom. If you are miserable, concern yourself with changing yourself. If you too are blissful, the matter ends.”
Even when a miserable person comes, he does not remember why he has come! Why has he come? To change himself!
People come to the camp, and eat my head all day—“This person is doing that. That fellow is doing this!” Why have you come here? To worry about everyone? Who gave you the contract to worry for all? You seem to have a lot of time, a lot of energy. Are you spending your life on others—to note who is doing what? For what purpose? Who is talking with which woman, who is sitting near which woman—why are you concerned? Who are you?
You came here to change yourself, and you get busy trying to change someone else! In truth, you never came to change yourself; hence this preoccupation arises. You were mistaken in thinking you came to change yourself. You deceived yourself. You wish to change the whole world, yet not move an inch from what you are! And then you want your misery to end, your pain to vanish! Remaining as you are, your misery will not end. Why does it hurt you if someone is sitting with a woman, speaking lovingly? How does it pain you?
Someone informed me: “So‑and‑so is sitting with a woman in a manner not becoming.” Who decides what is becoming? And the man bringing the news does not even notice why this pains him. I know him well. He cannot manage to sit near any woman, and no woman can manage to sit near him. He is disturbed. He wanted to be in that man’s place, hence he brought the disturbing news. But he does not see that his own disease is eating him. He is anxious to change the other!
I told him: “That man who sits by the woman—have you noticed he is always cheerful, always laughing, always happy? And you are always gloomy, miserable, troubled. Learn something from him; drop worrying about the woman sitting by him. Perhaps you too will become so cheerful that some woman may want to sit near you as well. But your face is infernal. You are so full of misery and anxiety—who would want to sit near you! And then, if two persons sit together in love, what is unseemly in it?”
It is very telling that because of disrespect toward life, love appears unseemly. For love is life’s deepest flower. If two men fight on the road, no one calls it obscene. But if two persons sit under a tree with arms around each other, people will say, “Obscene!” Violence is not obscene—love is obscene! Why is love obscene? Why is violence not obscene? Violence is death; love is life. There is reverence for death, and disrespect for life!
Reflect how strange it is! War films are made, no government bans them. There is murder, bloodshed on the screen; no government says it is obscene. But if there is an event of love, all governments become anxious. Governments decide from how far a kiss may be filmed! Should there be six inches of distance—or four inches? At what number of inches does a kiss remain decent, and at what does it become indecent? But to stab someone in a film is not indecent! No one says, “Keep the knife six inches away.”
Consider well: what is the difficulty? What sin is there in a kiss that is not in a stabbing? But a kiss belongs to life; a knife to death. No one objects to the knife. We are all suicidal. We are all killers. But we are enemies of love. Why this enmity? If we search deeply, we will find we have no reverence for life.
If two persons are sitting in love, harming no one—this is their personal matter, their private joy. If this afflicts you, search within yourself. There is a lack of love in your life. Or your sexuality has remained unfulfilled, stuck. Your sex‑desire has become a disease, a wound. But those who bring me such reports never say, “We are tormented by our sexuality.” They say, “What is going on here?”
Turn your attention to yourself. Look into your own attitudes. Do not worry about others. And always keep one thing in mind: what is it that you revere—life?
Two persons standing in a loving way is among the most beautiful happenings on this earth. If love is not beautiful, then flowers cannot be beautiful, birdsongs cannot be beautiful—for a flower too is a happening of love. It is the tree’s sexuality. Through it the tree is producing its seeds, its virile pollen. The birds’ morning songs cannot be beautiful, because they too are calls to the beloved, or the lover’s search—they too are sex‑desire.
If someone is filled with disrespect for life, then nothing in this world is beautiful—everything is obscene. You fail to see sex in the flower only because you do not know it is there. When spring comes, the earth becomes young. The joy you see all around is the joy of sex; the festival you see is that same celebration.
Condemnation of life has another cause: sexuality. In countless ways we have opposed it, called it sin. It can be sin—because it has the potential to become virtue. Remember: only that can become sin which has the capacity to become virtue.
If a small child makes a mistake, we forgive him. We do not call it sin—we say, “He is a child.” He does not yet have the capacity to do right, so his wrong is forgiven. If a man commits a crime drunk, the court too may pardon him, for he acted in unconsciousness. Had he been conscious, we would accept that he also had the capacity to act rightly. Where there is no capacity, there can be no responsibility for the wrong. If a man is proved insane, even a great crime is forgiven—for what fault is it of the madman? He could not do right; therefore he is not responsible for the wrong.
Understand: sin is possible only in the very situation where virtue was also possible. The energy that can become sin can become virtue. Hence the knowers who cautioned against indulgence in sexuality had another reason. The unknowing grabbed only the opposition; the knowers’ reason was quite different. The knowers said: do not get entangled in sex so that the energy of kama may flow toward Paramatma. It is not a condemnation of sex, but a call to its higher use. Truly it is a tribute to it. For if you get lost in sex, you will enter the world and its deep darkness. If you do not get lost in sex, the same energy can become the ladder rising upward.
So the ladder that can carry you above—do not place it for the journey below. In this there is reverence, not insult. It means: the energy of sex can carry you to the ultimate truth. Do not waste it. But the sick ones drew a different meaning: become enemies of sexuality. They do not place the ladder upward, nor even downward; they just carry the ladder on their shoulders—never placing it anywhere!
Place it upward: it is sweet, it is blissful. If you cannot place it upward, at least do not roam carrying it on your shoulder—because that only makes you sick and burdens you. Due to opposition to sexuality, disrespect for life also took root in us. For life arises from that very energy; life awakens from it; life is the expansion of sex‑energy.
Love has to be done in hiding—for there is a sense it is sin. If love is sin, then children born of love cannot be virtue. If love is sin, then the whole of life is sin.
These sutras are very precious; they must be understood. The first sutra is—
The seventh sutra: “Reverence the whole of life that surrounds you on every side.”
Revere all of life—not death, not violence, not destruction—life, creation, love. Wherever life rises, wherever life is born, wherever life spreads—be it in plants, in birds, in human beings—revere life, the whole of life.
“Attend to the ceaselessly changing, flowing life around you, for it is made of the hearts of human beings. And as you come to understand its structure and intention, so, gradually, you will be able to read and understand the vaster Word of life.”
In reverence for life there is a creative vision. Look all around: everything is made of heart. The one sitting beside you—his heart too is beating. The tree standing there—its life‑stream is also flowing. The earth under you is breathing. From the smallest insect to the largest constellations—all are expressions of one life in differing forms. Without reverence for this, how will you enter existence? From where will you find the door? If hatred, opposition, condemnation fill you, you will stand with your back to the door. Wherever life appears, worship it. Wherever a bud opens, welcome it. Let destruction not arise in your mind, let condemnation not arise; let reverence become your mood.
Schweitzer wrote a book, Reverence for Life. And Schweitzer dedicated his whole life to reverence for life. He said, “It is by revering life that I began to sense the Lord. I have done no pooja, no prayer, no meditation. Wherever I saw life, whatever I could do for its welcome, its service, its respect—that I did. And wherever I felt I was siding with death, I withdrew myself. Wherever I felt destruction was happening through me, I stopped my hands. I did not invest my energy in destruction. I did not spend my strength in breaking. Whatever I could join, create, build; any path, any support for life—that I did. That is my worship. And I am fulfilled in it, for I have found that which was worth finding. No other search remains.”
But this will be possible only when your angle of vision changes. Right now you are on the lookout for destruction. If you find something to break, your joy knows no bounds. No one takes delight in building; there is great eagerness to demolish.
Search for this eagerness within. There is a strong taste for condemnation. If I denounce someone, you accept without a murmur. If I praise someone, your mind is suddenly startled; you are unwilling to accept. You ask, “What is the proof? What evidence is there? You must be under some illusion!” But when someone maligns another, you do not ask such questions.
Have you ever noticed how readily you accept it when someone comes to slander someone? You don’t ask, “Is it true?” You don’t ask, “What is the evidence?” You don’t ask whether the man bringing the news is credible. You don’t ask why this should be believed. For what purpose?
No—if it is slander, your very life opens, your flowers bloom; your mind is ready to absorb it all! And not only that—when you pass the slander to someone else—you cannot hold it long, a few minutes at most—you run to tell someone. Such is the relish of slander. It is violence—violence that appears nonviolent. Stab someone and you will be caught in court. But stab through slander, and no one catches you. No cause, no hassle. Your violence is achieved, your taste for breaking is satisfied, and there is no apparent harm to you. You will run quickly. And note this: the slander you pass on will be double what you heard. If he said fifty, you will make it one hundred. You will not even notice when you made it a hundred. The relish of slander is so deep, one goes on magnifying it.
But if someone praises another before you, you cannot tolerate it; your heart closes, door and windows shut tight. You know “this cannot be right; such praise is impossible; this person cannot be that worthy.” You will argue, reason, use every device before you accept it as true. And you will certainly find something to prove it is not true; then you are reassured that it was not true. And you will not go about telling others of that praise. This is your disrespect for life, and your respect for death.
If the newspaper carries no violence today—no arson, no looting, no robbery, no war, no bombs—you throw it aside: “There is no news today!” Were you waiting for it? Did you get up this morning expecting such things to happen? “No news”—you feel the two annas you spent were wasted. Have you ever reflected what you were hoping to buy with those two annas? What value did you want from the world for your two annas?
Newspapers are printed for you. So they do not print good news. No one reads it. There is no sensation, no excitement in it. They print what you want. They search for what you want. They gather all the garbage, the filth, the futile. You are elated from the morning; your heart is delighted. You gather from the newspaper and then spread it all day long. Your knowledge goes no farther than the newspaper; then you repeat it.
Have you ever looked at your taste? Why do people read detective stories? Why spy novels? Why go to films of murder and war? If two men fight on the road, you will stop all your business to watch. Perhaps your mother is dying and you are going to get medicine, but your feet will not move. “Mother can wait; there is no hurry. Who knows what will happen here?” And if those two men go on fighting and nothing dramatic happens, you leave disappointed: “Nothing came of it.”
Observe this. Then you will know your angle of vision toward life. What do you want? What is your mental state? Recognize it, and then change it. Wherever you discover your taste is for death, violence, destruction—withdraw it. Increase your taste for life. Better to pause where a bud is becoming a flower. Sit for a while and meditate on that bud opening, because there life is blossoming. Better to stop where a child is playing, laughing, dancing—sit there for a while.
What use is it to stop where two men with knives are fighting? Perhaps you do not know, perhaps you have never thought: those two stabbing each other may have your hand in it. Because your attention feeds it. If no crowd gathers, even the fighters lose interest. If no one comes to watch, they too think, “Pointless; another time.” But when the crowd gathers, the fighters’ excitement rises. The bigger the crowd, the hotter their frenzy, the more their ego and prestige get involved.
So do not think that because you were only standing you were not a participant. Your eyes too partook in the violence. If there were a truly unique court in this world, it would arrest not only the one who stabbed, but you as well, because you stood there. Why did you stand? Your standing can support it. Your standing can excite it. Your standing can make happen what might not have happened.
Search out your curiosity—and turn it toward life. Wherever you see life, be filled with reverence. Be filled with a sense of wonder. Do whatever you can for life.
If such is your mood, you will suddenly find that a thousand anxieties have disappeared, for they arise from your diseased tendencies. A thousand ailments vanish, because your diseases fed on the urge to destroy. Many wounds will heal, because you used to hurt others, and by that you kept hurting and inflaming yourself.
Only that person can attain bliss in this world who, whenever he sees joy happening anywhere, rejoices in it.
But when you see someone happy, you become unhappy. Your whole concern becomes: how to make this person unhappy. Consciously you may not do it, but unconsciously you cannot bear another’s happiness. When you see someone in sorrow, your feet begin to dance—you show great sympathy. And perhaps you think you are a great friend of the unhappy, because you express so much sympathy. But remember: if you do not rejoice in another’s joy, your sorrowing in another’s sorrow is false. It cannot be. If you are pained by another’s joy, you will surely be pleased by another’s sorrow. This is plain arithmetic. It does not go against the math.
Your sympathy is not for the other—you are enjoying it. Today the other has slipped on a banana peel and fallen flat—your heart is pleased that you did not fall; someone else did. Now you display great politeness and civility—great sympathy—dusting off his clothes. But your heart is delighted that you did not fall, the neighbor fell. How many times you wanted him to fall; today the banana peel did the job. When you go to share someone’s sorrow, just look within for a moment: are you by chance enjoying it?
I lived once in a house. The mistress of the house was always on the lookout: who has died, where has someone died! Even if there was no acquaintance, she would go to express condolence! And whenever I saw her going to condole, her gait had a special relish! I asked, “What is the matter? If someone dies, why do you go so happily?” She said, “One must stand with people in sorrow.” I said, “Your eyes do not show sorrow. Your gait shows nothing of it. It seems you have been waiting for someone to die. Your haste, your relish—these create suspicion.”
Watch yourself. When you are expressing sorrow for someone, close your eyes for a moment and see within—are you taking a taste in it? Are you feeling good—enjoying sympathy? If you are, recognize this taste as a disease. And when you see someone happy, do you feel jealousy? Does another’s happiness hurt you? If it hurts, there is no reverence for life in your heart.
Wherever life blossoms and rejoices, you should rejoice.
I say this not for the sake of others’ benefit, but because by it you will be freed of disease. Your wounds will heal. You will stop creating sorrow for yourself. For whoever creates sorrow for another is creating sorrow for himself—he just doesn’t know it. Whoever creates joy for another is arranging great joy for himself.
If you are miserable, you are responsible. This responsibility will begin to dawn on you. For everyone wants to make himself happy. It is hard to find a person who does not want happiness. And the strange thing is: four billion humans on earth, all wanting happiness—and all are unhappy! Surely some mistake is being made—something great and fundamental. Otherwise how could four billion people repeat the same mistake? All want happiness, and none is happy!
The mistake is this: you want to be happy yourself, but you want to make others unhappy. Whoever wants to make others unhappy can never be happy. Or, you want to be happy, but you cannot bear anyone else to be happy. Whoever cannot bear others’ happiness will remain unhappy; he can never be happy.
What we wish for others comes to us. What we do to others echoes back upon us. This world is an echo. Whatever you fling, returns to you. You throw abuse—it comes back. You shower joy—it returns to you. This world gives you exactly what you are ready to give it.
If you revere life, the whole world, the whole existence will be filled with reverence for you. If you insult life, the whole existence will insult you.
Then a very difficult problem arises. If you insult the world and life, the world and life will insult you. And when the world and life insult you, you think, “My view was right after all—this world deserves contempt.” Then you are caught in a vicious circle from which it is very hard to escape. You will feel confirmed: “This world is sorrow. It is no celebration, only lamentation.” The world will indeed give you sorrow—and you will not realize that this sorrow is your own sowing returning to you.
If the doctrine of karma has any fundamental meaning, it is this: whatever you do returns to you. Whatever you do is what you receive. Your doing becomes your wealth—and you must carry that wealth. If it is the wealth of sorrow, know that what you did brings sorrow. If it is wealth of joy, know that what you did brings joy.
These are sutras of great bliss.
“Revere the whole of life that surrounds you on every side. Attend to the ceaselessly changing, flowing life around you, for it is made of the hearts of human beings. And as you come to understand its structure and intention, so, gradually, you will be able to read and understand the vaster Word of life.”
The eighth sutra: “Learn to look intelligently into the human heart.”
“Learn to look intelligently into the human heart. Study the hearts of men so that you may know the world in which you live, and of which you wish to become a part.”
Learn to look intelligently into the human heart—we do not look at all; to speak of intelligence is far away. Not even with stupidity do we look. We do not take the trouble to look into another’s heart. In truth, without ever understanding the other, we form opinions about him. We proceed from our opinions. We do not peer into the other’s heart; we have already decided who is what. Then we collect facts to suit our decision. We have invented a thousand devices to avoid looking into the human heart—so we need not take that trouble, make that effort.
You sit by someone. You ask, “Who are you? What is your religion? What is your caste? Your name? Address?” You ask these things to avoid looking into the man himself. If he says, “I am Brahmin,” and you too are Brahmin, you are assured—no need to peer further. You know about Brahmins! But no Brahmin is the same as any other Brahmin. Each person is unique.
If he says, “I am a Muslim,” you are fixed: do not carry the conversation further. A Muslim—and Muslims are bad for Hindus; Hindus are bad for Muslims. The matter is settled. No need to look into this person. You stick the label “Muslim” on him; your heart whispers, “He is bad.” Do not proceed further. If he says, “I am a Communist,” you slide away to keep some distance.
We avoid peering into persons; we put labels on them.
Are any two Muslims alike? Are any two Hindus alike? Are any two Communists alike? A person is only like himself; there is no other like him. But labels are convenient. If we accept that each is unique, we would have to study each one. Who wants that trouble? So we ask his trade, his profession, and relax. We decide by these surface signs. In two minutes we conclude who the other is.
A whole lifetime of study may not suffice to know what another person is! We conclude in two minutes—and proceed accordingly! Then we create images—I call them idols.
In your mind there is an image of your wife. In your wife’s mind there is an image about you, her husband. You both live by those images! There is no direct relationship with the living person! The wife knows what a husband ought to do. If he does that, he is right; if not, he is wrong. But what the husband is—she has no interest in understanding. The principles are fixed beforehand. We fit people into our ready‑made molds! The molds are not for human beings; human beings seem to exist for the molds! She does not see: the man standing here as husband—what is he? She has an idea of “husband”; she lives by that. If he fits it, good; if not, not good.
But no person is either in accord or in discord with your idea. Each person is only himself. All ideas fall short. All ideas are like ready‑made clothing—not tailored for you, made by general average. And every person differs from the average. No one is average.
For instance, you might measure the height of everyone in your village—children, old people, tall ones, short ones. Divide by the number, and you will get the average height. Then go searching for the man of average height—you will not find a single person exactly that height, because the “average” does not exist. It is a mathematical convenience, not a reality of life.
We create theories and idols and live by them. No one looks directly; no one peers into the heart! What is happening in the heart—no one cares. It is dangerous too. If you look into the heart, you may get into trouble. Better to remain outside. Going deep into anyone is dangerous—because their depth will also change you. You will not be able to settle things so easily.
There is your servant. How will you look into his heart? If you look, trouble begins. For then you cannot treat him as a servant—he will be a human heart. If you want to keep treating him as a servant, you must not look into his heart.
Have you noticed? You are reading the paper in your room. If a stranger enters, you rise, offer a seat. If an acquaintance comes, you pay attention. But your servant comes in and sweeps the room—you don’t even notice someone came and went—as if a machine entered. The function is all that matters. Looking into his heart is dangerous. His mother is sick, his child needs schooling. In his heart the same things happen that happen in any human heart.
If you look into his heart, you will be in a dilemma. You will have to do something. You will start wondering, “We pay this man fifty rupees—how does he live? He has an old mother, a child, a wife, a home—how does he live on fifty?” If you look into his heart, one day you will have to put yourself in his place: “If I received fifty rupees, what would happen?”
So it is safer not to go into the heart—keep your distance. Understand only this much: he works, we pay fifty for the work. Anything more is dangerous. So we erect walls. We do not look into anyone’s heart. We remain distant from one another. We all live like untouchables with each other.
This sutra says: “Learn to look intelligently into the human heart.”
Because unless you learn to look into the human heart, you will not melt, you will not dissolve; you will not be effaced. To be free of ego will be very difficult. When you flow into another’s heart, slowly your ego will melt on its own. You will find that the same heart that beats in you beats in others. You will find that, precisely as you are, you are seated within the other too. Your vanity will begin to look futile. You will see clearly that the distances between persons are superficial. Within, perhaps, one great Heart is beating. If you learn to look into hearts, the purest depth of the heart will start to be revealed. You will discover that one Heart beats in many hearts. The lungs may be many; the Heart is perhaps one. And this insight will be a great step toward Paramatma.
“Study the hearts of men so that you may know the world in which you live and of which you wish to become a part. Intelligence is impartial. No one is your enemy and no one is your friend. All are equally your teachers. Your enemy becomes a mystery to be solved—even if solving it takes ages—for man must be understood. Your friend becomes a part of yourself, an extension of yourself—and he too is difficult to understand.”
If you are to study the human heart, you must be impartial; otherwise study is impossible. If your sides are fixed in advance, whatever you discover will merely be a rediscovery of your own belief, a repetition of your opinion. You will only prove yourself right. This is how we live. Our side is decided beforehand; then we go “in search of truth.” That search is false from the very start. If your position is fixed, the matter is already spoiled.
At Rajasthan University there is a professor who researches ghosts and rebirth. Someone brought him to meet me. He said, “I want to prove scientifically that rebirth exists.”
I said, “You have put me in difficulty right at the outset. You say you want to prove scientifically that rebirth exists! It means you have already decided that rebirth exists, and now you will prove it scientifically. Your side is fixed. If you truly had a scientific mind you would say: ‘I want to know scientifically whether rebirth exists or not.’ But you say, ‘I want to prove it!’ So for you it is settled that rebirth exists. Now comes the matter of scientific proof—you will manage it. You will seek those events that confirm it, and ignore those that do not. You will sift out the meaningful points and discard the rest. In that way one can prove anything.”
A man has written a book proving that the number thirteen is unlucky—and “scientifically.” What did he do? He gathered all the court cases that came up on the thirteenth. How many people were hanged on the thirteenth—he collected that. How many accidents occurred on the thirteenth—he collected that. How many people died on the thirteenth—he gathered that. Of those born on the thirteenth, how many remained sickly—he collected that. He gathered every kind of mischief. He wrote a big book. If you read it, you too will be afraid of the thirteenth.
But the same statistics are available for the fourteenth, and the fifteenth. He had no interest in them—only in the thirteenth! And on the thirteenth there are not only disasters—there are also blessings; he left them out. There are not only failures—there are successes too. Not only deaths—there are births. Not only hangings—there are acquittals, reprieves. But he left those out! And the same is true of the fourteenth. But after reading his book you will be shaken, because he has collected so many facts—how many people fall to death from the thirteenth floor! People also die from the twelfth. Does one who is going to die choose between twelve, thirteen, fourteen?
The result of his book was that in America hotels eliminated the thirteenth floor. You will find floor twelve, then straight to fourteen—because no one would agree to stay on the thirteenth. Why invite trouble when so much misfortune occurs on thirteen? The number is bad. When building, they skip numbering the thirteenth floor—otherwise no one will buy it; it remains empty!
Such madness is created when the side is fixed in advance.
This sutra says: if you truly wish to study human hearts, remain impartial.
The sign of intelligence is impartiality. If you are intelligent, you will be impartial. If you are biased, intelligence is not there. Intelligence means: we will not decide before we know. Until a thing is fully established, we will take no side; we will stand in the middle, neither this shore nor that.
To be intelligent is difficult, for it demands patience, it demands waiting. To be unintelligent is easy—no problem. One quickly joins somewhere or other. If you are impartial, you will have to consider: no one is your enemy, no one your friend. All are equally your teachers.
This is a marvelous sutra: “All are equally your teachers.”
Your friend is teaching you something; your enemy is teaching you something. Often the enemy teaches more than the friend. Much can be learned from the enemy—immensely. But only if your mind holds that the enemy too is a teacher, and the friend too. Then you can enter the enemy’s heart. Then even the enemy’s heart will not be closed to you. Then nothing in the world is closed to you—everything is open, because you are open.
“Your enemy becomes a mystery to be solved.”
Why is someone your enemy? We usually decide: because he is bad, therefore he is my enemy. You are a good man; he is a bad man—so he is your enemy. And he holds that he is good and you are bad—so you are his enemy.
No—by calling yourself good and the other bad, you are not solving anything. Your understanding is not growing. You remain where you always were. If he is your enemy, try to understand: why? What is happening that makes him your enemy?
His enmity includes your being the way you are, and his being the way he is. It is a mystery.
This sutra says: your enemy becomes a mystery—a mís tery to be solved.
Solve it. It can be solved only if you are impartial.
At the moment of death, Jesus said on the cross: “Forgive them, for they know not what they do. Father, forgive them.”
This is looking into the enemy’s heart. Jesus is dying, nailed to the cross, his end near. He is told: if you have any last prayer to make to God, make it now, for the final moment has come. What prayer did Jesus make? Astonishing—never in human history has anyone prayed so significantly. Jesus prayed: “Father, I ask only this—forgive all these who are crucifying me, for they do not know what they are doing. They act out of ignorance; they are worthy of forgiveness. They are doing it in error. They think I am their enemy—so they do it. They think I am a bad man—so they do it. They think I am harmful—so they do it. They are unknowing; do not punish them for my crucifixion.”
This is peering into the enemy’s heart. This is impartiality. Otherwise, could you pray like this for those who crucify you? You would pray: “Destroy them root and branch; throw them into hell.”
And it is not only you who would do so. Even those we call rishis have done it—given curses! If Durvasa had been in Jesus’ place—imagine what would have happened. Just imagine a little—the whole world would have been in hell!
We even call such persons rishis! The fault is not with the rishis; it is with us. We do not know what we are doing. We say, “Rishi Durvasa gave a curse.” Can a rishi curse? Then what is the difference between you and the rishi? And if a rishi can curse, why are you so miserly? Curse—and become a rishi!
Those who call Durvasa a rishi reveal themselves, not Durvasa. They reveal themselves. They can see a rishi even in Durvasa! Which means they have no idea what relationship wisdom can have with destruction, hatred, violence.
To one whose mind is impartial, even the enemy is a puzzle. Even if it takes ages to solve it—do not hurry. Do not take sides in haste. However long it may take—man must be understood.
“Your friend becomes a part of yourself, an extension of yourself—and he too is difficult to understand.”
The enemy is difficult to understand—he stands too far. The friend is difficult to understand—he comes too near.
You do not understand your friends either. You do not care to understand anyone—that the human heart is a book to be opened and read; that the human heart is a sitar to be learned and played; that the human heart is a seed to be given soil, light, water—to be made to sprout.
No—we think nothing about the human heart.
Keep these two sutras in mind: “Revere the whole of life that surrounds you on every side.” And “Learn to look intelligently into the human heart.”
They can become steps that lead you to the Supreme Heart—the heart of Paramatma.