Sahaj Samadhi Bhali #2

This small exchange—between Joshu and Nansen—can be life-transforming. In your life too, from this exchange, a live coal may fall. You too can flare up and burn. And it is so difficult to understand how, from so slight an exchange, the listener could have attained knowledge! Just 'two lines'—between master and disciple. From these two small lines the disciple suddenly attained Buddhahood! This can happen in your life too. It will—one day. It is a question of the right moment. Of the master and the disciple meeting just right. As when a live ember meets gunpowder and there is an explosion.
The gunpowder is already prepared—for the blast; you are already prepared—for Buddhahood. Only a slight obstruction exists between the ember and you—some wall, some curtain. Even when the ember falls upon you, it does not quite meet your gunpowder. The wise have called that wall 'thought'.
You keep the master at a distance—because there are thoughts between you and the master. You think about what has been said; you mull it over. In that very thinking you miss. If only you could listen without thought; see without thought—the wall would fall. You too could be available to the explosion. Just as every gunpowder can explode, so every person can attain Buddhahood.
Take a few fundamental things to heart, then we shall enter this small story.
The first fundamental: as you are, you are perfect. Nothing needs to be done in you. The very idea of doing is what has thrown you into trouble. This very notion—that you must improve yourself, change, develop, climb steps, cross stages, arrive somewhere—this very idea has filled you with self-condemnation. And as long as you think you have to reach somewhere, become something, change, you will remain in trouble.
Your trouble is like this: a man tries to lift himself by his own shoelaces. How will you change yourself? Who will change? Whom will you change? If you are the one who changes, how will change happen? You are needlessly harassed.
Your harassment is just like—have you seen a dog resting in the noon shade? Many a time he leaps to catch his own tail. He lands in great difficulty, because the moment he leaps, the tail also leaps. The tail is his own. The dog gets excited; he also gets angry—such a small tail tricks him so much! He pounces harder; the harder he pounces, the faster the tail jumps away.
As the dog is in trouble—unable to rest in the shade—vainly harassing himself in the effort to catch his own tail—such is your condition. What you are trying to catch is your own 'tail'. And the more mightily you leap to catch it, the more forcefully it slips from your hand. You suffer greatly from this. Then you think perhaps the leap is short; the strength too little; the time has not come; fate does not support; there is the obstruction of karma. Nothing of the sort. You need only know this much—that the tail is yours and there is no need to catch it; it is already caught. Wherever you go, it will be just behind you.
Siddhahood, Buddhahood is already in your grasp; you do not have to reach there—you have always been there. Hence, it can happen in a single instant, a single word can strike and awaken someone.
If the karmas of infinite births were obstructing, how could this be? If sins had built a wall, how could this be? And if the goal were far away and great labor needed to attain it, how could Nirvana happen in a single instant?
It happens in a single instant. Everything depends on your becoming silent and thought-free. If the wall is not there, it will happen. But our whole life is engaged in the wrong effort.
One morning I went for a walk. Under a tree, outside a bungalow, on a lonely road—there was a tamarind tree; a boy stood beneath it with eyes closed, eating tamarind. I asked him, Why are your eyes closed? With eyes still closed he answered, Mother has said that if I see the tamarind's face, she'll break my leg.
Eyes closed—so he need not see the tamarind's face!
Almost the same is the condition of one we call the seeker. He is afraid that if he goes into desires—there will be hell, there will be sorrow. He is greedy that if he does not go into desires—where will bliss be! So he fabricates a middle way. Eyes closed, he sucks the tamarind. Let the leg not be broken, let the tamarind not be lost! But in such self-deceiving states you may spend any amount of time—awakening will not happen.
What needs to be understood correctly is only this: there is no way to deceive oneself, and there is no way to change oneself. This is hard—because as long as it appears 'I can change myself', hope persists. It seems if not today then tomorrow, if not tomorrow then the day after—we will change. With this hope of changing you do not change; you only postpone that which could happen now.
The mind will feel sad if it learns that change simply cannot be. But do not be disturbed by that sadness; for hope has taken you nowhere—so why be restless before hopelessness? Hope has brought you nowhere; why such anxiety about despair? You have kept changing and yet you have not changed... So if the fact becomes clear that by changing change does not happen, and with open eyes you see this—why be so worried?
Look back—at least this life you know—have you changed even a bit? Has a single particle changed? You are the same. Perhaps you changed your cosmetics, your clothes; but if you look with even a little understanding, you will find you are the same. Nothing at all has changed. Yet still the mind holds hope—one day we shall change.
Who will change? You will change—how? Your effort is futile—if this is realized, then another realization becomes necessary: that there is no substance in deception either; whom will you deceive? If you eat tamarind with your eyes closed, what difference does it make? You cannot even deceive, and change does not happen. Then what remains? What remains is the very essence of Zen; the essence of Sahaj-Yoga—what remains.
What remains?—Acceptance. The acceptance of daily life as it is. A simple acceptance of the fact 'you are as you are.' And to do nothing for this fact. If you are lazy, you are lazy. If you are angry, you are angry. If you are dishonest, you are dishonest. If this dishonest one tries to change dishonesty, he will be dishonest—in that too. If a thief tries to escape theft, even in that escape he will steal. If a liar tries to tell the truth, even in his truth there will be a lie—because lying is his nature, his habit. Any truth that comes out of him will be turned into a lie.
When one accepts oneself, there remains no way for the ego to stand up. Because as you find yourself, there is no room for pride. What is there to glory in? What is there to celebrate? And the one who accepts himself—then no ego will arise, no deception will be born, no effort at change will continue; then what happens? Then only you remain. And you remain as you are. This is the way.
Sahaj-Yoga means: there is nothing to do; only attain to the state of acceptance; there will be revolution. It will not happen through your doing. It will bear fruit through this great acceptance of yours. Because as soon as you have accepted, thought ends.
Facts bring revolution. Truth is revolution. As soon as truth is seen, revolution happens.
There is no way for a dishonest man to change his dishonesty. But if the dishonest man fully accepts his dishonesty, such fire is born in that acceptance that dishonesty is reduced to ashes. But the dishonest man also deceives; he says: 'I shall be honest tomorrow. And if today I had to be dishonest, it was because of circumstances. I never wanted to. It was compulsion. I am not a bad man. I am a good man. And I am making every effort to be good. I was trying yesterday, I will try tomorrow. Today a small dishonesty had to be done—due to circumstances. There are children, a wife, a home—life has to be run—this world is here.'
Such a man will go on deceiving himself every day. For he is not even looking at his dishonesty; he is hiding it, covering it. How will change happen?
Has any change ever happened by covering? Has any disease been cured by covering the wound? If this man sees his dishonesty completely... And he will only see when he understands: I can neither change, nor can I deceive with closed eyes; this dishonesty is, this is me, and with this I have to live; there is no way to move aside from it; it is my shadow.
What will happen? What happens in such a moment when you can neither change, nor deceive, and you see your whole disease, the full pus, the entire wound? What happens? In your life a leap will occur—like when you suddenly find the house on fire, flames on all sides—then you neither ask which way to go out, nor do you seek advice, nor do you search for a map, nor do you think, We will get out tomorrow—how can it happen so soon! You simply leap. You do not think where the window is, where the door is, where the path is? You simply leap. Because when the house is ablaze, there is no luxury of thought.
Or you are walking the road and a serpent appears before you, hood raised—what do you do then? Do you think? Do you say to the snake, 'Wait. Give me a moment or two to think, so I can devise some strategy—how to escape this circle?' No, you simply leap away. Thinking comes later, the leap comes first. If you understand rightly, 'It is a snake'—this you know afterwards—after you have leapt. The leap happens first.
When life is in such danger, revolution happens by itself; it does not have to be done.
If daily life is wholly accepted, revolution will happen; you will not have to 'do' it. You need not become a seeker; you will become a siddha. This is the very essence of Sahaj-Yoga.
Now we take this small exchange. Every single word of it is significant.
Joshu asked Nansen: 'What is the Way? Where is the Way? From where shall I walk so I may arrive?'
Nansen said: 'Daily life is the Way.' This very everyday life is the Way. As you are, where you are, whatever you are doing—this is the Way. If you imagine some Way apart from this, you will be deceived. Because there is no Way separate from this. Your shop, your house, your wife, your children, your work, your anger, your desire—this is the Way. If you invent a trick and concoct some beautiful path of dreams, it will be false. You will have no relationship with it.
We all have made such paths with which we have no relationship, on which we cannot walk—for we will walk where we are. We have forged paths—otherworldly. We live in the world—our paths are beyond the world. We live in the ordinary—our paths are extraordinary. We live on earth—all our paths are in heaven. Between you and your path there is no bridge. So the path is at its place, you at yours; life goes on; no revolution happens.
Nansen said: 'Daily life is the Way.'
Joshu asked again: 'Can that Way be studied?'
The mind is very clever. Nansen's answer is perfectly clear, yet a fresh question arises. If daily life itself is the Way, then what need is there of study? Study is required of that with which we are unfamiliar. Study is for that which we do not know. If compassion has to be 'understood', study may be needed; but is there any need to study anger? Anger is here; you can uncover it and look—it comes every day; you keep covering it, hiding it. You evade study. What need is there of study?
If Brahmacharya is to be understood, study is needed. But to understand lust, what study is needed? Even a blind man will know. Lust is burning; its flames are all around.
Joshu asked again: 'Can that Way be studied?'
The mind is searching for a device. If the convenience of study is allowed, then there is a way to avoid revolution. Because we say: First we shall study, understand, then we shall act; swadhyaya will happen, then practice will follow. Action cannot happen so soon. We do not even know what compassion is yet.
But Nansen is saying that compassion need not be understood at all, there is no need to study it; leave compassion aside. Just know your anger rightly; it is present—what is there to study? Let it be uncovered. If it is fully uncovered, compassion will flower.
This is one of the deepest keys.
Just as when water is heated, steam arises—if there is a living witnessing of anger, compassion appears. Compassion is not a state cultivated opposite to anger. The one who has known anger in all its poisonous intensity leaps out. His leap lands him in compassion.
The one who sits within anger and cultivates compassion is deceiving himself. The one who sits within lust and contemplates Brahmacharya is deceiving himself. And because of this deception lust will not end—it will increase. That is why the Brahmachari's lust grows even more; it does not decrease.
And if you look at those who are controlling anger—you will find their anger incomparable. Their anger is a blazing fire. Your anger is lukewarm; it is nothing. Theirs flares up. From such angry men have arisen rishis like Durvasa—blazing anger.
What of the rishis' lust! Whenever they sit to meditate, apsaras begin dancing all around. You contemplated Brahmacharya and hid lust—this is what will happen.
Nansen said: 'If you try to study, you will wander very far from it.'
Study requires distance; seeing does not. Thought requires distance; understanding does not. Understanding dawns only when there is no distance at all; and thought moves only when there is sufficient distance.
If one wishes to study love, one must not fall in love; for the one who falls in love—how will he study love! He will be so heated by love that his study cannot be impartial. If love is to be studied, one must not get lost in love. One should sit in libraries, in laboratories, and study.
If you enter love, an understanding of love will arise—but study will not be possible. Study needs distance and detachment; a gap is required. For love, distance must vanish, all gaps fall. Then understanding of love will arise, but we cannot call that 'study'.
Joshu is asking if the Way can be studied. The mind says that if it can be studied, then postponement can be done. Then we shall study for some days. And life is complex; even one lifetime may not suffice for study. Many births may be needed—then we shall think, reflect, and then we shall leap.
Nansen said: 'Try to study and you will wander very far from it.'
If you want to wander far, study. That is why thinkers get farther from truth than even the ignorant. Even for the ignorant truth is at hand; whenever he wants he can turn and see. But the thinker goes so far away. The greater the thinker, the farther he goes.
Those we call great philosophers—truth has no relationship with them. They live in words, in doctrines, in scriptures.
What has truth to do with scripture or word? What relation has doctrine?
Nansen said: 'If you try to study, you will wander very far from it.'
Have you noticed—whenever you think, you go astray from life.
A rose has bloomed; you are sitting near it. You think—and you go far. You say, The flower is beautiful—and you go far. You say, What fragrance, what a lovely blossom!—and you go far. You think, What is the name of this flower?—and you go far. Poems will come to mind which you have read regarding flowers. But this flower—you will go far from it.
If you wish to be near the flower, there is only one way: no thought should arise within you. You 'look' at the flower—but do not think. You 'listen' to the flower—but do not think. You 'smell' the flower—but do not think. Then your mind will not become a barrier and the doors of your heart will be open. Through those open doors the flower will meet you and you will meet the flower.
Whenever you think—you go far away. Thinking is a journey—into distance. Hence the wise insist so much—upon meditation. Meditation means: not thinking. Meditation is the opposite of thinking. Meditation is the enemy of thinking.
But you are clever. You will ask: Even about meditation we must study, must we not? We will think about meditation—otherwise how will we know meditation! This is exactly what Joshu is saying. He is saying: 'At least we can study.'
Joshu asked yet again: 'If I do not study, how shall I know that this is the Way?'
Thought has great difficulties. For thought gropes like a blind man.
A blind man searches the path with a stick, feeling his way. A wall—he understands; a door—he understands. Cure the blind man's eyes and he will ask, After the cure shall I leave my stick or keep it? The physician will say, Then there will be no need of the stick; and if you still take it and go on tapping, it means you are still blind. The blind man will ask, But then how will I know where the door is and where the wall? For until now he has known by tapping with the stick. He does not know that there is such a thing as the seeing of the eyes in which there is no need of a stick.
Joshu asked: 'If I do not study—if I do not think, if I do not gather knowledge of the scriptures—how shall I know that this is the Way? Suppose I enter a wrong way? Suppose I go astray?'
We too will feel that his point is valid—there could also be a wrong way! But Sahaj-Yoga says: there is only one way for wrong to happen—and that is that you have thought. There is no other way to go wrong. If you do not think, you are right. Wherever you go, you will go rightly. If you think—wherever you go, you will go wrongly.
Thought is the wrong way and meditation is the right way. Thought does not decide what is right; wherever thought is, wrongness happens. Thought itself is wrong.
This is a great difficulty, because we are deciding by thought what is right and what is wrong. Thought is the very process of wrongness—through which everything goes wrong—and by that very process we are trying to search for the right.
Our condition is like that of a goldsmith who has taken his touchstone into the garden and is testing flowers upon it—to see which flower is real and which is false! Flowers are not tested on the touchstone. And if you test flowers upon the stone, all the flowers will be false. Not because the flowers are false, but because you brought the wrong stone. The very bringing of the stone is the mistake. Gold may be tested—flowers cannot be. By rubbing flowers on a stone how will you know which is true, which false, which real, which counterfeit?
Thought has no relation with right and wrong. If thought has any function it is this: among many wrongs, to choose that which is least wrong—the least. But the least wrong is still wrong.
It makes no difference whether you have chosen a short devil or a tall one. The size of the devil does not alter his nature. A theft of two coins is as much a theft as a theft of two million. Theft is theft. There are no small or big thefts. There is no small evil and big evil.
I have heard: a man went to enlist in the army. He was asked, You do not drink, do you? He said, No. Do you have the habit of stealing? He said, No. Cigarettes, smoking? He said, No. You do not chase women, do you? He said, Not at all. The examiner was a little startled. He said, There must be at least one vice? The recruit said, Only one—I lie. But a single vice is enough. All that he said before was rendered useless.
Evil is not small or big. And note this well—evil is not one, two, three. One evil is enough. All evils follow it. Once the door is open, the whole crowd comes in. Thought selects that which is the least evil. But it is still evil.
Thought never reveals what is right and what is wrong. Among many wrongs, thought argues which one is the least wrong.
Nansen said: 'No study, no reasoning.'
Joshu asked: 'Then how shall we know what is right?'
Nansen replied: 'The Way is not part of the seen world; nor is it part of the unseen. Recognition is delusion and non-recognition is futile. If you would reach the true Way with no doubt, then abandon yourself like the sky—into its total openness, its total freedom. And do not call it auspicious or inauspicious.'
Priceless sutras.
'Not part of the seen world is the Way...'
The roads you see—none of those roads lead to the Self. They all lead outward. Not one among them goes within. You may walk all the roads of the world—still you will not reach within yourself. The roads that are seen lead out.
Then thought will say: the opposite must be right. If visible roads do not lead there, it must be part of the invisible. Thought always thinks in opposites. If 'this' is not right, its opposite must be right. If 'yes' is wrong, 'no' must be right; if 'no' is wrong, then 'yes' is right. If the atheist is wrong, the theist must be right; if the theist is wrong, the atheist must be right. But the right—always lies beyond both. Neither the atheist is right, nor the theist. They are two ends of the same mistake—two halves of the same obstinacy—two faces of the same unknowing. The supremely religious is neither theist nor atheist.
Hence about Buddha and Mahavira there is great confusion. Many think they are theists; many think they are atheists. And they themselves are silent. Jains think—where will you find a greater theist than Mahavira! Hindus think—who could be a greater atheist than Mahavira!
Buddhists think—Buddha is a great theist. But non-Buddhists think—this man has corrupted everything; he is a great atheist. He is a great one, of immense value; hence Hindus accepted him as the tenth avatar. It was difficult to deny him; the man had weight. If you deny him outright, you will feel you are missing something. Such a great being was born in this land—Hindus cannot leave him out of their list of avatars. Because by leaving him out, no harm will befall Buddha; the list itself will lose its prestige. But Buddha is the most radiant being born on this soil. To leave him out is painful for Hindus; it harms the 'shop'. So they accepted him—the tenth avatar. But he is dangerous too. For in the ordinary sense he cannot be called a theist. He says: there is no God. In the ordinary sense he cannot be called a believer in the Atman either. He says: there is no Atman. In the ordinary sense he cannot even be called spiritual; he says: there is no moksha, nowhere to go, nothing at all—there is the ultimate shunya. Not theistic, not self-affirming, not spiritual; yet he cannot be avoided as an avatar. His value is too great—he cannot be left. So Hindus crafted a sweet story that Buddha is an avatar.
And there is a very sweet Hindu story: when God created the world, he made hell as well as heaven; then came God's avatars—nine before Buddha—and they taught people dharma. People became so religious that all went to heaven. The devil sits in hell, empty-handed. Long time passes; nobody comes. The devil complained to God—what is the point of this? What is the purpose? Why keep me posted at an office that never opens and where no one ever comes? Your avatars are liberating everyone. Then stop it. Why have you kept me there? So God sent Buddha—so that he might lead people astray and they could go to hell and the devil not sit idle. And this astraying cannot be done by some small fellow; because those whom Rama has set on the path, those to whom Krishna has shown the way, to mislead them a person of equal stature—or even greater stature—will be required. Therefore Buddha came as the tenth avatar—to lead people astray. The Hindu mind worked with great cleverness; the mathematics was fitted exactly. They did not want to accept him, and they also did not want to suffer the loss of denying him.
But what is the difficulty with Buddha? The difficulty is exactly this: the supremely religious person is not divided by 'yes' and 'no'. You cannot place him in any camp. You cannot place him in opposition, because he is impartial. He takes no side.
So the Way is not in the visible world... The mind will immediately say: If not in the visible, then in the invisible. But Nansen said: 'No, neither in the visible nor in the invisible.' The Way is within you.
This is a great wonder. You are neither visible nor invisible. You are beyond both; because you cannot be seen—and yet you also cannot say you have never seen yourself. Both statements would be wrong. You know yourself, you recognize yourself—for if you do not recognize yourself, what else will you recognize! You are aware of your being every moment. But you also cannot plainly say, I have known myself—for knowing requires distance; knowing requires the other. How will one know oneself?
Self-knowledge carries a great difficulty. It is neither like knowledge nor like ignorance. It is different from both. It is as clear as light and as mysterious as ignorance. It is clear like light and deep like darkness. It is both. Therefore self-knowledge is neither part of the visible nor of the invisible. It transcends both; it is transcendental—beyond both.
Nansen said: 'It is neither part of the seen nor of the unseen. Recognition is delusion...'
Nansen is saying something very delightful:
'Recognition is delusion and non-recognition is futile.'
If you say, I have recognized, you are in error. For who will recognize? There you are alone; there is no other—to recognize. And if you say, I have not yet recognized—even then you are futile. If you say, I have known—it is wrong; if you say, I have not known—it is also wrong.
If you accept the first, the second becomes a problem. If you accept the second, the first becomes a problem. This is the duality of our minds.
If someone says, I have known the Atman—Nansen says: Wrong; because the knower and the known are one. Who will claim? Then our mind says: the opposite is right; the man should say, I have not yet known. But that too is not right, because the one who says, I have not yet known myself—in that very saying knowing has happened. One who has known this much—what remains to know! That is why Socrates says: The one who has known that he does not know—has become a wise man.
The paradox becomes inverted. Say yes—half; say no—half; and you are whole. You are both. So either say yes and no together; or deny yes and no together. But do not choose. Do not remain divided into halves.
'Recognition is delusion, non-recognition is futile.'
'If you want to reach the true Way without doubt, then abandon yourself like the sky—into its total openness.'
If you wish to reach the right Way, do not think of right and wrong—otherwise you will never reach; you will go on sitting—where you are.
'If you wish to reach the right Way, become open like the sky.'
Do not search, do not choose. Become like birds for whom there is no path. In the sky there is no road, no set track. A bird flies—no footprints remain.
'Be free like the sky. Leave yourself in total freedom—and do not call it auspicious or inauspicious.' For the moment freedom is mentioned, your mind will immediately say: what if something bad happens? If we leave ourselves free...
I tell people, 'Leave yourself free.' At once they ask: Then what about morality and immorality? What about good and evil? If the urge to steal arises, then what should we do? If left free and the urge to steal arises—what then? We will have to keep control, otherwise theft will happen. We will have to keep control, otherwise movement into the wrong will occur. Therefore, Nansen immediately adds: 'And do not call it auspicious or inauspicious.' Leave yourself unbound—as if you are not the controller.
This is a hard saying. It means: if anger arises, let it arise. It means: if hatred arises, let it arise; do not resist. Let whatsoever happens—happen. And surely, accept the fruit too.
What is our difficulty? Not anger itself—we are troubled by its fruit. If you could be angry and be rewarded, and the one you are angry at touches your feet, garlands you with flowers—you would never think even by mistake that anger is sin or wrong. Then you would take training in anger. Then you would go to gurus and say, Initiate us—into such anger as none has ever known.
No, anger itself does not trouble you; you are troubled by its consequence. The consequence of anger is suffering. If you leave yourself unbound, it means this: whatever act you do, and whatever fruit you reap—be free in both. Both.
You were angry; anger happened; then you must also suffer its fruit. That too you must endure in full freedom—do not interfere. Revolution will certainly happen in your life. Because if you are angry and you also suffer its fruit, and you see both—and you did not control; for the moment you set about controlling, you miss the seeing—then you will see the full poison of both. You will see the arrow piercing your chest. It will not take long—you will pull the arrow out and throw it away; you will not even think. Both anger and its consequence will fall from you. But this revolution will not be your doing. It will happen only when you leave yourself unbound.
Unboundedness will ultimately bring supreme bliss. Initially it will bring much sorrow. To avoid that sorrow you keep control. You live frightened—What will happen to the home? What will happen to the family? If I fall in love with someone, what will happen to my wife? What will happen to my husband? You live in fear. You live so afraid that your living cannot even be called 'life'. Then you will die afraid.
You have neither lived rightly nor will you die rightly. There was no light in your living, and there will be no urgency in your dying. Neither was your life a storm, nor will there be any momentum in your death. You are like a corpse being dragged along.
When Nansen says: 'Leave yourself like the sky—into its total openness. Into total freedom. And do not call it auspicious or inauspicious.'
Do not say this is right, do not say this is wrong. Know only this much: this is destiny. This is the nature of my being. This is my way. And other than this, I can never be, nor can there ever be any question of being otherwise. This is my way.
In the beginning great obstacles will come—the very obstacles of sannyas. The seeker's difficulty is the same. Great obstacles will come, because you have told lies on all sides. You have shown a controlled face everywhere. You have never revealed your real face. You have never spoken truthfully. When you wanted to weep, you laughed. When you wanted to abuse, you praised. You have woven such a web of untruth all around that suddenly you will panic: How can I become unbound! If someone else had made this net, you might have leapt out; but you yourself have woven it—wrought it with great effort. Now you are choking in it, your neck is caught in it.
Sannyas means: without fear, without concern for consequences, without thoughts of right and wrong, ready to go wherever life leads. If it leads to hell, we will go to hell. But if you are so unbound, there is no hell for you. If you are that free, that unfettered, then the whole sky is open to you; there is no prison for you.
'It is said that hearing just these words—just hearing—Joshu attained enlightenment.'
You too can. But I have spoken—and you have begun to think. See, even now you are thinking. I have said, Be free, and within you there is contraction. You say, The talk may be right, but it is not for us. We are householders. There is society. What will others say? One has to think of that too.
I have heard that in a desert two camels were traveling. Both were drenched in sweat, throats choked with thirst. But each waited for the other to say, I am thirsty—because it was a matter of prestige. In books men have written—camels did not write books—men have written that a camel can walk thirty-six hours without water. So prestige was at stake. And whoever said it first would accept defeat. At last one said, Enough. Now I don't care what others say; I am thirsty. Now I do not care what the world says; I am thirsty.
When will you gather courage? When will you say, I no longer care what the world says? I will no longer fashion myself according to your ways. I accept what I am. I am thirsty. For the first time honesty will be born in your life. For the first time an authentic soul will be born. Otherwise you are a long lie.
No one wants to accept, I have made a mistake. You think constantly that some other cause is responsible for your misery. You never want to accept that it is the accumulated sum of your own mistakes. No one wants to accept a mistake.
Mulla Nasruddin's entire family was harassed by him. His office fellows were harassed. Servants were harassed—because he considered himself infallible. He thought, I never make a mistake—nor can I. Such a man becomes very dangerous. It is hard to live near him. Because he never errs. Whenever an error is found—it will be yours. Even his mistakes will be placed upon your shoulders.
One day a man was utterly fed up. He asked, Nasruddin, may I ask one question? In your life, at least once or twice, did you ever make a mistake? Nasruddin said, Yes, once I did make a mistake. The man was surprised—for he did not expect even this admission. He asked excitedly, Which incident? Do tell. Nasruddin said, Once I thought I had made a mistake—but I had not. That was the only mistake.
All around you there is a procession of mistakes—and the basis of this procession is that you are trying to appear other than what you are.
The thief—appearing as a saint. The dishonest—appearing honest. The deceiver—cloaked in innocence. But you are not giving pain to anyone else—understand this well. All these lies have tightened upon your own neck. When Nansen says, 'Leave yourself in the open sky,' he is saying: Drop worrying about what people say. Drop worrying about right and wrong. Care only for this much—what is natural to you. Follow your swabhava.
Following swabhava is sannyas. And the process of dissolving into swabhava is Sahaj-Yoga.
What Kabir is saying: 'Sadho, sahaj samadhi bhali'—he is saying exactly this: By becoming unnatural you have entered great suffering; you are bearing unnecessary pain. From one lie ten lies arise. To protect one, ten must be erected. You were caught in one; you get entangled in ten. And the net is endless. When will you dare to become authentic?
And remember, to be authentic is not a control. To be authentic does not mean you drop dishonesty and become honest; drop theft and become a saint. To be authentic means: whatsoever you are—if you are a thief, accept it: All right, I am a thief. 'I am thirsty.' Open your heart; do not cover it. The day you open your heart and do not cover it—even if in the beginning you face difficulty—soon you will find: revolution has happened in your life.
And when someone becomes that authentic, flowers begin to shower upon him from all directions.
There is respect for the authentic; the lie can never be respected. However you arrange it, in the effort you are making—you will lose. The lie cannot win; it has no legs to walk on, no breath to live on.
'Leave yourself unbound, in total freedom. And call it neither auspicious nor inauspicious.'
'It is said that hearing these words, Joshu attained enlightenment.'
You too can. What happened to Joshu can happen within you.
What happened to Joshu? He saw this: It is true. What is the misery of life?—that I am trying to be other than what I am. The lotus wants to be a rose; the rose wants to be a lotus. Both are in anguish. The attempt to be other than what I am—that is hell. The acceptance of what I am—that is Moksha.
What is there to fear? What can anyone spoil? In whose hand is there anything to spoil? What can anyone snatch from you? But you have been frightened from all sides. The whole society is erected upon fear; so much fear that you cannot move even an inch. Frightened on all sides—you tremble. In such trembling can there be any meeting with truth? Do not tremble. And this trembling has given you nothing—nothing at all. If any treasure had come through fear—then at least something. Nothing has come—only you have lost, and lost.
If you do not think, even in this instant you can put everything down—for that which you think has grasped you has not grasped you; you yourself are gripping it strongly. The moment you let go, the world will fall away.
'It is said that hearing these words, Joshu attained enlightenment.'
It seems difficult—merely by hearing! But he must have 'heard'. If you cannot be by hearing, then know that you did not hear; you began to think. You are more clever than Joshu. In cleverness you will miss. Joshu must have been innocent. He flailed his arms a little; he said we should study; he said, If we do not study, will we not go astray! But Nansen's saying—he saw it.
Truth can be seen in a single instant. With one condition: in that instant, do not think. A little thought and the circle begins. You begin to go away. You travel far. A little thinking takes you far away. A little non-thinking and instantly you are in meeting with yourself.
The art of not thinking is meditation; the art of thinking is the world.
Joshu did not think; he heard—he saw—he caught Nansen's fragrance. This man was an open sky. This man was a great shunya. The man sitting before him was not speaking doctrines. He was not giving testimonies for scriptures. He was speaking from his own experience. In the same way he had found the truth of life. In the same way—one day, tired and bored—he had taken off all his fetters. What he had taken to be ornaments—he recognized them as chains and dropped them. He became like open sky. He stopped thinking what people would say. If there was thirst, there was thirst; if there was hunger, hunger; if there was desire, desire; if there was anger, anger—he accepted himself. He dropped the futile effort to change. He became a Sahaj-Yogi. And the moment someone attains to Sahaj-Yoga, revolution happens. What did not happen for lives upon lives happens by hearing two words. Because then you see your whole fact: a house on fire—burning everywhere. Then there is no delay of a moment, no time needed; you jump out. You see death standing right before you; you leap aside from the path.
This can happen.
I tell you again and again—something. Only in the hope that one day you will listen. Then there is nothing left to do.
Remember: you think that after listening you will do something. You will listen, then calculate, then choose what is to your use, and then mold your conduct accordingly. Then you are in error. I tell you, by listening it can happen. Nothing else remains to be done. But listen—while listening, just listen. Let there be no small ripple of thought there—to distort.
'It is said that hearing these words, Joshu attained enlightenment.'
You too have heard these words. Look within—you have begun to think; and these words are of a kind that provoke thinking. They are complex words, words that strike. People like Nansen always trust in shock treatment.
A man came to me and said: You say, Accept everything! And I frequent prostitutes.
I said: Accept it. Do not hide. Acknowledge that you are a frequenter of prostitutes. By hiding, it does not disappear—and there is no need for it to disappear either. What fault is it of the prostitute? And what can you do? As you are, you are. If there is anyone to blame ever, it will be God. You accept.
The man said: What are you saying? A frequenter of prostitutes? He is not ready to accept; he is ready to frequent. That gives him no difficulty—but he is not ready to accept. He said: What are you saying? Then I shall be ruined. At least there is a hope that if not today then tomorrow I will straighten out. And you say: Accept!
Since when have you been straightening out? I asked. He said: It must be twenty years at least. I said: Your strength was greater before; now it is decreasing. You could not come out with greater strength; how will you come out with lesser? He said: Whatever it is—but you break my hope?
I want to break your hope—because hope is the very root of your sin. That is why, trusting in tomorrow, you go to the prostitute today—because what is the harm; tomorrow you will set it right. Where is the hurry!
A drunkard was drinking. Someone said to him, Do you know what you are doing? Do you know what this is you are drinking? This is slow poison. He said, But I am not in a hurry. It may be a slow poison—but I am not in a hurry!
If you can postpone, you get a convenience. Tomorrow—tomorrow is your insurance. Today you are a thief; tomorrow you will be not-a-thief. Today you are unholy; tomorrow you will be holy. Today you are a sinner; tomorrow you will be a saint. This 'tomorrow' is what protects all your sins. In the hope of it you find the convenience to be a sinner today.
I tell you, even tomorrow you will not be. You are a sinner—you are a sinner—and other than today you have no time. When you are a sinner, at least be fully a sinner. And becoming a saint belongs to tomorrow; when tomorrow comes, we will see then. Why bring tomorrow's saint into today?
By bringing tomorrow's saint into today, the sinner of today softens his own sting. The pain lessens; the fire grows faint; the ember is buried under ash. The leap does not happen.
Let today's sinner be wholly a sinner. Do not call it bad, do not call it good. 'What is—is.' Live this fact totally—and I tell you, what happened to Joshu can happen to you.
Enough for today.