Be ready, and awaken in time. If you have made the effort and failed, indomitable fighter, still do not abandon courage. Keep fighting, and once again take up the battle. He whose wounds are spilling his precious life-blood, such a fearless warrior will, before breathing his last, again and again attack the enemy and drag him out of his fortress. Act: all of you who feel futile and unhappy, act as he acts; and even after being defeated, drive out all the enemies of your Atman — ambition, anger, hatred, and even the shadow cast by your own lust... Remember, you are waging war for the liberation of man; therefore, for you, every failure is also a success. And every sincere effort is rewarded in time. The sacred saplings that sprout within the disciple’s soul and grow unseen, their branches become larger passing through every test. And like reeds they bend — but never break, nor can they ever be destroyed. And when the time arrives, flowers blossom upon them as well. But if you have come prepared, then there is nothing to fear. From here the way opens straight to the Virya-gate; among the seven gates, this is the fifth. Now you are on the road that leads to Dhyana-ashraya, the sixth Bodhi-gate. What is most important in a human life is time. Time — which is not even visible. Time — which cannot be defined. Time — which surrounds us from birth to death as the ocean surrounds the fish. Yet it neither touches us, nor do we see it, nor can we taste it — and we talk of it endlessly. Somewhere deep within there is a sense that it is. But the moment we try to seize it within a definition, it slips from the hand. Saint Augustine said: time is most strange. When no one asks me about it, I know what time is; when someone asks, I fall into difficulty. You too know what time is, and yet if asked, you will find yourself in trouble. What is time? Not only you, even great thinkers, philosophers, seers have remained entangled over time. Now even science is anxious about time — what is it? Whatever theories are proposed, none really resolves the question. A few things must be understood. Why is there such confusion about time? What is the reason that we both experience time and do not experience it? Why is it that time is not evidently comprehensible to us? First, the fish too cannot understand the ocean; unless some fisherman lifts it and throws it upon the shore, it will not even know there is an ocean. If a fish is born in the ocean and dies in the ocean, it will never know what the ocean was. To know, a little distance is needed from the known. That which completely surrounds us cannot be known. Knowledge demands space. If there is no space, there can be no knowing. If the fish is flung onto the sand, then for the first time it understands what the ocean was. Standing outside the ocean, one knows what the ocean was; when the ocean is not, one knows what it was! From negation one learns what the positive was; from non-being one knows what being was. When the fish writhes upon the sand, in that very anguish it knows: the ocean was my life; I was surrounded by it; only by the ocean was I. Without the ocean I cannot be. Time surrounds man in the same way. And the complexity is greater. A fish can be thrown onto the shore; it is not so easy to throw oneself beyond the shore of time. And a fish can be thrown out by another; no one can throw you beyond the shore of time. Only if you yourself leap, can you arrive. Meditation is a leap outside of time. Hence the meditators have said: meditation is timeless, beyond time. They have said: wherever time dissolves, know that Samadhi has arrived. Where no trace of time remains — no past, no future, not even present — where the current of time is absent and time has come to a standstill, a timeless moment has dawned — then know that meditation has happened. Meditation and time are opposites. If time is the ocean, meditation is the leap beyond it. And the complexity deepens. The fish writhes outside the ocean because its life is in the ocean. We, on the contrary, writhe within time, while our life is outside time. Within time we continue to struggle. Within time no one becomes free of anguish. Inside time, suffering is inevitable. Remaining in time there is no way out of pain. Yes, there is one device — a deception: unconsciousness. Through unconsciousness we forget time, but we do not go beyond it. As if someone injected the fish with anesthesia — it remains in the ocean but becomes as if outside, because it is unconscious. Without awareness, one appears to be out. The remedy for all pains within time is unconsciousness. Therefore do not be angry at those who drink; they too are searching for meditation. Some drown in other intoxications — in music, in dance. Some are absorbed in sex; they too are seeking swoon. They are trying to find how to escape the ocean of time’s pain. There are only two ways. One false, illusory: become unconscious. You will not be out, but since awareness is absent, you will neither know whether you are inside or outside. When awareness returns you will know. Thus when the drunk sobers up, the sorrow of the world descends still more densely. Again he longs to drink, so that all this be forgotten — utterly. But no matter how much you forget, forgetting erases nothing. It only postpones; time passes; there is deferment. The problems remain where they were — perhaps even grow, for they accumulate. Unconsciousness is not a solution. The drunkard deserves compassion, not condemnation. He is not sinning; he is in error. His error is that his authentic search is to go beyond time. He desires meditation but does not know it; so a counterfeit meditation — alcohol — he has found. Therefore all meditators have opposed alcohol; not because alcohol is a sin. Understand this difference clearly. The moralist also opposes alcohol, but for other reasons: that it ruins health, destroys home and family, what of your children, what of social order? This is the moralist’s anxiety. The religious man has no such anxiety. And the moralist’s concerns can be addressed while still drinking. There is not much hindrance. Drink a better brew and health may not suffer. Today or tomorrow we can distill finer liquors so that health even benefits — for alcohol is chemistry. We know enough now to remove what is harmful and add what helps. But because of moralists this cannot be done! A strange thing, but life is full of such strangeness. Today the harm alcohol does in the world is due to the moralists, for they refuse to allow it to be made right. They fear that if alcohol becomes harmless, how will they go on opposing it? We who discovered the atom bomb and set foot on the moon — can we not remove harm from a bottle? We can, but moralists are everywhere against it. If its defects are removed and drinking becomes pleasant and healthful, what will the moralist do then? Religion’s opposition to alcohol is not because it is sin; it is because the search for unconsciousness means you wanted meditation but took a cheap, false route. You wanted to go beyond time, beyond pain, out of the world — and you found a way to forget yourself while staying in the world. Hence the meditators’ opposition. Their reasons are totally different. The deep truth is: unconsciousness and awareness are opposites. Meditation is awareness; alcohol is unconsciousness. If awareness is desired, it is wise to avoid unconsciousness. And as awareness grows, one reaches beyond time — awake, luminous. And once a person has even a glimpse of the beyond of time, his life becomes different. The real is tasted. Then all else appears false, unreal, dreamlike. Regarding time, know this: we are born in it, we grow in it, we die in it; hence we do not know what it is. Only the meditator knows what time is, because the meditator stands upon the shore. The ocean is seen distinct, clear. We do not know what time is, yet we use it. For use, knowledge is not essential. This electricity burns; anyone can switch it on and off. You need not know what electricity is. You sit in your car; if you know a little driving, it is unnecessary to know what happens inside the engine — perhaps you have never even seen it. No need. What hides beneath the bonnet is irrelevant. If you can drive, it is enough. Utility can exist without knowledge. We all use time. But we do not know what it is. The fish too uses the ocean without knowing what it is. When we use without knowing, error is inevitable. We can use, but we will err. Because we do not know time, numerous mistakes enter whatever we do within it. The first mistake: we all carry the idea that there is plenty of time. This is the first error. Time is abundant. A friend came today. He said: I must take sannyas, but I will wait a little. I asked: how long do you intend to wait? He said: I have not decided, but within a year or two. You have a year or two? No one asks so — and it does not seem polite to ask. Do you even have two or four days? Is the next moment guaranteed? No. Everyone assumes time is enough. Deep within we believe time will not run out. We will do it someday — tomorrow, the day after! Time is not sufficient; it is always insufficient. And for what must be done, it is always too little. You spend it on the trivial; what is vast you keep postponing. The habit of postponement arises from the notion that time is enough — we will do it tomorrow! The useless is done today; the meaningful is left for tomorrow. It will not be done. The habit of postponing is deep; it will be with you tomorrow too. When tomorrow comes, it is already today, and the habit repeats: tomorrow. You will die, and the habit will not leave you. Remember: whenever death comes, it comes today — never tomorrow. You cannot say to death: come tomorrow. If you cannot say to death, come tomorrow, then think a little — time is not sufficient, nor is it in your hands, nor are you its master. I recall a small incident. Yudhishthira was in exile, in his period of incognito. Disguised, sitting before a small hut; Bhima sat in a corner, pondering. A beggar came and asked Yudhishthira for alms. Yudhishthira said: come tomorrow. Bhima leapt up, began to dance, and ran toward the house. Yudhishthira asked: what has happened to you? Bhima said: I go to announce that my brother has conquered time. I was pondering what time is, and you said, come tomorrow! One thing is sure: you are certain tomorrow will come. I shall announce in the village that my brother has triumphed over time. Yudhishthira ran, called the beggar back, and said: take it today — for truly, what trust is there in tomorrow? What arrangement do we have for tomorrow, that we can decide anything about it? He who postpones deceives himself. He who leaves to tomorrow is dishonest — not with others, but with himself. If tomorrow is in your hands, postpone; if not, do not postpone. And if you must postpone, postpone the evil to tomorrow — because tomorrow never comes. If you must get angry, say: tomorrow. If you must steal, say: tomorrow. If you must cut someone’s throat, say: tomorrow. Then sin will not occur — because tomorrow never arrives. Whatever is right, auspicious, do it now. If you leave it for tomorrow, that too will not happen. We do the bad now; we postpone the good. Which plainly means: what we truly want, we do now; what we do not truly want, we push away. Why not be honest and simply say: I do not want to take sannyas today. Enough — the matter ends. But to say, I will take sannyas tomorrow, gives pleasure: we neither want it, nor do we wish to lose the taste of wanting it. We want and we fear. So we devise a trick: tomorrow I shall. Then it seems as if we have already taken it a little; only a small outer formality remains — we will do it tomorrow. We are already sannyasins; one percent remains — to change clothes, to take a new name; that we will do tomorrow. Initiation will happen tomorrow. Thus deceiving oneself becomes easy. Time is not sufficient. Everyone assumes it is more than enough; hence we postpone. If right now you knew there will be no morning and the sun will not rise, that your life will end tomorrow — tell me, what would you do first? Gather wealth? Fight a lawsuit? Build a house? Theft, murder, anger — what would you do? If it were certain the sun would not rise and scientists declared: the end has come, tonight is the last — what would you do? Whatever you would feel worthy of doing then, do it today. Whether scientists declare or not, there is no certainty of tomorrow. For many, tomorrow will not be. You could be among them. But man always exempts himself. Rules are for others; he is the exception! The second point about time is very interesting. We keep time suppressed. We repress it. Hence we do not know what time is — because time is tied to death. Understand: if man were immortal, you would have no sense of time. If there were no death, what meaning would time have? None. Death creates time. Animals do not know death; hence they do not know time. The animal lives now, here. No news of tomorrow, none of yesterday, no idea of death. Societies, like our land, that hold the idea that Atman is immortal, also have a faint sense of time — not intense. Christianity deepened time-consciousness in the West, because Christianity and Islam hold there is but one life — no rebirth. Whatever must be done, do it between this birth and this death: this is all the time you have. In India we have the notion of endless births — one life, then another, then a third. We say: if not this life, next life; if not then, what is the hurry? The world will continue — we will do it sometime. Before us lies infinite stretch. Hence in India there is no time-consciousness. If someone tells you he will come at five and arrives at seven, do not be angry — this is the outcome of Indian thinking; he is not at fault. He does not even feel there is any difference between five and seven. In the West, two minutes create restlessness. The cause? Christianity. One life only — then time is very short. If you waste two hours of someone’s time, you are stealing his life. Here if you waste two days, you have stolen nothing. What difference does it make? In the vast flow of time, what are two days? Because of Christian thought, the West awakened to time. If life is fifty, seventy, a hundred years — then to waste two hours for nothing is violence. To arrive uninvited and begin idle talk for hours — you are snatching life. And life is limited; those two hours will not return. Thus in the West, to go to someone’s home without asking is rudeness. Here, to ask before going feels rude — what is there to ask? The guest is God; let him come. And the longer he stays, the greater his grace. The sense of time is bound to death. If death is near, the consciousness of time deepens. If death is far, or does not exist — if Atman is immortal — the feeling of time dissolves. We do not think much on time, because if we do, we will have to think on death. Death is taboo. We are afraid. So we do not think on time either; that too frightens us. It is pleasing to assume there is plenty; to assume Atman is immortal. Time is no scarcity; it will always be there. No hurry. The results can be disastrous. We can squander time just sitting. Each moment is expiring. With each expiring moment, you too are expiring. With each grain of time spent, your energy empties drop by drop; you become hollow. What is death? The sand of time running out within you. Have you seen an hourglass? In a glass vessel sand is filled; one grain after another falls into the lower vessel; with that falling, moments are counted. When all the sand empties from above, twenty-four hours are over. Then the glass is turned; the lower becomes upper; the upper becomes lower — and again grain by grain it descends, and in twenty-four hours the sand is below again. What is death? Time draining from your life, one drop at a time. And the day when time is completely spent within you, you are dead. The container remains; the content is gone. Only the vessel remains — empty. That which was life within has been exhausted. To understand this sutra, know: time is very little; what must be done is very great. And what must be done is so important — do not waste time on the trivial. Do not postpone the essential. Postpone the futile for tomorrow; do the meaningful now. This is true economy: what is essential, do it immediately. But we are strange. We read the newspaper first; meditation we think we will do tomorrow! As if life depends upon the paper, and if we do not read we will die; as if without it we will be deprived of knowledge. Meditation can be done later; the paper must be read now! The cinema we see today; sannyas we leave for tomorrow. The film is urgent — who knows if it will still be running tomorrow; and who knows about tomorrow’s money? Today there is money, today the film is on; sannyas will always be there tomorrow. Thus we do the trivial at once and leave the essential for tomorrow. Change this. Remember: there is only one wise use of time, and he who makes it becomes a victor in this world. What is the use of time? You would not guess. There is only one meaningful use: to use time to go beyond time. If you have used time so as to reach the shore of time, your life is fulfilled — you have wrung the essence of time. If you have not used it for this, then whatever you did — palaces you built, vaults you filled — you have been foolish, for none of it will be of any use. Even a grain’s worth of experience of the beyond of time, and you have gained the value of many lifetimes. Now understand the sutra: Be ready. 'Be ready, and awaken in time. If you have made the effort and failed, indomitable fighter, still do not abandon courage. Keep fighting, and once again take up the battle.' Awaken in time. Awaken to what? Do not remain entangled in the petty. Do not squander time in the futile. Do not assign great value to what has no ultimate worth. That is the meaning of awakening. What has ultimate value? What difference will it make if you have a yard more land or less? What difference will the weight of your safe make? When death stands before you, contemplate often: if death stands before me today, what in what I possess will have value? This is the touchstone. Each evening before sleep, ponder: if death comes tonight, what will remain that retains value in death’s presence? My money, my land, my name, my status and fame — what will be of worth? Your breath will flutter, for before death none of these hold value. Only meditation can. At the moment of death, if anything can remain that death cannot rob, it is your capacity for meditation, your inner silence, your inner peace, your own bliss. Whatever bliss comes from others, from objects, from outside, death will take away. Whatever belongs to the outer world, death will snatch. Understand: whatever is outer, death will take. What is inner within you? Is there any treasure that is inner? Is there a joy without cause, without roots outside? Is there a delight that is yours — not because of wife, husband, son, father, friend — because of no one, simply because of you? Whatever is yours in this sense, death cannot snatch. Death does not destroy you — it appears so only because you are not. All you have is borrowed, reflected, secondhand. Consider the moon. On a moonlit night it seems luminous; but its light is borrowed. It has none of its own. Sunrays return from its surface; those we call moonlight. Hence the coolness, because the moon absorbs the sun’s heat and reflects only light. Thus it is cool. But the light is still the sun’s. Do not think those who landed on the moon found light there. There is none. The moon is only a reflector. Light reaches our eyes and strikes them and appears to be moonlight. Our earth, seen from the moon, appears moonlike — bright. This filthy clod of earth shines from the moon. It too is borrowed property; the sun’s light is its own. The worldly man is like the moon; the spiritual man becomes like the sun. Death will take from you all that is borrowed. Only what is your own — your very you — will not be taken. Think each night, before sleep: if death happens, what do I have that it cannot erase? If this thought brings restlessness, do not be afraid. That restlessness is good. From it the urge may arise to acquire that which death cannot take. There is but one wealth worth acquiring: that which death cannot snatch. Death is the examiner. Whatever death takes, know you gathered rubbish. Awaken in time. Death can come in any moment; before it comes, set out in search of the essential. 'Even if you have made the effort and failed, indomitable fighter, still do not abandon courage.' What is the fear? In entering this inner pilgrimage, only one fear arises: what if I fail? The fear is natural, for the journey is arduous. Seldom does a Buddha happen, a Mahavira, a Krishna, a Christ. Billions are born and die, and rarely a Buddha appears. Naturally the multitudes think: a Buddha happens once in millions — it is beyond our reach. What is within our reach is to add two yards to our plot, to open a second shop, to increase the bank balance, to pile up paper notes. But to become a Buddha? Once in millions! Hence the sutra says: 'If you have made the effort and failed, indomitable fighter, still do not abandon courage.' That a Buddha is one in millions does not mean only one has the capacity. Millions have the capacity, but they never exercise it. We do not know how much of our potential simply rots away unused. Psychologists now say: the ordinary person uses only five percent of his brain. And those we call extraordinary, geniuses — they use no more than fifteen percent. The greatest genius uses only fifteen percent of the intelligence available. Think: if one used one hundred percent, the earth would be filled with sages. If you now use five percent, and you used three times that — fifteen — you would be of the caliber of an Einstein or a Bertrand Russell. And that is only fifteen percent. If you used the full hundred, such a genius has never yet walked the earth. But the skull just rots — unused. And intellectual genius is nothing; still, we manage to use five percent of it. How much of the soul’s genius do we use? Once in millions, one Buddha uses it. The rest do not use even zero percent. They do not use the spirit at all. And they use even the five percent of intellect only to accumulate the paraphernalia of disturbance; otherwise even that they would not use. You will be surprised: often in rich homes dull children are born. If you must look for donkeys, look in rich homes. The reason: even the five percent is not needed — so why bother? Poor children seem sharper — not because they are truly sharp, but because they have nothing: no house, no car, no money; all this they must get. For this, they employ five percent. In the rich home everything is ready; even five percent is unnecessary. Hence rich children become mentally flabby. They do not use even five percent. And why should they? Truly, a rich man should not. It is the poor man’s job. Just as the poor do physical labor while the rich do not, so too with mental labor. Thus, the greatest talents often arise from the middle class. From the rich, fewer; from the very poor, fewer also, for they lack even the facility to use five percent. The rich have all facilities, hence no need. Between them, the middle class has some facility and also the desire to use it, for it sees what it lacks can be gained. If someday true socialism comes and all receive according to their needs, if all receive equally, it is possible man will not use even five percent of intellect — even that will be lost for lack of need. And now, with computers doing the brain’s work, the fear increases. You may not know: wherever students began to use typewriters, their handwriting deteriorated utterly. Machines took over. The fountain pen ended an old beauty in script; the universal typewriter would make letters vanish. If tomorrow computers do all thinking for us — and they can do a thousand times more — what need remains for your intelligence? Only enough to switch on the machine. Perhaps even the five percent will be unused. In matters of the soul we use nothing. Our one hundred percent returns packed, sealed — unopened. Rarely does one Buddha open it. Do not fear this means you lack capacity. You have it — but prepare to fail. He who fears failure never succeeds. He who fears mistake does not step forward. He avoids error — but then there is no journey either. One must be ready to fail; only then does success happen. Thus children learn. As age grows, the capacity to learn declines because children do not fear failure. They do not yet know the great difference between success and failure; hence they learn. As soon as you begin to fear: what if I fail? — learning becomes hard. A child learns a foreign tongue quickly; you do not — for you keep fearing: what if I make a mistake? 'On this pilgrimage of the soul, if you fail, do not be afraid. Do not abandon courage. Keep fighting, and again and again take up the battle.' Ten failures gather into success; success is nothing else. He who goes on advancing with courage through ten failures attains to success. Success is not the opposite of failure; it is the essence distilled from failures. This may sound odd. Success is not contrary to failure; it is the extract of all failures. He who stops early, who panics at two or four failures, never succeeds — because he never learns the art that all failures together become success. Patience is needed. Courage and patience. And the bigger the journey — the inner journey is the biggest — the greater the courage to fail must be. 'He whose precious life-blood flows from his wounds — such a fearless warrior, before giving up his life, will attack again and again and drive the enemy from his fortress. Act: all of you who are futile and unhappy, act as he acts; and even after defeat, cast out all the enemies of your soul — ambition, anger, hatred, and even the shadow of your lust.' 'Remember, you are waging war for the liberation of man; therefore every failure is also a success.' This sutra is priceless — a golden sutra. Understand it thus: If a man succeeds in doing evil, even then it is failure. Success in evil is failure. It appears as success, but within, the soul has failed. A man succeeds in stealing — in that success his soul cracks and is destroyed. Outside there is success; inside, failure. He sold the precious for the cheap. Like in rage throwing a diamond at someone, mistaking it for a pebble. He succeeds in hurting — but what he has lost, he does not know. When man succeeds in evil, inside he breaks and is ruined. What he misses is immense; what he gains is nothing. Conversely: when one fails in goodness, still he succeeds. For to fail in goodness is itself glorious. To have tried to do good — is that not enough? To have had the courage to fail doing good — is that not enough? Failing and yet persisting in goodness — certainly the soul is being forged within. The soul is a profound experience — of patience, waiting, courage, labor, and trust. I have heard: the Muslim fakir Ibrahim would say, I search for the man who will make me fail in goodness. He meant: the man because of whom I can be convinced that man is so bad that doing good to him is not right. Many deceived him, robbed him, hurt him; each time he laughed: do what you wish, but I will not lose trust in man. I will only think someone blundered — never that man is bad. If one person deceives you — one! There are three billion people on earth. One deceives you and you conclude: man cannot be trusted! You swear you will never trust again; you will always be on guard — because one deceived you. And you pass judgment on three billion. How quickly your goodness fails — and you trust in failure. However many failures meet you in goodness, however many stumbles upon the inner way, however many times you fall — do not panic; on that path all failures become success. To be walking there is already a great success. To make mistakes there is also great glory, great virtue. To be a clever thief is not good; to be an unskillful meditator is still good. 'And remember: you are waging war for the liberation of man...' Here is a yet more precious truth. When even a single person becomes free upon this earth, the path of liberation opens for all. And when a single person falls, becomes base, becomes evil, some shadow of that falls upon everyone. We are together, interlinked, vibrating into one another. When one Buddha flowers, the whole earth is stirred by his Buddhahood. It must be so. When a flower blossoms, the surrounding atmosphere blossoms with it. Look at a lotus; with it the whole lake blossoms, and its shores. If you look closely, in that moment the whole universe blossoms with the flower, for the flower belongs to the whole. We may not see it — our eyes are small, our understanding poor — but when a flower like Buddha blossoms, whether you notice or not, the whole world is lightened of a burden. After Buddha, you are not the same as before Buddha. People come and ask me: what benefit came from Buddha, Mahavira, Krishna, Christ? What benefit will come from you? Everything is said and forgotten; man remains the same; why trouble yourself for others? Why did Buddha and Christ trouble themselves; what is the use? They do not know. They cannot know the difference between man before Buddha and man after Buddha — it is like sky and earth. But the difference is subtle. With Buddha’s blossoming, the human future changed, destiny shifted. After Buddha, history can never be what it was before. A great rock was removed from the path; the way became clear. Whether you walk or not is your responsibility, but obstacles are fewer now. One man has walked and shown it is possible — Buddhahood can happen. This is a great possibility. And this possibility echoes into the future. Whenever such vast beings are born, their resonance is heard across the earth. In those five centuries around Buddha, the whole world resounded with his echo. When Buddha was born in India, Mahavira was there too. In tiny Bihar — eternally poor — for a few years with Buddha it was as if lotuses opened everywhere. In that small province eight Tirthankaras appeared — an astounding flowering. And it is surprising: though they often disagreed with one another, they blossomed together. At exactly that time in Greece was Pythagoras, equal in stature; soon after, Socrates, Plato, Aristotle. In China, Lao Tzu, Chuang Tzu, Confucius, Mencius. In that short span the whole earth saw many lilies open. It never happened so again. When one attains to Buddhahood, his music sounds on many veenas. Many make great leaps along their journeys. Those close to their goal attain Buddhahood in a single bound. Those far away come nearer. Those fast asleep turn in their sleep. Even those sunk in the deepest slumber have their dreams broken for a moment. Infinite happenings happen. The sutra says: 'Remember, you are waging war for the liberation of man...' This war of liberation is not yours alone; it belongs to the whole of humanity. With you, in you, through you, all are fighting. A wave that rises high — the wave rises, yes, but the ocean rises with it. If one day the wave touches the moon, the ocean will have touched the moon too. 'Keep in mind then: you are waging war for the liberation of man; therefore, for you, every failure is also a success. And every sincere effort is rewarded in time.' Do not be in haste for reward. Do not conclude too soon that you have failed. All things ripen in their time; everything has its season. Seeds sown today do not sprout today. They will wait for the right season, the right rains, the right sun. At the right time they will sprout, ripen, blossom. So hold patience. Whatever you have endeavored with sincerity will be rewarded in time. In this existence, no true effort goes unrewarded. It is the law of existence: whoever walks, arrives. Whoever sows, reaps. Only a little patience is needed, for time will be required. No seed can leap and become a tree overnight. 'Within the disciple’s soul, the sacred saplings that sprout and grow unseen — their branches enlarge through every test. And like reeds they bend, but never break, nor can they ever be destroyed. And when the time comes, flowers blossom upon them.' Often there is no sign of the seed. How would there be? Today you meditate; perhaps you feel nothing inside. Perhaps you do not even suspect that a seed has entered your inner sky. After a year or two, receiving the sun of experience, the rain of opportunity, the seed begins to sprout. Even then the sprout may remain unseen. It is invisible until branches spread and leaves cast cool shade. Perhaps only then will you know — when others begin to know. When others scent your fragrance and ask: where did you get this? When the tired and sunburnt come to you and feel coolness as they sit near you and ask: what is this coolness, beneath what great banyan? When the sorrows and fevers of others vanish in your presence and your very being becomes a medicine and they ask: what has happened to you? Perhaps only then will you know. The sprout grows very slowly. Every struggle that seems it might break it — every gust that seems it might uproot the tree — even that wind, wrestling with the tree, strengthens it. If no wind ever struck, the tree would break someday. Each gust challenges the tree; it endures; the wind passes; the tree stands again. Be supple like the reed. Lao Tzu says: become not a stiff tree — else you will be uprooted. Do not stiffen. On this inner journey do not become rigid; otherwise any storm will uproot you. Be humble. When the storm comes, bend like grass. The storm will do you no harm; it will refresh you, give you new life, wash your dust, make you stronger. When the storm has gone, you will stand again beneath the sky — fresher, more alive, more dancing, more intoxicated. Be intoxicated with existence like the grass. This sutra says: like the reed that bends yet never breaks, so too, if you nurture this inner seed with humility, with waiting, with prayerful feeling, it will never break and will never be destroyed. And when the time comes, flowers will blossom upon it. Do not be in haste; do not try to pull the flowers out — no flower can be pulled forth. Nothing can happen before its time. Hurry is foolishness. The demand that it happen now will only create trouble. Wait, and allow things to happen. Give room for things to flower in their own season. When time arrives, flowers will blossom in them. 'But if you have come prepared, there is nothing to fear.' 'From here the way opens straight to the Virya-gate; among the seven gates, this is the fifth.' 'Now you are on the road that leads to Dhyana-ashraya, the sixth Bodhi-gate.' On the Virya-gate we shall speak tomorrow morning.
Osho's Commentary
He whose wounds are spilling his precious life-blood, such a fearless warrior will, before breathing his last, again and again attack the enemy and drag him out of his fortress. Act: all of you who feel futile and unhappy, act as he acts; and even after being defeated, drive out all the enemies of your Atman — ambition, anger, hatred, and even the shadow cast by your own lust...
Remember, you are waging war for the liberation of man; therefore, for you, every failure is also a success. And every sincere effort is rewarded in time. The sacred saplings that sprout within the disciple’s soul and grow unseen, their branches become larger passing through every test. And like reeds they bend — but never break, nor can they ever be destroyed. And when the time arrives, flowers blossom upon them as well.
But if you have come prepared, then there is nothing to fear.
From here the way opens straight to the Virya-gate; among the seven gates, this is the fifth.
Now you are on the road that leads to Dhyana-ashraya, the sixth Bodhi-gate.
What is most important in a human life is time. Time — which is not even visible. Time — which cannot be defined. Time — which surrounds us from birth to death as the ocean surrounds the fish. Yet it neither touches us, nor do we see it, nor can we taste it — and we talk of it endlessly. Somewhere deep within there is a sense that it is. But the moment we try to seize it within a definition, it slips from the hand.
Saint Augustine said: time is most strange. When no one asks me about it, I know what time is; when someone asks, I fall into difficulty. You too know what time is, and yet if asked, you will find yourself in trouble.
What is time?
Not only you, even great thinkers, philosophers, seers have remained entangled over time. Now even science is anxious about time — what is it? Whatever theories are proposed, none really resolves the question.
A few things must be understood. Why is there such confusion about time? What is the reason that we both experience time and do not experience it? Why is it that time is not evidently comprehensible to us?
First, the fish too cannot understand the ocean; unless some fisherman lifts it and throws it upon the shore, it will not even know there is an ocean. If a fish is born in the ocean and dies in the ocean, it will never know what the ocean was. To know, a little distance is needed from the known. That which completely surrounds us cannot be known. Knowledge demands space. If there is no space, there can be no knowing. If the fish is flung onto the sand, then for the first time it understands what the ocean was. Standing outside the ocean, one knows what the ocean was; when the ocean is not, one knows what it was! From negation one learns what the positive was; from non-being one knows what being was. When the fish writhes upon the sand, in that very anguish it knows: the ocean was my life; I was surrounded by it; only by the ocean was I. Without the ocean I cannot be.
Time surrounds man in the same way. And the complexity is greater. A fish can be thrown onto the shore; it is not so easy to throw oneself beyond the shore of time. And a fish can be thrown out by another; no one can throw you beyond the shore of time. Only if you yourself leap, can you arrive.
Meditation is a leap outside of time.
Hence the meditators have said: meditation is timeless, beyond time.
They have said: wherever time dissolves, know that Samadhi has arrived. Where no trace of time remains — no past, no future, not even present — where the current of time is absent and time has come to a standstill, a timeless moment has dawned — then know that meditation has happened.
Meditation and time are opposites.
If time is the ocean, meditation is the leap beyond it.
And the complexity deepens. The fish writhes outside the ocean because its life is in the ocean. We, on the contrary, writhe within time, while our life is outside time. Within time we continue to struggle. Within time no one becomes free of anguish.
Inside time, suffering is inevitable.
Remaining in time there is no way out of pain. Yes, there is one device — a deception: unconsciousness. Through unconsciousness we forget time, but we do not go beyond it. As if someone injected the fish with anesthesia — it remains in the ocean but becomes as if outside, because it is unconscious. Without awareness, one appears to be out.
The remedy for all pains within time is unconsciousness. Therefore do not be angry at those who drink; they too are searching for meditation. Some drown in other intoxications — in music, in dance. Some are absorbed in sex; they too are seeking swoon. They are trying to find how to escape the ocean of time’s pain.
There are only two ways. One false, illusory: become unconscious. You will not be out, but since awareness is absent, you will neither know whether you are inside or outside. When awareness returns you will know. Thus when the drunk sobers up, the sorrow of the world descends still more densely. Again he longs to drink, so that all this be forgotten — utterly. But no matter how much you forget, forgetting erases nothing. It only postpones; time passes; there is deferment. The problems remain where they were — perhaps even grow, for they accumulate. Unconsciousness is not a solution.
The drunkard deserves compassion, not condemnation. He is not sinning; he is in error. His error is that his authentic search is to go beyond time. He desires meditation but does not know it; so a counterfeit meditation — alcohol — he has found. Therefore all meditators have opposed alcohol; not because alcohol is a sin.
Understand this difference clearly.
The moralist also opposes alcohol, but for other reasons: that it ruins health, destroys home and family, what of your children, what of social order? This is the moralist’s anxiety.
The religious man has no such anxiety. And the moralist’s concerns can be addressed while still drinking. There is not much hindrance. Drink a better brew and health may not suffer. Today or tomorrow we can distill finer liquors so that health even benefits — for alcohol is chemistry. We know enough now to remove what is harmful and add what helps. But because of moralists this cannot be done! A strange thing, but life is full of such strangeness.
Today the harm alcohol does in the world is due to the moralists, for they refuse to allow it to be made right. They fear that if alcohol becomes harmless, how will they go on opposing it? We who discovered the atom bomb and set foot on the moon — can we not remove harm from a bottle? We can, but moralists are everywhere against it. If its defects are removed and drinking becomes pleasant and healthful, what will the moralist do then?
Religion’s opposition to alcohol is not because it is sin; it is because the search for unconsciousness means you wanted meditation but took a cheap, false route. You wanted to go beyond time, beyond pain, out of the world — and you found a way to forget yourself while staying in the world. Hence the meditators’ opposition. Their reasons are totally different. The deep truth is: unconsciousness and awareness are opposites.
Meditation is awareness; alcohol is unconsciousness.
If awareness is desired, it is wise to avoid unconsciousness. And as awareness grows, one reaches beyond time — awake, luminous. And once a person has even a glimpse of the beyond of time, his life becomes different. The real is tasted. Then all else appears false, unreal, dreamlike.
Regarding time, know this: we are born in it, we grow in it, we die in it; hence we do not know what it is. Only the meditator knows what time is, because the meditator stands upon the shore. The ocean is seen distinct, clear.
We do not know what time is, yet we use it. For use, knowledge is not essential.
This electricity burns; anyone can switch it on and off. You need not know what electricity is. You sit in your car; if you know a little driving, it is unnecessary to know what happens inside the engine — perhaps you have never even seen it. No need. What hides beneath the bonnet is irrelevant. If you can drive, it is enough.
Utility can exist without knowledge.
We all use time. But we do not know what it is. The fish too uses the ocean without knowing what it is. When we use without knowing, error is inevitable. We can use, but we will err. Because we do not know time, numerous mistakes enter whatever we do within it. The first mistake: we all carry the idea that there is plenty of time. This is the first error. Time is abundant.
A friend came today. He said: I must take sannyas, but I will wait a little. I asked: how long do you intend to wait? He said: I have not decided, but within a year or two. You have a year or two? No one asks so — and it does not seem polite to ask. Do you even have two or four days? Is the next moment guaranteed? No. Everyone assumes time is enough. Deep within we believe time will not run out. We will do it someday — tomorrow, the day after!
Time is not sufficient; it is always insufficient. And for what must be done, it is always too little. You spend it on the trivial; what is vast you keep postponing. The habit of postponement arises from the notion that time is enough — we will do it tomorrow! The useless is done today; the meaningful is left for tomorrow. It will not be done. The habit of postponing is deep; it will be with you tomorrow too. When tomorrow comes, it is already today, and the habit repeats: tomorrow. You will die, and the habit will not leave you.
Remember: whenever death comes, it comes today — never tomorrow. You cannot say to death: come tomorrow. If you cannot say to death, come tomorrow, then think a little — time is not sufficient, nor is it in your hands, nor are you its master.
I recall a small incident. Yudhishthira was in exile, in his period of incognito. Disguised, sitting before a small hut; Bhima sat in a corner, pondering. A beggar came and asked Yudhishthira for alms. Yudhishthira said: come tomorrow. Bhima leapt up, began to dance, and ran toward the house. Yudhishthira asked: what has happened to you? Bhima said: I go to announce that my brother has conquered time. I was pondering what time is, and you said, come tomorrow! One thing is sure: you are certain tomorrow will come. I shall announce in the village that my brother has triumphed over time. Yudhishthira ran, called the beggar back, and said: take it today — for truly, what trust is there in tomorrow?
What arrangement do we have for tomorrow, that we can decide anything about it? He who postpones deceives himself. He who leaves to tomorrow is dishonest — not with others, but with himself.
If tomorrow is in your hands, postpone; if not, do not postpone. And if you must postpone, postpone the evil to tomorrow — because tomorrow never comes. If you must get angry, say: tomorrow. If you must steal, say: tomorrow. If you must cut someone’s throat, say: tomorrow. Then sin will not occur — because tomorrow never arrives. Whatever is right, auspicious, do it now. If you leave it for tomorrow, that too will not happen.
We do the bad now; we postpone the good. Which plainly means: what we truly want, we do now; what we do not truly want, we push away. Why not be honest and simply say: I do not want to take sannyas today. Enough — the matter ends. But to say, I will take sannyas tomorrow, gives pleasure: we neither want it, nor do we wish to lose the taste of wanting it. We want and we fear. So we devise a trick: tomorrow I shall. Then it seems as if we have already taken it a little; only a small outer formality remains — we will do it tomorrow. We are already sannyasins; one percent remains — to change clothes, to take a new name; that we will do tomorrow. Initiation will happen tomorrow. Thus deceiving oneself becomes easy.
Time is not sufficient. Everyone assumes it is more than enough; hence we postpone.
If right now you knew there will be no morning and the sun will not rise, that your life will end tomorrow — tell me, what would you do first? Gather wealth? Fight a lawsuit? Build a house? Theft, murder, anger — what would you do? If it were certain the sun would not rise and scientists declared: the end has come, tonight is the last — what would you do? Whatever you would feel worthy of doing then, do it today. Whether scientists declare or not, there is no certainty of tomorrow. For many, tomorrow will not be. You could be among them. But man always exempts himself. Rules are for others; he is the exception!
The second point about time is very interesting. We keep time suppressed. We repress it. Hence we do not know what time is — because time is tied to death. Understand: if man were immortal, you would have no sense of time. If there were no death, what meaning would time have? None. Death creates time. Animals do not know death; hence they do not know time. The animal lives now, here. No news of tomorrow, none of yesterday, no idea of death.
Societies, like our land, that hold the idea that Atman is immortal, also have a faint sense of time — not intense. Christianity deepened time-consciousness in the West, because Christianity and Islam hold there is but one life — no rebirth. Whatever must be done, do it between this birth and this death: this is all the time you have.
In India we have the notion of endless births — one life, then another, then a third. We say: if not this life, next life; if not then, what is the hurry? The world will continue — we will do it sometime. Before us lies infinite stretch. Hence in India there is no time-consciousness. If someone tells you he will come at five and arrives at seven, do not be angry — this is the outcome of Indian thinking; he is not at fault. He does not even feel there is any difference between five and seven. In the West, two minutes create restlessness. The cause? Christianity. One life only — then time is very short. If you waste two hours of someone’s time, you are stealing his life. Here if you waste two days, you have stolen nothing. What difference does it make? In the vast flow of time, what are two days?
Because of Christian thought, the West awakened to time. If life is fifty, seventy, a hundred years — then to waste two hours for nothing is violence. To arrive uninvited and begin idle talk for hours — you are snatching life. And life is limited; those two hours will not return.
Thus in the West, to go to someone’s home without asking is rudeness. Here, to ask before going feels rude — what is there to ask? The guest is God; let him come. And the longer he stays, the greater his grace.
The sense of time is bound to death. If death is near, the consciousness of time deepens. If death is far, or does not exist — if Atman is immortal — the feeling of time dissolves.
We do not think much on time, because if we do, we will have to think on death. Death is taboo. We are afraid. So we do not think on time either; that too frightens us. It is pleasing to assume there is plenty; to assume Atman is immortal. Time is no scarcity; it will always be there. No hurry.
The results can be disastrous. We can squander time just sitting. Each moment is expiring. With each expiring moment, you too are expiring. With each grain of time spent, your energy empties drop by drop; you become hollow.
What is death?
The sand of time running out within you.
Have you seen an hourglass? In a glass vessel sand is filled; one grain after another falls into the lower vessel; with that falling, moments are counted. When all the sand empties from above, twenty-four hours are over. Then the glass is turned; the lower becomes upper; the upper becomes lower — and again grain by grain it descends, and in twenty-four hours the sand is below again.
What is death?
Time draining from your life, one drop at a time.
And the day when time is completely spent within you, you are dead. The container remains; the content is gone. Only the vessel remains — empty. That which was life within has been exhausted.
To understand this sutra, know: time is very little; what must be done is very great. And what must be done is so important — do not waste time on the trivial. Do not postpone the essential. Postpone the futile for tomorrow; do the meaningful now. This is true economy: what is essential, do it immediately.
But we are strange. We read the newspaper first; meditation we think we will do tomorrow! As if life depends upon the paper, and if we do not read we will die; as if without it we will be deprived of knowledge. Meditation can be done later; the paper must be read now! The cinema we see today; sannyas we leave for tomorrow. The film is urgent — who knows if it will still be running tomorrow; and who knows about tomorrow’s money? Today there is money, today the film is on; sannyas will always be there tomorrow.
Thus we do the trivial at once and leave the essential for tomorrow. Change this. Remember: there is only one wise use of time, and he who makes it becomes a victor in this world.
What is the use of time?
You would not guess. There is only one meaningful use: to use time to go beyond time. If you have used time so as to reach the shore of time, your life is fulfilled — you have wrung the essence of time. If you have not used it for this, then whatever you did — palaces you built, vaults you filled — you have been foolish, for none of it will be of any use. Even a grain’s worth of experience of the beyond of time, and you have gained the value of many lifetimes.
Now understand the sutra:
Be ready.
'Be ready, and awaken in time. If you have made the effort and failed, indomitable fighter, still do not abandon courage. Keep fighting, and once again take up the battle.'
Awaken in time.
Awaken to what? Do not remain entangled in the petty. Do not squander time in the futile. Do not assign great value to what has no ultimate worth. That is the meaning of awakening. What has ultimate value? What difference will it make if you have a yard more land or less? What difference will the weight of your safe make?
When death stands before you, contemplate often: if death stands before me today, what in what I possess will have value? This is the touchstone. Each evening before sleep, ponder: if death comes tonight, what will remain that retains value in death’s presence? My money, my land, my name, my status and fame — what will be of worth? Your breath will flutter, for before death none of these hold value. Only meditation can.
At the moment of death, if anything can remain that death cannot rob, it is your capacity for meditation, your inner silence, your inner peace, your own bliss.
Whatever bliss comes from others, from objects, from outside, death will take away. Whatever belongs to the outer world, death will snatch. Understand: whatever is outer, death will take.
What is inner within you? Is there any treasure that is inner? Is there a joy without cause, without roots outside? Is there a delight that is yours — not because of wife, husband, son, father, friend — because of no one, simply because of you? Whatever is yours in this sense, death cannot snatch. Death does not destroy you — it appears so only because you are not. All you have is borrowed, reflected, secondhand.
Consider the moon. On a moonlit night it seems luminous; but its light is borrowed. It has none of its own. Sunrays return from its surface; those we call moonlight. Hence the coolness, because the moon absorbs the sun’s heat and reflects only light. Thus it is cool. But the light is still the sun’s. Do not think those who landed on the moon found light there. There is none. The moon is only a reflector. Light reaches our eyes and strikes them and appears to be moonlight.
Our earth, seen from the moon, appears moonlike — bright. This filthy clod of earth shines from the moon. It too is borrowed property; the sun’s light is its own.
The worldly man is like the moon; the spiritual man becomes like the sun.
Death will take from you all that is borrowed. Only what is your own — your very you — will not be taken.
Think each night, before sleep: if death happens, what do I have that it cannot erase? If this thought brings restlessness, do not be afraid. That restlessness is good. From it the urge may arise to acquire that which death cannot take. There is but one wealth worth acquiring: that which death cannot snatch. Death is the examiner. Whatever death takes, know you gathered rubbish.
Awaken in time. Death can come in any moment; before it comes, set out in search of the essential.
'Even if you have made the effort and failed, indomitable fighter, still do not abandon courage.'
What is the fear?
In entering this inner pilgrimage, only one fear arises: what if I fail? The fear is natural, for the journey is arduous. Seldom does a Buddha happen, a Mahavira, a Krishna, a Christ. Billions are born and die, and rarely a Buddha appears. Naturally the multitudes think: a Buddha happens once in millions — it is beyond our reach. What is within our reach is to add two yards to our plot, to open a second shop, to increase the bank balance, to pile up paper notes. But to become a Buddha? Once in millions!
Hence the sutra says: 'If you have made the effort and failed, indomitable fighter, still do not abandon courage.'
That a Buddha is one in millions does not mean only one has the capacity. Millions have the capacity, but they never exercise it. We do not know how much of our potential simply rots away unused.
Psychologists now say: the ordinary person uses only five percent of his brain. And those we call extraordinary, geniuses — they use no more than fifteen percent. The greatest genius uses only fifteen percent of the intelligence available. Think: if one used one hundred percent, the earth would be filled with sages. If you now use five percent, and you used three times that — fifteen — you would be of the caliber of an Einstein or a Bertrand Russell. And that is only fifteen percent. If you used the full hundred, such a genius has never yet walked the earth. But the skull just rots — unused.
And intellectual genius is nothing; still, we manage to use five percent of it. How much of the soul’s genius do we use? Once in millions, one Buddha uses it. The rest do not use even zero percent. They do not use the spirit at all. And they use even the five percent of intellect only to accumulate the paraphernalia of disturbance; otherwise even that they would not use.
You will be surprised: often in rich homes dull children are born. If you must look for donkeys, look in rich homes. The reason: even the five percent is not needed — so why bother? Poor children seem sharper — not because they are truly sharp, but because they have nothing: no house, no car, no money; all this they must get. For this, they employ five percent. In the rich home everything is ready; even five percent is unnecessary. Hence rich children become mentally flabby. They do not use even five percent. And why should they? Truly, a rich man should not. It is the poor man’s job. Just as the poor do physical labor while the rich do not, so too with mental labor.
Thus, the greatest talents often arise from the middle class. From the rich, fewer; from the very poor, fewer also, for they lack even the facility to use five percent. The rich have all facilities, hence no need. Between them, the middle class has some facility and also the desire to use it, for it sees what it lacks can be gained.
If someday true socialism comes and all receive according to their needs, if all receive equally, it is possible man will not use even five percent of intellect — even that will be lost for lack of need. And now, with computers doing the brain’s work, the fear increases. You may not know: wherever students began to use typewriters, their handwriting deteriorated utterly. Machines took over. The fountain pen ended an old beauty in script; the universal typewriter would make letters vanish. If tomorrow computers do all thinking for us — and they can do a thousand times more — what need remains for your intelligence? Only enough to switch on the machine. Perhaps even the five percent will be unused.
In matters of the soul we use nothing. Our one hundred percent returns packed, sealed — unopened. Rarely does one Buddha open it. Do not fear this means you lack capacity. You have it — but prepare to fail.
He who fears failure never succeeds. He who fears mistake does not step forward. He avoids error — but then there is no journey either. One must be ready to fail; only then does success happen. Thus children learn. As age grows, the capacity to learn declines because children do not fear failure. They do not yet know the great difference between success and failure; hence they learn. As soon as you begin to fear: what if I fail? — learning becomes hard.
A child learns a foreign tongue quickly; you do not — for you keep fearing: what if I make a mistake?
'On this pilgrimage of the soul, if you fail, do not be afraid. Do not abandon courage. Keep fighting, and again and again take up the battle.'
Ten failures gather into success; success is nothing else. He who goes on advancing with courage through ten failures attains to success. Success is not the opposite of failure; it is the essence distilled from failures. This may sound odd. Success is not contrary to failure; it is the extract of all failures. He who stops early, who panics at two or four failures, never succeeds — because he never learns the art that all failures together become success.
Patience is needed. Courage and patience. And the bigger the journey — the inner journey is the biggest — the greater the courage to fail must be.
'He whose precious life-blood flows from his wounds — such a fearless warrior, before giving up his life, will attack again and again and drive the enemy from his fortress. Act: all of you who are futile and unhappy, act as he acts; and even after defeat, cast out all the enemies of your soul — ambition, anger, hatred, and even the shadow of your lust.'
'Remember, you are waging war for the liberation of man; therefore every failure is also a success.'
This sutra is priceless — a golden sutra.
Understand it thus:
If a man succeeds in doing evil, even then it is failure. Success in evil is failure. It appears as success, but within, the soul has failed. A man succeeds in stealing — in that success his soul cracks and is destroyed. Outside there is success; inside, failure. He sold the precious for the cheap. Like in rage throwing a diamond at someone, mistaking it for a pebble. He succeeds in hurting — but what he has lost, he does not know.
When man succeeds in evil, inside he breaks and is ruined. What he misses is immense; what he gains is nothing. Conversely: when one fails in goodness, still he succeeds. For to fail in goodness is itself glorious. To have tried to do good — is that not enough? To have had the courage to fail doing good — is that not enough? Failing and yet persisting in goodness — certainly the soul is being forged within. The soul is a profound experience — of patience, waiting, courage, labor, and trust.
I have heard: the Muslim fakir Ibrahim would say, I search for the man who will make me fail in goodness. He meant: the man because of whom I can be convinced that man is so bad that doing good to him is not right. Many deceived him, robbed him, hurt him; each time he laughed: do what you wish, but I will not lose trust in man. I will only think someone blundered — never that man is bad.
If one person deceives you — one! There are three billion people on earth. One deceives you and you conclude: man cannot be trusted! You swear you will never trust again; you will always be on guard — because one deceived you. And you pass judgment on three billion. How quickly your goodness fails — and you trust in failure.
However many failures meet you in goodness, however many stumbles upon the inner way, however many times you fall — do not panic; on that path all failures become success. To be walking there is already a great success. To make mistakes there is also great glory, great virtue. To be a clever thief is not good; to be an unskillful meditator is still good.
'And remember: you are waging war for the liberation of man...'
Here is a yet more precious truth. When even a single person becomes free upon this earth, the path of liberation opens for all. And when a single person falls, becomes base, becomes evil, some shadow of that falls upon everyone. We are together, interlinked, vibrating into one another.
When one Buddha flowers, the whole earth is stirred by his Buddhahood. It must be so. When a flower blossoms, the surrounding atmosphere blossoms with it. Look at a lotus; with it the whole lake blossoms, and its shores. If you look closely, in that moment the whole universe blossoms with the flower, for the flower belongs to the whole. We may not see it — our eyes are small, our understanding poor — but when a flower like Buddha blossoms, whether you notice or not, the whole world is lightened of a burden. After Buddha, you are not the same as before Buddha. People come and ask me: what benefit came from Buddha, Mahavira, Krishna, Christ? What benefit will come from you? Everything is said and forgotten; man remains the same; why trouble yourself for others? Why did Buddha and Christ trouble themselves; what is the use?
They do not know. They cannot know the difference between man before Buddha and man after Buddha — it is like sky and earth. But the difference is subtle. With Buddha’s blossoming, the human future changed, destiny shifted. After Buddha, history can never be what it was before. A great rock was removed from the path; the way became clear. Whether you walk or not is your responsibility, but obstacles are fewer now. One man has walked and shown it is possible — Buddhahood can happen. This is a great possibility. And this possibility echoes into the future. Whenever such vast beings are born, their resonance is heard across the earth.
In those five centuries around Buddha, the whole world resounded with his echo. When Buddha was born in India, Mahavira was there too. In tiny Bihar — eternally poor — for a few years with Buddha it was as if lotuses opened everywhere. In that small province eight Tirthankaras appeared — an astounding flowering. And it is surprising: though they often disagreed with one another, they blossomed together.
At exactly that time in Greece was Pythagoras, equal in stature; soon after, Socrates, Plato, Aristotle. In China, Lao Tzu, Chuang Tzu, Confucius, Mencius. In that short span the whole earth saw many lilies open. It never happened so again.
When one attains to Buddhahood, his music sounds on many veenas. Many make great leaps along their journeys. Those close to their goal attain Buddhahood in a single bound. Those far away come nearer. Those fast asleep turn in their sleep. Even those sunk in the deepest slumber have their dreams broken for a moment. Infinite happenings happen.
The sutra says: 'Remember, you are waging war for the liberation of man...'
This war of liberation is not yours alone; it belongs to the whole of humanity. With you, in you, through you, all are fighting. A wave that rises high — the wave rises, yes, but the ocean rises with it. If one day the wave touches the moon, the ocean will have touched the moon too.
'Keep in mind then: you are waging war for the liberation of man; therefore, for you, every failure is also a success. And every sincere effort is rewarded in time.'
Do not be in haste for reward. Do not conclude too soon that you have failed. All things ripen in their time; everything has its season. Seeds sown today do not sprout today. They will wait for the right season, the right rains, the right sun. At the right time they will sprout, ripen, blossom. So hold patience. Whatever you have endeavored with sincerity will be rewarded in time. In this existence, no true effort goes unrewarded.
It is the law of existence: whoever walks, arrives. Whoever sows, reaps. Only a little patience is needed, for time will be required. No seed can leap and become a tree overnight.
'Within the disciple’s soul, the sacred saplings that sprout and grow unseen — their branches enlarge through every test. And like reeds they bend, but never break, nor can they ever be destroyed. And when the time comes, flowers blossom upon them.'
Often there is no sign of the seed. How would there be? Today you meditate; perhaps you feel nothing inside. Perhaps you do not even suspect that a seed has entered your inner sky. After a year or two, receiving the sun of experience, the rain of opportunity, the seed begins to sprout. Even then the sprout may remain unseen. It is invisible until branches spread and leaves cast cool shade. Perhaps only then will you know — when others begin to know. When others scent your fragrance and ask: where did you get this? When the tired and sunburnt come to you and feel coolness as they sit near you and ask: what is this coolness, beneath what great banyan? When the sorrows and fevers of others vanish in your presence and your very being becomes a medicine and they ask: what has happened to you? Perhaps only then will you know.
The sprout grows very slowly. Every struggle that seems it might break it — every gust that seems it might uproot the tree — even that wind, wrestling with the tree, strengthens it. If no wind ever struck, the tree would break someday. Each gust challenges the tree; it endures; the wind passes; the tree stands again.
Be supple like the reed.
Lao Tzu says: become not a stiff tree — else you will be uprooted.
Do not stiffen. On this inner journey do not become rigid; otherwise any storm will uproot you. Be humble. When the storm comes, bend like grass. The storm will do you no harm; it will refresh you, give you new life, wash your dust, make you stronger. When the storm has gone, you will stand again beneath the sky — fresher, more alive, more dancing, more intoxicated. Be intoxicated with existence like the grass.
This sutra says: like the reed that bends yet never breaks, so too, if you nurture this inner seed with humility, with waiting, with prayerful feeling, it will never break and will never be destroyed. And when the time comes, flowers will blossom upon it. Do not be in haste; do not try to pull the flowers out — no flower can be pulled forth. Nothing can happen before its time. Hurry is foolishness. The demand that it happen now will only create trouble. Wait, and allow things to happen. Give room for things to flower in their own season. When time arrives, flowers will blossom in them.
'But if you have come prepared, there is nothing to fear.'
'From here the way opens straight to the Virya-gate; among the seven gates, this is the fifth.'
'Now you are on the road that leads to Dhyana-ashraya, the sixth Bodhi-gate.'
On the Virya-gate we shall speak tomorrow morning.