Chapter 1: Sutra 3
Therefore, if one wishes to plumb the boundless depths of life's mystery, only a life without desires is useful. A mind filled with desire sees only its outer periphery.
The path that can be walked on is not the path; the truth that can be interpreted is not the truth.
The nameless is the creator of existence and the name is the mother of things.
After these two sutras, Lao Tzu's third sutra is: "Therefore, therefore." So, first, it's important to understand this "therefore," before we can understand the sutra. This seems surprising, because the third sutra has no connection with the first two points, which can be linked to "therefore."
It cannot be called truth. There is no path that can be traversed. Existence is nameless, the world of objects is a world of names. Therefore, a mind consumed by lust will not be able to grasp the unfathomable depths of life, the secrets of life; it will only be able to grasp the outer periphery of life.
Therefore, a "hence" is only connected when the thing coming down is emanating, emanating, or emanating from the things that have gone up. Only when the third thing emerges from the first two things can it be connected to a "hence." But what connection does a mind filled with lust have with a mind filled with words? What connection does a path that cannot be traversed have with a mind filled with lust? What connection does an existence that cannot be named have with a mind filled with lust?
The manifest is not visible; it is unmanifest. Therefore, it has been very difficult to understand Lao Tzu's term "therefore." Let's first examine the relationship.
In reality, only one who is filled with desire wants to reach somewhere. The very desire to reach somewhere is desire. If I am content with being who I am, then all paths become useless to me, there is no path for me. When I have nowhere to go, when I have nowhere to reach, then no path holds any purpose for me. I have to reach somewhere, I have to go somewhere, I have to become something, I have to achieve something, then paths become essential. If there is no journey, what is the purpose of paths? But if there is a journey, then the path has a purpose. All the paths we create are paths of desire. No path is created without desire. Although desire has no connection with the path, desire has a connection with the destination. But no destination can be reached without a path. And no desire can be fulfilled without a path. And if any desire is to be fulfilled, means are necessary.
Lust is the desire to reach somewhere. A distant star shines in a lust-filled mind, saying: "Come here and you will find peace, come here and you will find happiness, come here and you will find bliss." Where you stand, there is no bliss. Here, where this lust makes a star shine, there is bliss. And there is a great distance between us and that star. A path has to be created to connect them. Whether we create that path with money, that path with religion, that path with external travel, that path with internal travel, whether we seek worldly possessions, salvation, or opening the door to God through that path! But if our destination is far away, then a path becomes essential to connect us with that destination.
And Lao Tzu says, any path that can be walked is not the true path. But a mind filled with desire will inevitably walk on paths. This means that any path a mind filled with desire walks on is not the true path. Walking itself is on the wrong path; walking is never the true path at all. In fact, the desire to go anywhere is the wrong desire to go—anywhere, unconditionally. It is not that the desire to acquire wealth is wrong; nor is it that the desire to conquer the entire world is wrong. No, the desire to attain liberation is equally wrong. In fact, wherever there is a question of attainment, the mind becomes filled with tension and restlessness.
A mind filled with lust is never where it is; and it always oscillates where it is not. This is a very impossible situation. I am not where I am; and where I am not, I always oscillate. Naturally, the result is anguish, anguish, and tension. Because I can be at ease only where I am. I cannot be at ease where I am not. But to be where I am, it is necessary that I do not feel like going anywhere; that the mind does not travel at all.
That's why Lao Tzu says, "Therefore." That's why he says that a mind filled with lust, a mind filled with desire, cannot open the doors to the unfathomable depths of life; it can only become acquainted with the periphery, the outer periphery. The mysteries remain unknown. The palace remains unfamiliar. The lust-filled mind lives by considering the outer walls of the palace as life.
He will live. Because the palace is here and now; and the mind filled with desire is always somewhere else. It is never here and now, right here and now. Somewhere else, in a dream! And it is not as if the situation will change when it reaches there. Today, at the place where I stand, I think of being somewhere else; and when I reach there, this same mind will stand with me again and will recreate the seeds of desire to go somewhere else. This is how we keep running. And it is a very interesting race. Because after reaching the place for which we run, we again start running for some other place.
In reality, what we considered a destination before reaching it becomes a stopover after reaching it. Before reaching it, we feel that everything will be achieved upon reaching there. Once there, we feel that this is only the beginning, and we must go further. And at every point of pause, we feel the same, that we must go further. That is why we are unable to find peace anywhere, even for a moment.
Lao Tzu has deliberately used the term "therefore" behind these formulas, as one does in mathematics or logic. And the conclusion he has drawn is this: Always stripped of passion, we must be found—uncovered by desire, uprooted by lust. Like peeling the layers of desire from oneself. Like peeling an onion and throwing away all the layers; and keep on doing so, until not a single layer remains. But after peeling the onion, one ends up with nothing. As one peels one layer, another layer comes to hand; as one peels that, a third layer comes to hand. One keeps peeling; in the end, only nothing remains.
If you were to remove all your desires, do you think you would survive? Are you anything more than the sum of your desires? If all your desires were peeled away like the layers of an onion, what would you be but a void? You are what you have desired; the sum of that! Have you ever thought about what you would be if all your desires were to fall away? A complete void; nothing.
But from that very void, from that very nothingness, the door to life opens.
In reality, all doors open from nothingness. You build a house, you make a door in it. Have you ever thought about what a door is? A door is just a void. Where you haven't built a wall, that's a door. If you understand it properly, a door means where there is nothing. Entry won't be through the wall. Entry will be through the door. What does a door mean? A door means where there is nothingness. Where there is nothing, you enter from there. And where there is something, you don't enter from there. Now this is a very interesting thing: entry into a house is never from the house. It happens from that place where there is nothingness, where there is nothing, there is no house. A door means the absence of a house. A house exists except for the door.
So until we find a void within us, where there is nothing, we will never be able to penetrate the ultimate mystery of life. That palace will remain unknown and unfamiliar to us.
So Lao Tzu says, "Tear away all the layers of desire. Not a single layer of desire should remain."
We too sometimes peel back layers of desire. But we peel back one only after building a bigger one. We too let go of desires. But we let go of one desire only after replacing it with a bigger one, after replacing it with a bigger one. In fact, we let go of a desire only when we step on a bigger one. We leave small houses for bigger ones, we leave small positions for bigger positions. We too leave. But we always leave a small wall only after a bigger wall has been built.
And sometimes it also happens that we abandon the entire structure of life's desires. A man used to search for wealth, position, and fame. He stops everything; he steps down from his position, renounces wealth, leaves his clothes and becomes naked. And says, "Now I am going to search for God." He abandons everything. But then, in pursuit of another huge desire, he breaks the entire structure. Now no one will be able to tell him that he is searching for wealth. No one will be able to say that he is searching for position. No one will be able to say that he is searching for prestige.
But if we pay attention to the word God, we will find everything. The word God is formed from opulence. The name of ultimate opulence is God. Now he is searching for that opulence which never ends. Now he is searching for that wealth which thieves cannot steal. Now he is searching for that wealth which death cannot take away. But the search is all the same. Now he is searching for that position from which there is no return. Now he is searching for that prestige which has no end. But the search continues. He has named his search God.
Remember, no one can make God an object of desire. And if they do, they will find God there, not God, but their own old desires, reinvented. No one can make salvation an object of desire, not an object. And if they do, salvation will prove to be just a new prison—beautiful, made of gold, decorated with flowers, but just a new prison. In reality, desire can never take us out of prison. As long as there is desire, there is bondage.
Lao Tzu says, "Uproot, remove, tear down each layer of lust." Why? Because only then can we plumb the depths of the unfathomable mystery hidden within life can we truly attain. Desirelessness means devoid of all desires.
The desire for peace remains in the mind, the desire for meditation remains in the mind, the desire for samadhi remains in the mind. And the mind is very cunning. The mind says, "No harm, now you don't want position, you want meditation; now you don't want wealth, you want peace." And the mind lives neither in wealth, nor in meditation, nor in peace, nor in heaven. The mind lives in desire, in longing, in desiring. That's why the mind says, "Any object will do, no harm. But something is needed." Disinterest means, nothing is needed. And remember, the cunning of the mind is very deep. It can even go so far as to say, "I don't want anything, this is my desire. I want to be desireless, this is my wish." But the mind will always stand behind it.
Rabindranath has sung to God in a line somewhere in Geetanjali, has prayed to God: I do not want anything else from you, I only want that there should be no desire left in my mind!
But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter at all. And if one looks deeply, the person who asks for ten thousand rupees, the person who asks for a big house, doesn't have as great a desire as Rabindranath's. That poor man is very poor. What is he asking for? What is the value of his demand? Rabindranath says, "I don't want anything except to attain the desire itself, to be beyond desire." But this is a desire—the ultimate, the last, the most subtle.
And Lao Tzu says, "Without desire! Uproot it, uproot it to the last breath."
A young man comes to meet Lao Tzu and says, "I want peace." Lao Tzu says, "I'll never find it." The young man says, "What problem do you find in me? What sin have I committed that I'll never find peace?" Lao Tzu says, "As long as you desire peace, you won't find it." I too tried to desire it for a long time. And finally, I found that the desire for peace creates as much unrest as no other unrest in the world. Stop seeking this peace and come."
I remember another incident. A seeker came to Lynch and said, "I've given up everything." Lynch said, "Please, give up this too!" The young man replied, "But I've given up everything." Lynch replied, "There's no need to save even this much."
The feeling of selflessness is so subtle!
The young man says, "I've given up everything." Lynch says, "Leave this too. Why are you saving so little?" No, he says, "I have nothing left." Lynch says, "Don't save this either."
Lust, desire, wish, after roaming around a lot, catches us through many doors.
To be desireless means: I am content with the way I am. If I am restless, I am restless; if I am uneasy, I am uneasy; if I am bound, I am bound; if I am unhappy, I am unhappy. Total acceptance of who I am. No, there is no question of me being even an inch different. I am what I am.
Then there's no movement, no motivation. How can the journey begin? How can the mind say, "Go there, find that. I am what I am."
The essence of Tao is Tathata—acceptance. Where there is total acceptance, there is desirelessness. And where there is even the slightest rejection, there desire is born. A little rejection, and desire is born, and desire comes into play, lust takes over, and the race begins. Have you noticed that desire is born from rejection? We all have lived, and we live, in desire. If you examine each of your desires, you will immediately discover which rejection gave rise to this desire, what was it that you wanted that should not be like this, that should be different, that should be otherwise, that should be different, and desire was born.
I've read about Nasruddin's life. One day, a funeral procession passed through the village. The mullah's house was in the middle, and Nasruddin's was in the middle. A prominent man had died in the village. Nearly all the village's prominent figures had joined the funeral procession. Seeing Nasruddin's house in the middle, many people, out of respect, raised their hands towards Nasruddin's hut and offered their salutations.
Nasruddin's wife is standing outside. She runs to the mullah and tells him, "Mullah, a prominent person has passed away in the city. Many people are carrying the funeral procession. They are looking at you, at your hut, and are greeting you."
Nasruddin said, "It's possible I could have heard the sound, but I was lying on the other side at the time. And you know that the man who died has always had bad habits. He could have died an hour later, if we had turned to that side by then."
Nasruddin is mocking the man. But he says that at that time we were lying on the other side. There was no question of changing sides to greet him!
Once, the villagers thought Nasruddin was in great difficulty. They collected some money and came to give it to him. He was lying flat on his back, under the open sky, near a tree. They said, "We've come to give you some money, Nasruddin! We heard you were in great pain." Nasruddin replied, "You should come a little late, because my pocket is tucked under me. When I lie down, you can come and put it down."
Nasruddin has made a profound satire on the man. He was a precious man.
But if we delve deeper into the feeling of selflessness, we will discover that where we are, as we are, is accepted; there is no desire to be even an inch here or there. If there is no such desire, then, as Lao Tzu says, the mystery of life, the unfathomable depths, can be touched. And life itself is in the depths. On the surface, there is only the periphery; on the surface, there is only the outline. It's like if I touch your body and return and say, "I touched you." Although we say so. If I touch your body and return, I still say, "I touched you." Although I have only touched the outline, the shape, I have not touched you. The outer outline, the shape, of your body is not you. That outline is only a boundary between you and the world. You are deep within, within. All that is external to you is an arrangement within which you can exist. That is only your house, your building, your clothing.
But if we see others through their clothes and touch their features, that is forgivable. We also see ourselves from the outside, and we touch and are touched by our bodies.
We can only touch the whole of life from the outside, Lao Tzu says, because of the lustful mind.
It's important to understand this a little. Why can't a lustful mind go deep? There are three points.
One, a mind consumed with lust cannot stay in one place for more than a moment, so it cannot dig. A lustful mind is a mind on the run. It cannot stay in one place even for a moment. So, to go deeper, you need to dig. And if you take a spade in your hand and keep digging, you will not be able to dig a well. You may uproot a few pebbles here and there, ruin the path, or fill the ground with useless holes, but you will not be able to dig a well. Digging a well requires a place, a place to hit, a place to labor, a place to wait—a lustful mind cannot do that. The lustful mind is always on the run. It should be said that it is always one step ahead of you. It runs a little further than where you are. Just as a shadow follows you, lust moves ahead of you. Wherever you are, it begins to give you visions of what lies ahead.
So, for one thing, a mind filled with lust does not stay still even for a moment; without staying still, there is no depth.
Second, a lustful mind is never in the present, ever. And life is in the present. A lustful mind is always in the future. If you want to touch life, you have to touch it in this very moment. And a lustful mind says, "Everything is hidden in some other moment. Wherever I reach tomorrow, all doors of joy will open. Wherever I reach tomorrow, treasures are buried there. Today? There is nothing today." A lustful mind is extremely sad about the present and extremely anxious about the future. And the secret of life lies in the present.
In reality, there is only the present in existence; there is neither past nor future. Existence is always present. Existence is always there. Past and future are paradoxes of the lustful mind. The mind preserves the past because only with the past can one travel to the future. Therefore, what we call the future is a repetition of our past; a reflection of the past, its reflection, or rather, its projection. Whatever we have found in the past, we want to find it again and again in the future, with slight modifications. So we preserve our past so that we can create our future.
But the past is only memory, not existence. And the future is only imagination, not existence. The future is only a dream, which has not yet happened; and the past is a dream, which has happened. And what is always there, is neither past nor future. It is the present. Perhaps it is not quite right to call it the present. It is not right because we call present that which lies between past and future. But if the past is a lie and the future is a lie, then there can be no truth between them. There is no way for truth to exist between two lies.
So, to put it more precisely, there is no present; existence is eternity, eternity, eternality. Nothing ever dies there, nor does anything ever come to be there; everything is there. The entire state is of being. And whoever enters this being, this beingness, will be able to touch the unfathomable depths of life.
A lustful mind will keep wandering on the periphery. Drawing juice from the past, it will spread dreams into the future; it will put down roots in the past, it will spread branches into the future—for the flowers that will someday come. And existence? Existence is passing right now. It is here, right now. It is in this very moment.
Thirdly, life is the closest. It's not even right to call it the closest, because we ourselves are life. Even if it is the closest, it is still a little distant from us. Life is ourselves. And a mind filled with lust is always searching for the far away. And life is the closest, closer than the closest. And a mind filled with lust is farther than the farthest. These two never meet anywhere. Life and mind never meet.
Kipling has sung somewhere that East and West do not meet anywhere.
They may meet somewhere, but the mind and life never meet. It may seem surprising that the mind and life never meet. Therefore, the one who is full of the mind becomes empty of life. And the one who is empty of the mind becomes filled with life.
But it will seem difficult, because we are filled with the mind. So, have we discovered life or not? No, we have not discovered life. We have mistaken the mind for life itself. And mistaking the mind for life is like mistaking pebbles for diamonds. Or mistaking dry leaves falling from a tree for flowers, but never looking up to see that flowers bloom above. Dry leaves that fall from the tree, forbidden, discarded, expelled, keep picking them up and thinking they are flowers, pile them up and fill your coffers. The mind is merely the ashes of the past. Just as dust accumulates on clothes when a traveler passes along a road, similarly, the mind is a collection of the ashes of the paths that accumulate on us after passing through existence. From this collection, we continue to think about the future.
Lao Tzu wants to cut its root. That is why Lao Tzu says, free from lust. Because where there is no lust, the mind cannot stay there. Lust is the root. If you go and ask Buddha, he will say, craving! If there is no craving, you will get everything. The right word is craving. What Lao Tzu is calling desiring, desire, passion, lust, Buddha is calling it craving. Mahavir calls it carelessness. People have used different words. But the root of cutting the mind is the same.
One who desires something will never be able to transcend the mind. One who desires nothing is beyond the mind right now, this very moment! He need not wait until tomorrow. If, sitting in this very moment, you can muster the courage to say, "I no longer desire anything," then right now you can transcend the blind state of many lifetimes. Right now!
But deception will happen. And deception doesn't happen because it's impossible to get out. Deception happens because you don't understand the secrets of the entire mind. If you listen to me, it will occur to you: If you can get out, why not? Get out now. You must get out.
If you create a desire to become something and you close your eyes because you think it is good, you will be free from troubles, you will become calm, supreme bliss will rain down, if you break this desire, then the doors to the secret of life will open, if you give this also the form of a desire, then you have again slipped away, you have again gone astray.
There was a Sufi mystic named Bayazid. When Bayazid went to his guru for the first time, he had a habit of sleeping a lot. The guru would keep on explaining, but Bayazid would fall asleep. The guru would make Bayazid sit outside on guard, and Bayazid would fall asleep. The guru told him many times, "Look, you will miss sleeping." But Bayazid would say, "I remain awake for a long time; it is not that I remain asleep all the time. I remain awake a lot, and I also sleep a little." But his guru said, "You do not know that sometimes it happens that you are awake for twenty-four hours and then fall asleep for a moment and everything is lost."
That night, Bayazid dreamt that he had died and reached the gates of heaven. The gates were closed, and a sign posted on the gate warned anyone who came and wished to enter. The gates open once in a thousand years, for a moment. Remain alert and sit; when the gates open, enter. Bayazid was terrified. "Once in a thousand years, only a moment!" And dozing off is a matter of a thousand years, and he will continue to doze off. With great courage, with great strength, with great strength, he sat with his eyes open, and then dozed off. When he woke up, he saw the gates closing. He panicked and ran, but the gates had already closed. He sat down again, and another thousand years passed. Then one day, as he dozed off, he heard a voice saying, "The gates are open." But his mind said, "This is all a dream; gates don't open like this. It hasn't even been a thousand years yet!" Still, he woke up in a panic, but saw the gates closing. He woke up. He was dreaming.
It was midnight, I went to my Guru at that very moment. And said, I will not blink now, please forgive me. Guru asked, what happened? I told him my dream. Guru said, you did not see properly. There was a board on this side of the door that once in a thousand years the door will open, it will remain open for a moment and then it closes. When the door was closing, did you see the board on the other side or not? Bayazid said, I did not get a chance to see the board on the other side. The door was almost closing, then twice...
Bayazid's teacher said, "If you ever have this dream again, take a look at the board on the other side. It also says, 'This door opens only when you sleep.'"
The door opens only when we are unconscious. What could be the conditions for such a door to open?
The truth is, if we go deeper—Bayazid's guru did not tell him this—if we go deeper, then when the door opens, we become unconscious. That is the cause of our mind. It is not that the door opens when we become unconscious. But when the door opens, only then do we become unconscious. Because once we see that door open, then there is no way for the mind to escape. Therefore, the mind protects itself completely; it makes complete arrangements to save itself. It makes all kinds of arrangements.
Just the day before yesterday, a young man came to me. He said that in meditation... Just two months ago, he was very restless. How can he calm his mind? There's a lot of unrest; a lot of anxiety and panic. The mind has started to calm down, the panic has started to subside. So, he came with a new fear. He was saying that the mind is calming down, the panic is also decreasing, but now he feels a new fear: should he go deeper inside or not?
What are you afraid of?
Will I lose interest in life's desires? Will I lose interest in the constant rush of life? Will my ambition die? Otherwise, how will I progress?
You're right, the mind finds and brings back such things. Only then does the door open, only then does the mind bring back such things. Won't it be that all my established arrangements are disrupted? The mind immediately brings back some news from within.
A gentleman recently wrote to me saying that his meditation is going very deep, but he can't do it anymore because he's so afraid he might die in meditation! He's so terrified he might die in meditation! If he dies in meditation, what will happen? Will you be responsible?
I said, "What do you think, will you not die without meditation? If you are sure that you will not die without meditation, then I can take the responsibility if you die in meditation. But if you can die without meditation, why put the responsibility of meditation on me?"
People write to me, "Will we go mad? If we meditate deeply, will we go mad?"
The mind makes arrangements immediately. As soon as you reach the place where the door opens, it will say, "No, don't move forward; just turn back now." It will find any excuse.
I have been explaining to people that nothing will happen by changing clothes, nothing will happen by changing the name, nothing will happen by taking sanyas. So they used to come to me and say give me some external support! If there is no external support, then how can we go inside? And you talk as if we will not be able to go inside. No rosary, no clothes, no worship, no idol, no temple, no fasting, nothing, then how can we go inside? Give me some external support. I said, okay, I will give you external support. Now those same people come to me, they say, what will happen by changing clothes? What will happen by wearing a rosary? What will happen by worship, prayer, kirtan? These are all external things.
Sometimes I am very surprised as to what kind of a person's mind is? And this same person says both the things and still I am not able to see that it is my mind that says both the things. When a way is found to go within, then that mind says, how will you go within without support? When you give external support, then that mind says, what will happen with external support? The journey has to be within! And the amazing thing is that our stupidity is so deep that we are not able to understand these foolish things of our mind at all. Every time the mind makes arrangements to go to sleep. It makes very petty excuses to go to sleep.
A friend just came to me and said, "You've always said that you shouldn't hurt anyone. So if I wear the clothes of a monk, my wife feels sad."
So I asked him when did you hear this from me? He said, it's been ten years. In these ten years, have you caused any pain to your wife or not? If you haven't, I consider you a sanyasi. You can go. You don't need to change your clothes. He said, no, you did cause pain. So I said, just while wearing these clothes, you won't cause pain. And while causing all the pain, you didn't come to me because you had said not to cause pain to your wife, not to cause pain to anyone. And you caused all the pain happily.
But man's stupidity is amazing. He'll say, "Changing clothes will upset my wife." And you yourself said not to hurt anyone. If you've stopped hurting others, then that's perfectly fine. Don't hurt them.
"No," he says, "you haven't stopped hurting me, I'm still the same. And everything goes on."
The surprising thing is that we are never able to observe our mind from a distance when it advises us to sleep. And it gives such advice that it seems absolutely right. The thing is absolutely right. But this wife is just an excuse. This mind is the real thing. This mind is using the wife as an excuse. While looking at the woman next door, the neighbor, it never used the excuse that the wife would be sad. It said, what kind of wife! what kind of wife! All these, these are all temporary relationships. Who belongs to whom in this world? It never comes to mind then.
But whenever we are about to take a step to transcend the mind, the mind advises us to sleep. The door to heaven opens not just when we fall asleep; it's when it's about to open that the mind tells us to go to sleep! It makes a thousand excuses: "You've been awake for so long! You're tired, you should go to sleep now."
Lao Tzu says, "Desire is the mind. And without desirelessness, there is no way to delve into the depths of life."
Question:
Lord, please tell me, aren't all these teachings of Lao Tzu the teachings of a defeated man in a defeated life? Isn't there a kind of negative attitude or escapism at the root of these teachings? Won't this policy of acceptance or acceptance encourage the system of exploitation? And finally, can't these teachings be called mere theoretical idealism? They are not practical, and they don't offer a way to free oneself from desire or attain immortality.
Lao Tzu doesn't believe in solutions. Because, he says, solutions exist only for desire. There is no solution for desirelessness. "Means" means a means. "Means" means a path. "Means" means an action taken to reach a place. "Means" means a system connecting to a destination, a bridge, a means.
Lao Tzu says, desire requires a solution, a path, running, labor, and effort. Understanding is enough for renunciation. Understanding is enough for renunciation; no solution is necessary—for Lao Tzu. And even for those who understand the whole thing, no solution is necessary. All solutions are toys given to the foolish, a system to snatch them away gradually. They will not be able to let go all at once, so there is a plan to release them gradually.
Lao Tzu says, "Understanding, understanding, wisdom! If you become aware of this trap of the mind, you will be freed from it the moment you become aware of it; no other method is needed. If I understand that this is poison, this cup will slip from my hand. I don't need to do any exercise to release this cup. If I understand that fire burns, this hand will stop going towards the fire. I don't need to hire two or four wrestlers to stop it."
Solutions have to be taken when there is no understanding; if there is understanding then there is no need for solutions. Therefore, there are two paths. One path is that of solutions, that of ignorance. The foolish person says, "I don't have understanding, tell me some solution so that I can overcome this lack of understanding. Some trick, some technique, some method." Foolishness demands a solution; it cannot live without a solution. Wisdom doesn't need any solution. Once the matter is understood, the matter is over. Understanding itself is enough. There is a reason for this. Because people like Lao Tzu believe that we are not actually bound, we only feel bound. We are not sick, we are simply ignorant.
There are two things. One person is sick, truly sick. The real illness is gripping his heart. Then medicine will be needed, a solution will be necessary. But there is another person who is not sick at all; he only has the illusion that he is sick. Then giving medicine can be expensive and even dangerous. Because the medicine can then become a new disease. This person only needs to understand that he is not sick. And if he ever has to be given medicine, then he will have to abuse sugar and drink water. That medicine will only be a deception. It will not be a medicine.
Lao Tzu believes—and he thinks correctly—that the difficulty of life is the difficulty of ignorance. It is not a real difficulty. We have not truly moved away from God; we only perceive it. We have not truly moved outside the palace of our lives; we only perceive we have moved away. We have not lost the treasures of life; we have simply forgotten them. If this is the case, Lao Tzu says, what is the need for a solution? There is no question of a solution. Understanding will suffice. Understanding is the solution.
Buddha said somewhere, "To those who don't understand, I have given methods. And to those who understand, I have explained. To those who don't understand, I have given solutions: if you do this or that, it will happen. To those who understand, I have explained. The matter is over."
Almost...like the hundreds of patients who come to a psychologist's office every day, who don't have any illness. But that doesn't matter; they are sick anyway. There's no illness, that doesn't matter. They are sick anyway. Even more sick than the real sick! And there's no illness at all. It's just an illusion, just the thought that there is an illness. They too need to be treated. What is the treatment? What have Freud or Jung been doing? Nothing; they've been talking to the patient for years, digging out their illness. If understanding arises during this conversation, that person transcends the illness. And if understanding doesn't arise, that person remains within the illness.
The problem of life is not the problem of real illness. The problem of life is the problem of an illusory, pseudo-illness. That's why Lao Tzu doesn't talk about any solution. He says, "Be helpless! That's the only solution. Know, understand, and stop; that's the only solution."
Lao Tzu's words are not about despair or defeat. This is a very interesting point. This should be understood. It always arises in the mind. Listening to people like Lao Tzu, one feels as if they are escapists. They say, "Don't desire anything." If you don't desire, how will you grow? Although, has anyone kept track of how much you have grown by desiring? How much have you grown by desiring?
Someone was asking Aldous Huxley, "Three generations of yours—three generations of the Huxley family have been working for progress. From father and great-grandfather onwards, three families have been working for the progress of mankind." So, someone asked Aldous, "Three generations of yours have worked for the progress of mankind. We want an account from you, a description of this: can you say that man is happier today than he was five thousand years ago? Is he more peaceful? Is he more joyful?"
Aldous Huxley said, "If my great-grandfather had been asked, he would have boldly said, 'Yes, it is!' If my father had been asked, he would have hesitated a little. I can't even answer."
No, man did not become happy, peaceful, or joyful. And yet, considerable progress was made. Progress did not diminish, but considerable progress was made.
Lao Tzu's words raise the thought that progress will stop. But is man for progress? Or is progress for man? If man exists only for progress, then it's fine, man may be sacrificed, no worries. Progress must happen; it must happen. Small houses should become big; man may die, let him die. Vehicles traveling at ten miles per hour should be removed from the roads, vehicles traveling at a thousand miles per hour should come; no concern whether people survive on the road or not. We must reach the moon and stars; no concern whether the one who reaches there survives or not. If progress is the goal, then Lao Tzu's words are wrong. But if man, his joy, the essence of his life is the goal, then Lao Tzu's words are correct. The truth is that no matter how much passion drives one, one cannot reach the destination.
Remember, just because you ran doesn't mean you've reached the destination. One doesn't reach the destination simply by running. But the logic of the mind dictates that if you don't run, you won't reach anywhere. Only if you run will you reach the destination.
Lao Tzu says, "The ultimate treasure of life is revealed by stopping and standing still, not by running." And Lao Tzu isn't alone in saying this. Buddha also says this, Mahavira also says this, and Patanjali also says this. All who have experienced this in this world say this. If this is so, then all the wise are escapists, and all the ignorant are progressives. Not a single wise person would say anything different from Lao Tzu.
Then it is also interesting that all these ignorant people, who progress, sooner or later go to the feet of some Lao Tzu or the other, saying they want peace. Lao Tzu never went to the feet of these ignorant people, saying they want peace. The progressive always sits at the feet of the escapist some day, saying, give me peace. That escapist never goes to any progressive and asks, "You have found great joy, give me some joy too." Why does this happen invariably? Lao Tzu also has eyes, Buddha also has eyes. They too can see that the progressive is moving ahead, we have gone astray. But it never happens that Buddha comes to them to ask. The same progressive goes back and asks, "My mind is very restless, I am very suffering, I am very troubled."
No, not by running away. The situation is something like this. The word itself isn't dangerous, but the connotations of the word itself! If my house is on fire and I start running out, and you say I'm an escapist! Running out of the house! Then, in a sense, the literal meaning is correct; it's an escape. I'm leaving my house; I'm moving away from the fire. But staying in a burning house isn't wise. If staying in a burning house is wise, then standing in front of a truck honking is bravery. Anyone who moves away upon hearing the horn is an escapist. Are you running away? This is a test: when the truck's horn is honking, stay right there. You're losing courage, you're losing your courage!
No, if we understand the situation of life properly, Lao Tzu isn't running away from life; he's simply moving away from stupidity. Lao Tzu is merely moving away from fire, from illness. He's actually going deeper into life. And while we think we're progressing in life, we simply continue to progress in sheer stupidity, depriving ourselves of life. What is the ultimate test? We must compare Lao Tzu's appearance and ours. Lao Tzu isn't worried even at death; we are worried even while alive. Lao Tzu is joyful in embracing death, but we have never been able to embrace life with joy. Lao Tzu laughs even when sick, while we cry even when healthy. What is the test? Even if you place thorns in Lao Tzu's hands, he will be grateful; even if someone places flowers in our hands, we don't feel thankful. No, what is the path by which we can recognize? What is the criterion?
Lao Tzu is not an escapist. And if Lao Tzu is an escapist, then everyone should be. Then escapism is religion. Because Lao Tzu escapes from the meaningless and enters into the meaning and essence of life.
It seems perhaps there's frustration and despair in this. You're afraid of life, terrified. You don't have the strength to fight. Perhaps that's why you're retreating, because you're weak. Lao Tzu doesn't even mention weakness.
There's not the slightest sign of weakness. No one demonstrates the strength that people like Buddha, Lao Tzu, and Christ demonstrate. And those we call progressives gradually become nervous, all of them. Their limbs begin to tremble. Everyone's nervous system becomes sick. And a thousand kinds of fears invade everyone's heart.
Today, American psychologists say that barely 10 percent of people can be called mentally healthy. So, 90 percent? And if we were to calculate this 10 percent, it would include illiterate people, rural people, forest dwellers, laborers, and lower-class people. The higher the class, the more people who have progressed, the larger this figure becomes. What's the point?
No progressive can ever sleep as deeply as Lao Tzu, nor can he eat with the joy of Lao Tzu, nor does he possess the digestive capacity of Lao Tzu. He has neither the health of Lao Tzu, nor the fearlessness of Lao Tzu, nor the silence of Lao Tzu.
No, this continuous stream of joy flowing in Lao Tzu does not bring news of despair, does not bring news of frustration. This man is not defeated. Lao Tzu says that no one could ever defeat him. And someone asked, why could they not defeat him? So Lao Tzu said, I never wanted to conquer anyone. You can defeat me only when I want to conquer someone. You will defeat me only when I set out to win. I never set out to conquer anyone.
We will feel that perhaps Lao Tzu did not set out to win because he was afraid of fighting.
And Lao Tzu says, I did not set out to win because there was nothing worth winning in your world. I did not see anything worth winning. These petty things, for which you used to go to win, I did not consider them worth winning. And creating unnecessary fuss only to lose for these petty things? Because I set out to win only to lose. Even if you win, you get nothing. And if you lose in vain, then restlessness and trouble come upon you. I did not set out to win. Not because I was afraid of losing, but because there was nothing worth winning.
This question that arises in our minds is quite natural. We think this is the perspective of a pessimist, a pessimist. But a pessimist should be unhappy, right? It's quite paradoxical that a pessimist doesn't seem unhappy. And we, the hedonists, seem unhappy.
When Buddha's texts were translated for the first time in the West, they said, "This man is a pessimist par excellence. Buddha is a pessimist to the very end. Because he says: Birth is suffering, life is suffering, old age is suffering, death is suffering, everything is suffering. He is a pessimist. But none of them thought to look at his face. He is a pessimist, you are a hedonist! So there should be some sign of happiness on your face. There is no sign of happiness on your face. And this man who says, 'Birth is suffering, life is suffering, everything is suffering,' his joy knows no bounds. So, there is definitely something wrong somewhere."
Buddha says that life is suffering; only one who understands this attains bliss. And one who thinks life is happiness attains only suffering. This is Buddha's mathematics, very profound. Buddha and Lao Tzu say that one who walks with life as happiness will experience suffering, because life is suffering. If I walk thinking of a thorn as a flower, the thorn will prick me and I will experience suffering. Because it is a thorn, not a flower. But if I walk thinking of a thorn as a thorn, then the thorn cannot cause me suffering. The thorn tricks itself into causing suffering; it appears like a flower, only then can it cause suffering. Buddha says, life is suffering, understand this; then no one can snatch your happiness from you. And if you consider life to be happiness, you will fall into suffering because you have started a series of delusions.
Lao Tzu is not a pessimist. Lao Tzu is the ultimate hedonist—the ultimate. The highest peak of bliss, the ultimate, is reached. Lao Tzu is the ultimate hedonist.
Lao Tzu had a disciple, Chuang Tse. The Emperor of China invited Chuang Tse to come and become his high minister. Chuang Tse sent word, "There is no greater happiness than the one I am enjoying. So by making me a minister, you will only be able to bring me down. Because there is no happiness beyond this. Now, any advancement is a retreat." Chuang Tse said, "Now, any advancement is a retreat. Now, even moving an inch is a loss. Because where I am, there is no greater happiness than this."
We might think he's crazy, given the opportunity to be a minister. The emperor himself calls him. Otherwise, he'd have to go to each voter individually. He's absolutely crazy, he should have left quietly. He shouldn't have missed such an opportunity. But Chuangtse's understanding tells him something else. Chuangtse's understanding says that if I even slightly move from the supreme bliss I'm in, you'll bring me down. There's no further progress. You just control yourself.
When Lao Tzu, Chuang Tzu, or anyone else speaks of the Tathata, of acceptability, of accepting everything, it is not out of sadness, frustration, or anguish, nor because it is a good thing to be content with life.
The feeling of acceptance can arise for two reasons. One is that a person accepts that there is no other way out, so they must accept it! This will at least provide some consolation.
No, this is not the meaning of Lao Tzu's total acceptability, Tathata. Lao Tzu says, "The person who says that acceptance will bring contentment is still rejecting."
This must be understood. He is still rejecting. Because if there is no rejection, then why should there be dissatisfaction? I say, "There's a thorn stuck in my foot. If I accept it, at least I will have the satisfaction of knowing that it's okay. It's hurting, I should accept it." But this acceptance hides rejection. The truth is that my acceptance is a form of rejection. I am in pain, I am suffering. Now I see no solution, so I close my eyes and say, "Okay, there must be some secret of God, some mystery. Even within a curse, there must be a blessing hidden. Even within dark clouds, a shining white lightning is hidden. Even within thorns, there is a flower. Even within sorrow, happiness is hidden. But my search is for happiness, my search for that white lightning. I have no acceptance of the dark cloud. And when the night becomes very dark, dawn is near. But my longing is for dawn only." To console myself, I'm telling the dark night that it's okay. The night has become very dark, and morning, dawn, is near. But my desire is for dawn. By keeping the desire for dawn in mind, I'm making the darkness of the night a little lighter, a little more satisfying.
But Lao Tzu doesn't talk about this suchness. Lao Tzu says, not because acceptance requires satisfaction; but because rejection is foolishness. Rejection leads man nowhere except to a perpetual hell. Lao Tzu's emphasis is less on acceptance and more on understanding rejection. The day we fully understand rejection, that I am creating hell with my own hands, that day rejection will disappear, and what remains will be acceptance. Understand this difference. There is an acceptance that we erect against rejection, that we impose. And there is an acceptance that is found when rejection disappears. There is a huge difference between these two. When rejection is within and we establish acceptance from without, a conflict is created. There is rejection within, and acceptance outside.
When my friend passes away, I say, "Okay, I have to accept it; there's no other way." So I try to convince myself that everyone has to go, everyone dies, and death is inevitable. Who is in this world to live forever? I try to convince myself of all this. But the pain inside continues to sting. My friend is gone, and his emptiness continues to sting. My inner mind says, "It's bad, it shouldn't have happened." And my outer mind explains that this is what happens; it's always happening; it can't be avoided. These two things continue together. I try to bandage the wound on the surface, but the wound remains inside.
Lao Tzu is not asking for such acceptance. Lao Tzu is saying, "I am not saying that I am saddened by my friend's death; I am simply amazed at how he lived so long. I am simply amazed, how he lived so long. Life is a very impossible event; death is a very natural event. Death cannot be called a wonder; life is a wonder. It is a wonder."
Lao Tzu would ask, "How did you live so long? Amazing!"
I mentioned Chuangtse. His wife had died. When the Emperor went to offer condolences, he was sitting at his doorstep, playing the tambourine. He had bid his wife farewell in the morning, and at twelve o'clock he was playing the tambourine. He was stretched out, singing songs. The Emperor hesitated a little. He had come prepared, just as people come prepared whenever someone dies in a family—what can I say? What can I ask? Everything is prepared, they rehearse it twice at home. What will I say? What will I answer? And what will my answer be? Everything is pre-planned. And those who are experienced, who have seen off a few people, are absolutely perfect. They don't need anything; they know their dialogue by heart. The Emperor had come prepared, prepared to express grief in this way, to express such and such sentiments. When I looked here, the situation was completely reversed. There was no way to use the old dialogue. He was playing the tambourine. And he was very happy.
The Emperor couldn't control himself. He said, "Chuangtse, don't grieve. This is enough; at least don't play the tambourine. That's enough. Don't grieve. What about the rest of the tambourine?"
Do you know what Chuangtse said? Chuangtse said, "Either grieve or play the tambourine. There's no place to stand between two things. There's no place to stand between two things. And why should I be sad? I'm thanking God for having me alive for so many days—amazing! He served me so much—amazing! He gave me so much love—amazing! And if I can't even bid her farewell by playing the tambourine at the moment of my departure, then I'm ungrateful! I'm bidding her farewell. Now she must be slowly drifting away from this world. I'm bidding her farewell. The sound of my tambourine must be fading. But at the moment of my departure, I should be able to bid her farewell with joy."
We are one, but even when we live together, we cannot live happily; we are hedonists! Chuang Tse is another, bidding a happy farewell to his dead wife by playing the tambourine; he is a pessimist! Then again, our pessimism-hedonism is very strange. Who is the pessimist? We are pessimists, living in sorrow twenty-four hours a day. Chuang Tse is one of the ultimate hedonists.
Lao Tzu doesn't say that you should accept it out of compulsion, out of helplessness. No, with some force, some power, some capability! Acceptance is a great strength, a great power. Someone is throwing a stone at Mahavira; Mahavira is standing. We might think, what a cowardly man he is! A stone should be answered with an even bigger stone. But Mahavira is standing—not out of cowardice, but because of some supreme power. There is so much immense power within him that these stones don't hit, these stones don't hurt. These stones don't give rise to any reaction or response within. This stone-thrower is childish. Mahavira is filled with pity, complete compassion, thinking, "What a fool!" he is, putting in so much effort in vain.
It is.
We can do one of two things: either answer a stone with a stone, or run away. We don't see a third option. Mahavira's choice is the third. He neither runs away, nor does he answer a stone with a stone. He doesn't even take the stone. The stone doesn't create any disturbance within him. And this brings him great benefit, not loss. This allows him to remain established in his ultimate peace, his ultimate bliss. He doesn't move an inch from it.
All religion is born of great valor, of great effort; and all religion is born of fearlessness, not fear. And all religion is founded in joy, not sorrow. The formula for sorrow is the demand for happiness. The path to the establishment of joy is the acceptance of sorrow.
Rest tomorrow. Any questions?
Question:
God, please understand, what is the name of this incident?
Whatever happens in life can happen in two ways: without understanding, or with understanding. Understanding it with an example will make it easier.
You abused me, and I became angry. Does my anger arise immediately from your abuse, or does some process of understanding occur between the two? When you abuse me, do I try to understand why your abuse is causing anger within me? Do I look within to see if anger should arise or not? Do I look within to see what anger is?
If I don't see anything, you cursed me, I got angry, and there was no gap, no space for my understanding between the two; there was the curse, there was the anger; there was the button pressed, and I exploded; then I am behaving like a machine. This behavior is the behavior of mindlessness.
If you abuse me, I understand what arises within me, why does it arise within me? Where does the abuse touch me? Which wound does it touch? Where does it dig in? Why does it dig in? What is there in the abuse that fills me with so much fire? What is there in the abuse that makes me so poisonous? I understand all this and then see this poison, this rising anger, this fire, recognize what it is, then whatever I do will be with understanding.
And the interesting thing is that anger can only be expressed out of ignorance, not understanding. Therefore, if you cursed and I worried about understanding, anger is impossible. You cursed and I didn't worry about understanding, only then is anger possible.
That's why a man like Lao Tzu would say, "To remove anger, there's no need for a method. No ritual. No mantras. No amulets. No oaths, no vows, no vows. Understand anger, and anger will become impossible."
I'm currently leading a meditation with a Western friend. He's here. Anger is a severe pain for him. He takes it out on others. So, I've told him to take a pillow and vent his anger on it for three days.
At first, he was quite surprised. He said, "What nonsense are you talking about! On a pillow?"
I said, "You start. Because if you can take it out on a man, there's nothing crazy about taking it out on a pillow. You can take it out on a man; there's never been any madness in that, so there's never that much madness in taking it out on a pillow. Try it."
I tried it the first day. I came and told him that at first it felt a little strange, wondering what I was doing! But within five or seven minutes I gained the momentum and started hitting the pillow as if it were alive. And not only alive, but within a short time, the pillow took on the form of the person I had the greatest enmity with. I remembered him from ten years ago. The person I had wanted to kill but hadn't, his face started appearing in the pillow. I laughed, I felt uneasy, and I also enjoyed it. And I hit him.
He's been hitting his pillow for three days now. He's submitted the full report today. It's a surprising one. The full report is that on the first day, all the faces he wanted to hit but couldn't start appearing. By the second day, the faces disappeared, leaving only pure anger. It's emanating from one side, and no one from the other. Pure anger! And then he realized that these were just excuses for the people he vented their anger on. This fire is within him, seeking excuses. Then an understanding arose, a comprehension emerged. He saw anger in a new light. Today, it's no longer the responsibility of others to vent it on him. Today, there's a fire within him that wants to vent itself; the responsibility falls on him; it's no longer objective, it's subjective. It's not that he got angry because you abused him; now he understands that he wanted to get angry and was waiting for you to abuse him. And if you hadn't abused him, he would have found the abuse elsewhere. He would have provoked you to abuse him. I would use such tricks, I would say such things, I would act in such a way that I would be abused. Because what had been building up inside me wanted to be released. It needed to be free.
The next day he realized—he's been doing it all day; three or four times a day; three or four times for hours—the next day he realized that this anger isn't directed at anyone, it's within me. And today was his third day. Today he came to me and said, "I'm amazed. As soon as I realized that it's not directed at anyone, it's within me, it's as if something inside me has gone away, everything has become calm. I've become completely incapable. If someone abuses me right now, I won't be able to get angry. I won't be able to at this moment. Because right now, it's as if a huge burden from within has fallen away. Everything has become empty."
Understanding means that whatever happens within you should happen with your knowledge, awareness, consciousness, and consciousness. Whatever! And then many things will stop happening automatically. And whatever stops happening is sin. And whatever continues even with awareness is virtue. And understanding is the test. Whatever can be done with understanding is virtue; and whatever cannot be done with understanding is sin. Whatever can be done only in ignorance is sin. And whatever cannot be done in ignorance is virtue. So the meaning of this understanding is that whatever happens within me should happen with my attention, not in my absence.
And everything happens in non-meditation. When you become angry, when you are filled with love, sometimes you experience happiness, sometimes you experience sadness, everything is beyond consciousness, it is unconscious. Suddenly you feel happy; suddenly you feel sad. You feel a deep sadness. And when you feel sadness, you don't think that it is coming from within you. Then you look around for the reason: who is doing it, who is putting me in sadness? Is it a boy, or a girl, or a wife, or a husband, or a friend, or business? Who is it? You immediately go out to search. And after searching, you catch hold of someone or the other.
But they are all escape hatches, they are all excuses, they are all pegs. They are not real. Because the funny thing is that even if you are locked in a room completely alone, you will still do the same things you do with someone. You will do the same thing. Do you think that you will talk because you have found a friend? If you are left alone, you will talk alone. You will talk to a friend of your dreams. You think that you get angry because someone abuses you? So put you in a locked room, and within fifteen days you will find that you have become angry hundreds of times in that locked room. Maybe you have slammed your shirt hard; maybe you have thrown a utensil; maybe you have taken out your anger while bathing. You will vent your anger in twenty-five ways.
Whatever happens within can be done with understanding. To ensure that no event in my inner life remains unnoticed is called understanding. And the interesting thing is that if there is understanding, then the wrong automatically stops happening. Without understanding, no matter how many efforts you make, you cannot initiate the right thing.