The Guest 03

Third Discourse from the series of 15 discourses - The Guest by Osho.
You can listen, download or read all of these discourses on oshoworld.com.

The first question:
When such incredible happiness descends, why do I feel so unworthy?
It’s natural because that which descends has nothing to do with your effort. It is grace, it is a gift from existence. And the gift is so big, so huge, so enormous, it is natural to be overwhelmed. It is like a flood, as if the ocean has descended into the dewdrop.
How can one feel worthy? You have not earned it. It has nothing to do with your effort, your doing, your practicing. It has simply come to you for no reason at all. Hence, one feels dumb, lost, in such awe that breathing stops, that the heart beats no more. The whole world stops.
Whenever it happens to someone, the experience is the same – a feeling of great unworthiness. But it is beautiful. It will give you a depth of humbleness; slowly, slowly, the ego will be eroded. And sooner or later you will find that only small things are possible with your effort, with your worth. All great things happen, they cannot be done – and remember, they happen for no reason at all.
The beauty of the sunset, the song of a bird, a small lonely flower, the moon… There is no reason for it at all. Nobody can answer why it is there: why the rose is so beautiful, why this existence exists at all, why the universe moves with such tremendous grace, harmony. There is no reason for it at all. Hence, I say it is a mystery, and it remains a mystery even for those who have gone deeply into it, who have become dissolved into it. It is never demystified.
But you are fortunate that those moments have started happening. Don’t be shy about receiving them, don’t be embarrassed. In the beginning it is natural to feel unworthy. Slowly, slowly, that grace will transform you. Those moments will come more and more; they will become natural. They will become a shadow to you: wherever you will be, they will be there. Waking, asleep, you will find that grace surrounding you. That grace will be without and within. That grace will become a luminous point within your heart, and the flame will go on burning.
But remember, don’t become too worried about your unworthiness. If you become too worried about your unworthiness, those moments will start disappearing because your focus will have changed. Rather than becoming focused on feeling unworthy, feel the compassion of the ultimate and become focused on that. Remember, they are two different gestalts; both are possible.
The unintelligent man will become too concerned about his unworthiness and will start denying those moments: “How can those moments happen when I am so unworthy? It must be my imagination, it must be a trick of the mind, I must be going crazy.” And you will become convinced by your own logic that those moments are not true. If they were true, then you would not be unworthy. Because you are so focused on your unworthiness you will prove them untrue.
And your society has been teaching you that you are unworthy. You have been told that you are of no use, that you are utterly worthless. You are nothing but dust – dust unto dust – you are more worthless than dirt. That’s what you have been told in so many ways; it has become a deep-rooted idea in you. If you pay too much attention to that idea, then the only possibility is that you will deny those moments.
I know many people who have denied the mysterious when it has knocked on their door, just because they cannot drop the idea of their unworthiness. Then your only possibility is to deny those moments, call them imaginary, hallucinations, dreams, deceptions; something must have gone wrong in your head, you are going berserk; forget all about them because they remind you of your unworthiness. But don’t be focused on your unworthiness, become focused on the compassion of God.
That’s why all the religions emphasize that God is compassionate: “Rahim, rahman, God is compassion.” That is just to give you an alternative gestalt, so you become focused on God’s compassion not on your unworthiness. You may be unworthy, but that is irrelevant – God is compassionate. You may be a sinner, that is irrelevant too – God is compassionate. He gives for no reason at all; he is simply a giver, he knows only giving. And he does not give conditionally; he gives unconditionally.
Jesus tells a parable again and again…

A rich man called for some laborers to work in his garden in the morning. The fruit was becoming ripe and had to be collected soon. But by the afternoon it was felt that there were not enough laborers; more were needed. So more laborers were called. By the evening it seemed that even those laborers were not enough; a few more were needed, and more were called. And when this third group of laborers came, the sun was almost setting.
Then it was night, and all the laborers were gathered together to be paid. The rich man gave exactly the same amount to everybody. Those who had come in the morning, those who had come in the afternoon and those who had only just come and not worked at all; they were all given the same amount of money. Naturally, the people who had been working the whole day in the hot sun complained; they were angry.
They said, “This is unjust! These people have only just come. They have not done anything at all, and they receive the same amount of money? And the people who came in the middle of the day and have done only half the work, they too receive the same amount of money as us? This is unfair!”
The wealthy man laughed and said, “Answer me one question. Is what I have given you enough for the labor you have done?”
The laborers said, “It is more than enough, but what about the others?”
And the rich man said, “You need not worry about the others. I give to them not because they have worked, I give to them because I have so much to give; I am burdened. Can’t I give my money to anyone, to whomsoever I want to give? Can’t I throw my money to the winds? You have received your worth. You have received because you worked, they have received because I have so much to give.”

This is a very strange parable; nobody has said such a thing except for Jesus. He is saying that those who have worked hard, those who have cultivated culture, virtue, character, those who have practiced austerities – the doers – they will receive; they will receive according to what they have done. But he says lovers will also receive, those who have not cultivated any virtue, who have not cultivated any austerity, who have simply lived and rejoiced, who have simply prayed, who are not great saints, who may even be known in the world as sinners. They will also receive, and the same amount because God is compassion.
Jesus is saying something of immense value. He is opening the doors of grace for people. That’s what is happening for you – not because you have done anything special to attain it, but because God has so much to give he goes on showering on anybody who is receptive.
And my work here is to help you become receptive. My function here is not to teach you how to attain to godliness, but to teach you how to receive godliness when it comes. And it comes; it comes every day, it comes every moment. You are just not in a receptive mood, hence you go on missing. It is not according to your saintliness that you will receive it – it is according to your emptiness, receptivity, humbleness.
You cannot earn godliness. It is always a gift, and whenever it comes you will feel unworthy. It is good to feel unworthy but don’t become focused on it, don’t become obsessed by it. When feeling unworthy, emphasize God’s compassion. When feeling unworthy, see the beauty of it – that the gift is unconditional, that you cannot claim it, yet it has been given to you.
You have heard Jesus’ famous statement: “Knock, and the door shall be opened unto you. Ask, and it shall be given. Seek, and ye shall find.”

One day, Rabiya, a woman Sufi mystic, was passing by the mosque when she saw Hassan, another Sufi, praying with great fervor, tears rolling down his cheeks, hands raised to the sky. He was crying and weeping, and saying to God, “Come, open the door. Let me in.”
This was usual with Hassan, an almost everyday ritual, five times a day. And it was not just a ritual, he was doing it very sincerely. He was a man of great qualities. It was not a mere ritual, his heart was in it. Rabiya had heard him many times, and whenever she heard him she smiled, laughed, and went on her way.
But on this day she went up to Hassan and shook him. Hassan looked at her, and Rabiya said, “How long are you going to do this? I tell you, the door is already open. You need not ask God again and again, ‘When will you open the door?’ Enough is enough. Don’t be foolish. I have heard enough of this nonsense. The door is open – just open your eyes and see.”

Rabiya’s statement goes far deeper than Jesus’ statement. Jesus says, “Knock, and the door shall be opened.” Rabiya says, “Open your eyes – the door is already open.” And I am saying to you: God is already coming, God has come. He is standing at your door. Open your door, open your eyes – just open your heart.
But certainly, when God’s energy showers on you, how can you feel you are worthy? Impossible! The gift is so big, as if somebody has given the Kohinoor diamond to a beggar. He cannot believe it; he will think it must be artificial, or maybe somebody is kidding him: “I am a beggar. Who would give me the Kohinoor diamond? Impossible! Maybe I am dreaming, maybe I have gone mad. I am projecting – this is an ordinary stone.”
That’s what happens to everybody when God comes in. So don’t become focused on being unworthy, become focused on God’s overflowing energy. God is overflowing energy, God is overflowing joy. God is sat-chit-anand – overflowing truth, overflowing consciousness, overflowing bliss. Whenever you are ready, receptive, it is just going to happen. It could have happened at any time; no time was the wrong time, no time was an unripe time. It did not happen for just one single reason: you were not open.
If you become obsessed with your unworthiness you will become closed again; it is natural. But see the compassion of existence. See the friendliness of existence, see its acceptance of you, whoever you are, wherever you are. Existence sees no difference between the saints and the sinners. God is available to everybody.

The second question:
Why do I go on forgetting myself?
It is an ancient habit; for many, many lives you have practiced it. You have put so much energy into it, into forgetting yourself. You remember money, you remember others, you remember the world – all these things which Taoists call “the ten thousand and one things.” If you want to remember those ten thousand and one things, you will have to forget yourself because your eyes will be focused on things, on people, on the world, and of course you will fall into their shadow.
It is a long, long habit, just a habit. You are there – you could turn inward. But turning inward seems to be difficult because your neck has become paralyzed. For how many lives have you remained in this forgetfulness? Now, suddenly, you want to remember.
For one or two seconds at the most you can remember, then again you will forget. But those one or two seconds open the doors of hope. Don’t be worried: if you can remember for only a single moment, that’s enough, you have the key. You are never given more than a single moment at a time; you are never given two moments together. If you can remember for a single moment that’s enough, the key is there – now you can work it out. You know how to be alert, aware, in a single moment. After this moment is gone, another moment will be given to you – be alert and aware in that one too.
Remember, you will forget many times, but don’t be repentant. Otherwise one starts feeling guilty and creating complexities which don’t help, which in reality hinder. If you forget, so what. For millions of lives you have been forgetting – accept it. And the moment you remember that you have forgotten, it is good. Remember that you will forget again. When you forget, forget; when you remember, remember; but don’t make a problem out of it. Slowly, remembering more and more, by and by, gradually, the forgetfulness, the habit, will be broken.

Mrs. McMahon went berserk one afternoon. She broke every dish and cup and reduced her usually spotless kitchen to a shambles. The police arrived and took her to the city’s mental institution.
The head psychiatrist sent for her husband.
“Do you know any reason,” asked the shrink, “why your wife should suddenly lose her mind?”
“I am just as surprised as you are,” answered Mr. McMahon. “I can’t imagine what got into her. She has always been such a quiet, hardworking woman. Why, she has not been out of the kitchen in twenty years!”

For how many lives have you not been out of the kitchen? For how many lives have you remained in a state of forgetfulness, in a state of unconsciousness? Now, suddenly, you try to be aware – the weight of the past is too much, the chains of the past are too heavy. But they can be broken; all that is needed is perseverance and patience.
And you have to be very, very intelligent about it. Otherwise, I observe, people try to remember and when they cannot, they start feeling very guilty. That too is part of your habit: if you cannot do something you immediately start feeling guilty. And if you feel guilty it will be more difficult to remember. If you feel frustrated, sooner or later you will stop the very effort of remembering. Be intelligent. Because for many lives you have not remembered yourself, it is natural that you forget. Even if you can remember for a few moments, feel grateful, feel thankful – you are doing the impossible.
A little intelligence is needed. Otherwise, so-called religious people, rather than becoming religious, become simply guilt ridden. They become repentant, they start feeling as if they are condemned, as if they are not the chosen ones; as if God has thrown them into the dark night and has forgotten them: “It may have happened to a Buddha or a Kabir or a Krishna or a Zarathustra, but it is not going to happen to me. They were special people, that’s why it happened to them. They were already born enlightened, that’s why it happened to them. It can’t happen to me, I am an ordinary person.”
Just to avoid remembering, people have created all kinds of theories. Hindus say Krishna is an incarnation of God. Christians say Jesus is the only begotten son of God – the “only begotten,” mind you, and all others are bastards? The Jainas say Mahavira is a tirthankara, very special, not an ordinary soul. Not even an ordinary body: Mahavira does not perspire; he is not an ordinary human being. He does not defecate or urinate; no, he is not an ordinary being – he is very special, his body is special. Jesus is born of a virgin mother; he is not an ordinary mortal, even his birth is special, and so on and so forth.
Every religion has created these theories, and on the surface it looks as if you are paying great respect to Mahavira, Krishna, Buddha. You are not. In fact you are simply trying to avoid remembering yourself. You are saying, “They are special and I am not, so they can remember, they can realize, they can become enlightened. I cannot.” This is a very political strategy, but very unintelligent. This is how you are preventing yourself from becoming enlightened.
Nobody is special, or everybody is special. Nobody is an incarnation of God, or everybody is an incarnation of God. Choose either, but don’t make a few people special. That is a trick, and it is a very stupid trick. Because of it you have not remembered who you are yet. Be a little more intelligent. You have not remembered up to now because you have not yet decided to remember, that’s all. Now decide to remember.
This decision to remember is going to create many, many problems for you. Forgetfulness is easy, habitual, it has become second nature. Now you are going against your habits, and they will create every kind of hindrance, obstacle. You will only be able to pull yourself out of your habits for a few moments, and then they will drag you back into the old mire again. But don’t be worried: if it is possible to remember for even a single moment, it is possible to remember. That one moment is enough proof. And that one moment will give you such joy and such freedom that you will not be able to relapse back into forgetfulness forever.
But don’t make a fuss about it. If you forget, it is natural, accept it. If you remember, that is something great to rejoice about. Rather than repenting your forgetfulness, rejoice in being able to remember. Just a little intelligence…

The Irish paratroop trainees were flying out for their first parachute jump after several weeks’ training.
“Remember, lads,” said the instructor. “Yell ‘Geronimo!’ jump out, count to eight, and then pull your ripcord.”
The door opened at 10,000 feet, one by one all the lads jumped out, and Paddy went last. The instructor shut the door, and the plane flew down and landed. The instructor got out and saw Paddy still frantically clutching the plane’s wing.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” yelled the instructor.
“Sorry, sir,” said Paddy, “but I forgot the name of that bleeding Indian!”

That “Geronimo!” is not the name of any “bleeding Indian” – it is just an exclamation like “Hallelujah!” It is irrelevant too: the whole point is that after counting to eight you pull your ripcord. And counting to eight is also not to be followed literally – you can count to ten, you can count to six; that would do.
Don’t become too unintelligent in what you are doing, particularly when you are moving toward inward consciousness. Remember, everything is just a formal support; anything can be of help.
For example, you are sitting here. Just use, and remember, these words: “I am here.” And feel it – “I am here.” Not just the words, but the existential feel of “I am here” – a sudden remembering, a witnessing. Whenever you want to remember, repeat it: “I am here.” And then slowly, slowly, when you are capable of remembering “I am here,” and it has become a feeling in you – not just words in the head, but a feeling in the guts of “I am here” – then drop the word here. Then simply say: “I am,” and that will do, that will do far better. Just “I am” – a great remembrance, a great light, a great feeling of being rooted in existence.
But don’t become attached to the words. When you have become capable of remembering “I am,” drop the I. Then simply use the word am. Whenever you want to remember, just say: “Am.” But, finally, that too has to be dropped; these are just simple devices, not mantras to be repeated. Drop am, and simply remember without using any word. You can just give a small shrug, a nudge, and remember. Then even the nudge should be dropped.
All devices have to be dropped because the human tendency is to become more attached to the device than to the purpose.
You say, “Why do I go on forgetting myself?” – because you have been living in forgetfulness for many lives. This may be your first chance to remember. There are people who have tried to remember in their past lives; when they come, it is easier for them because nothing is ever lost. If you have meditated in your past lives, everything that you have done in those meditations will have remained part of your being, and whenever you meditate again that energy will become available.
But a few people are meditating for the first time; then it is a little more difficult, but not impossible. Take up the challenge. Never feel repentant. Just rejoice in the positive that happens to you and never be worried about the negative. Accept the negative as it is and rejoice in the positive – the positive will go on growing and the negative will reduce of its own accord.

The third question:
I live in the world of the conditional: could, should, would, may, might and if are my dream operatives, accomplished only by my mind and usually in the past tense. Why am I so secure in this illusion?
One can be secure only in an illusion because security is the greatest illusion there is. Life is insecure. Love is insecure. To be is to be in insecurity. To be is to be in constant danger. Only the dead are secure because they cannot die anymore; nothing can ever happen to them now.
The more alive you are the more insecure you are. Hence many people have decided not to be alive because a kind of deadness gives security, protection, armor. Many people have decided not to look into reality because reality is insecure. I cannot do anything about it, you cannot do anything – it is how it is. Reality is insecure; one never knows what is going to happen in the next moment. I may be here, I may not be here; you may be here, you may not be here. The next breath may come in, may not come in. The person who loves you may simply forget all about you tomorrow. That’s how life is.
We have created illusions to hide ourselves behind, so we need not see the insecurity of life. Marriage is an illusion; love is a reality. Love is insecure. Nobody knows whether it is going to be there tomorrow or not. It is like a breeze: when it comes it comes, when it is gone it is gone. You cannot manipulate it, you cannot control it, you cannot predict it.
But the mind is very much afraid: if tomorrow your woman leaves you, what are you going to do? How will you ever be able to live without her? You have become so dependent on her, you cannot conceive of yourself without her, so you make some arrangements: you close the doors, close the windows, lock everything, so she cannot escape. That’s what marriage is: making legal locks so you cannot easily escape. You can go to the police, you can go to the court, you can harass the woman to come back. But when you close all the doors and all the windows, the woman is no longer the same as she was when she was under the sky, under the stars; she is no longer the same. The bird on the wing is a totally different phenomenon from the bird in the cage. The bird in the cage is no longer the same bird because it no longer has the same sky, the same freedom. It is imprisoned, its soul is killed. It only appears to be alive – its wings are cut. It only appears that it is alive; now it will just vegetate.
Without freedom there is no life. But there is one good thing about the cage: it has security. Now the bird need not be worried about food; tomorrow morning he is going to be fed as usual. He need not worry about enemies, predators; nobody can attack him. The bird may think he is not caged but protected. He may think the iron bars are not enemies but friends; he may start loving them. Even if one day you want to make him free, he may not like the very idea; he may resist. He may not go even if you open the door. He will say, “I am not going. How can I leave my security?” He has forgotten all the joys of freedom; now he only remembers the comfort and convenience of security.
Marriage is a cage, love is the open sky. We have destroyed love and created an illusion, marriage. It is ugly. Two persons together out of love is one thing, but two persons together because of the law is totally different. Their souls are no longer together, only their bodies are tied together. Because they cannot escape they decide to remain slaves because escape seems to be costly – the children are there, and all the comforts of family life and the home. They decide not to live but just to exist.
And then of course, people have many kinds of illusions about the past, about the future. You are not alone: every human being is in the same boat – because we cannot live in the present. It is dangerous to live in the present because to live in the present means to be authentic. We live in the past, we live in the future. The past and the future are very easy, comfortable, no danger. You can manipulate your past, you can control it; you can order your past, it is very obedient. It is nonexistential, it exists only in your memory; you can arrange it again and again.
Hence, one of the greatest psychological insights is that up to now no autobiography has ever been written. Millions seem to have been written, but they are all untrue. To write an autobiography seems to be almost impossible because you go on always arranging your memories. When you look back, it is not the real past that you are looking at; it is no longer there, just your memory of it.
And in the memory, you also choose. First, you choose while you are experiencing something. A thousand and one things are happening every day, but you choose to remember only a few; scientists say two percent. Ninety-eight percent is not chosen, only two percent. Everything that feels good to you – ego enhancing, gratifying – you choose. Anything that seems like suffering, pain – all that hurts – you don’t choose.
First, your memories have been chosen and then, each time you remember them, you are giving them new colors because your experiences are growing, and your new experiences are being reflected in your memories. You go on painting your memories again and again, so that by the time you write your autobiography there are many coats.
And people write autobiographies only when they know they are dead. When they know that nothing more is going to happen now, then they write their autobiographies. When a person is alive, how can he write his autobiography? But when he thinks that everything is finished: “I have lived, I have come to the full stop, nothing else is going to happen,” then he writes. Now he looks back, paints all the memories as he wants them to be. All autobiographies are fiction. My suggestion to librarians is this: all autobiographies should be counted as fiction and should be categorized as fiction. They are fiction and nothing else.
You magnify things which you like. You unconsciously add many things which never happened. And I am not saying that you are cheating knowingly – no, you may believe it. Just start telling a lie, and after ten years you will be suspicious of whether it is a lie or the truth…

A journalist died. He knocked on the doors of heaven. Saint Peter opened the door and asked, “Sorry, are you a journalist?”
Because it is very difficult to miss a journalist: his face, his eyes; he looks like one.
And the man said, “Yes, but how did you know?”
“It is very easy to spot a journalist. I am sorry, but we don’t have places for any more journalists in heaven, our quota is full. We only have a dozen journalists, and even those are not used because nothing ever happens in heaven, nothing worth reporting, nothing like news.”
Do you know George Bernard Shaw’s definition of news? “When a dog bites a man, that is not news,” that is nothing. “If a man bites a dog that is news.”
Saint Peter continued: “In heaven, no newspaper is published, news doesn’t happen. Even those twelve journalists are not used, so what do we need you for? Go to hell – down there, there is news and news and news. Everything there is news, nothing else ever happens. And there are many, many high circulation papers. Go there and you will get a good job.”
But the journalist said, “No, I can’t go there. Can’t you manage something? If you give me twenty-four hours, I can convince some other journalist to go to hell, and then you can allow me in, in his place.”
Saint Peter said, “Okay… Twenty-four hours. In you go.”
The journalist entered heaven and used all his journalistic skills and acumen. He started a rumor: to whomsoever he came across he said, “Have you heard? A big newspaper is being started in hell and all the posts are vacant – the chief editor, the assistant chief editor, other assistants…” And this and that he said to whomsoever he met.
But after twenty-four hours, he went back to the door. Saint Peter would not open it. He said, “You cannot go out, you have to stay in.”
The journalist said, “But what is the matter?”
Saint Peter said, “All twelve journalists have left. We should have at least one journalist, just for the sake of representation. You must stay here!”
The journalist said, “I can’t stay here anymore. Let me go! There must be some news in hell. How can twelve persons believe it if there isn’t any? It can’t be just a rumor, there must be some truth in it; maybe just a little, but there must be some truth in it. I can’t remain here any longer. Open the door, let me go!”

If you start a lie, sooner or later you will believe it. In fact you will believe in it before others do, and after ten years it will be difficult to tell whether it was a lie or not. After ten years it will be difficult to tell whether you dreamed the thing or you really lived it. Your dreams and your life will become mixed into each other.
It is very difficult to write an autobiography. It has not yet been done, and I don’t think it ever can be done. Those who can write, don’t. A buddha can, but he says he has no autobiography to write. He says, “I was never born.” He says, “I have never uttered a single word.” He says, “I never became enlightened because I was never unenlightened.” He says, “I never died because nothing ever dies.”
So what autobiography? There is no self, so what autobiography? There is no ego, there is no center, so what about the circumference? No circumference is possible. A buddha can write, but he will not, and others who write are bound to write fictions.
You go on living in the past; it is very comfortable. You are the master of your past; you can do anything you want to do with the past. And you are also the master of your future: you can become the President of America, of India – in the future. You can do anything you want – everybody can do something. Just sitting silently, you can start imagining that by the side of the road you have found a bag full of money. And not only that, you can start planning how to use that money; you can start purchasing things. You are the master.
The past and the future give you the idea that you are a king. The present takes all illusions away, the present simply reveals the naked truth. The present reveals the insecurity of life because life implies death: everything that is, implies that life cannot be forever; everything that is, is going to be nonexistential sooner or later. The flower that has bloomed in the morning is beautiful, but by the evening it will be gone, the petals will wither away and tomorrow you will not find even a trace of it. That’s how life really is: changing, moving, dynamic, nothing static, nothing permanent, always in a flux. That’s why everybody, not only you, is living in the past and the future: to avoid the present and its danger.
Friedrich Nietzsche is right: he says, “Live dangerously.” There is no other way to live in fact. One can only live dangerously; the other way is to avoid life, not live. And that’s what sannyas is all about: accepting the insecurity of life, accepting death, accepting that everything can disappear at any moment. Your love, your friendship, you – everything is only for the moment. The next moment the petals will wither away, all will be gone.
Knowing this and yet rejoicing, knowing this and yet dancing, knowing this and yet having a song on your lips, knowing this and yet having joy in your eyes – that’s what sannyas is all about. In fact, this insecurity is beautiful. This insecurity has a blessing in it because if everything were secure there would be no life at all. If everything were secure there would be rocks and rocks – no flowers, no birds, no people. If everything were secure there might be notes, mathematics, science, but no poetry, no music, no dance. The world would be a dead world, phony, plastic. The real world has to be in constant danger. That danger adds to its beauty, that danger gives it depth, that danger makes it challenging. Come out of your security and your illusions.
You say, “I live in the world of the conditional…” The world of the conditional is the world of the mind. The true world is unconditional. You cannot put any conditions on the truth, and truth never puts any conditions on you. Neither can you put conditions on existence, nor does existence ever put any conditions on you. All is given unconditionally.
You say, “I live in the world of the conditional…” That means you don’t live, you only pretend. You say, “I live in…could, should, would, may, might and if…” These are words which belong to the world of death, not to the world of life. Life simply is, it knows nothing of should, could, would. Life simply is, it knows nothing of may, might. Life simply is, it knows nothing of ifs and buts.
You must live that which is, whatsoever it is. Yes, sometimes it hurts, and it hurts very much. Sometimes it brings great agonies, but those agonies are stepping-stones to ecstasy; those hurts are nothing but birth pains. You have to accept the day and the night, birth and death, summer and winter. You have to accept all that life is. You cannot reject anything, you cannot make conditions. Your conditions won’t make any difference, they will only drown you in your own illusions. Live in the is. The word ought is a mind construction – avoid it.
You ask, “Why am I so secure in this illusion?” One can only be secure in illusions; there is no question of why. If you find somebody who is secure, you can be certain he must be living in an illusion.
You have become too accustomed to a dirty pool of water, stagnant, stinking. Insecurity has tremendous beauty; you have not tasted it. You have forgotten the beauty of a river, constantly flowing from the known to the unknown, from the limited to the unlimited. I have to revive your memory of it. It is a remembering because you knew it before.
When a child is born he knows nothing of security; he knows nothing of the past, nothing of the future. He simply lives in the is. We drive him out of the is. That’s what we call education, that’s what we call the process of civilizing a child: driving him out of the is, taking him out of life’s naturalness and making him arbitrary and artificial. By the age of three or four a child becomes part of society; he loses all contact with existence, with reality.
Once, you knew what it meant to be insecure. All that I need to do is remind you, to provoke that remembrance in you. And once you have tasted it again you will drop all your illusions and start moving into the unknown, with all its insecurity.
And you will not feel frightened, you will feel thrilled. You will not feel that insecurity is something wrong, but the root of all adventure. Insecurity is not something that is against you, it is the very possibility of your existence. It sharpens your intelligence, it keeps you alive, alert. It keeps you always mystified, it keeps you in a state of constant surprise.
Insecurity is beautiful. And the day that you know that insecurity is beautiful, you will know the wisdom of insecurity – and you will have understood the very core of sannyas.

The fourth question:
I am a staunch Catholic. Nobody can shake my beliefs, so why do I feel a little frightened here?
Alexander, you have fallen into the wrong company. Escape from here as fast as you can because you have already been shaken!
A belief has no roots, it is just an imposed phenomenon. Howsoever staunchly you believe in it makes no difference. In fact, the more you are afraid of losing it, the more staunchly you believe in it. Whenever somebody says, “This is my strong belief,” know well that he is afraid. Otherwise what does it mean? Why should he brag about his staunchness? If he knows, he knows.
You know that the sun has risen, that it is day. You don’t say, “I strongly believe that this is sunrise,” you simply say, “I know this is sunrise.” You don’t say, “I strongly believe, nobody can shake my belief.” If you say it, people will think you are crazy. If you say it, people will think you must be blind; you are not seeing the sun, you have only heard about it. Others must have told you and you are saying, “I believe strongly.” Just to protect yourself you create a great armor around yourself. But a real experience needs no protection. The real experience needs no bragging about being staunch. One simply knows or knows not; things are very simple.
You say, “I am a staunch Catholic.” It is just accidental that you were born in a Catholic house. If you were born and brought up by a Hindu you would be a staunch Hindu. And if you were born in Soviet Russia and you were brought up by a communist, you would be a staunch communist. The staunchness would be the same, everything else would be different. That staunchness simply shows that you are not intelligent.
An intelligent person does not believe. He tries to know, he inquires. An intelligent person is neither Catholic nor Protestant; an intelligent person is neither Hindu nor Mohammedan. An intelligent person says, “I don’t know yet, so how can I claim what is right and what is wrong? How can I say that the Bible is right and the Koran is wrong, or vice versa?” An intelligent person is bound to say only one thing: “I don’t know, and I cannot carry any prejudice if I really want to know.” He remains unprejudiced, open.
By being a Catholic you are closed, by being a Jaina you are closed, by being a Buddhist you are closed. You are not an inquirer, you are not a seeker. You don’t love truth, you love security. Belief gives you security.
And if you want to know the truth you have to begin with agnosticism; you have to begin from the state of not knowing. Every true inquiry starts from not knowing. You have to be clearly aware: “I don’t know – but I have to seek, I have to search, I have to find. And I should start without any a priori conception.”
That’s why you are becoming a little afraid, frightened. You may not have landed in such a society before – these people are dangerous. Don’t tell me later on that I didn’t give you any warning.
Alexander, please escape. You don’t seem to be much of an Alexander either, and you are certainly not in the right company.
Have you heard this story?

During World War Two, Ferrara the Flyer had never shot down a British plane and everybody in the squadron kidded him about it.
One day while on patrol Ferrara spotted five British transport planes. He zipped into their formation and shot down all five. Now he couldn’t wait to tell his fellow pilots. Ferrara quickly landed, jumped out of his plane and rushed over to a colonel standing beside a map table.
“I just-a shoot down five-a British-a transports!” shouted the proud Italian.
“I say, bad luck, old chap!” replied the officer. “You are in the wrong place. You shouldn’t have landed here, old chap!”

You say, “Nobody can shake my beliefs…” But why do you say it in the first place? Why does the idea come into your mind? I have not asked you, nobody has asked you.
“Nobody can shake my beliefs…” You are already shaking inside, I can see you trembling. And it is natural because you know that you don’t know, you know that those beliefs are just borrowed from others. The priests have told you and you have believed. You have believed because you were not really interested in the truth, so you said, “Okay.” You were not really caring enough about truth so you said okay.
People are so uncaring about truth that they say, “Whatsoever you say, it must be right. Who cares? I am not interested enough to bother.”
That’s the situation in the world: a few are Christians, a few are Hindus, a few are Mohammedans. If you look deeply into them you will see that they don’t care whether God is or is not, they don’t care what truth is. They have simply accepted the belief that the people around them have. It is formal, a type of social security; it feels good to be part of the crowd, it feels good that others think you are religious.
But you are not religious. It is not easy to be religious. To be religious is one of the most dangerous adventures in life. It means dropping all beliefs and going into the unknown without any maps. It is good if you allow us to destroy your beliefs; it will be healthy for you if you don’t cling to your beliefs. And something seems to have started.
You say, “…but why do I feel a little frightened here?” You have started becoming aware that your Catholicism is phony. There has only been one Christian, and he was crucified on the cross. Since then there have not been any Christians.
In fact, be a Christ, don’t be a Christian. Don’t disrespect yourself by being a Christian. You are meant to be a Christ. You are meant to be a Buddha, not a Buddhist. What is a Buddhist compared to being a Buddha? A Buddhist is just a believer, not a seeker, not an inquirer. Go on the voyage, the sea is calling you. Go alone, and go without maps and without scriptures. And if you can drop all your scriptures and maps and ideologies on this bank, the other bank is not far away.
The man who is utterly empty of knowledge is immediately worthy of receiving the ultimate gift of knowing from existence. Only those who renounce knowledge become capable of knowing.

The fifth question:
What do you mean when you say, “Meditate over it”? Please explain it in relation to my problem of jealousy?
When I say, “Meditate over it,” I don’t mean think it over, I don’t mean concentrate on it, I don’t mean contemplate it. When I say meditate over it, I mean watch it, be a witness. Whatsoever the problem – anger, sexuality, jealousy, greed, ego – whatsoever the problem is, the medicine is the same.
If you suffer from jealousy, just watch how it arises in you, how it grabs you, how it surrounds you, clouds you; how it tries to manipulate you, how it drags you into paths that you never wanted to go to in the first place. How it finally creates great frustration in you, how it destroys your energy, dissipates your energy, and leaves you very depressed, frustrated. Just watch the whole thing.
And remember not to condemn it because if you condemn, you have started thinking. I am not saying condemn it. Just see the facticity of it without condemnation, without any appreciation, without any judgment for or against. Just watch it, aloof and distant, as if you have nothing to do with it. Be very scientific in your watching.
One of the most important contributions of science to the world is nonjudgmental observation. When a scientist is experimenting he simply experiments without any judgment, without any conclusion. If he has a conclusion already in his mind, that means he is not a scientist, his conclusion will influence the experiment.
One man has written a book about how in America people are very superstitious and afraid of the number thirteen. Even in hotels you will not find a room number thirteen. After twelve comes fourteen because nobody stays, nobody wants to stay, in the thirteenth room. You will not even find a thirteenth floor – the whole floor is missing. After the twelfth floor they have the fourteenth because who wants to stay on the thirteenth floor?
This writer has collected thousands of facts that say this is not a superstition, that this is the truth. He has collected information about all the people who have committed suicide on the thirteenth of the month. Of course, millions of people murder, commit suicide, on the thirteenth, as much as on the twelfth, as much as on the fourteenth – but he only collects information about the thirteenth. And many people commit suicide from the thirteenth floor, and many people commit suicide in room number thirteen. Many things happen; in the world things are continuously happening. This man brought his thesis to show me, and I told him, “You have done a really great job.”
He said, “I have been working on it for almost five years.” He had gathered millions of facts. He said, “Now who can say that this is superstition?”
I said, “Do one more thing – it will take another five years – now try to find out about the number twelve.”
He already had a conclusion: that there was something wrong with the number thirteen, something evil about it – he had chosen his facts with that idea in mind.
And I also said, “Do another thing. After you are finished with the number twelve, then for five more years do another experiment. Find out how many good things happen with the number thirteen. Room number thirteen, the thirteenth story of the hotel, the thirteenth day of the month – find out how many good things happen. Only then can your conclusion be of any scientific value. You are already prejudiced.”

A Hindu psychologist, Doctor Bannerji, once came to see me. He said, “I am trying to prove scientifically that rebirth is a fact and not a hypothesis.”
I said, “Doctor Bannerji, you say you are trying to prove it scientifically?”
“Yes,” he said.
I told him, “But if you are trying to prove something scientifically, you should not have any conclusion beforehand. You have already accepted the Hindu idea of rebirth. You are working as a Hindu, not as a scientist.”
He got very angry because he had come to me for support for his belief.
I said, “I am not saying anything against your belief, I am not saying whether or not rebirth is a fact. All I am saying is this: don’t bring science into it. If you bring science into it, then a fundamental principle of science is to be an unprejudiced, nonjudgmental observer, without any a priori conclusion.”

A priori conclusions make you a believer, not a scientist.
When I say meditate over it, I mean watch. Be a scientist in your inner world. Let your mind be your lab, and observe – without condemning, remember. Don’t say, “Jealousy is bad.” Who knows? Don’t say, “Anger is bad.” Who knows? Yes, you have heard, you have been told, but that is what others say, that is not your experience. You have to be very existential, experiential. Unless your experiment proves it, you are not to say yes or no to anything. You have to be utterly nonjudgmental. And then watching jealousy or anger or sex is a miracle.
What happens when you watch without any judgment? You start seeing through and through. Jealousy becomes transparent: you see the stupidity of it, you see the foolishness of it. Not that you have already decided it is stupid; if you have already decided you will miss the whole point. Remember, I am not saying to decide it is stupid, it is foolish. If you decide, you miss the point.
Simply go ahead without any decision, just to see exactly what it is. What is this jealousy? What is this energy called jealousy? And watch it as you watch a roseflower – just look into it. When there is no conclusion your eyes are clear; clarity is attained only by those who have no conclusions. Watch, look into it, and it will become transparent, and you will come to know that it is stupid. And when you know that it is stupid, it will drop of its own accord. You don’t need to drop it.

Mrs. Weissman had her portrait painted. When it was finished, the artist presented it to her. “How do you like it?” he asked.
“It’s nice,” answered Mrs. Weissman, “but I want you to add a gold bracelet on each wrist, a pearl necklace, ruby earrings, an emerald tiara, and I want you to put a twenty-carat diamond ring on each finger.”
“But,” said the bewildered artist, “why do you want to ruin a good picture with all those gaudy trinkets?”
“My husband is running around with a young tramp,” explained Mrs. Weissman, “and when I die, I want her to go crazy looking for the jewelry.”

Just look into your jealousy and you will see how it drives you crazy. Seeing it, just seeing it, sanity arises. I am not saying renounce jealousy. Those who say renounce jealousy don’t understand a thing.
I am saying: look, watch, meditate, and if it is stupid it will drop – because how can you carry anything stupid with you? But its stupidity has to be your own experience. If it is not your own, then you will only repress, you will condemn. You will not look into it. You will throw it into the basement of your unconscious and there it will boil, there it will grow. And the growth will be more dangerous because it is growing underground. It will become a cancerous growth, it will spread all over your life. It will simply be waiting for an opportunity; it will explode sooner or later. Any day it could explode, and it will destroy you.

Paddy and his two friends, an Englishman and a Scotsman, were sentenced to five years in jail. But they were told they could take with them one thing that they badly wanted. The Englishman took a big blonde, the Scotsman had bottles of whisky, and Paddy chose packets and packets of cigarettes.
Five years went by and they were let out, one by one. The Englishman came out with his blonde, looking absolutely knackered. The Scotsman came out staggering all over the place and hiccupping. Last of all, out came Paddy, looking very frustrated. And do you know what his first words were? “Has anybody got a light?”

Enough for today.

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