The True Sage 07

Seventh Discourse from the series of 10 discourses - The True Sage by Osho.
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A story called:
The Light behind the Window
On a certain Passover before the seder celebration,
Rabbi Yisakhar Baer called his guest,
the Rabbi of Mogielnica, a grandson of the Maggid of Koznitz,
to the window – and pointed to something outside.
“Do you see, Rav of Mogielnica?” he said. “Do you see?”

After the feast was over, the Rabbi of Mogielnica
danced around the table and sang in a low voice,
“The holy old man, our brother, has shown me a light.
Great is the light he has shown me.
But who knows? – who knows how many years must pass,
how long we still must sleep, before it comes to us,
before it comes to us?”
A king heard that a part of his kingdom was almost in chaos. People were fighting with each other, they were hurting each other in every way possible. He was worried. He sent a special messenger there with a magic glass. The magic glass had the quality that if you looked through it, you could see things as they are – and not as you imagine, and not as you think, and not as you interpret. The magic glass would negate your mind and you would see things directly, immediately. Once you looked at things as they were, the experience became transforming. Then you could not be the same man.
The messenger left the magic glass with the people and went back to the capital, knowing well what was going to happen because he had been on such trips before. The magic glass was placed on a crossroads so that everyone could look through it and be transformed, so that it was available to everybody.
But this is how people reacted. The great majority gave a name to the glass and worshipped it as if it was a superhuman being, but they never looked through it. They worshipped, but they never looked through it; in fact, their worship was a way of avoiding the magic glass.
Another part of the people were skeptical from the very beginning. They said, “This is simply foolish. How can a glass help to see things as they are? It is superstitious.” They never experimented, they never even gave a try to the glass. They were the skeptical people. But the superstitious or skeptical, deep down, were the same because they both avoided; one by worshipping, one by saying that it was superstitious and useless.
That’s what has happened in the whole world: both theists and atheists have been avoiding meditation; one by saying that there is no God, one by saying that there is God and only worship is needed. Deep down they are not different.
Then there was a third type – practical, pragmatic, empirical. They said, “The magic glass is interesting, but we cannot imagine how it is going to help us in the practical things of the world. It is impractical.” They also never looked through it – the scientists, the empirical mind.
Then there was a fourth type who said, “Not only is the glass useless, it is dangerous because whosoever looks through it is distorted.” They were against it and they were planning to destroy it whenever the opportunity arose. They also did not look through it!
Then there was another group who avoided it. They stopped walking through those streets where the glass was close by. They never passed through that crossroad because they said, “We are happy as we are.” They were not happy, but they thought, “It may disturb our usual pattern of life.”
But a few people were there: simple, innocent. They looked through it and they were transformed, they became totally new beings. Then the rumor spread all around that they had been hypnotized by that stupid glass: “They are fools; otherwise how can a glass transform a human being?” They were thought to be mad.

Forget about the story. This is the situation of the whole world.
Religion is a magic glass. The secret quality of it is to transform you, but it cannot force transformation; you have to allow it to happen, you have to be in a receptive mood. Worship won’t help; that is very cunning and tricky. Logic won’t help because it is a question of experience, not of logical syllogism. Skepticism is not of much use because just by doubting you cannot come to know anything. One has to pass through the experience. Only the experience can be the criterion of truth or untruth. Thinking is not enough.
Avoiding, escaping from seeing life as it is, you remain a coward and you miss the whole point of it, the whole adventure of it. Only those who are innocent, childlike, ready to look through it, ready to be transformed, changed, mutated, they will be helped by religion. So, only very few people have been helped by religion. Christians are millions, Hindus millions, Buddhist millions, Mohammedans millions, but religious people very few; you can count them on your fingers.
To belong to an organization is not to be religious. To take the jump in deep trust and innocence is to be religious. To be a Hasid is to be ready to see: to see life as it is. This has to be understood.
You also see, but you don’t see as things are. Before they enter your being, you have transformed their color, you have given new shapes, forms, you have already interpreted. Your mind goes on falsifying things, and your mind goes on creating illusions around you. You feel that you see as things are, but you never see because once you see as things are, things disappear, only existence remains.
Once you can see as things are, only one remains; millions of forms disappear into one, the formless. Then the tree is no longer there, then the rock is no longer there, then the river is no longer there – but one existence, throbbing everywhere in a thousand and one ways.
Until you see the one, you have not seen. If you see the many, you are blind; if you hear many, you are deaf. If you hear the one sound, the soundless sound, then for the first time you have heard. If you love many, your love is false; it comes from the mind and it is not of the heart. If you love one in the many, then for the first time you are in love.
Remember, one is the criterion; many is the world, one is existence. A Hasid is one who has attained to the vision of the one.
Now look at this beautiful story…
On a certain Passover before the sedar celebration,
Rabbi Yisakhar Baer called his guest, the Rabbi of Mogielnica,
a grandson of the Maggid of Koznitz,
to the window – and pointed to something outside.
An old man called a young man to the window and pointed to something outside.
“Do you see, Rav of Mogielnica?” he said. “Do you see?”
What was he showing? You must be wondering what was there outside the window. You must be wondering why it has not been named, that which was shown.
There was nothing special outside the window. The window was as ordinary as all windows are, and outside was the ordinary world as it is everywhere. That’s why it has not been named, what he was showing. In fact the whole emphasis is not on the object of seeing; the whole emphasis is on “Do you see?” It is not a question of what you see, it is a question whether you see. This emphasis has to be understood because the whole thing is focused on there, the whole secret key is there: “Do you see?”
People come to me and they ask, “We hear you. We would also like to see God. Where is he?” They are asking for an object, and God is not an object. If you can see, he is there; if you can’t see, he is not there. It is not a question of what you see; it is a question “Do you see?” The emphasis is on the capacity to see, to perceive, to receive. The emphasis is on the eye, the capacity to see.
“Do you see?” said the old man, “Rav of Mogielnica, Do you see?” There was nothing outside the window. It was just as ordinary a window as any. Nothing was pointed at; on the contrary, the capacity to see was pointed at.
In India we have called philosophy darshan. It means the capacity to see. We don’t call it a love of thinking, as the word philosophy means. We call it “the capacity to see.” Philosophy is not the right translation of darshan. The right translation would be philosia, love of seeing. Philosophy means love of thinking; sophia means thinking and philo means love. The Indian philosophy is not philosophy, it is philosiasia means to see. The emphasis is not on the object, the whole emphasis is on the subject.
Subjectivity is religion, objectivity is science. To pay attention to the object is to be scientific, to pay attention to the subject is to be religious.
You look at a flower: if you pay attention to the flower then it is scientific, if you pay attention to the witness of the flower it becomes religious. A scientist and a religious man may be standing side by side looking at the same flower, but they are not looking in the same way. The scientist is looking at the flower and has forgotten himself completely, the religious man is witnessing the flower and remembering himself. It is a change of gestalt. Try it sometime: look at a flower, then suddenly change the gestalt; now look at the seer of the flower.
You are listening to me right now: you can pay attention to what I am saying – then it is a scientific listening. And you can be aware of the one who is listening to me within you – it becomes religious. The difference is very delicate and subtle. Try it right now: listen to me, forget yourself; then it is scientific.
A scientist is absolutely concentrated while working. Science is concentration, religion is meditation, and that is the difference between concentration and meditation. Concentration is not meditation, meditation is not concentration. Concentration is focusing your eyes on the object, meditation is focusing yourself on your self. Meditation has no object in it. It is pure subjectivity.
Listen to me, concentrate. Then you forget yourself, then you don’t know who you are; you are simply a listener. Then change the focus – it is a knack, it cannot be taught how to change it; you simply change it, you just become aware that you are listening. Awareness becomes more important than what you listen to. Immediately a change, a deep change has happened in your being. In that moment you become religious.
If you go on paying attention to the object too much, you may come to know many secrets of nature, but you will never come across God on any of the paths that you will travel. It will never be a pilgrimage, a teerthyatra. You will wander and wander into the wilderness of the world and matter. That’s why science cannot think that God is – it is impossible: God is not an object. Your very approach is such that God is excluded from it.
God is not an object, God is your within-ness. It is not in the object of concentration, it is in the subjectivity of meditation – it is you.
I have heard a beautiful story…

There was a man, a great devotee of Buddha who had a beautiful statue of Buddha, a wooden statue, a piece of art – very antique, very valuable. He carried it like a great treasure.
One night he was staying in a cold hut, and the winter was really ice-cold and he was shivering. It seemed that he was going to die and there was no wood for his fire.
In the middle of the night, when he was shivering, it is said the Buddha appeared and said, “Why don’t you burn me?”
The wooden statue was there, the man became afraid, “This must be a devil,” he said. “What are you saying? To burn the statue of Buddha? Never!”
Buddha laughed and said, “If you look for me in the statue, you will miss me. I am in you, not in the statue. I am not in the worshipped object, I am in the worshipper, and I am shivering within you. Burn this statue!”

Godliness is your subjectivity. It is there, withinward. When you focus outside, there is an object; when you become unfocused and look within without any focus, it is there – absolutely alive, throbbing, ticking. “Do you see, Rav of Mogielnica?” he said. “Do you see?” Remember the emphasis. He is saying: “Do you see?” He is saying, “Have you got eyes to see?”
After the feast was over, the Rabbi of Mogielnica
danced around the table and sang in a low voice,
“The holy old man, our brother, has shown me a light.
Great is the light he has shown me.
But who knows? – who knows how many years must pass,
how long we still must sleep before it comes to us,
before it comes to us?”
Each word has to be understood: After the feast was over, the Rabbi of Mogielnica danced around the table and sang in a low voice…
Something has transpired, something has happened – something from the unknown, something not of this world. The moment the old man said “Do you see…do you see?” something happened. What has happened?
For the first time this young rabbi became aware of his witnessing self. He had been seeing many things in his life, but for the first time he had a glimpse of the seer itself. When you are near a person who has become a true sage, who has attained, it is very easy to ride on his tide. Near a buddha, there are moments when you can look through his eyes.
That is the meaning – to find a master, a zaddik.
Teachers are many, zaddiks rare. If you find a teacher, he will explain many, many, things to you, but he cannot give you his eyes. He has none. He is as blind as you are, the blind leading the blind. He may be more experienced than you, has been groping in the dark longer than you, but still blind. He can give you many explanations but he cannot give you any experience. He himself has none. You can share only that which you have, you cannot share that which you don’t have.
A zaddik is a man who has known, who has become centered. Now the search is over and he is overflowing with the attainment: you can ride on his tide. Of course that cannot become your experience, but it can be a glimpse, and the glimpse can be very, very important. It can transform your whole life.
It will be only a taste, your hunger will not be satisfied by it. In fact, just the contrary will be the case: for the first time you will become hungry because up to now you have been avoiding the fact that you are hungry. When there is nothing to eat, it is better to forget that you are hungry, it is better to pretend that you are not hungry. When you are thirsty and no water is available, it is better to forget the thirst; otherwise it will be a deep anguish.
When you come to a man who has known, who is no longer hungry, his very presence becomes a deep stirring in your being. For the first time you feel the hunger that you have been hiding for centuries, for lives together. You were avoiding facing it.
You have been thirsty, you have never known satiety, but it was so difficult to live with the thirst that you suppressed it, suppressed it in the unconscious. You threw it deep inside your being so you wouldn’t come across it in your day-to-day world. It is there.
When you come to a man who is in deep satiety, whose whole being is flowering – and there is no thirst and no hunger, he has attained – suddenly your thirst arises. From the depth of your unconscious it surfaces to the conscious. You become for the first time really thirsty and hungry. And if a man has attained, he can allow you a glimpse from his window. That is the meaning of the story: he can call you, “Come near me. Look from this window. Do you see?”
So the window is not the ordinary window of a house. It is the window of the heart. When the old man said, “Do you see…do you see?” he was saying, “Are you getting the point? Are you receiving my eyes and my vision?”
Of course, it can be borrowed only for a single moment and then it is gone because enlightenment cannot be borrowed. It can be at the most a lightning flash in a dark night. It cannot become a permanent light, but as in a dark night when you are groping, and suddenly lightning… For a single moment everything clear, then the lightning gone. But the lightning has changed everything; now you know the path exists. Maybe you are not on the path yet, a thousand and one barriers may be there, but you know the path exists. Just to know that the path exists is a great achievement because uncertainty dissolves, doubt disappears, hesitation is no longer. Faith arises, trust arises.
The path exists; this becomes a deep-rooted phenomenon within you. Now you don’t believe in others, you yourself know. Maybe it has become just a memory now, but the memory will lead you, guide you. Now you will be groping in the right direction. The groping will not be blind anymore. You have seen where the path is. North or south or east, you will be groping in the right direction knowing well that it is there. It is only a question of time: you will reach it.
When the old man says, “Do you see…do you see?” he must have become a lightning bolt to this young man. That lightning is the window. He must have flashed. For a single moment he must have burned for this young man, so that he could have a taste, so he could have a look, a small glimpse. Then he will never be the same again.
Gurdjieff used to say that there are seven types of men. Let me explain those seven types to you. The first three types are very ordinary. You will find them everywhere, within and without.
The first, “number one man” Gurdjieff calls him, is body oriented. He lives in the body, he is ninety-nine percent body. His whole life is body oriented. He eats not to live, he lives to eat. The second type of man, number two, is emotional, the feeling type, sentimental. Number three is the intellectual. These are the three common types. They are almost on the same level. In India we have long known these three.
The body oriented we have called the sudra. The feeling oriented, the emotional, we have called the kshatriya, the warrior. The intellect oriented we have called the brahmin, the intellectual, the intelligentsia.
The vaishya, the businessman, is in fact not a type but an amalgamation of all the three. Something of the sudra exists in him, something of the warrior also exists in him, something of the intellectual also exists in him. He is not a pure type, he is a mixture. In fact, he is the majority because to find a pure type is very difficult. To find a really perfect sudra is rare, to find a perfect brahmin is also rare, to find a pure warrior, a samurai, is also rare. The world consists of the fourth, which is a mixture, which is not really a type, just a crowd.
These are the three types. Unless you go beyond the three you will not be able to see, they are all blind. One is blinded by the body, another is blinded by the feeling, emotion, another is blinded by the intellect, thinking – but they are all blind.
Number four, Gurdjieff calls “one who has become aware.” Up to number three they are all unaware, unconscious, fast asleep. They don’t know where they are, they don’t know who they are, they don’t know from where they come, they don’t know where they are going. Number four is the one who has become a little alert, who can see.
When this old man called the young rabbi to the window, he must have felt the possibility of the fourth man, number four. Only the number four can be called to the window. Only with the number four the master can share his experience.
With the first it is almost impossible to talk. To the first you can give prasad, to the first you can invite for a feast. Religion is nothing for him; rather, it is just a feast. Whenever a religious day comes, he eats better, he dresses well, he enjoys it. To the second you can give emotional food: prayer, flowing tears, sentimentality. To the third, the intelligentsia, the intellectual, you can talk much; He will appear to understand but will never understand.
Only with the fourth is sharing possible – to one who is a little alert, or is just on the brink of being alert; somebody asleep but turning in his sleep and you know, “Now he is going to wake up. Now any moment he is going to wake up.” Only in this moment can a master share his vision: when he sees that you are just on the brink of waking up, or you are already awake, just lying down with closed eyes, or just a little shaking and you will open the eyes.
It must have been such a moment. The young rabbi must have been of the fourth type or just close to it: “Do you see…do you see?” said the old man.
This saying “Do you see?” is a shaking to help him to become alert. Even for a single moment will do because once you have tasted awareness you will long for it; that will become your goal, the very end. Then you cannot be satisfied with this ordinary world and all that it offers. Then a strange discontent will arise which cannot be satisfied with this world.
Rabbi Leib has said, “I have such a discontent that it cannot be satisfied with this world. That’s why I know there must be a God because otherwise, who will satisfy my discontent? There must be another world, there must be another way of being.”
The very discontent shows because it cannot be satisfied here, nothing can satisfy here. A thirst which cannot be quenched here is an indication that there must be some other type of water, some other type of quenching agent, some other world.
Rabbi Leib says, “I don’t know that God is, but I know that in me there is a discontent which indicates that there must be some place, some space of being, where this discontent will disappear.”
Godliness is the possibility only for those who can see – the fourth, number four. With the number four, religion enters the world. With number three, up to the number three, the world is materialistic. They may be found in a prayer house – churches, temples, gurdwaras – but that makes no difference. With number four, religion becomes alive – throbs, beats, breathes. This young man must have been of the number four.
I am here only for those who belong to the number four. Make haste to become a number four because if you are a little alert I can lend my being, you can have a vision through it. I can bring you to my window and can ask you, “Do you see?” But this is possible only with the number four.
Then there is number five, whose awareness has become settled. Now, for the number five there is no need of lightning; he has his own inner light burning.
Then there is number six whose entire discontent has disappeared, who is absolutely content. For number six, nothing is there for him to achieve any more. Then you will be surprised – why does number seven exist? For the number six everything is attained, fulfilled; there is nothing to attain. There is no greater height than number six, number six is the highest – then why number seven?
With the number seven, even contentment disappears. With the sixth, there is the feeling of fulfillment, deeply contented, arrived; with the number seven even that disappears – no content, no discontent; no emptiness, no fullness. The number seven has become existence itself. The number seven we have called the avatar. A Buddha, a Mahavira, a Krishna, a Christ, they are number seven.
This young man must have been of number four. You should remember this: I can go on talking to you and that talking is just preparing a ground so that one day I can wake you up and bring you to my window.
So the whole effort should be how to see, the whole effort should be how to increase the quantity and the quality of seeing, how to become eyes with your whole being. Godliness is not to be searched for, vision has to be created.
After the feast was over, the Rabbi of Mongielnico danced around the table and sang in a low voice… Something has happened, something tremendously significant. You can be grateful to it only by singing, and that too, in a very low voice because to be too loud would be vulgar. Something from the unknown has penetrated, something from the beyond has come to the vision – you can only sing in a very low voice. The very thing is so significant, so sacred, that one walks cautiously, as in a winter stream. Or as if afraid of enemies, one hesitates.
That is the meaning of …sang in a low voice, “The holy old man, our brother…” The holiest, a Buddha, a Christ, but still “our brother” – that is the beauty. A buddha may have gone beyond, may have become a god, but he remains a brother to us because he was a part once. He traveled on the same path, he groped in the same darkness, he is of our family. He has become holiest: “The holy old man, our brother…”
God is too far away, the holiest of the holy. But to call God “our brother” won’t look right. That’s why there is something unbridgeable with God: an abyss exists between you and God. The bridge is not there. Only a Buddha or a Jesus becomes a bridge because the bridge is joined both to this shore and that shore. Jesus is called “son of God” and “son of man.” He is both: son of man, our brother; son of God, the holy old man. The bridge has two sides. One belongs to our shore, the other belongs to the other. That’s why a master is even more significant than a god.
Just a few days before I was talking about a woman mystic, Sahajo. She says, “I can leave God but I cannot leave my master because God has only given me this world, the bondage. My master has given me freedom – and God himself. I can leave God but I cannot leave my master. I can renounce God but I cannot renounce my master” – a very significant assertion, a great statement of love and understanding.
God is too far away. Jesus is both, near and far. God can be the goal, but Jesus is both the path and the goal. How can you reach to the goal without the path? It will hang in emptiness, there will be no bridge to reach it. Jesus is both the end and the means, son of man and son of God.
Beautiful is this assertion: “The holy old man, our brother, has shown me a light.”
What is that light he has shown? – the light that comes with the clarity of eyes, the light that comes with the awakening of the seer, the light that happens when you become a witness. Not that he has shown something; he has simply shown you the capacity of your vision, that even godliness is possible with the right eyes.
“Do you see?” If you see, everything is possible. If you don’t see, nothing is possible. The possibility opens with your opening eyes.
“The holy old man, our brother has shown me a light. Great is the light he has shown me.” He never forgets for a single moment that this light is something the master has shown: “I have not seen it, it is not my attainment yet. He has lent his vision to me, he has been compassionate, he has been loving, he has shared. He called me to his eyes, to his windows; I looked through them.”
“He has shown me a light. Great is the light…” “He has shown me a great lightning, but it is his. I am thankful, I am grateful that he has been so loving and kind…”
“But who knows? – who knows how many years must pass, how long we still must sleep before it comes to us, before it comes to us?” He is aware that in the lightning he has seen something: “But who knows when the morn will come? When my morning will come, who knows?” In fact, now a thirst arises. That thirst is in the song, a hunger arises.
“He has shown me a light. Great is the light he has shown me.” Now, for the first time, a discontent: “The light exists and I have to attain it.” “But who knows? – who knows how many years must pass…” To attain it, to earn it, to make it one’s own maybe a long journey will be needed. But now the trust has arisen; howsoever long it is, one can go on singing. It is there, that much is certain. Then the time is not much of a problem – one can go on singing. Once you know it is there, then you can wait for infinity. You cannot wait because deep down you are not yet certain that it is there.
Patience is difficult because you know deep down, “Maybe it is not there, maybe it is just wasting life. Maybe it is just wasting time and energy.” Your impatience is nothing but your doubt. Trust is patient, doubt very impatient.
Many times you think it is your trust which is impatience – you are wrong. Many times you think you are impatient because you are such a great lover – you are wrong. Many times you think, “My impatience simply shows my strong desire and longing.” But you are wrong.
Impatience simply shows that you are not ready to waste time because deep down you are afraid, suspicious: “Maybe the whole thing is just foolish, godliness doesn’t exist. The truth – who knows whether it exists or not? Life eternal may be just wish fulfillment for something beyond death. It may be just a trick of the human mind to tolerate death, to accept death. It may be just a trick of the mind to live with death.” Then you are impatient.
Once you have seen the light – even the light of somebody else which cannot light your path – it can give you trust. From the masters, one doesn’t learn the truth, one only learns trust.
Truth has to come to you. Whenever you are ready, it will come. Nobody else can give you the truth. But trust? Trust is infectious in a man who has attained: in his aroma, in his climate you can catch it.
If you are near me – not only physically close but really close, open, vulnerable to me – sooner or later only one thing is possible that will happen to you with me, and that will be trust. Trust is enough. I don’t say that trust is the goal, but without trust there is no goal. Trust is the beginning, the seed, but when the seed is in your hand, the tree is not far away; it is already on the way.
“Great is the light he has shown me. But who knows…?” A strong longing has arisen. “But who knows? – who knows how many years must pass…” But they can be passed singing, dancing. They can be passed in faith and trust. They can be passed in waiting. And I tell you, it will not be waiting for Godot because the trust has arisen.
Now it is not that you don’t know for whom you are waiting. You know exactly for whom you are waiting, you absolutely know for whom you are waiting. You are no longer waiting for Godot, you are waiting for godliness. That’s the difference between Godot and godliness: Godot is just something promised by your mind, godliness is something glimpsed through someone who has known; godliness is trust, Godot is belief; Godot is through scriptures and teachers, godliness is through masters.
“Who knows how many years must pass…” But then one can wait, and in fact, the waiting becomes a deep delight. When you know that something is going to happen and shower on you, you wait with such tranquil excitement.
Let me use the paradoxical term “tranquil excitement”: excitement is there every moment, but absolutely calm, a deep reservoir of longing with no ripples because even ripples will disturb and divert. One waits, relaxed and tense. Difficult, how to explain it? – both relaxed and tense. Tense because something is going to happen, relaxed because it can happen only when you are relaxed.

A German thinker, Herrigel, was learning archery in Japan with a great master. For three years he worked hard and failed; to understand the Eastern mind is very difficult for the Western mind because they function on totally different levels. The Western mind is logical, the Eastern mind is alogical – may not be illogical, but alogical.
Herrigel learned the whole art of archery. His scores became a hundred percent correct, but the master was not satisfied and he would say, “You are still not in the right posture.”
What is the right posture? The right posture is that when you pull your arrow on the bow your muscles should be relaxed. This is absurd because when you pull the bow the muscle is bound to become tense. The muscles should be relaxed. The difficulty was that Herrigel went many times and touched the master’s muscles when he was pulling the bow and they were relaxed. So you cannot say it cannot happen; they were as relaxed as a child’s, and no tension.
The master said, “The arrow moves by itself when you are relaxed. Then it, or existence, moves it, you are not the mover. You simply create the situation and then it happens. You are not the doer.”
This is what tense relaxation is: you are pulling the arrow tense, and yet you are totally relaxed.

To long for godliness is to be tense. To allow godliness to happen one needs to be absolutely relaxed, a tranquil excitement, a tense relaxation. Waiting as if it is going to happen right now, and ready to wait for eternity. Let me repeat: waiting as if it is going to happen right now – this very moment, alert – and yet ready to wait for eternity because whenever it happens it is never late. Whenever it happens, it is always early because the happening is so great you cannot claim, you cannot say, “I have earned it.” The happening is so great that it is always through grace and not through effort. It happens through effortlessness. Whenever it happens, you know well that it is through the compassion, grace, that it has happened. It has nothing to do with you or your earning.
“The holy old man, our brother, has shown me a light. Great is the light he has shown me. But who knows? – who knows how many years must pass, how long we must still sleep, before it comes to us, before it comes to us.” This is the last thing to be understood about this anecdote: when you look through an enlightened man’s vision, godliness doesn’t come to you, you go to godliness. When you yourself become alert and your sleep has gone, you don’t go to godliness, godliness comes to you. That’s the difference.
Look at the Himalayas from a window: far away, in their majesty, shining in the sun and the white snow – and even from thousands of miles away you can feel the coolness. You can feel the glory, the silence, the height, the sheer majesty, the magic. But it is your eyes that are traveling far away, not the Himalayas. It is you going to the Himalayas on a visionary trip: your eyes are moving, the Himalayas are not moving.
This happens when you look through somebody else’s window. This happened to this young rabbi when he looked through the old man’s window: he traveled far away.
When you have become capable, when your own eyes open, it is just the other way around: it is not that you go on a faraway journey, the faraway comes closer; existence comes to you. Whenever you are absolutely ready to receive, it rushes. The rush is natural; just as when it rains in the Himalayas, the peaks cannot hold the water, the water rushes down. It rushes to the valley. Wherever it can find a low ground, a lake, it rushes.
Whenever you are awake, you become space because whenever you are awake, you are not filled with the ego. You are an empty space – a valley, a low ground; it rushes, it fills you.
I have heard…

A very rich man asked a Hasid master to come to his palace. The palace was tremendously valuable. It was unique and it was full of valuable things: paintings, carpets, antiques, furniture of every kind and of every age.
The rich man took the Hasid master from one room to another. For hours and hours they had to walk. The palace was vast, and the rich man was bragging too much and was feeling very deeply contented in his ego.
When the whole palace was shown to the Hasid master, the rich man said, “Now tell me, what is your impression?”
The Hasid said, “The fact that the earth is strong enough to carry the burden of such a massive palace – plus you. This has impressed me tremendously – plus you.”

Everybody has made a palace of the ego. Everybody is too full of it. Once you become awake, ego disappears. Ego is the sleep.
To feel “I am” is to be sleepy. Suddenly, to be without any feeling of “I am” is to be awake. To be without any feeling of “I am” is to be awake. To be is an opening, to feel “I am” is a closed monad-like phenomenon. It has no windows, no openings; you live in a cocoon, dead inside. Once you are awake you become empty, you become a nothingness, a nobody – existence rushes to you from all directions, it comes and fills you.
When the devotee is ready, he does not travel at all. When the meditator is ready, he does not go anywhere, existence comes. It is always existence that comes. When we go to God, it is only a vision. For a moment clouds disperse and the sun is seen. Again the clouds are there, and the sun, and the light, and the experience becomes just a memory. It haunts you, but it doesn’t transform you. “The holy old man, our brother, has shown me a light. Great is the light he has shown me. But who knows? – who knows how many years must pass, how long we still must sleep, before it comes to us, before it comes to us?”
Enough for today.

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