Chapter 1 : Sutra 1
The Absolute Tao
The Tao that can be trodden is not the enduring and unchanging Tao. The name that can be named is not the enduring and unchanging name.
Chapter 1: Formula 1
The path one can tread is not eternal and unchanging. The name one remembers is not timeless and eternally consistent.
Lao Tzu is one of those few who have known—not through words, not through scriptures, but through life itself, through living. And who has not only known, but has also tirelessly strived to make known—Lao Tzu is one of those even fewer.
But the primary experience of all who have known and who have tried to make others know is that what can be said is not truth; that which can take the form of words inevitably loses its formless existence as soon as it takes form. Just as if someone were to paint the sky, the sky would never be painted; whatever is created in the picture is certainly not the sky. The sky is that which surrounds everything; the picture will not be able to surround anyone. The picture itself is surrounded by the sky.
So, just as the sky depicted in a picture will be, so will the truth depicted in words. Neither will a bird be able to fly in the sky depicted in the picture, nor will the sun rise in the sky depicted in the picture, nor will the stars be visible at night. The sky in the picture will be dead; it will be sky only in name, sky only. There is no possibility of the existence of sky in the picture.
Anyone who sets out to speak the truth faces the greatest difficulty at the very first step: the moment it is put into words, the truth becomes untrue. It becomes something it is not. What was intended to be said remains unsaid. What was not intended to be said becomes vocalized.
Lao Tzu starts with this in his first line.
Tao is a very unique word. A little understanding of its meaning will make it easier to move forward. Tao has many meanings. The deeper something is, the more multifaceted it becomes. And when something is multifaceted, its complexity naturally increases.
Tao has one meaning: path, way, the way. But all paths are bound. Tao is like the path of a bird flying in the sky; when it flies, a path is created, but it is not bound. Footprints are formed on all paths, and those coming from behind become comfortable. Tao is like the path of birds flying in the sky, their footprints leave no trace, and those coming from behind become comfortable.
So, if we keep in mind that a path that is unbound, a path that leaves no footprints, a path that no one else can create for you—you walk, and the path is created—then we can use Tao as the path, or even the way. But such a path is nowhere to be seen. So, is it appropriate to call Tao the path?
But this is one dimension of Tao. Then take another meaning of path: a path is that which leads to arrival; a path is that which connects to the destination. But Tao is not such a path either. When we walk on a path and reach the destination, both the path and the destination are connected. In fact, the destination is the end of the path, and the path is the beginning of the destination. The path and the destination are not two things; they are connected and united. There would be no destination without the path; there would be no path without the destination. But Tao is a path that is not connected to the destination. When a path is connected to the destination, everyone has to walk the same distance, only then can the destination be reached.
The Tao is such a path that one can reach the destination right where one is standing.
Therefore, the Tao cannot even be called such a path. The destination can be reached from wherever one is standing, at whatever place, at whatever location; and it is also possible that we walk for lifetimes and still do not reach the destination. So, the Tao is definitely a different kind of path. Therefore, the meaning of the path is deep, but with many conditions.
The second meaning of Tao is: Dharma. But Dharma does not mean religion, not faith. Dharma has the same meaning as the ancient sages. Dharma means: the law that holds everything. The ultimate law that sustains life wherever it exists. So Tao is Dharma—not in the sense of religion, not in the sense of Islam, Hinduism, Jainism, Buddhism, or Sikhism—the ultimate law of life. It is Dharma in the sense of the eternal law of life.
But all laws are limited. Tao is a law that has no limits.
In reality, death has a limit; life has no limit. Only dead things are limited; living things are not limited, they are infinite. The very meaning of life is: the constant capacity to expand. A seed is alive if it can become a sprout. A sprout is alive if it can become a tree. A tree is alive if it can bear more sprouts and more seeds. Where the capacity to expand stops, life stops. That is why a child is more alive than an old person; there is still a lot of capacity to expand.
So the Tao is not a law in a limited sense. It is not a law like a man-made law, which can be defined, defined, and bounded. The Tao is a law that is infinitely expansive, capable of touching the infinite.
Therefore, just calling it religion will not work.
There is another word—used by the sages—that is perhaps even closer to the Tao. That word is rita—from which season is derived. The Vedas discuss rita, a discussion of the Tao. Rita means…it will be easier to understand it through the seasons.
Summer comes, then rain comes, then winter comes, then summer comes again. It is a circle. The circle keeps rotating. There is childhood, then youth comes, then old age comes, then death comes. It is a circle, it keeps rotating. Morning comes, then evening comes, then night comes, then morning again. The sun rises, then sets, then rises again. It is a circle. Life has a circular movement. The regulating element that drives that movement is called Rta.
Remember, there's no concept of God in Rta. Rta means a regulating element; not a regulating person. Not a person, but a principle. It's not a person who regulates, but an element that keeps regulating. It's not right to say that it keeps regulating, because that creates a sense of individuality. No, the one who regulates, the one from whom rules emerge. It's not that he gives rules and establishes order. No, rules simply keep emerging from him. Just as a sprout keeps emerging from a seed, seasons keep emerging from Rta. That is also the deepest meaning of Tao.
Yet, none of these words accurately express the Tao. Because the Tao is still greater than any meaning that can be given to them. And something is left behind. The greatest difficulty with words is that all words are made of duality. If we say night, day is left behind. If we say light, darkness is left behind. If we say life, death is left behind. Whatever we say, something is always left behind. And life is like this—united, together. There night and day are not separate. And there birth and death are not separate. And there child and old man are not two. And there winter and summer are not two. And there the rising of the sun in the morning is also the setting of the evening. Life is like this—united, together. But whenever we speak in words, something is left behind. If we say day, night is left behind. And night is also in life.
So if we say any one word—this is Tao, this is the path, this is Dharma, this is Rta—just by saying it, something is left behind. Consider, we say, "Rules." As soon as we say "Rules," chaos is left behind. But that's also present in life. As soon as we say "Rules," that anarchic, chaotic element is left behind.
Nietzsche wrote somewhere that how will new stars be created on a day when there is no chaos? How will new creation occur on a day when there is no chaos? Because creation is born from chaos. Out of chaos is creation. If there is no chaos, if there is no anarchy, then creation will not be born. And if creation exists alone, then it will not be able to end, because to end it will have to sink back into chaos.
When we say "rule," "principle," chaos is left behind. That too is present in life. Life doesn't have the means to leave it behind; words do. So even when we say "rita," something is left behind: that chaotic element. That which happens and yet doesn't happen within the law.
Not everything in this life happens according to rules; otherwise, life would be worthless. There is something in this life that happens even without rules. The truth is, everything important in this life happens without rules. Everything unimportant happens according to rules. Whatever deep experiences there are in this life, they do not come according to any rules—they knock at the door without reason, spontaneously, unsolicited.
The day the Lord comes into someone's life, they can no longer say, "I did this and that, and that's why I found you." All they can say is, "What mercy! What compassion! I didn't do anything; or whatever I did, I now know, had nothing to do with receiving you. How did you come? How did you come? I never asked for you, nor did I ever want you, nor did I ever search for you. Or even if I did ask for you, I asked for something wrong; and even if I did search, I searched where you weren't present; and even if I wanted you, I didn't believe I would find you. And this is your arrival! And when the Lord comes into someone's life, nothing he did can create any connection. It's spontaneous!"
If everything in this life were rules, we could say that Tao means rita. But in this life, that which is beyond rules happens every day; it becomes present every moment, even spontaneously, without reason. No, we will not be able to leave it outside of life and existence. So what should we call Tao now?
So Lao Tzu says his first sutra. In that sutra he says, "The path that can be traveled is not the eternal, unchanging path."
A path that can be walked! Now, the very meaning of a path is that on which one can walk. But Lao Tzu says, a path is not one that can be walked; it is not one that you can walk on. Then, if something we cannot walk on, what is the point of calling it a path? It is a path only if we can walk on it.
Lao Tzu says, 'The path that can be traveled is not the eternal, unchanging path.'
There are many things contained in this small sutra. One, the path that can be walked on, the path on which the event of walking can happen, will not allow the event of reaching it. Because where we have to reach is not far away, it is here and now. If I want to come to you, I can follow any path. But if I want to come to myself, which path will I follow? And the more I walk on paths, the more I will stray; I will move further and further away from myself. A person who goes on any path to find himself will never be able to find himself. How will he find himself? By his own hands, because of the very search, he will lose himself.
One who wants to find himself must abandon all paths, because no path leads to the self. In fact, a path is not needed to reach the self. A path is needed to reach another. The one who stands on the ground after getting off all paths reaches the self. The one who does not walk at all reaches there.
So Lao Tzu says, the path that can be followed is not the eternal and unchanging path.
It says two things. It is not eternal. In fact, any path we can walk will be our own creation. It will be our own creation, and therefore it will not be eternal. It will be man-made, and therefore not divinely created. And how will the path we have created lead to truth? Because if we knew the building of truth, we would have created a path that would lead to truth.
Remember, a path can only be created when the destination is known. If I knew your house, I could create a path to it. But this is a very difficult task. If I knew your house, I would have reached your house without a path. Otherwise, how would I have found your house?
A part of the ancient Egyptian Sufi sutras says that when you find God and recognize Him, you will surely say, "Hey, I already knew you!" And if you can't say that, how will you recognize God? Recognition is impossible. This is the very meaning of recognition. If God comes before me and I stand up and ask Him, "Who are you?" Then I won't be able to recognize Him. And if I recognize Him as soon as I see Him that the Lord has come, it means that I once knew Him at some moment, from some corner, from some door; today I recognized Him. This is recognition. We can only recognize knowing.
If you already know where the truth lies, then why do you need a path? You have already reached the truth, you have already known it. So, those who know do not make the path. And those who do not know do make the path. And how can the paths made by those who do not know lead to the destination? They cannot be the eternal path.
What is the eternal path?
It was never created by man. It existed even when man did not exist. And it will exist even when man will not.
What is the eternal path?
Which the sages of the Vedas do not create, which Buddha does not create, which Mahavira does not create, which Mohammed, Krishna and Christ do not create. At the most they give some news about it, but do not create it. That is why the sages do not say that what we are saying is ours. They say that people have said this before also, people have always known this. This news that we are bringing is the news of that path which has always existed. It was there even when we were not there. And it was there even when no one was there. It was there even when this land was being formed and there was no life on it. And when this land will be destroyed and life will be dissolved, it will be there even then. Like the sky, it was always present.
It's another matter that our wings weren't strong enough to fly in them until yesterday; we are able to fly today. It's another matter that even today we can't muster the courage and remain sitting on the edge of our nest, weighing our wings, and wondering whether to fly or not. But that sky won't be created by your flying. It was there even when your wings weren't born, when you were enclosed within the egg. And even if you have wings, and you remain sitting and don't fly, it doesn't mean that the sky doesn't exist. The sky exists. The sky exists without you.
So, the eternal path is one that exists without a walker. If a path depends on the walker, it is not eternal. And any path that can be walked becomes tainted, because the walker carries with him his own ailments. It is important to understand this a little.
One who has become free from illness does not walk. There is no need to walk. He has reached. One who is full of illnesses walks. He walks only because there are illnesses, he wants to be free from them. He walks only to be free from illnesses. Whichever path he walks on, he infects that very path. Wherever he stands, everything becomes impure. Wherever he searches, he creates more smoke.
Just as if mud has risen in water and someone enters the water and tries to settle it, then all his efforts will not allow the mud that has risen to settle, and it will also lift up what was already settled. The more desperately, the more frantically he tries to make the mud settle, the more mud rises, and the water becomes more dirty. If Lao Tzu were passing by, he would say, "Friend, get out. Because whatever you purify will become impure, you yourself are impure. Please get out. Leave the water alone. Sit on the bank. The water will become pure. Don't try. All your efforts are dangerous."
The path on which sick people walk cannot be unchangeable.
And remember, only the sick keep moving. Those who have reached, those who have become pure, those who have known, they stop. There is no question of moving. In fact, we keep moving because some desire drives us. Desire is impurity. The desire to attain God is also impurity. The desire to attain salvation also carries its own foul smell. In fact, wherever there is desire, the mind will become ugly. Where there is desire, the mind will be filled with tension. Where there is desire to reach, wherever there is aspiration, there the race will arise, there madness will arise. And all the diseases will come, all the diseases will gather together.
Lao Tzu says, the path on which one can travel is neither eternal nor unchangeable.
Is there a path that cannot be walked? Is there a path that cannot be walked on, but rather one stands on? Is there a path that is meant for standing?
It will seem contradictory, it will seem counterintuitive. Paths are meant for walking, not for standing. But Tao is the name of that path that doesn't lead to a destination by walking, but by stopping. But because people have reached their destination by stopping, it is called a path. Because people have reached their destination by stopping, it is called a path. And since people have not reached anywhere on any path in the world even by running, it can be called a path only in name. It is not a path.
The second part of that sentence is, 'The name which is remembered is not a name which is timeless and always remains the same.'
The name that can be named, that can be remembered, that can be given words, is not the true name. It is not timeless, that can conquer time, that is beyond time, that cannot be destroyed by time. Understand this a little.
We give names to everything. Naming them is convenient. It makes things easier to interact with, easier to relate to, and easier to analyze. Without naming, it creates immense complexity and confusion. Without naming, there is no movement in this world. But remember, the moment we name something, we turn that once infinite thing into a limited door.
Let's understand this a little. When we name things, we also limit them.
A person is sitting next to you. Right now you don't know who he is. He's sitting next to you, his body touches you. Right now you don't know who he is. Right now his power is vast. Then you ask, and he says, "I am a Muslim, or a Hindu." Power shrinks. Anyone who isn't a Hindu is separated, falls away. That part of his power breaks away and separates. A limited sphere is formed. He is a Muslim. You ask, "Are you Shia or Sunni?" He says, "I am a Sunni." Another part, even the Muslim part, falls away. You keep asking. And he reaches his final point in explaining. Then he will be reduced to a mere point. He will become like Euclid's point. He will shrink so much, become so small, that in the end he will be reduced to just a tiny ego, a tiny conceit—surrounded on all sides.
But then it will be convenient for us. Then you can sit with your body curled up, or bring him closer to your heart. Then you can talk to him, and then you can expect what response you will get from him. He has become predictable. Now you can predict. You can decide whether it will be appropriate to sit with this man for a long time or not. Now dealing with this man is easy and simple. The mysterious existence of this man is no longer mysterious. Now he has become an object. We give names only so that we can put them into practice. To interact with things; to use things; all the names we give are just like this, utilitarian. They have utility, they have no truth.
Can we even name God, the Supreme Being? Will the name we give be meaningful?
When we give a name to even the smallest object, we distort its very existence. The very existence we give it becomes distorted, limited. First of all, we cannot give God a name. Because our eyes cannot see Him anywhere, our hands cannot touch Him anywhere, our ears cannot hear Him anywhere, and we cannot meet Him anywhere. And yet, those who know say, "Our eyes see Him everywhere; our ears hear Him; whatever we touch, we touch Him; and whatever we encounter, we meet Him." But these are those who know. Those who do not know cannot see Him anywhere. How can we give Him a name? And those who know, who see Him everywhere, how can they even name Him? Because only something that exists in one place can be given a name.
We can call a friend a Muslim because we meet him in a mosque, not a temple. If we meet that person in a temple, in a gurudwara, in a church, one day wearing a tilak and singing kirtan, and another day praying, then it will be difficult to call him a Muslim. And then it will become very difficult to find the same person wherever you go. Then you will no longer be able to call him a Muslim.
Those who don't know cannot give names, because they don't know who they are naming. And those who do know, they too cannot give names, because they know that all names belong to Him, that He is everywhere. He is the One.
That's why Lao Tzu says, "It cannot be named. It cannot be given a name that can be remembered."
And names are given so that they can be remembered. Names are given so that we can call out to them, summon them, and remember them. If there is a name that cannot be remembered, then it is useless to call it a name. What is the use of a name? A father gives his son a name so that he can call out to him, to summon him; to call out to him if needed. What is the use of a name, but to be able to call out to him? And Lao Tzu says that if it can be remembered, then that name is not his name. People have given names only for remembrance. Some call him Ram, some call him Krishna, some call him Allah. Names have been given only for remembrance. So that we can remember and call out to that which we do not know.
But how can we, who don't even know him, name him? And whatever name we give will tell us something about him, but no one else will tell us anything about him. When you say, "We named him Ram," it tells us that you were born in a Hindu family, nothing more. It doesn't reveal his name. You say, "We believe his name is Allah." It only tells us that you grew up in a home where his name was considered Allah. This tells us something about you; it doesn't reveal anything about him. And that's why a believer in Allah can fight a believer in Ram. If those who believe in Allah knew whose name it was, and those who believe in Ram knew whose name it was, then conflict would be impossible. That is, nothing is known. Only the name is in our hands. We have no knowledge of the one we have named.
Lao Tzu makes a very strange condition: he stipulates that the thing that can be remembered is not its name.
And all names can be remembered. Do you know of any name that cannot be remembered? If it cannot be remembered, how would you even know it?
Bodhidharma stands before Emperor Wu. Emperor Wu asks him, "Bodhidharma, say something about that sacred and ultimate truth!" Bodhidharma replied, "What kind of sacred? Nothing is sacred! Nothing is holy! And what kind of ultimate truth? There is nothing but emptiness. There is nothing but nothingness."
Naturally, Emperor Wu was startled and said to Bodhidharma, "May I then be permitted to ask who this person standing before me and speaking is?" Do you know what Bodhidharma said? Bodhidharma said, "I do not know. I do not know. I do not know who this person standing before you and speaking is."
Wu thought this man was crazy. Wu said, "Don't you even know who you are?" Bodhidharma replied, "As long as I knew, I didn't know anything. Ever since I've known, I can't even say I know. Because whatever we know, whatever we recognize, whatever we give a name, that too is a name!"
Lao Tzu says, that which can be remembered is not His name. And that which can be remembered will not take one beyond time. Only that which is always beyond time can go beyond time. Only that which is timeless can be timeless. Whatever is born within time, gets destroyed within time. If you can say that I remembered God at five minutes past five, then keep in mind, this remembrance will not take one beyond time. Whatever was called within time will echo and end within time itself. And God is beyond time. Why? Because within time there is only change. And God is not change.
If we understand it correctly, time means change. Have you ever wondered why you are aware of time? The truth is that you are never aware of time, you only become aware of change. Consider it this way: So many of us are sitting in this room. If we were to sit here for a year and none of us changed at all, would we even know that a year had passed? If nothing changed, if this room remained still for a year, if it remained as it was for a year, would we even know that a year had passed? We wouldn't even know that a moment had passed. Because passage is perceived by the change in things. In fact, the perception of change is time itself. Therefore, the more rapidly things change, the more strongly we become aware of it. You are less aware of the night than you are of the day.
A man lives for sixty years and sleeps for twenty. But is there any account of twenty years? Is there any knowledge of twenty years? A man sleeps for twenty years out of sixty. But there is no account of twenty years. There is no awareness of twenty years; they pass in sleep. There things become somewhat still. There is not as much change, the roads do not move as fast, the traffic does not move at that pace. Everything is still. You are left alone.
If we were to knock a man unconscious and bring him back to consciousness a hundred years later, he would have absolutely no idea that a hundred years had passed. He would be startled when he woke up. And if he could find the world exactly as it was when he was asleep—the same people around him; the same clock and hand hanging on the wall; the child gone to school and not yet returned; the wife cooking, the sound of her utensils coming from the kitchen; and the man woke up—he would have absolutely no idea that a hundred years had passed.
The sense of time is the sense of change. Because things are moving and changing, the sense of time arises. Therefore, the more rapidly things change, the more time consciousness and the sense of time increase.
In the old world, there wasn't such a sense of time. Things were static. They were almost the same. Wherever a father left things, a son would find them there. And a son would leave things where he had received them from his father. Things were static. Now, nothing is the same. Where there was yesterday, there won't be today; where there is today, there won't be tomorrow. Everything will change. Hence the profound sense of time. Every moment seems precious.
Whatever is born in time will inevitably change. No event of the eternal enters time. No ray of the eternal enters time. Think of it this way: anyone in a river will inevitably get wet. Yes, anyone who doesn't want to get wet will have to be on the bank. Whatever happens in the flow of time will inevitably change. One will have to be outside of time, and then the world of the unchanging eternal begins.
Lao Tzu says, the name which can be chanted...
Meditation will take time. Pronouncing a word will take time. We can't even speak a complete word in a single moment. We can say one part, then another, then a third. When I say "time," time is still flowing—I say "sa" and then in parts, I say "ma" and then in parts, I say "y" and then in parts.
Heraclitus said, "You cannot step twice in the same river. You cannot step twice in the same river. By the time you come back, the river will have flowed away."
Heraclitus is also being very stingy. The truth is, one cannot step even once in the same river. Because when the sole of my foot touches the upper edge of the water, the river is flowing away. And when my sole enters a little, the river is flowing away. When I touch the river, there was more water in the river; and when I reach the bottom of the river, there is more water. I cannot touch it even once.
And the river is fine. When I am touching the river, it would be fine if the river itself were changing. The one who is touching the foot is also changing at the same pace. No, it is impossible to enter the river again; it is impossible to enter even once. Not because the river is changing, but because the one who enters the river is also changing. When I first set foot on the river's surface, my mind was different. And when I reached half the river's surface, my mind became different. And when my foot touched the bottom, my mind was different. No, it is not just the body that is changing, my mind is also changing.
Buddha used to say this many times; when someone came, Buddha would say to him as he was leaving, "Be careful, you are not the same person who came back! That man had come just an hour ago." People would be shocked and ask, "What are you saying?" Buddha would say, "Of course! You heard me say, even in this time everything has changed."
The Zen monk Bokoju is crossing a bridge. He has a companion with him. The companion says to Bokoju, "Look, see how fast the river is flowing!" Bokoju says, "Anyone can watch the river flow, friend. Just look carefully, how fast the bridge is flowing too—the bridge!"
The man looks around in surprise. The bridge is standing in its place. Do bridges flow? Rivers flow. The man looks at Bokoju in surprise. Bokoju says, "And I haven't told you the whole story yet. And look carefully, those standing on the bridge are being swept away even more forcefully."
Whatever happens here, within time, is change. Whatever is said here will be erased. Whatever is written here will be extinguished. All signatures here are on the sand. Not even on the sand, but on the water.
So the name of God that can be remembered, with lips, with words, in time, in space—no, it is not a timeless name. It is not a name that transcends time. But that name cannot be remembered. One can know it, but cannot speak it. One can live it, but cannot call it. One can be in it, but cannot place it on one's lips, on one's tongue.
Lao Tzu also says that it is neither timeless nor will it remain the same forever.
It will never remain the same. And how can we call God, if he changes? And how can we call the path, if he changes? And how can we call the truth, if he changes? The only expectation from truth is that no matter how much we wander or where we are, whenever we arrive, it will be the same—consistent. No matter how we are, no matter where we wander, after a journey of many lifetimes, when we reach that door, it will be the same—consistent.
Monotony, being the same - there are two or three things to keep in mind in this. Only that which is complete can be the same. That which is incomplete cannot be the same. Because within incompleteness, there remains a deep desire to be complete. That is what brings about change. How can a river remain stationary at one place? It has to meet the ocean. It runs. How can a man remain stationary at one place? He has to fulfill so many desires! So many oceans! How can the mind remain stationary? It has to run a lot, achieve a lot. Only that person can be stationary who has nothing to attain, no place to reach. Only that person who has reached there, has become the one for whom there is nothing beyond; or that person who has always been the same.
Remember, monotonous means complete. Perfect does not create another essence.
There's a well-known joke about Nasruddin. Fakir Nasruddin had brought home a stringed instrument. But he kept his finger on the neck of the instrument, rubbing the strings. His wife was troubled. One day, two days, four days, eight days. She said, "Excuse me, what kind of music are you creating?" The people in the neighborhood also became restless and troubled. It would be midnight, and the same tinkling sound would continue.
Finally, everyone gathered. They said, "Nasruddin, stop it now! We've seen many musicians, but you seem to be a new one! We've seen great players. The man moves his hands here and there, makes other sounds. What's this constant nagging? I'm getting tired. I'm thinking of leaving the neighborhood. Either you leave, or we will! But at least tell me, a man as intelligent as you and this one voice? We've never seen a musician like him."
Nasruddin said, "They're still searching for the right spot. I've arrived. They're looking up and down, looking for the right place to stop. We've arrived. We'll play there. We've reached our destination."
This was Nasrudin's joke. But that man had made some profound and valuable jokes. If God played a note, it would be just one. His hand wouldn't move here and there. There would be no current flowing, no change.
Lao Tzu says, what we can say is not monotonous; what a man can pronounce is not his name.
Finally, understand one more thing in this sutra.
Words and names are all born from the mind. The entire universe belongs to the mind. The mind creates and continues to create. And the mind is ignorant. The mind knows nothing. But even what the mind doesn't know, it creates. By creating, we gain a sense of satisfaction: now we know.
If I tell you that you have no idea about God, it creates great uneasiness. But if I tell you that you know it perfectly well, that the "Rama-Rama" you chant in the morning is God's name, and the mind finds relief. If I tell you, "No, there is no name for Him," and whatever name you take, remember, it has no connection to Him, then the mind is left in great uneasiness, in a vacuum, in nothingness. It finds no support to stand on, no place to hold on to. And the mind will quickly seek support. Once it finds support, there is no need to search further.
The mind offers substitutes for truth, it provides supplements to it. It says, "Here it is, this will do." And those who stop at the mind will stop at paths created by man, at scriptures created by man, and at names that have no connection to God.
In this very first, brief, supreme statement, Lao Tzu shatters all possibilities. He takes away all support, all support. He destroys all pre-planning for what the human mind can do. We wonder, if this is so, what will Lao Tzu write next? What will he say? Will he say the unspeakable? Will he point to the path on which one cannot wander? How will Lao Tzu enclose in words the unchangeable, the timeless being he is alluding to?
Lao Tzu's entire process will be one of negation. Therefore, let's understand a few things about negation so that it becomes easier to understand Lao Tzu later.
There are two ways to point in this world. One way is to point positively. You ask me, "What is this?" I name it—a wall, a door, a house. The positive finger points directly, "Here it is." You used to ask, "Where is the door?" It is there. You used to ask, "Where is the lamp?" It is there.
But the things that can be pointed towards with fingers can only be trivial. Fingers cannot be pointed towards the vast. The only thing that can be pointed towards the trivial with a finger is this. If someone asks, where is God? Then it cannot be said, this is there. Pointing towards God does not have to be done with fingers; one has to do it by tying all the fingers and closing the fist to say that this is there. When someone says with a clenched fist that this is there, it means that the pointing is not going anywhere - going nowhere. We cannot say that it is somewhere; because it is everywhere.
But that person won't agree. If I say, "This is it," with my fist clenched, he'll probably think it's a fist. Then I'll have to say, "This isn't it, it's not a fist either." And then the denial will begin. Perhaps the person will ask, "Perhaps you didn't understand, should I simplify my question? Is it toward the east?" Then I'll have to say, "No." Knowing that the east is also included in it, I'll have to say, "No." Because if I say, "It's toward the east," then what about the south? What about the north? What about the west? And when we say, "Yes, it's toward the east," knowingly or unknowingly we're saying it's not toward the west. Because directions only indicate the limited. They deny whatever remains.
So the second path is that of negation and indication. In that, when someone tries to tell, he doesn't say this, this is it. He says, this is not it, this is not it, this is not it, neti-neti. Not this, not this, not this, he keeps saying it. Great patience is needed on the path of negation. Because whatever you say, "Is this it?" he will say, "It is not there." Whatever you say, "Is this it?" he will say, "It is not there." And that point will come when there will be nothing left to ask, "Is this it?" Then he will say, "This is it."
Just like you went into the room to question me, and you held the table, the chair, the wall. And I kept denying, kept denying. And everything in the room disappeared. And you held me, and I denied. And you held you, and I denied. And there was nothing left to deny. Then Lao Tzu would say, "This is it." But then you would be in trouble; you would say, "Now I have denied everything. Now?"
In fact, that which cannot be denied even after denying it - that is what is its existence. What power does that which we deny and is denied have? Does that which is dependent on a man's saying yes, and whose non-existence is dependent on a man's saying no, have any value? The believer says, it is; and thinks that God must be getting stronger by his saying it is. The atheist says, it is not; and thinks that perhaps God must be getting weaker by saying no. And not only the atheist thinks like this; the believer also thinks that if someone says, it is not, then it causes great harm. And not only the believer thinks like this; the atheist also thinks that if someone says, it is, then go and refute it or not; because it causes great harm. By a man saying yes or no...
There's a very old Tibetan story about a tiny mosquito. It was written by a man, so it's small. The mosquito was very large, the biggest among mosquitoes. It should be said that among mosquitoes there was a king, an emperor. Some mosquitoes lived on dunghills, some on trees, some somewhere else. The mosquitoes became very worried about where the king would live. Then an elephant's ear was discovered. And the mosquitoes said that this is the only palace worthy of your stay.
The mosquito went and stood at the door, on the elephant's ear. It was a huge door - the elephant's door. The mosquito stood at the door and said, listen elephant, I am the king of mosquitoes, my name is so and so, from today I shower my blessings on you and make your ear my abode. As was the custom, the mosquito announced three times. Because it was not right to make a residence inside someone and not inform anyone. The elephant stood and listened. The mosquito thought, okay - maunam consent lakshanam. He gives consent, he is silent.
The mosquito lived there for years, coming and going. Its offspring and offspring grew, and a large family settled there. Still, there was plenty of space. Guests would come, and more people would stay. It was plenty.
Then another place was found for the emperor, and the mosquitoes said, "Now you should leave; we have found a bigger palace." The mosquito stood at the door and said, "Listen, elephant! Now, you are the king of mosquitoes. My name is so-and-so. I am leaving. We have shown you a favor. We have made your ears into palaces."
There was no sound. The mosquito thought, do we still have to consider silence as a sign of consent? Even now? It seemed a bit sad that it was okay, go, it meant nothing. He was neither saying yes nor saying no. He shouted louder, but still could not understand anything. He shouted louder. The elephant heard a faint voice saying something... The elephant listened carefully and heard that a mosquito was saying, "I am the emperor of mosquitoes, I am leaving, I was kind to you, I resided in your ears for so many days. Can't you hear my voice?"
The elephant said, "Sir, I don't know when you arrived. I don't know how long you've been staying. You can come, stay, go, do whatever you want. I don't know anything."
Tibetan mystics tell this story with some meaning. Man comes. He creates philosophy, religion, path, way, truth, principles, words. He shouts to all around existence, "Listen, his name is Ram!" "Listen, his name is Krishna!" The sky is silent. The infinite receives no news. The elephant finally heard the mosquito, because no matter how much difference there is between an elephant and a mosquito, there is no qualitative difference. There is a difference of quantity; only a difference of quantity. The elephant is a slightly larger mosquito, the mosquito is a slightly smaller elephant. There is no such qualitative difference that a discussion between the two cannot take place. It may happen, but there will be some difficulty. The mosquito will have to speak very loudly, the elephant will have to listen very attentively. But the event can happen; it is not impossible.
But there's not even that much connection between existence and the human mind. It's not until we arrive that it realizes we've announced our birth with a trumpets. It's not until we die that it realizes. We come and go. Like a line drawn on water, we form and then disappear. But in this brief moment, the brief time between the line's formation and its disappearance, we create countless words. We create countless theories. We create countless scriptures and sects. We spread the entire web of our minds.
Lao Tzu will cut through that trap. Neti-neti is his way of saying it. In fact, those who want to say something about the ultimate, about the ultimate, will have to say that nothing can be said about it. And then they will have to try to say it. And that effort will be that this is not, this is not. The path on which one can wander, no, that is not. The word that can be remembered, no, that is not.
And don't fall into the language error.
That which can be remembered is the name; we cannot speak of any other name. And that which can be walked on is what we call the path; and we do not know any other path. If this is put absolutely precisely, precisely, it will be very surprising. That surprise will be if it is said like this: whatever is the path is not the path; whatever is the name is not the name; then in your understanding... The simple meaning is this: That which is a way is not a way at all, that which is a name is not a name at all!
This is what he is saying. He is saying this: if you want to reach Him, avoid the path, otherwise you will get lost. And if you want to know Him, if you want to call Him, then don't even take His name, otherwise you will miss Him. And in relation to Him, even an inch of error is an infinite error. No inch of error is a small error; the biggest error is already made.
A young man sits in front of Marpa. He has been with Marpa for three years. He is asking Marpa to show him the way. Tell him his address. If you have a name, please tell him. And whenever he says, "Tell me his address," Marpa immediately becomes silent. He keeps talking. And whenever the young man says, "Tell me your address," you are still talking, and a little about him too, and he immediately closes his eyes and becomes silent. If Marpa's disciple asks, "Tell me the way," then even if he is walking on the road, he immediately stops.
After three years, he became frustrated. He said, "It's too much. You usually walk a little, and whenever I bring up the road, you stop immediately. You talk, you have no objection to it, but as soon as I ask about it, you close your eyes and seal your lips. And that's what I've come for. I don't care about the rest of your walk, nor do I care about the rest of your talk." But Marpa simply closes his eyes and sits down when such a topic is raised.
Finally one day the young man said, should I go now?
Marpa asked, "When did you come? You've been loitering outside the door for three years. How do you come in? Who do you ask for permission to go in? I didn't even notice for a moment that you came in. Many times I stood with the door open. Many times I stopped, thinking that perhaps I was walking, so you wouldn't be able to enter. So I stood. Every time you asked a question, I answered you."
The young man said, "This is too much. This is the restlessness that whenever I ask questions, you remain silent. You keep talking like this. Are you accusing me of this too? That's why I leave you, because whenever I ask, you remain silent."
Marpa said, "That was the answer. I wish you had remained silent at that time! I wish you had stopped when I was walking! Then we would have met."
To tell someone about it, you have to be silent. To inspire them about it, you have to stand up. These things seem absurd, but they are true. Lao Tzu will continue to drop everything, one step at a time. He will take you to a place where nothing remains to be dropped. Even you will not be left! Only emptiness will remain.
And emptiness itself is unchangeable. Remember, wherever anything comes, change comes. There is no purity other than emptiness. There is no innocent state other than emptiness. The slightest vibration of a thought, and the gates of hell open. The slightest drawing of a line in the mind, and the world is created. The slightest flash of desire, and the cycle of endless rebirths begins. Void, absolutely void; no form arises within, no word, no name, no path, no destination, nowhere to go, nothing to reach, nothing to attain. When such a state arises, then the Tao appears. Then the path appears. Then that name is heard. Then that unchangeable and eternal law is realized. That law, which has no opposition to chaos; that law which even holds chaos within itself.
Anyone who has a question can ask it. And any question, because all questions are the same. Ask anything.
A friend asks that thoughts keep coming and later it also seems that there is some thoughtlessness and thoughts keep going on all around and somewhere at the centre there is a thought of something thoughtless, and that state when all thoughts stop, he asks about both of these.
As long as thoughts persist, the thought of being thoughtless is just a thought. As long as thoughts persist, the thought of being thoughtless is just a thought. That too is a thought: I am thoughtless; and here thoughts are occurring, and I am thoughtless. Because the state of being thoughtless will only be remembered when thoughts are not occurring. And the interesting thing is that when this state is reached, even the thought that I am thoughtless will no longer exist. Because the thought of being thoughtless is just a thought.
For example, when a person is completely healthy, he is not even aware that he is healthy. The very fact that he is healthy gives news of illness. That is why sick people are often seen talking about health – not healthy people, but sick people. If illness persists somewhere, then the awareness of health can develop. And many times, the thought of health proves to be a new kind of illness. If a person becomes too conscious about health, he becomes sick. This is one disease.
So, such an event occurs when, through thinking, listening, and understanding, you cultivate the desire to become thoughtless. Because you've heard that it is pure, that it is the ultimate bliss, that it is the joy of samadhi, that everything fades away, that it is bliss. Then, an aspiration, a desire, arises to become thoughtless.
Now keep in mind, being thoughtless can never be turned into desire. But it can be.
In fact, the mind's trick is that no matter what you say, it transforms it into desire. It says, "Do you want salvation? There is great joy in salvation. Do you want salvation? Try to achieve salvation, seek it, and you will find it." Now the search for salvation has begun. And the salvation the mind seeks is not salvation. In fact, salvation exists where there is no mind. Therefore, the salvation sought by the mind cannot be salvation. Listening to the thought of thoughtlessness becomes ingrained in the mind, that one must be thoughtless.
Remember, one must be thoughtless; this is a thought. It may have come to mind after listening to Lao Tzu, it may have come to mind after listening to me, it may have come to mind after listening to someone else, it may have come to mind after reading a book and the idea that one must be thoughtless. But what do you have—to be thoughtless? This is a thought. There is no need to fall into the mistake of thinking that one simply needs to be thoughtless, and therefore, there is no thought. This is a mode of thought, to be thoughtless. This is a type of thought.
Now, if you insist on this thought, your mind will deceive you again. It will say, "Look, inside you are thoughtless, but thoughts are swirling around you; thoughts are moving across you, and I am standing outside."
But what is this me standing outside? Is it more than a thought? What is this me standing outside? It is a thought.
But even this will bring a little happiness, a little peace. Not the peace that is timeless; not the peace that has no name. No, this will bring a peace that the mind always finds whenever it satisfies one of its desires. There was a desire in the mind to become thoughtless. Now the thought that I am thoughtless has come in the way. The mind gets great satisfaction that see, I have become thoughtless too.
And the mind is very clever. It will plant a thought in a small corner, saying, "I am thoughtless," and thoughts will keep swirling all around. And it's not even right to say "all around," because even inside, where I say I am thoughtless, a thought is already standing there. Thoughts are present there too. Yes, the most that can happen is that just one steady thought is standing there, while other thoughts are moving. Other thoughts are moving—there is a shop, there is a market, there is work, there is business—they are moving all around. And this one thought, that I am thoughtless, has stood in the middle.
But if you observe this very carefully, you will find that even this is not fully standing, because no thought can be fully standing. Like the flame of a lamp, this too will keep rising and falling. For a moment, it will seem as if it is there; for a moment, it will seem as if it is not there. For a moment, it will seem as if these thoughts have entered inside! For a moment, it will seem as if it is outside again. For a moment, it will seem as if it is lost again. It will just keep happening like this. This, because no thought can be beyond change—not even the thought that I am thoughtless—this too will keep swaying, fluctuating, rising and falling, going here and there all the time. For a moment, it will seem as if it is there, and then it will not seem as if it is gone.
No, Tao is not about such a state. Rta is something else. No, there are no thoughts anywhere, not even the thought that I am thoughtless. There is no one left who can say, "I am thoughtless." There is no one inside; there is complete silence.
There is nothing but silence. There is not even someone who can stand up and say, "Look, I am completely silent." If even this much is present, then know that the mind is playing the last deception—the last deception! And if you fall into this deception, the mind will immediately throw you back into the whole circle in a second. If you even fall into this thought, "Oh, I have become thoughtless," you are back in the deepest hell.
This single thought works much like children playing Ludo. They climb, with great difficulty, the stairs, and then fall on the mouth of a snake and slide down to its tail. If even a single thought, "I am thoughtless," comes to mind, you fall into the snake's mouth. You will fall down; all those stairs you climbed are wasted.
So Bodhidharma said, "I do not know. I do not know. I do not know who is standing before you. I myself do not know."
Someone later told Bodhidharma, "Wu is deeply saddened and pained. The Emperor is deeply humiliated. You responded in this way! The Emperor shouldn't have responded in this way. You said, 'I don't even know who it is.'"
Bodhidharma said, "You are talking about the emperor! It is because of the emperor, because this poor man came so far, that I gave this answer. Otherwise, even this answer would have been wrong. I don't even have it in me to say that I don't know who he is. It is only because he would be more surprised that I told him. But don't misunderstand me," Bodhidharma said, "Don't misunderstand me. I don't even have it in me to say that I don't know. It is just that the emperor came from so far, he was waiting for me for years. Just like a child comes and we give him a toy, I have given him a toy."
As long as thoughts are swirling around, know that you too are a thought—you are a thought. When nothing remains, even the one who knows it, nothing remains…
And there is no difficulty at all, not even the slightest difficulty. This seems to be a problem to us. And the biggest difficulty in understanding Buddha in this country was this. And the reason Buddha was easy to understand in China was because of Lao Tzu, and no one else. Buddha could be understood in China because of Lao Tzu. Lao Tzu had said all that before Buddha. So when Buddha's message reached China and people heard Buddha's words that even the soul does not exist, then people understood. Lao Tzu had a role, who was saying that nothing exists.
There's a big problem in India. We're willing to accept that if thoughts cease, that's fine, but I must remain. If I attain salvation, that's absolutely fine, but I must remain. I must survive. So when Buddha said in this country, "Anatta, non-self," he said, "No, even the soul doesn't exist, because it too is a thought."
Understand this a little. I am a soul, this is also a thought. And certainly there is a place where even this thought does not exist. And that is where the soul is. It appears paradoxical. Where even this thought that I am a soul does not exist, there the soul is. But it will become manifest. You keep cutting, keep cutting, and finally cut yourself. You have to do almost like a lamp burns, the fire burns, the flame burns. The flame first keeps burning the oil. Then the oil gets exhausted. Then the flame starts burning the wick. Then the wick gets exhausted. Then do you know what happens to the flame? The flame gets lost. The flame first burns the oil, then burns the wick, then burns itself.
Let go of the thought, cut it off. Then let go of yourself. Then cut off the thought, let go of yourself, let go of this too. Then nothing remains. What remains is a pure state of mind, a pure existence, a silent, calm being, where the vortex of "I" does not form.
You must have seen whirlpools forming in water. A whirlpool is created by strong rotation. And a whirlpool has a special quality: if you drop anything into it, it immediately pulls it in and starts spinning it. I am a whirlpool. Whatever you drop into it, it will grab hold of it and start spinning it.
In this thoughtless, egoless state, there is no whirlpool, no whirlwind. And then, then, there is the experience of Tao, of Dharma, or what Buddha called Dhamma, of Niyama, what the sages called Rta, what Mahavira called Kaivalya. Kaivalya means nothing remains, only being remains; no titles, no adjectives remain; only existence remains. Just being, just being! Like looking into a deep pit, or like looking into the open sky—no clouds, no stars, only empty sky remains. Similarly, when one remains within, even the one who looks is gone, only emptiness remains, then one becomes aware of it, of that path on which wandering is impossible, of that path that is unchangeable. And then one becomes aware of that truth that cannot be given a name, that which is timeless, that which is timeless, that which is always constant, that which is simply the Self.
A devotee of Jesus, Tertullian...someone asked Tertullian to explain something about Jesus, to give us some examples that would show us what Jesus was like. Tertullian said, "Don't make me mistaken. Jesus was just like himself—just like himself. Just like himself; and there can be no comparison with anyone else."
What will happen there? What will happen in that state of Tao, immersed in that Rit? What will we be like? What will our form be? What will our shape be? What will our name be? Will anyone who knows survive? Will there be any? What will happen?
There can be no comparison, nothing can be said. All the hints are negative. All that can be said is that you will not exist. You will not exist at all. And what will exist is something you have never known within yourself. All that can be said is that there will be no thoughts, not even the thought that you are thoughtless. Still, there will be consciousness, but one you have never known.
And before that, the mind is capable of creating all kinds of deceptions. Therefore, it is important to remain vigilant. The mind is so clever, so subtly cunning and skillful, that it is capable of creating all kinds of deceptions. It can deceive a mind filled with lust into believing it is celibate. It can deceive a person ignorant of his complete self into believing it is self-realized.
It can make someone who knows nothing believe they know everything. It can even inform someone of something they haven't received, saying they have received it. Therefore, it is important to properly understand all the forms of the mind's deceptiveness, its deception.
A young man comes to Huang Po and says, "I've become calm." Huang Po asks, "Then why have you come here? If you've become calm, why have you come here? Go away! Because I only treat restless people." The young man can't leave because he sees that Huang Po seems calm in a different way. He says, "No, please allow me to stay for a few days."
Huang Po says, there is no command for peaceful people to stop. Just think and come back. Are you not restless? Because I don't think, Huang Po says, that you will walk two hundred miles just to tell me that you are peaceful. You will walk two hundred miles just to tell me that you are peaceful! And if you have come for this, then the matter is over. Thank you! May God grant that you truly become peaceful. But go out and think again.
The young man goes out. And then Huang Po says, "There's no need to go out now, come back. Because if there's still so much restlessness that you have to think about whether you're at peace or not, come back. Your hesitation says it all. You're going out to think about whether you're at peace or not, that's enough restlessness." Huang Po says, "Stop!" Huang Po says, "Wherever there is choice—wherever there is choice, there's restlessness. Are you going to choose whether you're at peace or restless? You're restless enough. Sit down! I can be of use to you. But only when you understand your mind's trickery."
You are restless, and your mind is deceiving you into believing you are calm. You know nothing, yet you say, "I know there is a soul within." You know nothing, yet you say, "God created this entire world." You know nothing, yet you claim the soul is immortal. Anyone who falls for this deception of the mind will never know what is worth knowing. And to prevent that knowledge, the mind creates all these illusions.
So as long as you are aware that a thought is going on and I am aware that a thought is going on, you should know that the mind has divided itself into two parts: one part that runs the thought, and one part that is a thought: I am not a thought, I am thoughtless. This is the duality of the mind itself.
The truth is that duality does not exist outside the mind. Outside the mind, there is non-duality. And there is no awareness of non-duality, no awareness that you can say, "It is like this." At most, you can only say, "It is not like this, it is not like this, it is not like this."
That's it for today, we'll sit down again tomorrow. And you can ask all you want.