Isan No Footprints in the Blue Sky 03

Third Discourse from the series of 8 discourses - Isan No Footprints in the Blue Sky by Osho.
You can listen, download or read all of these discourses on oshoworld.com.

On one occasion, a monk came to Isan’s monastery to be taught, and, seeing him, Isan made as if to get up. “Please don’t stand up!” exclaimed the monk.
“I haven’t sat down yet!” said Isan.
“I haven’t bowed yet,” the monk said.
“You rude creature!” commented Isan.

On another occasion, Isan was watching a brush fire, and asked his disciple, Dogo, “Do you see the fire?”
“I see it,” replied Dogo.
The master asked Dogo, “Where does the fire come from?”
Dogo said, “I would like you to ask me something that has nothing to do with walking around or zazen or lying down” – at which Isan left off talking and went away.

Once, Isan was asked by Ichu to compose a gatha for him. Isan replied: “It is foolish to compose one when face-to-face – and, in any case, writing things on paper!”
So Ichu went to Kyozan, a disciple of Isan, and made the same request.
In response, Kyozan drew a circle on paper and wrote a note next to it that said: “To think and then know is the second grade. Not to think and then know is the third grade.”
Maneesha, before discussing your sutras, a little biographical note on Isan is essential. I say it is essential because unless you understand the man, his background, his upbringing, his qualities, you will not be able to grasp just the pure sutras. They are almost writings in the air, or, if you prefer, in the water. The man who has written the sutras or told the sutras, or managed these anecdotes, has to be understood, to understand all that is connected with him because his whole being covers and colors whatever he says. You cannot take it out of context.
Isan is a totally different personality than Bodhidharma. Bodhidharma was a hard master; Isan was very polite. Naturally his politeness would affect whatever happened around him. He was a very humble person, he never tried to convert anybody, but on the contrary he slipped deep down into the forest, so nobody came to him. He felt it a little embarrassing to be the master and degrade somebody as a follower – a very nice, very delicate personality, the personality of a poet, of a singer, of a dancer.
Isan was a mellow and patient master in guiding his disciples to attain their enlightenment.
He never used shouting or hitting or beating; that was not possible for him. He was such a loving, compassionate being that to think of him hitting the way Zen masters hit is impossible. He was very humble; hence he had to create absolutely different devices than those of Bodhidharma or Nansen.
Isan was a mellow and patient master in guiding his disciples to attain their enlightenment. Unlike those Zen masters who preceded him, he did not use the stick or shout.

However, his mildness of manner was only a veneer for the iconoclast and rebel within.
You should not understand that his humbleness was not a rebellious quality. You should not think that his humbleness made him compromise with the past and the traditions. He remained a great rebel against all that goes on in preventing the enlightenment of a person.
So his mildness of manner was “only a veneer,” just a cover, “for the iconoclast and rebel within.” Deep down he is fire. On the surface he was very polite. There were many who came to him because of his politeness – because they were afraid of the Zen masters who would beat, who would hit, who would suddenly jump on you; their behavior looked so irrational. Isan looked very good compared to the other predecessors. Although he was never interested in people, still one thousand disciples had gathered in the deepest forest. They had come from such faraway places just because they had heard that Isan was not a man to hit or slap. He was so mild and so humble and so loving.
But this was “only a veneer.” Inside there was glowing fire. Once you had come close to him because of his humbleness, because of his very friendly behavior, you were caught in the net. As you would come closer, you would know the fiery nature of his being – but it was too late to go back. You had fallen in love with the man. Now whatever happens, if you have to pass through this fire, you will pass through this fire.
Maneesha has brought one anecdote:
On one occasion, a monk came to Isan’s monastery to be taught, and, seeing him, Isan made as if to get up.
“Please don’t stand up!” exclaimed the monk.
“I have not sat down yet!” said Isan.
When you are in the middle, it is very difficult to say whether you are going to sit down or you are going to get up.
Mulla Nasruddin used to suggest to his followers that if you don’t want to be bored by anybody, just take your umbrella and stand in the door. If the fellow is all right and you would like to welcome him, you can say, “You came at the right time. I was just coming in.” And if the fellow is a bore, you can say, “Excuse me, you came at a wrong time. I am going out.” But just standing at the door with the umbrella, now it is very difficult to decide where the man is going, whether in or out. He is standing in the door, in the middle.
The same was the position here: the man has come: …to be taught, and seeing him, Isan made as if to get up. It was a strategy to see how the other man will behave, to know his response. Isan was not getting up; he just made as if he was going to get up.
“Please don’t stand up!” Because you stand up to give honor to someone, the man naturally thought that Isan was going to honor him by standing. “Please don’t stand up!” exclaimed the monk.
But such was the subtle way of Isan to know about the inner mind of man. This man looks perfectly right in saying, “Please don’t stand up!” But on what grounds has he assumed that Isan should be standing up to welcome him?
“I haven’t sat down yet!” said Isan. “What about standing up? – I was just going to sit down. Why did you assume…?” Perhaps that assumption is a deep expectation that he should be honored. Perhaps it is unconscious, but Isan has brought it to the surface. The man could have thought that Isan was going to sit down. He was in the middle – both possibilities were available to him – but the man had chosen the possibility that Isan was going to stand up. That shows his mind – a deep longing, a desire to be honored, although he has come only as a student to be taught.
Isan said: “I haven’t sat down yet!” The question of standing does not arise. But the poor monk did not understand the subtle way:
“I haven’t bowed yet,” the monk said.
“You rude creature!” commented Isan.
Very strange encounters! When Isan said: “I haven’t sat down yet!” that was the moment to bow down and touch his feet, and for the monk to offer himself for the discipline, for the meditation, for all his teachings.
Rather than taking that, he retorted – he thought as if Isan was making a fool of him: “I haven’t bowed yet,” the monk said.
“You rude creature!” commented Isan. “This is not the way to be with me. You have to be grateful to be allowed to see me. Instead of it you are showing your ego.”
“I haven’t bowed yet.” He is saying, “Don’t consider that I am your disciple or I am your student. I have not even bowed yet.” And he has come to learn, but ego is such a subtle phenomenon that without your knowing, it immediately asserts. The ego simply retorted: “I haven’t bowed yet.”
Now, this has to be understood. There are things which should not be said; the very moment you say them they lose all their grandeur, all their gratefulness. You have to behave in a way that shows your gratitude, not your words. Bowing down is a gesture of saying, “I am ready. You can trust that I will not misuse the time that you will give me, or the meditation or any kind of discipline. I will not misuse it. I have come to you whole-heartedly.” It is just a way, without words, of saying, “I am available.”
But the man said instead: “I haven’t bowed yet.” As if a man like Isan is in need of your gratefulness! By being grateful to a person like Isan, you are not making him in any way richer; on the contrary, you are becoming richer. You are learning a new way, a new gesture and its significance.
In the West, it never evolved that the disciple should touch the feet of the master. Even today the Western mind thinks it really strange for one human being to touch the feet of another human being. But they don’t know the significance of it, they don’t know the esoteric significance of it.
When the disciple touches the feet of the master, just what you see is not the only thing that is happening. Something else is also happening. When the disciple touches the feet, the master touches his head. A circle of energy is created that is not visible to the eyes – because no energy is ever visible to you. You only see the gesture: one is touching the feet, the other is touching his head.
But the East, for at least ten thousand years, has come to know this secret way of approaching a master. And the master will put his hand on your head only if he feels your energy is worth it. By touching his feet… You should remember that energy moves only from the fingers of the hand or from the toes of the feet; energy moves from points which are dead ends. When somebody touches his feet, the master immediately recognizes the kind of energy. If he feels that the person has to be accepted, is worth being worked upon, then he touches his head and with his hand he gives a taste of his energy, and then both energies become a circle. And if the circle becomes smooth great possibilities can happen.
But for the outsider it seems simply that one person is touching the feet of another person. The West has not been able, even today, to understand. Life is not what it appears from the outside; it is much more, immensely more, on the inside.
The man showed an egoistic pattern of his mind. That’s why Isan had to comment: “You rude creature!” He was not accepted as a disciple.
To be accepted as a disciple by a great master is not a small thing. In that very acceptance your enlightenment has come miles closer, your liberation has taken a tremendous quantum leap. You are just on the verge, ready, just because the master has accepted you. He accepts only when he sees the possibility, the vulnerability, the openness. It is an inner drama which is not visible to the eyes.
On another occasion, Isan was watching a brush fire, and asked his disciple, Dogo, “Do you see the fire?”
Now, it will look strange – the fire is there, Dogo, his disciple, is there, Isan is sitting there. There is no reason why Dogo should be asked: “Do you see the fire?”
Replied Dogen, “I see it.”
The master asked Dogo, “Where does the fire come from?”
Dogo said, “I would like you to ask me something that has nothing to do with walking around or zazen or lying down” – at which Isan left off talking and went away.
Dogo has closed all the doors. When Isan was asking: “Do you see the fire?” he should have been alert. When you are with a master you have to be alert every moment. What he says must imply some greater significance which may not appear in the words.
Now, it is a strange question. They are both seeing the fire, but if the master asks, “Do you see the fire?” he means many things which Dogo is missing. He means, “Are you here?” You can be seeing the fire and yet you may be somewhere else and the fire may be just a faraway, faded thing. It may not be a living experience right now. If your mind is full of thoughts, you can even miss the fire because who is going to see it? You have to be here – that is the point that is hidden behind the question.
If Dogo had had the understanding, he would have immediately thought that the question means his mind has moved somewhere else. He must have been thinking of other things, other worlds, other matters.
I have told you a story about two friends…

One morning they met. The first friend said, “You will not believe it: last night I had a dream I had gone fishing, and I caught such big fish that I had to carry one fish at a time. The whole night it continued. It was strange – for years I have been fishing and I have never found such great fish. You should have seen what a joy it was.”
The other man said, “That is nothing. Last night I dreamed that in my bedroom, in my bed, on one side was Marilyn Monroe, utterly naked, on the other side Sophia Loren, utterly naked. I was greatly shocked. I had never believed that this chance would arise in my lifetime.”
The first friend said, “You idiot! Why did you not call me?”
The second man said, “I did call, but your wife said you had gone fishing!”

People seem to be somewhere, but their minds may be anywhere. To be in the moment is a clear-cut message of Zen.
Isan’s asking Dogo, “Do you see the fire?” certainly meant that Dogo was not there. He was just sitting there but his mind had roamed away. It would have been right for him to say, “I don’t see it because I have gone into my thoughts somewhere else.” But rather than telling the truth he said: “I see it.”
The master asked Dogo – If you see it, can you tell me – “Where does the fire come from?” Now he is asking from where do all things come from – the fire is only a symbol – and where do they go finally? What is the source from which they arise and what is the point where they disappear?
To the meditator it becomes slowly clear that the source and the goal are one. The same point is the source; the energy moves in a circle and comes back to the same point. You are at the same point both times – when you are born and when you die. You may have changed much meanwhile – so much experience, so much knowledge – that’s why you miss the pure innocence of death. You missed the innocence of birth because of your ignorance, and you miss the innocence of death because of your knowledge.
Of course you were not expected to recognize innocence in your birth, you can be forgiven for that; you were not told or taught. The experience was so new, you could not even name it. But the man who dies full of knowledge again misses the innocence because of his knowledgeability.
In mystic circles around the world, it has been a long-standing understanding that unless a man is just like his birth-innocence when he dies, he missed the whole point and the whole dance of life, he missed the whole significance of life. He has taken a long route of seventy or eighty years and has come back to the source, but missed it again.
In India, the word for the experience of this circle, the word that is used is sansara. Sansara means both the world and the circle. The whole world is a circular experience. In the beginning you are innocent; you should be innocent at the end. Then your life has been a great life of love, of understanding, of many flowers, of many blessings. You have not lived insanely, you have lived intelligently, you have lived meditatively; you have lived out of silence, not out of anxiety, anguish, and thoughts.
A man is complete only when at the moment of his death he is again the same as he was when he was born, again a child – the second childhood.
So when Dogo was asked by the master, “Where does the fire come from?” the fire was just an excuse. He was asking, “From where do things come and where do they go?”
But Dogo again missed. Rather than answering the question: Dogo said, “I would like you to ask me something that has nothing to do with walking around or zazen or lying down” – at which Isan left off talking and went away. Dogo has closed all the doors. He is saying, “You should ask me something which is not concerned with zazen – that is intense meditation – or a walking meditation, or a lying down meditation.”
Buddha used all actions in life as an opportunity to meditate. Walking, you should walk meditatively, each step with full awareness. Lying down, you should lie down with awareness, not just out of old habit. And zazen is the intense and urgent quality of meditativeness.
Dogo is saying to his master, who has asked: “Where does the fire come from?” He has not answered the question because that question implies meditation. Only in meditation can you know that everything comes from the same source and goes back to the same eternity. Nothing ever dies, nothing is ever born; everything is, only forms go on changing. What was wood sometime before is now fire; what is fire soon will be smoke.
These are the ways of disappearing into the ultimate reality. The fire was hidden, for so long it remained hidden in the tree. Now it has blossomed, just as flowers blossom; it has come out of the prison. A little dance, a little joyful life, and the fire will turn into smoke. Smoke will have a little joyful life and slowly, slowly will disappear into the eternal. This implies a meditative experience.
Rather than answering it, because only a meditator can answer from where the fire comes… Unless you know your own center, how can you answer from where your fire comes? Your life is a fire, and where does it go finally? Does it disappear outside or does it again relapse into the origin? Only the meditator has known the secrets of inner life. Life sometimes is dormant in the center and sometimes comes to the circumference, and when tired goes back to the center.
One of the greatest men in history was Patanjali, who created a whole science of Yoga single-handed. It is very difficult to create a whole science alone. Five thousand years have passed and not a single word has been added because it is so complete; neither has a single word been taken out. The system is so complete in itself that there is no possibility to go beyond Patanjali as far as Yoga is concerned.
But only people who go deeper into themselves will know that they are carrying both the source and the goal at the same center. Everything comes from the same center of the universe and goes back finally into the same center.
But rather than answering the question – perhaps he was not able to answer it – on the contrary, he was closing all doors. He was saying: “I would like you to ask me something that has nothing to do with walking” – because in Zen monasteries there is a special place for walking meditation – “or zazen” – which is sitting meditation – “or lying down.”
These three meditations are followed by all meditators on the path of Zen. He is saying, “Leave these out and ask me something.”
Now, Zen is not concerned with anything else. In fact, there have been cases when a new disciple comes to a master and the master almost always asks, “From where are you coming?” The authentic seeker will say, “I don’t know. I have come to you to find out from where I am coming.” This kind of disciple will be immediately accepted.
But instead of it he says, “From some town, some village…”
And the master asks, “How much is the price of rice in that village?”
And the person starts talking about the prices, not knowing that the master is trying to find out whether this man has the capacity, the consistency to be a meditator.

One Sufi mystic, Bayazid, went to his master for the first time. The master was staying in a mosque. Bayazid entered the mosque – he was perfectly alone, as far as could be seen – but the master immediately said, “Keep the crowd out! Come alone, this is not a place for the crowd.”
Bayazid looked all around and said, “What crowd? There is no one here except me.”
The master said, “Don’t look around, look in. You have been carrying a whole crowd – all the friends you have left behind, your wife, your children, your parents. They had all come to say good-bye to you at the boundary of the village, but they are still in your mind. I am talking about that crowd. Just go out, and until that crowd is gone don’t come in.”
It took one year for Bayazid. He remained outside, sitting, watching his mind, waiting for the moment when the mind was empty. The moment he found, “Now the crowd is gone,” he entered the mosque.
The master hugged him and told him, “My hands are small, I cannot hug a whole crowd. Now you have come alone, something is possible.”
Once, Isan was asked by Ichu to compose a gatha for him.
Gatha means a poem. Ordinarily that question is not right; it is asked only at the time when the master is dying. The disciples ask as a memorial, “Just write down a small poem. Your last word, in your own handwriting, will be our greatest treasure.” That last word is called gatha.

…Isan was asked by Ichu to compose a gatha for him. That was so stupid a question because Isan was not going to die.
Isan replied: “It is foolish to compose one when face-to-face…”
When I am face-to-face with you, read me, read my heart. A gatha is written when a master is dying because he will not be available anymore. It is so foolish to ask such a thing when we are face-to-face. Feel my presence.
“…and, in any case, writing things on paper!”
Isan is saying, “In the first place, it is foolish when I am present not to rejoice in my presence, not to dance with my presence, not to be ecstatic and drunk with my presence. And secondly: …in any case, writing things on paper! What will be their value? When you cannot understand the living master and his word, that dead paper, that dead ink – what are you going to do with it?”
So Ichu went to Kyozan, a disciple of Isan, and made the same request.
In response, Kyozan drew a circle on paper and wrote a note next to it…
It is a beautiful note. He has not compiled a gatha, but he has responded in a different, unique way, in his own way.
He has not composed a poem; on the contrary, he:
…drew a circle on the paper and wrote a note next to it that said: “To think and then know is the second grade. Not to think and then know is the third grade.”
He has left out the first grade because something has to be left for the disciple to find. What is the first grade? He says: “Not to think and then know is the third grade. To think and then know is the second grade.”
But Ichu did not ask him, “What is the first grade?” The first grade is just to know; no question of thinking or not thinking, but just to know.
The moment you enter deep meditation you pass through many things: the thinking mind, the feeling heart. You come into a space where everything is empty, only witnessing has remained. That witnessing is the only authentic knowing; that is the first grade.
But Ichu went on missing. In all these sutras he could not make a single step deeper into the mystery of life, although every possibility was made available to him.
Soseki wrote:
Don’t ask why the pine trees
in the front garden
are gnarled and crooked.
The straightness
they were born with
is right there inside them.
It is a very significant statement. You see the tree – a pine tree or any tree which is not straight for any reason. Circumstances may not have allowed it to be straight, or perhaps the gardener did not want it to be straight, but in the innermost being of the tree the possibility of being straight is still there.
All these poems are about you. Whatever the symbol – the fire or the pine tree – these symbols don’t matter; they simply give you an indication.
Don’t ask why the pine trees
in the front garden
are gnarled and crooked.
The straightness
they were born with
is right there inside them.
This is exactly the case with you all. Whatever you have become, however far you have gone from your natural potential, it does not matter. Your buddha remains within you. Your straightness remains within you. You can come back home any moment you decide with totality and utter urgency. Nothing can prevent you.

Maneesha has asked:
Last night I saw for the first time that the mind need not be inimical to meditation. Does what you said about the mind accepting enlightenment also apply to its acceptance before enlightenment, of, for example, witnessing? Can the mind acknowledge that witnessing is often more useful than thinking, and so just step aside in those moments without throwing a tantrum?
Maneesha, it is impossible. Enlightenment has to be first. As an experience, the mind can understand it, and seeing its gracefulness in action can become a friend to it. But before enlightenment, the mind can only believe, it cannot become a friend.
The mind can only believe that there is enlightenment. At the most the belief is possible – but belief is of no use. The mind has to experience enlightenment in function, not as a belief but as activity. And the same is the case with witnessing: the mind will always be against witnessing because it stops the mind’s long heritage of thinking. The mind is familiar with thinking; witnessing at the most can become a thought, but it cannot become an actuality.
You have to put the mind aside to become a witness, and obviously the mind resists it. Who wants to be put aside? And particularly from a place where the mind has been the master for centuries. And you want to put it aside for something that you don’t know what it is? The mind will not allow you to remain a witness for long.
You can try a small experiment. Just put your wristwatch in front of yourself, start looking at the second hand and remain watching and witnessing. You will be surprised: not even fifteen seconds have passed and you have fallen and forgotten that you are witnessing. Some other thoughts have come. Suddenly you will awaken after a few seconds: “My God, it was only fifteen seconds!” Not even sixty seconds – one minute – can you persist in witnessing. The force and the flood of the mind is too big.
That’s why an articulate master creates strange devices to put the mind aside without making it an enemy because sooner or later, when you become enlightened, the same mind has to be used as a friend. It is a very useful mechanism. But in the beginning it is going to be against any effort to put it aside.
Meditation is nothing but putting the mind aside, putting the mind out of the way, and bringing a witnessing which is always there but hidden underneath the mind. This witnessing will reach your center, and once you have become enlightened, then there is no problem. Then bring the mind in tune with you. It is a great art. First you have to put the mind aside, then you have to bring the mind back again, but now it comes as a slave. It used to be the master before, so if you try before enlightenment, it is going to throw all kinds of tantrums. There is no need because those tantrums will hinder your progress into witnessing. Just don’t create the enemy.
Silently start witnessing, without making a direct attack on the mind. You have to be very careful to reach the center. Mind will try in every way to take you away for a worldwide tour. And it allures, persuades you, gives you great promises: “Where are you going? What is there inside? The boyfriend is waiting outside the gate and you are going inside. The party is arranged in the Blue Diamond – and who has ever heard of a party inside?”
The mind will create many kinds of things, but you have to very lovingly and carefully put it aside. Remember my words, lovingly and carefully. Don’t hurt the mind because the mind will be of much use after enlightenment. Before enlightenment it is your hindrance; after enlightenment it is an immensely complicated mechanism which can be used for all kinds of things. Then it is no longer your enemy. Just the master has to be awakened, and once the mind sees the immense light inside you, it spontaneously falls in tune. There is no question of fighting. But before enlightenment, the mind will give every fight if you are going to leave it behind or put it aside. This is simple psychology.
Gurdjieff used to say that in a class where the master has gone out, there is havoc. Children are shouting, jumping, fighting, doing whatsoever they always wanted to do, but could not do because of the master. And then the master comes in and every child is sitting in their place looking into their book. That does not mean that they are reading; that simply means they are showing that they are occupied and that there is silence.
Gurdjieff used to say that something almost similar happens when you become enlightened. The master comes in and the mind, seeing the master, suddenly recognizes what its position is. Before such a splendor it is reduced. At that moment you can make a friendship with the mind and it will be immensely happy to be of any service to the eternity that you have brought with you. But don’t try it before enlightenment: then the mind is going to give you unnecessary trouble. The more you will fight with the mind, the more you will be engaged in the mind rather than becoming a witness.
Witnessing is simply slipping out of the mind – a very graceful way because the moment you start witnessing the very thought process, you have slipped out without creating any fight. You are just watching the caravan of thoughts within you. You are no longer part; you are standing aside, by the side of the road, and the traffic is passing. You are not in a fighting mood, you are not even judgmental. You don’t say, “This is good and that is wrong.” Whatever is passing, your whole work is just to see. Soon this silent seeing…and the mind is put aside.
It is witnessing that will take you to enlightenment. After enlightenment the mind can be used, can be very significantly used. It is the greatest biological evolution. It has not to be thrown away in the wastepaper basket; it has to be used. But first find the master who can use it. Right now the mind is using you. Everybody is a mind slave unless he is enlightened. Then enlightenment is you and the mind becomes your slave.

It is time for Sardar Gurudayal Singh. I have found the secret of his rainbow turban: he keeps it tightly bound around his head, otherwise it will be very difficult to be patient so long. And he is very clever also because when everybody starts throwing all kind of gibberish, that turban protects it.

Farmer Meadow-Muffin’s barn catches fire and burns down in the middle of the night.
The next day, the insurance man, George Grabbit, comes to inspect the damage. “It is the company policy,” explains Grabbit, “to build a replacement barn of the same size and with the same materials, instead of paying you cash for the damage.”
“Well, if that’s the way your company does business,” snorts the farmer, “you can cancel the insurance on my wife!”

Herman Humpski is getting married to Hilda, his childhood sweetheart, but he is very worried because he is not sure about what to do on the wedding night.
He confides in his experienced friend, Kowalski, who thinks for a moment, and then comes up with an idea. “Listen,” says Kowalski, “no need to worry. I will take the hotel room next to your honeymoon suite and when it is time to go to bed, just sneak into the bathroom and I will give you instructions through the wall.”
“Great idea!” says Herman, very relieved, and the two of them go to book the hotel rooms.
The wedding goes fine and at the reception, the cake is served by Hilda, the bride, who manages to eat an enormous quantity of it herself.
Later, at the honeymoon hotel, the young couple are getting ready for bed, when Herman sneaks into the bathroom, locks the door and knocks on the wall. Kowalski and Herman have difficulty in hearing each other through the wall, so the instructions take a long time.
Meanwhile, back in the bedroom, Hilda is dying to relieve herself of the mountain of wedding cake she has eaten. She pounds on the bathroom door but Herman will not let her in.
Finally, in desperation, she shits in a shoe box and leaves her deposit outside the bathroom door.
Sure enough, when Herman has received all Kowalski’s instructions, he flings open the bathroom door and steps right into the shoe box.
“Ah!” cries Herman, “this box is full of shit!”
From the other side of the bathroom wall, Kowalski shouts, “You idiot! Turn her over!”

Pope the Polack is shocked and horrified to learn that many of his Roman Catholic priests are catching AIDS. So, in a hopeless attempt to try and preserve Christianity, he issues an edict. The edict states that all his cardinals, bishops, and priests should become married immediately – to women.
Everything goes beautifully and all sorts of strange and wonderful Catholic weddings take place. Of course, the biggest of them all is Pope the Polack’s own wedding to Sister Suzie, at the Vatican in Rome.
The Vatican is packed with priests and politicians getting ready for the big event. And in his chambers, Pope the Polack is getting dressed in his best pope outfit, aided by his best man, Ronald Reagan.
“Are you sure that you will be able to manage married life?” asks Reagan.
“It should be simple, Ronnie,” replies the Polack pope, admiring himself in the mirror.
“Yes, but you have been celibate all your life, haven’t you?” says Reagan. “Are you sure that your machinery will work?”
“Ah! don’t worry,” replies the pope, confidently. “I tried it with my own hands last night, and now,” he adds, crossing himself, “it is in the hands of God!”






Be silent. Close your eyes, and feel your body to be completely frozen.
Now you are ready to go inward with all your consciousness, with all your life energy. Move toward the center of your being. That is from where you have come and that is to where everybody goes back.
Deeper and deeper… The deeper you go, the more fragrant becomes the air. The deeper you go, suddenly flowers start showering on you. At the deepest point you are the buddha.
The buddha simply means witnessing, pure witnessing. Just witness: the body is there, the mind is there, but you are neither.
You are a separate force which comes from the center, and the center is joined with eternity. It knows no birth, no death. This buddha is your ultimate potential, the very Everest of consciousness. Great is the splendor of this moment.

To make it more clear, Nivedano…


Relax, and continue to remember witnessing. Witnessing is the only thing in you that is eternal. Everything else is temporal; only witnessing is your reality, your very soul. I call it the buddha because it is a great awakening.
This moment the Buddha Auditorium has become a lake of consciousness without any ripples. It is such a joy to join the cosmos, such a joy for the dewdrop to disappear into the ocean.
The evening was beautiful in itself, but your presence and your tremendous experiment have made it a thousandfold more beautiful, more graceful. The whole existence is rejoicing because you have reached the center of your being.
Collect all the fragrance that you can manage. Remember, any moment you become a witness, you are a buddha. So bring the buddha with you.
Soon Nivedano will be calling you back. Before that, collect as many treasures as possible, and persuade the buddha to come with you. It is your very innermost core, it is not something separate. It has remained hidden inside. Now you have to bring it to the circumference, to your ordinary life.
If we can create a great number of buddhas around the world, we can have a great transformation happening. More love, more songs, more ceremonies…



Come back, but with the grace of a buddha, silently, peacefully. Sit down for a few moments collecting the experience.
Each day you are becoming richer and richer. Each day your circumference is coming closer to your center. Each day you are bringing buddha more and more in your day-to-day life.
I am against renunciation. I want buddhas to be here in the world doing all kinds of things. It was unfortunate in the past that buddhas escaped from the world. If they had remained in the world, we would not have been so barbarous. More humanity and more culture and more consciousness would have been available to us.
That’s why I say nobody has to leave the world. We have to transform it. We are bringing a new approach in religion. You don’t go away from the world, but rather go deeper into it and change it. This is more courageous, more rebellious, more significant.

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