And if you cross even the seventh gate, do you know your future? Through the coming kalpas(29) you will be compelled to live by your own free will, yet you will not be seen by men, nor will their thanks ever reach you. And among the countless other stones which build the Guardian-Wall(30), you too will live as a stone. Raised upon the torments of many Masters of Compassion, and joined with their blood, this stronghold protects the human race. Because man is man, it saves him from great calamities and grief. At the same time, since man does not see it, he can neither touch it nor hear the voice of Prajna... because he does not even know. But, O inquirer, you of innocent soul, you have heard this, and you know all... therefore you must decide; so listen once again. O path of Sowan, O Srotapanna(31), you are safe. Look—on that path where the weary traveler meets darkness, where hands are torn and bleeding by thorns, where feet are cut and gashed by sharp and unyielding stones, and where ‘Kama’ wields his powerful weapons—just a little distance beyond, a great benediction, a supreme reward, is awaiting you. That calm and unshaken pilgrim floats along the current which runs toward Nirvana. He knows that the more his feet pour blood, the more he will be washed clean. He knows well that after seven small and fleeting births, Nirvana will be his... Such is the path of dhyana, the refuge of yogis, and the incomparable goal for which the Srotapanna longs. But when he has crossed the path of the Arhat(32), there is no longing. There, forever, klesha(33) is dissolved and the roots of tanha(34) are torn out. But, O disciple, wait... there is still one more word to be said. Can you extinguish divine karuna(35)? Karuna is not a virtue. It is the law of laws—the eternal rhythm, the soul of Alaya. It is called the shoreless world-essence, the radiance of nitya samyaktva, the mastery of all things, and the ordinance of eternal love. The more you become one with it, the more your being dissolves into its being, the more you are one with That-which-is—the more you yourself become perfect karuna. Such is the Arya path—the path of the perfect Buddhas. ‘And if you cross even the seventh gate, do you know your future? Through the coming kalpas you will be compelled to live by your own free will, yet you will not be seen by men, nor will their thanks ever reach you.’ If we understand the state of the Bodhisattva, then this sutra becomes clear. The Bodhisattva is free of the body. The world cannot see him, but he can see the world. The world cannot understand him, but he understands the world. And by uncountable means he brings help to the world. No thanks ever come to him. There is no reason that they should, for those who are being helped cannot even see him. This sutra is saying: if you have crossed even the seventh gate, then you will be drawn into a work that is without thanks. No one will thank you; no one will even know what you have done; no one will recognize you. Nowhere will your word be recorded. The help you gave—only you will know it; even those who received it will not know. Naturally, one can enter such an action only when one’s identity has completely dissolved. The ego is eager for only one thing: that I be known, acknowledged; that someone offer thanks, that someone feel obliged. The state of the Bodhisattva becomes available only after the ego has vanished. So now there is no question that he who is helped should feel obliged. Now the very act of helping is sufficient in itself. But this sutra says one more thing—very strange, very paradoxical. The sutra says: ‘In the coming kalpas you will be compelled to live by your own free will.’ This is a most inverted statement. Compelled to live by free will! No one will force you to become a Bodhisattva; no one will coerce you to serve men, to awaken the sleeping, to bring the lost back to the path. No one will compel you. If you wish, you can disappear into the Great Void; if you wish, you can enter into this great work—the work of great compassion. Hence these deliberately reversed words have been used—you will be compelled to live by your own free will. But it will be your own will that will say to you: live, remain, stay; do not vanish—there is still work to be done for those who need it. It will be the compulsion of your own free will. Compulsion is always without one’s own consent; someone else uses force. In the Bodhisattva’s state, there remains no coercion of nature. There remains no insistence even of Paramatman. That person has gone beyond law. He can no longer be made to move. If he wishes to move, he can move. He cannot be stopped; if he wishes to stop, he can stop. We all move in this world bound by the law of cause and effect, bound by causality. Whatever we are doing seems to us as though we are doing it; but we do not do—it is done through us. When anger arises in you, does it seem that you are doing anger? People come to me and say, “Anger happens to me too much; how can I stop it?” I ask them: Do you truly do anger? If you do it, you can stop it. But who does anger? It is as if, helplessly, against your free will, under compulsion, it is done. It is made to be done through you; you do not do. If you did, you would be the master. So understand it like this: if someone tells you, “Right now show anger,” you will not be able to. So do not remain in the illusion that you do it. And when anger is happening and someone says, “Stop just now,” you will not be able to stop. So anger is moving you; you are not moving anger. Love moves you; you are not moving love. Wherever in your life it seems, “I am doing,” you are in illusion. You are not doing; it is being done through you. At present you are bound by laws. We have called this process of law the chain of karma. Science calls it causality—the law of cause and effect. If even water had intelligence, when it heats and becomes steam, water would think, “I am becoming steam.” And when water cools and becomes ice, it would think, “I am becoming ice.” But is water becoming steam, or is it being made to become steam? Is water becoming ice, or is it being made to become ice? Water is helpless; the law of cause and effect is at work. And within the law all are pressed down. You may call this fate, it will do. Therefore the deepest discovery of India is the discovery of fate. As western science discovered causality—that all life moves bound by laws—within laws, talk of resolve, of “I am doing,” is only a symbol of man’s false ego. There is no free will. Man is bound, utterly dependent. Whatever happens here—if we search rightly—we will find its cause why it happens. You are not doing. The cause is not visible to you, so you merrily go on believing, “I am doing.” Water too cannot see that beneath it a fire is burning that is heating it, by which it becomes steam. You walk along the road and you see a woman, a man, a beautiful house; within, a desire arises: “May this woman be mine; may this house be mine.” Do you think you are doing this desire? Some fire is burning within by which you are becoming heated and inflamed; that same fire becomes desire. But you think, “I am doing.” If you are doing, then try to stop it and you will know. For anything you truly do, you can stop. So let a beautiful woman appear and let no desire arise in the mind—try that. If water insists that it is becoming steam, it should do this: even while the fire burns beneath, let it not become steam; then it will be certain that not fire, but its own free will is producing steam. Let cold descend to below zero, and water refuse to become ice. Let wealth lie before you, piles of jewels and diamonds, and let no urge arise within to own them—then know that desire you are doing. Whatever we cannot stop, to say “I am doing it” is illusion. What is not in our power—of that we are in the power. But man’s ego is hurt. In this land, men have always said that man too moves bound by nature’s causes and effects. We call this niyati, fate. Nothing is happening by your doing. And when we said, “Without the will of Paramatman, not even a leaf moves,” its meaning is: leave aside talk of your will; the vast law of nature moves all. If even a leaf trembles, it trembles by that vast law. Do not stand your ‘I’ in the midst. If even this much comes into consciousness, there will be a revolution in your life. Then you will not say, “I do anger.” You will say, “Anger happens; love happens; hatred happens; joy happens; sorrow happens.” If it becomes utterly clear to you that within you too nature’s blind laws are working and you are not their master—then the first ray of mastery has arisen in you. To know “I am a slave” is the beginning of mastery. And if a slave persists in believing “I am the master,” his mastery can never be attained, for he will die in illusion. The Bodhisattva stands at the opposite shore from us—where laws cease their pushing; where water cannot be heated into steam; where water cannot be cooled into ice. With ego gone, with dispassion born, with the attainment of dhyana, with the arising of the ray of Prajna—slowly, slowly he goes beyond the world where laws operate, entering the realm of free will. There is a sweet story from Buddha’s life. When he was born, astrologers said: this man will either be an emperor or a sannyasin. All the marks were of an emperor. Yet Buddha became a bhikkhu, a sannyasin. And not a mere emperor, but a chakravarti—emperor of the whole earth. Buddha was passing by a river, the Niranjana. His marks were imprinted upon the wet sand of the bank. An astrologer was returning from Kashi, newly trained. Seeing these beautiful footprints, he gazed intently. The signs left by the sole proclaimed: these are the feet of a Chakravarti emperor. The astrologer grew anxious: if this is the foot of a Chakravarti, why would such a one be walking upon the sand of an ordinary river? And barefoot at that, so that the imprint should remain! He was thrown into great difficulty. All astrology seemed to become futile at the very first step. He had just returned, proficient in astrology, his scripture in hand. He thought: better drown this scripture in the river and go home—for if a man whose feet bear such signs is walking barefoot upon a riverbank in broad daylight, then all is vain. No longer is it right to say anything on the basis of astrology. But before throwing the book, he thought: let me follow these feet and see where this man is. Let me at least see his face. Who is this Chakravarti who is walking on this shore! Following the prints he came upon Buddha resting in the shade of a tree. He was in even deeper trouble—his face too was of a Chakravarti; the marks upon his brow were of a Chakravarti. Buddha’s eyes were closed; his hands lay upon his lap; the astrologer looked at his hand—the hand too was of a Chakravarti. This body, every manner—of emperors; and the man was a beggar, sitting beneath a tree with an alms bowl, alone in the full noon. Shaking Buddha awake, he said: “Great sir, you are making vain all my years of labor—shall I throw these texts into the river, or what shall I do? I am returning from Kashi after years of hard study. And the marks that have appeared in you are found only as examples in the scriptures of astrology. Such a man is met with only once in hundreds of thousands of years. And at the very first step you have thrown me into confusion. You should be a Chakravarti emperor—what are you doing beneath this tree with a begging bowl?” Buddha said: “There is no need to throw away your scriptures. You will not again meet such a man in your life. Do not be hasty; upon those you meet, your astrology will work. By coincidence, by accident, you have encountered one who has gone beyond the boundary of fate. The marks speak perfectly true. When I was born, this too was the likelihood. If I had moved bound by nature’s law, this is what I would have become. Do not be anxious; you will not meet many Buddhas who break your laws. As long as one is unawakened he remains within nature’s binding laws. He who is awakened is beyond the law.” The awakened one has resolve; he has free will; he does whatsoever he wishes. Hence this sutra says a very delightful thing: It says: ‘You will be compelled to live by your own free will.’ No one will be able to compel you: “Remain and serve; remain and, out of compassion, awaken people; become remedy for the sleeping, the afflicted, the miserable, the deranged.” No one will compel you—but you yourself will be compelled. It will be your free will; you yourself will choose to remain. ‘But you will not be seen by men, nor will their thanks ever reach you. And among the countless other stones that build the Guardian-Wall, you too will live as a stone. Built by the torments of many Masters of Compassion, raised upon their suffering and joined with their blood, this stronghold protects mankind. Because man is man, it saves him from great calamities and grief.’ This is a symbol—worth understanding. First, the act of a Bodhisattva is not seen. Even if the Bodhisattva is seen, his act is not seen. What he is doing is subtle. He works in your unconscious—there where even you do not know. His doing has its own pathways. In Tibet there is a word, “Tulku.” Blavatsky too was called a Tulku in Tibet. Tulku means: such a person who has become so surrendered under the influence of a Bodhisattva that the Bodhisattva can work through him. Blavatsky could become a Tulku. She was a woman—hence easily surrendered. Those who lived around Blavatsky were amazed. When she would sit to write, she would be possessed—avishtha. While writing, the color and form of her face would change; her eyes would mount to some other realm. And when she began to write, sometimes ten hours, sometimes twelve, she would keep on writing—like one mad. She would never cross out what she had written. This occurred at times. When she herself wrote, she had to labor very hard. Her companions would ask: “What is happening?” She would say: “When I am in the state of Tulku, someone writes through me. In Theosophy they are called Masters. Some Sadguru makes me write; I do not write; my hand becomes someone else’s hand; someone possesses me and then the writing begins. Then I am not in my own control—I am only a vehicle.” This very book was attained in such a vehicular state. Sometimes something would be written and then lie unfinished for months. Companions would say: “Complete what is unfinished.” She would say: “There is no way to complete it; if I complete it, all will be spoiled. When again I am possessed, it will be completed.” Some of her books remained unfinished—because only when some Bodhisattva-consciousness seized her could writing happen. These Bodhisattvas—consciousnesses that stand at the supreme gate, at the threshold of dissolving, of becoming annihilated, of becoming utterly still—those for whom the Great Death is about to occur—they work in a thousand ways. They can possess some person; the person may not even know and be used. In Tibet there is the view—and it is true—that there is a Wall, a stronghold, that encircles mankind on all sides. Man as he is, is utterly insane. Whatever he does is filled with madness. If left solely to himself, he could destroy himself at once. Whatever he is doing is tainted with violence. He does not know what he is doing and what is happening. This Guardian-Wall of Bodhisattvas, again and again, brings him back to the path, saves him again and again from going astray, and by countless contrivances tries to give direction and vision. This sutra says: when you too cross the seventh gate, by your own free will you will wish to become a brick in this great stronghold. It is built by the torments of many Masters. This fortress protects the human race. In Tibet, on every Buddha Purnima, five hundred Buddhist lamas gather upon a certain sacred mountain. Each year, on the night of Buddha Purnima, at midnight, the voice of Buddha is heard. This is the Bodhisattva-voice. By a determined plan, at a fixed hour, the voice of Buddha becomes available. The predetermined ones, the certain ones who can hear that voice—because it is bodiless—only they gather there. Never do more than five hundred lamas assemble. When one lama among them dies, then a new one gains entry. The place is kept secret; for if any outsider should reach there, an obstacle may occur to the happening. At the time of his passing, Buddha made the sure arrangement. Sadgurus often make it sure how, when their bodies are gone, relation will be established with them. There are definite sutras for establishing relation; if those sutras are followed, relation is established. Traditions that keep establishing relation with their master, remain living. There are many traditions whose thread of relation has been lost—they are dead. For example, the Jain tradition is dead. The contact-thread with Mahavira has been lost. Today not even a single siddha person exists among the Jains who can establish contact with Mahavira. Hence the profound and esoteric knowledge of the Jains lies veiled; there is no way to unveil it. What Jain pundits, monks and sannyasins do is all intellectual; there is no spiritual experience in it. Therefore even the message of so great a master as Mahavira could not reach the world—because the tradition became fragmented. Mahavira left the methods by which relation could be established with him—but no method is being put to work. Buddha’s tradition is still alive. Even today there are those who can establish the contact-thread and make Buddha’s voice available. Buddha’s voice will remain eternally available—Buddha has given this assurance. Jesus’ contact-thread was lost. Christianity remained a formal religion. There are churches, priests, the Pope, enormous expansion. But it is establishment—a structure; the inner essence is lost. The relation with Jesus is no more. So though Christianity has spread so widely, there is no relation with Jesus; there is no life within. There are hundreds of traditions upon the earth. Every tradition moves from some Great Master, some Bodhisattva-consciousness. But relation must continue to be established with that source. For the age changes, time changes, language changes. Again and again relation must be renewed to know what Buddha will say now—what Buddha’s message will be for this very moment. If relation breaks, then what Buddha said two or two-and-a-half thousand years ago remains for us in books. But the situation of two-and-a-half thousand years ago is not today’s. Those to whom he spoke then are not here now. The methods he gave then will not work today, for man has changed, man’s mind has changed. The meaning of a living tradition is that by re-establishing relation with Buddha, the message for today can be attained. If this cannot be, the tradition becomes a burden, and dead. This Guardian-Wall of Bodhisattvas surrounds us on all sides—very near, for it is close to our heart. Relation can be made with it. But for that relation, the state of complete surrender is needed. There are images, temples, churches, cathedrals, gurudwaras—they are all symbols—devices for establishing relation, by which relation can be made; by concentrating attention upon them you are moved from this world and oriented toward that world. Almost today upon the earth, contact with Bodhisattvas has become extremely faint. In the past few decades, by Blavatsky’s effort, a great experiment occurred—and a great attempt was made to re-establish relation with the Bodhisattva stronghold. The whole movement of Theosophy was for the sake of this contact-thread—but the attempt failed; it did not come to fruition. A little work happened, and then all was blocked. And today there is no other effort so large which can re-enliven the eternal stream of knowing—the tradition—the sutras of wisdom that have ever been attained. And the need is very great that this be done; for if it is not, man can go astray, can be lost. Because if our relation with the living stronghold of the Buddhas is severed, then we will wander and keep falling. Today man’s fall is not because of science; nor because of immorality; nor because of irreligion. The fall has one cause: the eternal truths found through endless ages—and the ones who hold those truths in safekeeping—our relation with them has grown faint. Only if that relation can be re-enlivened can man be saved. Otherwise this earth will have to be vacated. Otherwise, after this century, there will be no possibility of man’s survival upon this earth. A great movement is needed—that in the corners of the earth, contact be re-established with all religious traditions. This can be done. If you are surrendered, and you dive fully into meditation, then—if not today, tomorrow—suddenly you will find you are entering another realm; and the voice of that other realm will begin to be heard; and the souls of that realm will begin to establish relation with you. They are ever eager; only your door must open from your side. Then you will find that your anxieties were needless; those from whom guidance can be had are very near. This sutra says: ‘And since man does not see it, he can neither touch it nor hear the voice of Prajna... because he does not even know.’ ‘But, O inquirer, you of innocent soul, you have heard it, and you know all... therefore you must decide. So listen once again.’ ‘O path of Sowan, O Srotapanna, you are safe. Look—on that path where the weary traveler meets darkness...’ It is reminding him—this sutra only reminds. Before Nirvana there is a possibility of being lost. This sutra reminds: you are now safe. No fear remains for you. You have heard that voice which liberates; and you have touched that truth by which no sorrow remains for you. Your feet go on advancing in unbroken bliss—but remember the path upon which yesterday you walked, where there was no support for you, and where there was no guide to give you direction—upon that path, even now, weary travelers are facing darkness. ‘Where hands are torn and bleeding by thorns; where feet are cut and gashed by sharp and unyielding stones; and where “Kama” wields his powerful weapons—just a little distance beyond, a great benediction, a supreme reward, is awaiting you.’ If you just look back a little, upon the road where you were till yesterday—there are millions there. As you wandered, they are wandering. In the same sorrows in which you sank, they are sinking. Those torments which you grasped with your own hands and suffered—there, with their own hands, they are manufacturing their torments and suffering them. See the hell behind—if this hell becomes visible to you, you can be drawn into helping them. ‘That calm and unshaken pilgrim floats along the current which runs toward Nirvana. He knows that the more his feet pour blood, the more he will be washed clean. He knows well that after seven small and fleeting births, Nirvana will be his...’ This too is clear to you—that not much time remains before you are lost in Great Nirvana. Soon, in only a few births, you will become utterly the Great Void. Before you are lost in the Great Void, do not be in haste to become the Great Void. ‘Such is the path of dhyana, the refuge of yogis, and the incomparable goal for which the Srotapanna longs.’ He who is entering the current is a seeker—new, longing—to walk the path leading to the Great Void. ‘But when he has crossed the path of the Arhat, there is no longing.’ Becoming Arhat, all longings are stilled, all desires have waned. Then there is danger; for when one’s own desire is extinguished, then the other’s is not seen; and when one’s own sorrows are ended, then the sorrows of others are not remembered. We know only that which continues to occur within us. What has ceased within, we forget that it still continues within others. ‘There, forever, klesha is dissolved...’ Becoming Arhat, becoming Siddha, all klesha dissolves. ‘And the roots of tanha are torn out.’ All the nets of thirst are broken. ‘But, O disciple, wait... there is still one more word to be said. Can you extinguish divine karuna? Karuna is not a virtue. It is the law of laws—the eternal rhythm, the soul of Alaya. It is called the shoreless world-essence, the radiance of nitya samyaktva, the mastery of all things, and the ordinance of eternal love.’ There is one more word for the Arhat. The sutra says: there is one more word. All is done; your thirst is gone. With the ending of your thirst, your ocean of sorrow has disappeared. One’s own thirst is one’s own pain. There is nothing left to gain; you have attained all. You have become all that can be. Your flower has blossomed—but there is one last word. And that last word is about karuna. Let us understand it. In the world where we live, desire is the law. Desire means: we want to take, to get, to snatch. In the world where we live, desire is the law. Beyond this world, in place of desire, karuna becomes the law. Desire means taking. Karuna means giving—the exact opposite of desire. Desire wants: that nothing need be given, yet all be gained. And karuna wants: that nothing need be taken, that all be given away. Entry from desire into karuna. The Arhat’s desire is destroyed; now, if he wishes, he can dissolve directly into the Void. But the other path, the path of the Bodhisattva, says: whatever you had asked for out of desire—return it through karuna. Settle the account. From whom you demanded—give to them. One can disappear even without giving; one can be lost without sharing. There is no compulsion to share. Now there is no pressure, no coercion of law that you must share. The truth is: so long as there is coercion to share, we have nothing to share. The day there is something to share, that day the coercions of law no longer remain. Consciousness is utterly free; if it wishes it can give. So the sutra says: ‘Karuna is not a virtue.’ It is not a moral quality. ‘Karuna is not a virtue. It is the law of laws—the eternal rhythm, the soul of Alaya. It is called the shoreless world-essence, the radiance of nitya samyaktva, the mastery of all things, and the ordinance of eternal love.’ This karuna, of which the sutra speaks, is not morality; nor is it pity—“have pity on others.” For pity too contains ego. This karuna is the ordinance of love. In it there is no identity—no sense of “I” that, by showing pity, I shall become superior. There remains no superiority for the Arhat; he has attained all superiority. By giving he will not become any more. Sharing is no merit for him; he has attained all merit. Hence the question arises: Why should the Arhat share? Because our language is troubled—we think: if nothing will be gained by it, why share? Then what is sharing? There is no pressure; there is no hope of gain; no increase is going to happen. There is no going beyond the Arhat; the final peak has been touched. The sutra says: this is no pity; nothing will be acquired by it. But it is the ordinance of love. As desire is the ordinance of the world, so karuna is the ordinance of the one who goes beyond the world. It is a law chosen by free will; therefore it is called the law of laws, for laws not chosen by free will are not foundational. This is the ultimate law—the Tao. Beyond this there is no law. Asking is on the surface; giving is at the depth. Desire is on the surface; karuna is at the base. ‘The more you become one with it, the more your being dissolves into its being, the more you are one with That-which-is—the more you yourself become perfect karuna.’ ‘Such is the Arya path—the path of the perfect Buddhas.’ Buddha has used the word ‘Arya’ much. Arya means: the most noble. Such is the path of the Aryas—the path of the noblest. Such is the path of the Buddhas who have attained perfection—that beyond the world of desire, they choose, by free will, the law of karuna. This choice is theirs; there is no inevitability. Perfect freedom. By free will they stand in the world to help those who still wander. Therefore they are always difficult to understand. For we feel that if even a Buddha is trying to make you understand, surely he must have some purpose, some end. We can understand only the language of purpose. It is not our fault. We understand only the language of desire. If someone is trying to change you, surely he has a purpose; surely it brings him some benefit; surely he is getting or hopes to get something—some prestige, some position, some fame, some ambition must be there. Otherwise why would anyone be troubled for another, and for what? They who live in the language of desire cannot at all know karuna. It is not their fault; there is no way. As light is not seen by the blind, so karuna is not seen by those of desire. And even if karuna appears, they think: some desire must be hidden within it. Therefore Buddhas will always be misunderstood. This is their lot. They will be misunderstood—because those to whom they speak live by a different language, a different law. Yet still they will remain engrossed in effort. For as their own path of sorrows, through which they traveled for countless births, begins to be seen—so too they begin to see countless souls passing through the same torments. These sutras are sutras for birthing Bodhisattvas. Whoever is moving upon the path of the Arhat—if he does not keep these in mindfulness, he will dissolve. Many Buddhas have been lost directly into the Void. These sutras are to strike deep so that remembrance remains. Hence, in Mahayana, as soon as the seeker approaches samadhi, such sutras are given by the master. Because now the moment of danger draws near. Now that perilous moment approaches when the seeker will be pulled like a magnet into the Void and will be lost. Remember: whenever bliss happens, who wishes to stop even a step? When the great bliss stands near, you cannot turn your back to it. The mind longs to leap, to drown. In that moment, if these sutras remain in remembrance, perhaps someone will turn his back and look toward the world that lies behind him. The moment he sees the world, the second law begins—karuna. But if he does not look back, that law will not work. Even once if he looks back—the moment desire vanishes—karuna will become active. The second law will be inaugurated. Upon the Arhat’s path, the Hinayana path, the reverse sutras work—for the Hinayana seeker is told: when the Great Void comes near, do not look back. For if you look back, you will have to remain upon the shore for ages. If once you look back, the scene behind—we do not know how terrible it is. Understand it like this: if I should open up all your desires, all your torments, all the thorns of your heart—what I would see is that each person is a hell. From above, white-washed—that is another matter. From above, a wall is plastered, painted; nothing is seen. If we open man up, the pus of hell begins to flow. If we open up the whole world... when a Bodhisattva looks back, there reigns pus, torment, sorrow, hatred, violence. Hence the Hinayana seeker is told in the last moment: do not turn back even once. When a river falls into the ocean, just once it looks back at the path along which it came. Do not look back, otherwise you will have to remain on the shore for countless ages. For what you see will give birth to karuna. Choose your sutra. And plant that sutra in your mind with attentive care—deeply—so that it enters the unconscious, and when you stand at the gate, it may serve you. If it seems to you that Hinayana is your path—if it seems you must go into the Void—then avoid these sutras. But if it seems this is fitting—for nothing of mine will be lost; even if for endless time I remain upon the shore, what I had to attain I have attained; nothing of mine is lost, but I can be of use to others—then, the instant the other law of karuna is in hand, I become collaborator and support.
Osho's Commentary
At the same time, since man does not see it, he can neither touch it nor hear the voice of Prajna... because he does not even know.
But, O inquirer, you of innocent soul, you have heard this, and you know all... therefore you must decide; so listen once again.
O path of Sowan, O Srotapanna(31), you are safe. Look—on that path where the weary traveler meets darkness, where hands are torn and bleeding by thorns, where feet are cut and gashed by sharp and unyielding stones, and where ‘Kama’ wields his powerful weapons—just a little distance beyond, a great benediction, a supreme reward, is awaiting you.
That calm and unshaken pilgrim floats along the current which runs toward Nirvana. He knows that the more his feet pour blood, the more he will be washed clean. He knows well that after seven small and fleeting births, Nirvana will be his...
Such is the path of dhyana, the refuge of yogis, and the incomparable goal for which the Srotapanna longs.
But when he has crossed the path of the Arhat(32), there is no longing.
There, forever, klesha(33) is dissolved and the roots of tanha(34) are torn out. But, O disciple, wait... there is still one more word to be said. Can you extinguish divine karuna(35)? Karuna is not a virtue. It is the law of laws—the eternal rhythm, the soul of Alaya. It is called the shoreless world-essence, the radiance of nitya samyaktva, the mastery of all things, and the ordinance of eternal love.
The more you become one with it, the more your being dissolves into its being, the more you are one with That-which-is—the more you yourself become perfect karuna.
Such is the Arya path—the path of the perfect Buddhas.
‘And if you cross even the seventh gate, do you know your future? Through the coming kalpas you will be compelled to live by your own free will, yet you will not be seen by men, nor will their thanks ever reach you.’
If we understand the state of the Bodhisattva, then this sutra becomes clear.
The Bodhisattva is free of the body. The world cannot see him, but he can see the world. The world cannot understand him, but he understands the world. And by uncountable means he brings help to the world. No thanks ever come to him. There is no reason that they should, for those who are being helped cannot even see him.
This sutra is saying: if you have crossed even the seventh gate, then you will be drawn into a work that is without thanks. No one will thank you; no one will even know what you have done; no one will recognize you. Nowhere will your word be recorded. The help you gave—only you will know it; even those who received it will not know.
Naturally, one can enter such an action only when one’s identity has completely dissolved. The ego is eager for only one thing: that I be known, acknowledged; that someone offer thanks, that someone feel obliged. The state of the Bodhisattva becomes available only after the ego has vanished. So now there is no question that he who is helped should feel obliged. Now the very act of helping is sufficient in itself. But this sutra says one more thing—very strange, very paradoxical.
The sutra says: ‘In the coming kalpas you will be compelled to live by your own free will.’
This is a most inverted statement. Compelled to live by free will! No one will force you to become a Bodhisattva; no one will coerce you to serve men, to awaken the sleeping, to bring the lost back to the path. No one will compel you. If you wish, you can disappear into the Great Void; if you wish, you can enter into this great work—the work of great compassion. Hence these deliberately reversed words have been used—you will be compelled to live by your own free will. But it will be your own will that will say to you: live, remain, stay; do not vanish—there is still work to be done for those who need it. It will be the compulsion of your own free will.
Compulsion is always without one’s own consent; someone else uses force. In the Bodhisattva’s state, there remains no coercion of nature. There remains no insistence even of Paramatman. That person has gone beyond law. He can no longer be made to move. If he wishes to move, he can move. He cannot be stopped; if he wishes to stop, he can stop.
We all move in this world bound by the law of cause and effect, bound by causality. Whatever we are doing seems to us as though we are doing it; but we do not do—it is done through us. When anger arises in you, does it seem that you are doing anger? People come to me and say, “Anger happens to me too much; how can I stop it?” I ask them: Do you truly do anger? If you do it, you can stop it. But who does anger? It is as if, helplessly, against your free will, under compulsion, it is done. It is made to be done through you; you do not do. If you did, you would be the master.
So understand it like this: if someone tells you, “Right now show anger,” you will not be able to. So do not remain in the illusion that you do it. And when anger is happening and someone says, “Stop just now,” you will not be able to stop. So anger is moving you; you are not moving anger. Love moves you; you are not moving love.
Wherever in your life it seems, “I am doing,” you are in illusion. You are not doing; it is being done through you. At present you are bound by laws. We have called this process of law the chain of karma. Science calls it causality—the law of cause and effect.
If even water had intelligence, when it heats and becomes steam, water would think, “I am becoming steam.” And when water cools and becomes ice, it would think, “I am becoming ice.” But is water becoming steam, or is it being made to become steam? Is water becoming ice, or is it being made to become ice? Water is helpless; the law of cause and effect is at work. And within the law all are pressed down. You may call this fate, it will do.
Therefore the deepest discovery of India is the discovery of fate. As western science discovered causality—that all life moves bound by laws—within laws, talk of resolve, of “I am doing,” is only a symbol of man’s false ego. There is no free will. Man is bound, utterly dependent. Whatever happens here—if we search rightly—we will find its cause why it happens. You are not doing. The cause is not visible to you, so you merrily go on believing, “I am doing.” Water too cannot see that beneath it a fire is burning that is heating it, by which it becomes steam.
You walk along the road and you see a woman, a man, a beautiful house; within, a desire arises: “May this woman be mine; may this house be mine.” Do you think you are doing this desire? Some fire is burning within by which you are becoming heated and inflamed; that same fire becomes desire. But you think, “I am doing.” If you are doing, then try to stop it and you will know. For anything you truly do, you can stop. So let a beautiful woman appear and let no desire arise in the mind—try that. If water insists that it is becoming steam, it should do this: even while the fire burns beneath, let it not become steam; then it will be certain that not fire, but its own free will is producing steam. Let cold descend to below zero, and water refuse to become ice. Let wealth lie before you, piles of jewels and diamonds, and let no urge arise within to own them—then know that desire you are doing.
Whatever we cannot stop, to say “I am doing it” is illusion.
What is not in our power—of that we are in the power. But man’s ego is hurt.
In this land, men have always said that man too moves bound by nature’s causes and effects. We call this niyati, fate. Nothing is happening by your doing. And when we said, “Without the will of Paramatman, not even a leaf moves,” its meaning is: leave aside talk of your will; the vast law of nature moves all. If even a leaf trembles, it trembles by that vast law. Do not stand your ‘I’ in the midst. If even this much comes into consciousness, there will be a revolution in your life. Then you will not say, “I do anger.” You will say, “Anger happens; love happens; hatred happens; joy happens; sorrow happens.”
If it becomes utterly clear to you that within you too nature’s blind laws are working and you are not their master—then the first ray of mastery has arisen in you. To know “I am a slave” is the beginning of mastery. And if a slave persists in believing “I am the master,” his mastery can never be attained, for he will die in illusion.
The Bodhisattva stands at the opposite shore from us—where laws cease their pushing; where water cannot be heated into steam; where water cannot be cooled into ice. With ego gone, with dispassion born, with the attainment of dhyana, with the arising of the ray of Prajna—slowly, slowly he goes beyond the world where laws operate, entering the realm of free will.
There is a sweet story from Buddha’s life. When he was born, astrologers said: this man will either be an emperor or a sannyasin. All the marks were of an emperor. Yet Buddha became a bhikkhu, a sannyasin. And not a mere emperor, but a chakravarti—emperor of the whole earth.
Buddha was passing by a river, the Niranjana. His marks were imprinted upon the wet sand of the bank. An astrologer was returning from Kashi, newly trained. Seeing these beautiful footprints, he gazed intently. The signs left by the sole proclaimed: these are the feet of a Chakravarti emperor. The astrologer grew anxious: if this is the foot of a Chakravarti, why would such a one be walking upon the sand of an ordinary river? And barefoot at that, so that the imprint should remain! He was thrown into great difficulty. All astrology seemed to become futile at the very first step. He had just returned, proficient in astrology, his scripture in hand. He thought: better drown this scripture in the river and go home—for if a man whose feet bear such signs is walking barefoot upon a riverbank in broad daylight, then all is vain. No longer is it right to say anything on the basis of astrology.
But before throwing the book, he thought: let me follow these feet and see where this man is. Let me at least see his face. Who is this Chakravarti who is walking on this shore!
Following the prints he came upon Buddha resting in the shade of a tree. He was in even deeper trouble—his face too was of a Chakravarti; the marks upon his brow were of a Chakravarti. Buddha’s eyes were closed; his hands lay upon his lap; the astrologer looked at his hand—the hand too was of a Chakravarti. This body, every manner—of emperors; and the man was a beggar, sitting beneath a tree with an alms bowl, alone in the full noon.
Shaking Buddha awake, he said: “Great sir, you are making vain all my years of labor—shall I throw these texts into the river, or what shall I do? I am returning from Kashi after years of hard study. And the marks that have appeared in you are found only as examples in the scriptures of astrology. Such a man is met with only once in hundreds of thousands of years. And at the very first step you have thrown me into confusion. You should be a Chakravarti emperor—what are you doing beneath this tree with a begging bowl?”
Buddha said: “There is no need to throw away your scriptures. You will not again meet such a man in your life. Do not be hasty; upon those you meet, your astrology will work. By coincidence, by accident, you have encountered one who has gone beyond the boundary of fate. The marks speak perfectly true. When I was born, this too was the likelihood. If I had moved bound by nature’s law, this is what I would have become. Do not be anxious; you will not meet many Buddhas who break your laws. As long as one is unawakened he remains within nature’s binding laws. He who is awakened is beyond the law.”
The awakened one has resolve; he has free will; he does whatsoever he wishes. Hence this sutra says a very delightful thing:
It says: ‘You will be compelled to live by your own free will.’
No one will be able to compel you: “Remain and serve; remain and, out of compassion, awaken people; become remedy for the sleeping, the afflicted, the miserable, the deranged.” No one will compel you—but you yourself will be compelled. It will be your free will; you yourself will choose to remain.
‘But you will not be seen by men, nor will their thanks ever reach you. And among the countless other stones that build the Guardian-Wall, you too will live as a stone. Built by the torments of many Masters of Compassion, raised upon their suffering and joined with their blood, this stronghold protects mankind. Because man is man, it saves him from great calamities and grief.’
This is a symbol—worth understanding.
First, the act of a Bodhisattva is not seen. Even if the Bodhisattva is seen, his act is not seen. What he is doing is subtle. He works in your unconscious—there where even you do not know. His doing has its own pathways.
In Tibet there is a word, “Tulku.” Blavatsky too was called a Tulku in Tibet. Tulku means: such a person who has become so surrendered under the influence of a Bodhisattva that the Bodhisattva can work through him. Blavatsky could become a Tulku. She was a woman—hence easily surrendered. Those who lived around Blavatsky were amazed. When she would sit to write, she would be possessed—avishtha. While writing, the color and form of her face would change; her eyes would mount to some other realm. And when she began to write, sometimes ten hours, sometimes twelve, she would keep on writing—like one mad. She would never cross out what she had written. This occurred at times. When she herself wrote, she had to labor very hard. Her companions would ask: “What is happening?” She would say: “When I am in the state of Tulku, someone writes through me. In Theosophy they are called Masters. Some Sadguru makes me write; I do not write; my hand becomes someone else’s hand; someone possesses me and then the writing begins. Then I am not in my own control—I am only a vehicle.” This very book was attained in such a vehicular state.
Sometimes something would be written and then lie unfinished for months. Companions would say: “Complete what is unfinished.” She would say: “There is no way to complete it; if I complete it, all will be spoiled. When again I am possessed, it will be completed.” Some of her books remained unfinished—because only when some Bodhisattva-consciousness seized her could writing happen.
These Bodhisattvas—consciousnesses that stand at the supreme gate, at the threshold of dissolving, of becoming annihilated, of becoming utterly still—those for whom the Great Death is about to occur—they work in a thousand ways. They can possess some person; the person may not even know and be used. In Tibet there is the view—and it is true—that there is a Wall, a stronghold, that encircles mankind on all sides.
Man as he is, is utterly insane. Whatever he does is filled with madness. If left solely to himself, he could destroy himself at once. Whatever he is doing is tainted with violence. He does not know what he is doing and what is happening. This Guardian-Wall of Bodhisattvas, again and again, brings him back to the path, saves him again and again from going astray, and by countless contrivances tries to give direction and vision.
This sutra says: when you too cross the seventh gate, by your own free will you will wish to become a brick in this great stronghold. It is built by the torments of many Masters. This fortress protects the human race.
In Tibet, on every Buddha Purnima, five hundred Buddhist lamas gather upon a certain sacred mountain. Each year, on the night of Buddha Purnima, at midnight, the voice of Buddha is heard. This is the Bodhisattva-voice. By a determined plan, at a fixed hour, the voice of Buddha becomes available. The predetermined ones, the certain ones who can hear that voice—because it is bodiless—only they gather there. Never do more than five hundred lamas assemble. When one lama among them dies, then a new one gains entry. The place is kept secret; for if any outsider should reach there, an obstacle may occur to the happening. At the time of his passing, Buddha made the sure arrangement.
Sadgurus often make it sure how, when their bodies are gone, relation will be established with them. There are definite sutras for establishing relation; if those sutras are followed, relation is established. Traditions that keep establishing relation with their master, remain living.
There are many traditions whose thread of relation has been lost—they are dead. For example, the Jain tradition is dead. The contact-thread with Mahavira has been lost. Today not even a single siddha person exists among the Jains who can establish contact with Mahavira. Hence the profound and esoteric knowledge of the Jains lies veiled; there is no way to unveil it. What Jain pundits, monks and sannyasins do is all intellectual; there is no spiritual experience in it. Therefore even the message of so great a master as Mahavira could not reach the world—because the tradition became fragmented. Mahavira left the methods by which relation could be established with him—but no method is being put to work.
Buddha’s tradition is still alive. Even today there are those who can establish the contact-thread and make Buddha’s voice available. Buddha’s voice will remain eternally available—Buddha has given this assurance.
Jesus’ contact-thread was lost. Christianity remained a formal religion. There are churches, priests, the Pope, enormous expansion. But it is establishment—a structure; the inner essence is lost. The relation with Jesus is no more. So though Christianity has spread so widely, there is no relation with Jesus; there is no life within.
There are hundreds of traditions upon the earth. Every tradition moves from some Great Master, some Bodhisattva-consciousness. But relation must continue to be established with that source. For the age changes, time changes, language changes. Again and again relation must be renewed to know what Buddha will say now—what Buddha’s message will be for this very moment. If relation breaks, then what Buddha said two or two-and-a-half thousand years ago remains for us in books. But the situation of two-and-a-half thousand years ago is not today’s. Those to whom he spoke then are not here now. The methods he gave then will not work today, for man has changed, man’s mind has changed.
The meaning of a living tradition is that by re-establishing relation with Buddha, the message for today can be attained. If this cannot be, the tradition becomes a burden, and dead.
This Guardian-Wall of Bodhisattvas surrounds us on all sides—very near, for it is close to our heart. Relation can be made with it. But for that relation, the state of complete surrender is needed.
There are images, temples, churches, cathedrals, gurudwaras—they are all symbols—devices for establishing relation, by which relation can be made; by concentrating attention upon them you are moved from this world and oriented toward that world.
Almost today upon the earth, contact with Bodhisattvas has become extremely faint. In the past few decades, by Blavatsky’s effort, a great experiment occurred—and a great attempt was made to re-establish relation with the Bodhisattva stronghold. The whole movement of Theosophy was for the sake of this contact-thread—but the attempt failed; it did not come to fruition. A little work happened, and then all was blocked. And today there is no other effort so large which can re-enliven the eternal stream of knowing—the tradition—the sutras of wisdom that have ever been attained. And the need is very great that this be done; for if it is not, man can go astray, can be lost. Because if our relation with the living stronghold of the Buddhas is severed, then we will wander and keep falling.
Today man’s fall is not because of science; nor because of immorality; nor because of irreligion. The fall has one cause: the eternal truths found through endless ages—and the ones who hold those truths in safekeeping—our relation with them has grown faint. Only if that relation can be re-enlivened can man be saved. Otherwise this earth will have to be vacated. Otherwise, after this century, there will be no possibility of man’s survival upon this earth. A great movement is needed—that in the corners of the earth, contact be re-established with all religious traditions. This can be done.
If you are surrendered, and you dive fully into meditation, then—if not today, tomorrow—suddenly you will find you are entering another realm; and the voice of that other realm will begin to be heard; and the souls of that realm will begin to establish relation with you. They are ever eager; only your door must open from your side. Then you will find that your anxieties were needless; those from whom guidance can be had are very near.
This sutra says:
‘And since man does not see it, he can neither touch it nor hear the voice of Prajna... because he does not even know.’
‘But, O inquirer, you of innocent soul, you have heard it, and you know all... therefore you must decide. So listen once again.’
‘O path of Sowan, O Srotapanna, you are safe. Look—on that path where the weary traveler meets darkness...’
It is reminding him—this sutra only reminds. Before Nirvana there is a possibility of being lost. This sutra reminds: you are now safe. No fear remains for you. You have heard that voice which liberates; and you have touched that truth by which no sorrow remains for you. Your feet go on advancing in unbroken bliss—but remember the path upon which yesterday you walked, where there was no support for you,
and where there was no guide to give you direction—upon that path, even now, weary travelers are facing darkness.
‘Where hands are torn and bleeding by thorns; where feet are cut and gashed by sharp and unyielding stones; and where “Kama” wields his powerful weapons—just a little distance beyond, a great benediction, a supreme reward, is awaiting you.’
If you just look back a little, upon the road where you were till yesterday—there are millions there. As you wandered, they are wandering. In the same sorrows in which you sank, they are sinking. Those torments which you grasped with your own hands and suffered—there, with their own hands, they are manufacturing their torments and suffering them. See the hell behind—if this hell becomes visible to you, you can be drawn into helping them.
‘That calm and unshaken pilgrim floats along the current which runs toward Nirvana. He knows that the more his feet pour blood, the more he will be washed clean. He knows well that after seven small and fleeting births, Nirvana will be his...’
This too is clear to you—that not much time remains before you are lost in Great Nirvana. Soon, in only a few births, you will become utterly the Great Void. Before you are lost in the Great Void, do not be in haste to become the Great Void.
‘Such is the path of dhyana, the refuge of yogis, and the incomparable goal for which the Srotapanna longs.’
He who is entering the current is a seeker—new, longing—to walk the path leading to the Great Void.
‘But when he has crossed the path of the Arhat, there is no longing.’
Becoming Arhat, all longings are stilled, all desires have waned. Then there is danger; for when one’s own desire is extinguished, then the other’s is not seen; and when one’s own sorrows are ended, then the sorrows of others are not remembered.
We know only that which continues to occur within us. What has ceased within, we forget that it still continues within others.
‘There, forever, klesha is dissolved...’
Becoming Arhat, becoming Siddha, all klesha dissolves.
‘And the roots of tanha are torn out.’
All the nets of thirst are broken.
‘But, O disciple, wait... there is still one more word to be said. Can you extinguish divine karuna? Karuna is not a virtue. It is the law of laws—the eternal rhythm, the soul of Alaya. It is called the shoreless world-essence, the radiance of nitya samyaktva, the mastery of all things, and the ordinance of eternal love.’
There is one more word for the Arhat. The sutra says: there is one more word. All is done; your thirst is gone. With the ending of your thirst, your ocean of sorrow has disappeared. One’s own thirst is one’s own pain. There is nothing left to gain; you have attained all. You have become all that can be. Your flower has blossomed—but there is one last word. And that last word is about karuna.
Let us understand it.
In the world where we live, desire is the law.
Desire means: we want to take, to get, to snatch. In the world where we live, desire is the law. Beyond this world, in place of desire, karuna becomes the law.
Desire means taking. Karuna means giving—the exact opposite of desire.
Desire wants: that nothing need be given, yet all be gained. And karuna wants: that nothing need be taken, that all be given away.
Entry from desire into karuna.
The Arhat’s desire is destroyed; now, if he wishes, he can dissolve directly into the Void. But the other path, the path of the Bodhisattva, says: whatever you had asked for out of desire—return it through karuna. Settle the account. From whom you demanded—give to them.
One can disappear even without giving; one can be lost without sharing. There is no compulsion to share. Now there is no pressure, no coercion of law that you must share. The truth is: so long as there is coercion to share, we have nothing to share. The day there is something to share, that day the coercions of law no longer remain. Consciousness is utterly free; if it wishes it can give.
So the sutra says: ‘Karuna is not a virtue.’
It is not a moral quality.
‘Karuna is not a virtue. It is the law of laws—the eternal rhythm, the soul of Alaya. It is called the shoreless world-essence, the radiance of nitya samyaktva, the mastery of all things, and the ordinance of eternal love.’
This karuna, of which the sutra speaks, is not morality; nor is it pity—“have pity on others.” For pity too contains ego. This karuna is the ordinance of love. In it there is no identity—no sense of “I” that, by showing pity, I shall become superior. There remains no superiority for the Arhat; he has attained all superiority. By giving he will not become any more. Sharing is no merit for him; he has attained all merit. Hence the question arises: Why should the Arhat share? Because our language is troubled—we think: if nothing will be gained by it, why share? Then what is sharing? There is no pressure; there is no hope of gain; no increase is going to happen. There is no going beyond the Arhat; the final peak has been touched.
The sutra says: this is no pity; nothing will be acquired by it. But it is the ordinance of love. As desire is the ordinance of the world, so karuna is the ordinance of the one who goes beyond the world. It is a law chosen by free will; therefore it is called the law of laws, for laws not chosen by free will are not foundational. This is the ultimate law—the Tao. Beyond this there is no law. Asking is on the surface; giving is at the depth. Desire is on the surface; karuna is at the base.
‘The more you become one with it, the more your being dissolves into its being, the more you are one with That-which-is—the more you yourself become perfect karuna.’
‘Such is the Arya path—the path of the perfect Buddhas.’
Buddha has used the word ‘Arya’ much. Arya means: the most noble. Such is the path of the Aryas—the path of the noblest. Such is the path of the Buddhas who have attained perfection—that beyond the world of desire, they choose, by free will, the law of karuna. This choice is theirs; there is no inevitability. Perfect freedom. By free will they stand in the world to help those who still wander. Therefore they are always difficult to understand. For we feel that if even a Buddha is trying to make you understand, surely he must have some purpose, some end. We can understand only the language of purpose. It is not our fault. We understand only the language of desire. If someone is trying to change you, surely he has a purpose; surely it brings him some benefit; surely he is getting or hopes to get something—some prestige, some position, some fame, some ambition must be there. Otherwise why would anyone be troubled for another, and for what?
They who live in the language of desire cannot at all know karuna. It is not their fault; there is no way. As light is not seen by the blind, so karuna is not seen by those of desire. And even if karuna appears, they think: some desire must be hidden within it.
Therefore Buddhas will always be misunderstood. This is their lot. They will be misunderstood—because those to whom they speak live by a different language, a different law. Yet still they will remain engrossed in effort. For as their own path of sorrows, through which they traveled for countless births, begins to be seen—so too they begin to see countless souls passing through the same torments.
These sutras are sutras for birthing Bodhisattvas. Whoever is moving upon the path of the Arhat—if he does not keep these in mindfulness, he will dissolve. Many Buddhas have been lost directly into the Void. These sutras are to strike deep so that remembrance remains. Hence, in Mahayana, as soon as the seeker approaches samadhi, such sutras are given by the master. Because now the moment of danger draws near. Now that perilous moment approaches when the seeker will be pulled like a magnet into the Void and will be lost.
Remember: whenever bliss happens, who wishes to stop even a step? When the great bliss stands near, you cannot turn your back to it. The mind longs to leap, to drown. In that moment, if these sutras remain in remembrance, perhaps someone will turn his back and look toward the world that lies behind him. The moment he sees the world, the second law begins—karuna. But if he does not look back, that law will not work. Even once if he looks back—the moment desire vanishes—karuna will become active. The second law will be inaugurated.
Upon the Arhat’s path, the Hinayana path, the reverse sutras work—for the Hinayana seeker is told: when the Great Void comes near, do not look back. For if you look back, you will have to remain upon the shore for ages.
If once you look back, the scene behind—we do not know how terrible it is. Understand it like this: if I should open up all your desires, all your torments, all the thorns of your heart—what I would see is that each person is a hell. From above, white-washed—that is another matter. From above, a wall is plastered, painted; nothing is seen. If we open man up, the pus of hell begins to flow. If we open up the whole world... when a Bodhisattva looks back, there reigns pus, torment, sorrow, hatred, violence.
Hence the Hinayana seeker is told in the last moment: do not turn back even once. When a river falls into the ocean, just once it looks back at the path along which it came. Do not look back, otherwise you will have to remain on the shore for countless ages. For what you see will give birth to karuna.
Choose your sutra. And plant that sutra in your mind with attentive care—deeply—so that it enters the unconscious, and when you stand at the gate, it may serve you. If it seems to you that Hinayana is your path—if it seems you must go into the Void—then avoid these sutras. But if it seems this is fitting—for nothing of mine will be lost; even if for endless time I remain upon the shore, what I had to attain I have attained; nothing of mine is lost, but I can be of use to others—then, the instant the other law of karuna is in hand, I become collaborator and support.