Zen Without Writing

All books are dead, and that is how it should be; they cannot be alive. All scriptures are graveyards, they cannot be anything else. A word, the moment it is uttered, goes wrong. Unuttered, it is okay; uttered, it is falsified by the very utterance.

Truth cannot be said, cannot be written, cannot be indicated in any way. If it can be said, you will attain to truth just by hearing it; if it can be written, you will attain to truth just by reading it; if it can be indicated, you will attain to truth by mere indication. This is not possible, there is no way to transfer truth to you; there exists no bridge. It cannot be given, it cannot be communicated.

But people become addicted to scriptures, books, words, theories, because for the mind it is easy to understand a theory, it is easy to read a book, it is easy to carry a tradition. With anything dead the mind is always the master; with anything alive the mind becomes the slave.

So the mind is always afraid of life; it is the dead part in you. Just as I said that hairs and nails are dead parts of your body, the parts that have died already and that the body is throwing out, so the mind is the dead part of your consciousness. It is the part that has already become dead, and the consciousness wants to get rid of it.

What is the mind? It is the past, the memory, the accumulated experience. But the moment you have experienced the thing, it is dead. Experiencing is in the present, experience is in the past.

Why are you listening to me? Just in the moment, just here and now, it is an experiencing, it is an alive process, but the moment you say, "I have heard," it has become dead, it has become an experience. While listening to me the mind is not there, you are there. The moment the mind comes in it says, "I have understood, I have heard, I know." What do you mean? You mean the mind has taken possession. The word can be possessed by the mind -- anything dead can be possessed by the mind; and only dead things can be possessed. If you try to possess a live thing there are only two ways: either you will not be able to possess it, or you will have to kill it first and then you can possess it. So wherever there is possession, there is murdering, killing.

If you love a person, love in itself is an experiencing, a moment-to-moment flow with no past being carried; the river remains fresh. But the mind says, "Possess this woman, possess this man, because who knows about the future? Possess! She may escape, she may go to somebody else, she may fall in love with someone else. Possess her and block all the ways of escape, close all the doors so she remains always yours." The mind has entered and now this woman will be killed, now this man will be murdered. There will be a husband, there will be a wife, but there will not be two live persons.

And this is the mischief the mind goes on doing everywhere. The moment you say, "I love," it has become an experience, it is already dead. Loving is something else; it is a process. Why when in love can you not say, "I love?" That would be profane. How can you say, "I love?" In love you are not, the possessor is not, so how can you say, "I love?" In love there is no 'I'; love is there of course but you are not.

While an experience is alive, experiencing, there is no ego. The process is there and you can say love is there, but you cannot say, "I love." In that love you have dissolved, you have merged and melted. Anything live, alive, is greater than you; anything dead and the mind can jump, just like a cat jumps on a mouse and catches hold of it.

Truth cannot be delivered, there is no way to deliver it. Once delivered it is dead, it has already become untrue.

Lao Tzu insisted on not saying anything about the truth his whole life. Whenever someone asked about truth he would say many things, but he would not say anything about the truth; he would avoid it. In the end he was forced to say something. Disciples, lovers, said he should write because he had known something which was rarely known, he had become something which was unique -- there would be no Lao Tzu again. So he wrote a small book, Tao Te Ching, but the first thing he said in it was, "Tao cannot be said, Truth cannot be uttered. And the moment you utter it, it is already false." And then he said, "Now I can write at ease. I have declared the basic fact: uttered, truth becomes false; written, it has already gone wrong."

Why is the word false? One thing: it always belongs to the past. Another thing: the word in itself cannot carry the experience to you. I say I am silent. You hear the words; the word in itself cannot carry the experience to you. I say I am silent. You hear the words -- the word silent is heard, but what do you understand? If you have never been silent, if you have never tasted it, if it has never stirred your heart, if it has never overwhelmed you, overpowered you, how can you understand? And if it has overpowered you, if there has been a gap when you disappeared and silence was there, there will be no need for me to talk about silence. The moment you see me, you will know; the moment you come near me, you will feel. The word will not be needed.

The word is needed because you don't know, this is the problem. Because you don't know, the word is needed, so how can the word express? That which you don't know, the word cannot say to you. The word may be heard, you may memorize it, you may understand the meaning written in the dictionary -- what silence means is written in the dictionary, and you know it already -- but that is not the meaning.

When I say I am silent, the silence that I am here is not written in the dictionary, cannot be written in the dictionary, cannot be written there. If you are silent you will understand, but then there is no need to say. If you are not silent whatsoever you understand will be wrong -- but then there is need to say.

I have heard a story. Once a villager entered a big bank; many people were coming and going and much business was going on. Suddenly the villager cried, shouted at the top of his voice, "Did somebody drop a wad of notes with a rubber band around it?" Many people cried, "Yes, I did," and they ran towards him. A crowd gathered and everybody was claiming the money. The villager said, "I have found the rubber band."

Whenever I say truth, whenever I say silence, you will only find the rubber band; the notes will be missing. The word will reach you but not with the weight of the notes. Those notes will be left behind -- they are in my heart; the word will reach but it is just a rubber band. It may have been around the notes, but still it is just a rubber band.

Truth is incommunicable, but then what have masters been doing? They seem to be involved in an absurd activity. Yes, that is right: they are trying to say something which cannot be said, and they are indicating something which cannot be indicated. They are trying to communicate something which has never been communicated and never will be communicated. Then what are they doing? Their whole effort is absurd, but still there is something in their effort -- their compassion.

Knowing well that I cannot say that which I want to say, the easiest course is that I should remain silent, because if I know it cannot be said then why bother? You cannot understand my words, but will you be able to understand my silence? So it is a trial between two evils.

It is better I remain silent; that would be more consistent. It cannot be said therefore I should remain silent. But will you be able to understand my silence? The word you may not be able to understand but you can hear it, and some possibility is open. Hearing it continuously, you may become aware of something which has not been said in the word. Listening to me, by and by, you may become aware of me, not of what I am saying. The word will help, just as a bait -- you may be caught in the net. But if I am silent, you will pass by my side. You will not even become aware that I am there, and even that possibility will be lost.

So when masters speak, they don't speak to tell the truth that cannot be told. They have a choice: either they can remain silent or they can talk. With silence you will miss them completely. With words a possibility opens, not a certainty because everything depends on you, but a possibility opens. Listening continuously to a buddha you will someday become silent, because just being near a buddha is being near a pool of silence, an energy, a tremendous energy which has become silent. This is what Indians call satsang -- to be near the truth. It is not a question of communication. Just to be near the truth can be infectious -- just as you come near a river and the breeze becomes cooler. You may not see the river; it may still be far away, but the breeze carries the message and you feel a coolness coming.

When you come near a buddha the words are carrying just such a coolness -- buddha is somewhere near. You may start groping for him; you may be lost in his words. Then you are lost in the forest and the river is missed. But if you are alert, intelligent, then, by and by, you will feel from where this wind is blowing, from where these words are coming. And these words carry a silence around them. It may be just a rubber band, but that rubber band has been in deep contact with the notes. It carries something, something of the sound from where this breeze is coming. If you can follow intelligently sooner or later you will reach the source.

The words of a buddha may not be able to communicate the truth, but they can communicate the music, the music that exists in one who is enlightened. They carry the melody, something of the source, a tiny part, a very tiny part, but something of the source. It should be so, because when a word comes out of a buddha it carries something of the buddha. It has to be so. The word has been vibrating in his being, it has been in touch with buddha's heartbeat, it has passed through the buddha's silence, it has been in the womb, the womb of the buddha. It carries the scent, the fragrance. It is a very far off cry, but still....

You may be lost in the words -- then you miss the buddha -- but if you are aware that the word cannot carry the truth, then you will always put aside the word and follow the perfume, put aside the word and follow the music, put aside the word and follow the presence. If I suddenly say, "Hey!" you look at me. The word is meaningless, but the look.... Suddenly you become aware of me. That awareness has to be followed, so then, words can become a help. They may not tell the truth but they can become a help, a step towards the truth.

This story is beautiful. A master is on his dying bed, and soon he has to leave this earth and its vehicle, the body, and he would like to have a successor who can carry the flame that he has kindled, one who will be able to continue the work that he has started. He chooses a disciple, calls him near, and says to him, "You are the most capable of those around me and you are going to be my successor. You will have to continue this work. For seven generations a book has been passed from the master to the disciple who is going to be the successor. I received this book from my master and I give it to you. It is a very precious, a unique treasury. Seven enlightened persons have noted down their experiences of truth in it, and I have also added a few of my own understandings.

Preserve it. Don't lose it; don't let it be lost."

The disciple said, "But I have achieved the experience without any book, and I am happy and blissful. I am not even a little bit dissatisfied, so why add this burden to me, why give an unnecessary responsibility to me? I have already experienced the truth and the book was not needed. It is unnecessary."

The master still insisted, "Much that is valuable is written in it. It is no ordinary book, it isthe book, The Bible. So don't be sacrilegious, pay respect to this book, keep it and hand it over to your successor. By giving this book to you I certify this book is a representation that you are my successor."

The master gave the book to the disciple. It must have been a cold night because the fire was burning. In one hand the disciple received the book, and in the same instant he thrust it into the fire. The master, who had never been angry in his life, shouted, "What are you doing?"

And the disciple shouted, even louder than the master, "What are you saying?" This is beautiful, the master must have died peacefully. This was the right man. The book had to be thrust into the fire or the disciple would have missed. If he had kept the book he would have missed, and then he would not have been the successor. You keep the book only when the thing has not happened to you. Who is bothered about words when the truth is with you? Who is bothered about a book when the real thing has happened within? Who is bothered about explanations when the experience is there? Explanations are precious because the experience is lacking; theories are significant because there is no knowledge. When you know, you can throw theories -- they are rubber bands. And when the notes are with you, you can throw the rubber band. Preserving a rubber band shows foolishness.

This book was not precious -- no book is precious -- and the master was playing a game, the same that his master must have played with him. Nobody knows what was written in the book, but I tell you nothing was written in it. It was empty. Had the disciple preserved it, when the master died he would have opened it, and then he would have cried. Nothing was written in the book. It was just a game, an old game. Every master tries to test the experience of a disciple, whether he knows. And if he knows, he will not be addicted to the book. Why? -- there is no point in it. That is why the disciple said, "What are you saying? To preserve the book when I have achieved without it, when I have already achieved? What are you saying?

The master provoked a situation, and in that situation the disciple proved his mettle. He proved that he knew. Even a slight inclination to preserve and he would have missed, he would not have been the successor. He didn't even look in the book to see what was there. He was not even curious, because only ignorance is curious. If you know, you know. What is curiosity? What would have happened to you? The first thing the mind would have said was: At least look in it, see what is there. But that gesture would have been enough to prove that you had not achieved. Curiosity means ignorance. Wisdom is not curious. Curiosity asks questions; wisdom has no questions to ask.

What would you have done? The first thing that comes to the mind: At least see what is there. If my master insists that this precious book has to be preserved, handed down from one generation to another with seven enlightened persons having written in it, and with my own master having added his own understanding to it, at least have a look before you throw it in the fire.

But I tell you -- if he had looked, he would have been thrown out of the house with the book: Get out, and never come back again! He acted out of a deep understanding. How can the master who knows insist that the book is precious? There must be some game. The master had never been angry, never in his life, and suddenly he was angry and said, "What are you doing?" He created the whole situation.

In the anger the disciple may have yielded, may have said, "I have done something wrong, forgive me. This is how the mind functions. The mind might have come in and thought, "I have done something wrong. The master may not appoint me as successor now. If my master is so angry, it means I have done something wrong, and I may miss being the successor. I was going to be the chief, I was going to be the master of the monastery and millions would have followed me. Thousands would have been my disciples, and now I have done something wrong. A man who has never been angry is angry, shouting."

If you had been there, you would have touched the feet of the master and said, "Forgive me, but appoint me." But the disciple said, "And what are you saying?" If the master can play at anger the disciple can also play. but this can happen only when both know. He answered in the right coin. He answered correctly and the master was satisfied: This is the man. He became the successor, he was the successor.

But this has been done by every religion: they preserve books and do nothing else. Christians preserve their Bible, Mohammedans preserve their Koran, Hindus preserve their Gita -- and they have missed. They are not the successors. Mohammedans do not belong to Mohammed; they cannot belong. The Koran must be in the fire before they can belong. Christians don't know anything about Christ because they preserve The Bible, and Hindus have no understanding of Krishna because of the Gita -- they go on carrying the burden. All the Vedas, and all the Bibles, and all the Korans are for those who don't understand. They carry the burden and the burden becomes so much that they are crushed under it, they are not freed through it, they become slaves to it.

A religious person is always beyond the book; a religious consciousness is never addicted to words and the verbal. The whole thing is childish. A religious man is in search of authentic experience, not borrowed words, not experiences of others. Unless he knows -- buddhas may have existed, but they are useless. Unless he knows, there is no truth because truth can only be his experience. Only then is it there. The whole world may say there is light and there is a rainbow in the sky and the sun is rising, but if my eyes are closed what does it mean to me? The rainbow, the colors, the sunrise, the whole thing is nonexistential to me. My eyes are closed, I am blind. And if I listen to them too much, and if I start believing in them too much, and if I borrow their words and I also start talking about the rainbow that I have not seen, about colors which I cannot see, about the sunrise which is not my experience, I may be lost in the forest of words.

It is better to say, "I am blind. I don't know any color and I don't know any light, and unless my eyes open, there is no sun and there can be no sunrise." Insist, so that you can work upon your eyes. Don't carry the books; they talk about rainbows seen by others, they talk about sunrises experienced by others. Don't carry the borrowed God when you can encounter him directly, immediately. Why create barriers of books between you and him? Burn the books! -- that is the message -- throw them in the fire.

That doesn't mean go and throw your Gita in the fire -- that will not be of much help, because if a Gita cannot help towards truth how can burning a Gita be helpful? That is not the point. You can throw away all the books and you can remain addicted to theories, doctrines. When I say burn the books, I say: Burn the mind, drop the mind. Don't be verbal. Seek authentic experience. But your inquiry may have arisen out of the books -- that is the problem -- your questions may have arisen out of books. If your questioning is itself bookish, your whole inquiry has started in a wrong direction.

People come to me and ask, "What is God?" And I ask them, "Did this question come out of your own life or have you read some book which talks about God and so you have become curious? If your curiosity has arisen out of learning it is useless. It is not your question. And if the question is not yours, no answer can be of any help. When the basic thing is borrowed, when even the question is borrowed, you will go on borrowing the answers. Seek your authentic question. What is your question?"

I have heard about a philosopher who entered a London car showroom. He looked around and became fascinated with a beautiful car, a streamlined sports car. The salesman became alert because he was looking so interested. He came nearer and asked, "Are you interested in this car?"

The man said, "Yes, I am interested. Is it fast?"

The salesman said, "Fast? You cannot find a faster car than this. If you get in it right now, by tomorrow morning at three o'clock, you will be in Aberdeen. Are you really interested in buying it?"

The philosopher said, "I will think about it."

The next day he came and said, "No, I don't want to purchase that car. The whole night I couldn't sleep. I remained awake thinking and thinking and thinking, and I could not find any reason why I should like to be in Aberdeen at three o'clock in the morning." Whenever you read a book, ask, inquire, for what reason you would like to be in Aberdeen at three o'clock in the morning.

You read a book. You read something about God, you read something about moksha, you read something about the soul, you read something about bliss -- you become fascinated - - words of those who know are really fascinating -- but you forget completely for what reason you would like to encounter God. Just by reading a book, just by reading a man -- for example, reading Jesus -- you will become fascinated, because this man is drunk with God, his every word is alcoholic. If you hear him, you will feel drunk. But close the Bible, escape from this Jesus, brood over whether this is your inquiry or whether this man has sold his inquiry to you. With another's inquiry your own search becomes false. The first thing to remember is: your question must be yours. Then the second thing to remember is: the answer must be yours. Books supply both. That's why I said: Burn the books and be authentic. Come out of the jungle of words and feel what you want, what your desire is, and follow it wheresoever it leads. Sooner or later you will come to the divine. It may take a little longer, but the search will be real.

If all books were burnt, the world would be more religious. There are so many books and readymade answers that everybody knows the question, the answer. It has become a game; it is not your life. The world should be freed of books, should be freed of all ideals, should be freed of all borrowed inquiries. Every man should start feeling his own heartbeat, his own pulse -- where it leads, what it desires, what his question is. If you can find your question, the answer is waiting just nearby. It may be that in finding the question you have already found the answer, because the answer lies in authenticity. If the question is authentic, if you have become authentic in questioning, fifty percent of the problem is already solved. Just a little more effort, going a little deeper, and the question always hides the answer behind it.

Questioning is just one aspect of the coin. The other aspect is the answer. Just behind questioning, the answer is lying waiting for you. But if you have not come to your question, how can you come to your answer? And only the answer that is yours will free you, will make you free.

Jesus says truth liberates. Yes, truth liberates, but never borrowed truth. Jesus' truth will not liberate you. But Christians believe that Jesus' truth will liberate them. Not only that, they think that just by Jesus' crucifixion humanity is already liberated. This is being blind, absolutely blind. Nothing is liberated, nobody is liberated; salvation has not happened. Jesus was crucified, that's okay, but through Jesus' crucifixion Jesus was liberated, not you. The whole thing seems to be a trick. Jesus died on the cross and humanity, particularly Christianity, is liberated; one who is a Christian is already liberated.

This is how the mind thinks: it goes on throwing responsibility onto somebody else. If you are a sinner you are a sinner because Adam sinned and was thrown out of heaven, and now you are liberated because Jesus has again entered the kingdom of God. So Adam and Jesus are the authentic persons; you are just shadows. Adam sins, and you have become a sinner -- so who are you? You are a shadow. Adam is thrown out of heaven, therefore you are thrown out. This can happen only to a shadow, not to a real person. If I am thrown out of this house, only my shadow will be thrown with me, nothing else. And if I enter the kingdom of God, only my shadow will enter with me; you cannot enter.

Jesus solved everything. He entered the kingdom of God, and all humanity entered with him. Nobody has entered, nobody can enter in such an easy way. You have to pay the cost, you have to carry your own cross, you have to be crucified through suffering -- your suffering, remember. Neither Jesus' suffering, nor anybody else's will open the doors. They are closed, and you cannot enter just following Jesus. Nobody can enter that way. The doors open for the individual, because the individual is the authentic reality. The disciple said, "I have already entered, master, so why are you giving this map to me? A map is needed for one who is lost -- but I have reached the goal, so why this map?" And the master said, "The map is very precious. All the paths are indicated on it."

Would the disciple hesitate for a single moment? The master's penetrating eyes were searching his heart to see if he would hesitate, if he would say, "Okay, maybe the master is right and the map is precious...." But what does a man need a map for when he has reached the goal? So he threw the book in the fire, he threw away the map. I have heard: A man driving his car on a lonely road suspected that he had missed the path, suspected that he was moving in a wrong direction. He saw a beggar walking, so he stopped the car and asked the beggar, "Does this road lead to Delhi?"

The beggar said, "I don't know."

So the man asked, "Does this road lead to Agra?"

The beggar said, "I don't know."

The man, who was already irritated, became more irritated, and said to the beggar in anger, "So you don't know much." The beggar laughed and said, "But I am not lost." So the question is not of knowledge. The question is whether you are lost or not. The beggar said, "But I am not lost. Whether I know or not is not the point." When you are lost a map is needed, knowledge is needed, a book is needed. When you are not lost, what is the point of carrying a book, a map? And an enlightened person is at the goal everywhere. Wherever he is, is the goal. Once you become aware that you are the goal you cannot be lost.

The beggar is not lost. Why? -- because he is not going to Delhi, he is not going to Agra, he is not going anywhere. Wherever he reaches, that is the goal. He is not lost because he is not moving in any direction; he is not lost because there is no desired goal.

This disciple threw away the map because there is no goal. He is the goal now. Wherever he is, he is at peace, at home. There is no desire and no motivation. The future has disappeared, this moment is enough.

Throw away all the maps because you are the goal. Maps can help if the goal is somewhere else; maps cannot help if you are the goal. They may even distract you, because when you look at a map you cannot look at yourself Books cannot help, because you are the truth and there is no book in which you are written. The book is you, no other book. Here you are, written in this book, which is you. You have to be deciphered, and if you are wrong all books that you carry will go wrong. All maps that you carry will be wrong and will indicate wrongly, because who will read those books and who will follow the instructions indicated in the map?

I have heard: A man was driving and his wife was looking at the map. Suddenly the wife cried out in panic and said, "We are lost -- because this map is upside down. The map is upside down. We are lost!"

The map can be put right side up; no map is upside down by itself. But the wife must have been upside down. If you are upside down all the books you read will turn upside down. If you are disturbed it will be reflected in your Koran, in your Bible, in your Gita; if you are mad your interpretations of the Vedas will be mad; if you are afraid you will meet fear wherever you go. Whatsoever you do your doing will come out of you; your interpretations will come out of you and you will be wrong.

So a master is not interested in giving you a right book. There are none. No right book exists, only right people and wrong people, right persons and wrong persons. A real master is interested in putting you right side up. A master is interested in changing you, the person; he is not interested in giving you a book.

That's why the disciple said, "What are you saying? Such a nonsensical thing you have never said before. You have gone mad saying: Keep, preserve the book, it is precious!" No book is precious. Only the person is precious. But when you don't know your value you think the book is precious. When you don't know the precious value of your being, then every type of theory becomes valuable. Words are valuable because you have not known the value of the being.

Anything more?

Question 1

Yes, this book is going to be very precious. Keep, preserve it. Seven generations of masters have given it to me and I have given it to you. Now it depends on what you do. I have added my understanding to it, but as far as I'm concerned I am giving you this book just to throw in the fire. The day you can throw it in the fire will be the day you have understood it. If you go on preserving it you have missed.

But the book is needed, because if it is not there what will you throw in the fire? It is needed. Try to preserve it -- it is very precious -- and when you understand you will throw it in the fire.

So I am not saying give only the Koran to the fire; give my books to the fire also, because they can be more dangerous than the Koran and Gita and Bible which have become out of date in a sense. You are very, very far away from Mohammed, even further away from Krishna. Their voices have become very, very distant, dim things. My voice is nearer to you. It is immediate; it is direct. It may become a greater prison for you, because it is more alive right now. It can capture you; it can become more of a burden. If a living master can free you, a living master can become more of a prison also. It depends.

There are directions in the book. It is a map, a map into the world of consciousness, a map of how to get roots into the earth, a map of how to get wings into the sky. But trees don't need it. If I tell them how to get roots into the earth they will say, "Don't disturb us, we have already got roots into the earth" If I tell them how to get wings into the sky they will say, "Don't disturb the silence. We are always standing in the sky, swaying in the sky." And if I tell them to preserve this book they will laugh, and if they can find a fire they will throw the book in it.

So what am I saying? I am saying to you: Get roots and throw away the maps; get wings and throw away the maps. Don't get fixed on what I say, don't be obsessed with what I say. Put the words aside and look at me. And what I hope is that one day, if I say, "Preserve this book," you will be able to shout at me and say, "What are you saying? Have you gone mad?" You can say that without reaching the point where it becomes meaningful -- but you cannot deceive me. You can throw the book into the fire without throwing the attachment. Then you are imitating. Imitation won't help. Buddhas have existed on the earth, disciples have existed; everything has happened that can happen and everything is written. You may decide you can imitate, but imitation won't help.

It happened once that a man came to a Zen master. He had read all the scriptures, memorized them, and had become a great philosopher because he was very efficient at using words, logic. And this Zen master was just a villager, just like the beggar who said, "I am not lost." He had never read the Lotus Sutra, one of the greatest Buddhist scriptures, worth preserving, always keeping near. Just as there are bedside books, so the Lotus Sutra is a heartside book; it is concerned with the heart. The lotus is the symbol for the heart: fully bloomed, in full bloom, it is the heart. And Buddhists think there is nothing comparable to the Lotus Sutra.

This man had memorized the whole Lotus Sutra. He could repeat it from anywhere. Ask any question and immediately he would answer -- like a computer, very efficiently. So he asked the Zen master, "Have you read the Lotus Sutra?"

The Zen master said, "Lotus Sutra? Never heard of it."

The man, the pundit, the scholar, said, "Never heard of it? And people think you are enlightened!"

The Zen master said, "People must be wrong. I am an ignorant man, how can I be enlightened?"

The scholar was at ease now, so he said, "Now I will repeat the Lotus Sutra. Can you read?"

The monk said, "I can't read."

So the man said, "Okay, then listen to me and I will explain anything you want to ask." He had come to seek a master but now he had become a master. The ego never wants to be a disciple, it is always in search of being a master. How the buddha must have laughed at the situation! The master became the disciple, and the disciple became the master and said, "Listen."

The master started listening. The disciple said, "Okay." He began to repeat the Lotus Sutra.

In the Lotus Sutra, it is said everything is emptiness -- this world is empty, hell is empty, heaven is empty, God is empty, everything is emptiness. Emptiness is the nature of all things, nothingness, so be attuned to nothingness and you will achieve.

Suddenly the master jumped and hit the pundit on the head. The pundit became mad. He started shouting and said, "Not only are you not enlightened, not only are you ignorant, you seem to be neurotic also. What are you doing?"

The master sat again and said, "If everything is nothingness, from where does this anger come? The world is emptiness, heaven is emptiness, hell is emptiness, the nature of things is nothingness. From where does this anger come?"

The pundit was puzzled. He said, "It is not written in the Lotus Sutra. You ask foolish questions. It is not written in the Lotus Sutra. The whole Sutra I have memorized -- and this is no way of asking a question, hitting me is no way of asking a question."

But this is the only way. Theories are not of much help. You can say that everything is nothingness, but just a little hit and anger arises out of nothingness; a woman passes and sex arises out of nothingness; you look at a beautiful house and the desire to possess arises out of nothingness. When Buddha said everything is nothingness, he was saying: If you can understand this, nothing will arise. How can anything arise out of nothingness? Nothingness is a meditation, not a theory; it is a falling into the abyss. Then anger cannot arise and sex cannot arise -- how can they?

There are two types of persons: one, those who are in search of theories -- and please don't be that type, because that is the most stupid type; and the other type is the wise type, those in search of experience, not of theories.

This book and whatsoever I say can become a theory for you; then you miss. It can become a thirst, a hunger, a deep urge to experience; then you have got the point. But don't be addicted to the words; don't carry the container, remember the content. When the disciple threw the book into the fire he was throwing away the container; the content was preserved in his heart. And the master was happy that this man had understood: the container has to be thrown away and the content preserved.

Whatsoever I say, throw it in the fire. But whatsoever happens to you in my presence, that is the content. Preserve it, it is precious. But there is no need to preserve it: if it happens, you will preserve it; if you know, it is preserved, and then there is no way to throw it in the fire. Only books can be thrown in the fire, truth cannot.

That's why the disciple shouted, "What are you saying? Can a precious thing be thrown into the fire? Can a precious thing be burned in the fire? If the fire can burn your book, what type of preciousness is it? What type of truth is this? If the fire can burn the truth, it is not worth preserving."

That which cannot be burned, that which cannot be dead, even through fire it becomes more alive, more pure -- that is the truth. That's why I said throw The Bible into the fire: not that I am against The Bible, I am against the container. The content cannot be thrown. The container is the Lotus Sutra. The content is in your lotus, and that is your heart.

Anything more?

Question 2

A child can fall but he will not feel hurt. A drunkard, walking in the street, falls, but his body is preserved, his bones are not fractured. What is happening? The real thing is not the other bumping into you, the real thing is your resistance. You are afraid the other may bump into you, so you are resisting the whole time. Somebody may not bump into you, but you are afraid. Fear closes you, you become stiff, and if somebody then bumps into you that stiffness is hurt, not you. But you feel that you are hurt, and then your mind says, "You were right to be afraid from the very beginning, and it was good to be alert so that nobody would bump into you."

The mind is a vicious circle. It gives you an idea, and because of that idea certain things happen. Then that idea becomes more fixed, you become more afraid, and then you are constantly in fear. How will you do meditation?

In Japan they have a science of wrestling -- they call it judo or ju-jitsu -- and the whole science consists of a very meditative thing: the judo wrestler learns how not to resist. When somebody attacks you, you have to absorb his energy, not resist, as if he is giving energy to you. Absorb his energy; don't resist. He is not the enemy, he is the friend coming to you; and when he hits you with his hand or his fist much energy is released.

Soon he will be exhausted, so absorb the energy that is released from his fist. When he is exhausted, just by absorbing his energy you will feel stronger, stronger than ever. But you resist, you shrink, you become stiff so that you may not be hurt. Then his energy and your energy clash, and in that clash pain happens. It is you.

In meditation, remember this: if somebody bumps into you, absorb his energy. And here is a meditative person bumping into you -- you are lucky. He is releasing beautiful energy. A meditative energy is coming out of him; absorb it. Feel happy, feel thankful, and start jumping again. Don't be stiff, don't resist, because he was sharing his energy with you, unknowingly. Share it and soon you will come to know a different quality -- that of nonresistance. The whole body and mind then behave in a different way. You know a secret.

You fall on the ground suddenly: fall as if the ground, the earth, is your mother. Make it a rest, not a clash. Fall down but don't be stiff. If you are stiff you may get a fracture; the fracture will happen because you were stiff and there was a fight between you and the earth. And the earth is, of course, greater than you so you will be a loser. Fall down just like a drunkard. You see them falling every day on the street, but by the morning they are back, completely okay. Every night they fall down and their bones are never fractured.

These drunkards know a certain secret that you don't know. What do they know? They fall without any consciousness on their part, without any ego there. They just fall. There is nobody to fight with the earth. The earth absorbs them and they absorb the earth.

Be a drunkard: fall without the ego. Enjoy the fall and feel friendly, intimate, with the earth. Soon you will be back on your feet with more energy than ever, and once you know the knack there will be no disturbance. You are hurt because you are in a fight, a continuous fight; you are hurt because you are always resisting. Consciously, unconsciously, you are always ready to resist. And when so many people are doing meditation you become afraid that somebody may hit you -- but if there is this fear, how will you meditate?

Rather than being in fear, be in love. With so many persons meditating much divine energy is released. This is a celebration, so why be in fear? Be in love. Enjoy this group consciousness, so many people dancing. Become part, lose your ego, be one with this collective force and energy. It will be difficult in the beginning because many lives have been lived with a fixed attitude of resistance. But someday you will become aware; someday a gap will be cleared and you will see. One experience will do. If you someday fall on the earth and there is no hurt and you feel beautiful, you have come to know a secret, you have stumbled upon the key. Now this key can be used on many locks. It is a master key.

Whenever someone comes to fight you, absorb him; when someone insults you, absorb him and see -- his insult becomes a flower. He is releasing energy. When someone insults you, he is giving away energy. He is foolish, stupid, so you absorb his energy, thank him, and go back and see what happens. When someone is ready to fight, simply allow him to hit you. Be as if you are not there and he is fighting an emptiness. Allow him, don't resist, and you will come to know. There is no other way; just listening to me will not do.

This is an art, it is not a science. Science can be explained, art has to be experienced. It is just like swimming. If you tell a non-swimmer, "There is nothing to it, you just take a jump and start throwing your arms around," he will say, "What are you saying? This will be suicide." How can you explain to a non-swimmer that swimming is beautiful, the most beautiful experience of any that the body can give to you? It is such a flowing experience, such a oneness with the river. The whole body, every fiber of it, every cell, is alive. The water is life -- because all life arises out of the water. Water is vital. In your body you are eighty-five percent water, so eighty-five percent water, liquid, is meeting with a big river, or the ocean. You have come to the original source of vitality.

But you cannot explain to anyone who is a non-swimmer. It is not a science. You have to take him step by step -- in the beginning shallow water so he becomes confident, then by and by deeper and deeper water. In the beginning he will be awkward, he will be afraid, he will be fighting with the river, afraid that it might drown him. He will feel the river as being antagonistic, but soon he will realize that the river is not antagonistic, that it enjoys him swimming there, that it feels happy that one of its parts has come back. It is a celebrating moment for the river. A river with no one swimming in it is sad, but where many people dance and swim and enjoy, the river is happy. Soon he will feel that the river is helping him, that he is unnecessarily fighting, and by and by he will drop his movements and activity. When a swimmer becomes perfect he simply floats on the river. No activity is needed; the river does everything and the swimmer simply floats on the river.

In old yoga traditions there is a particular meditation -- just float on the river and feel one with it. Don't make any movement, don't move the body, let the river do the work. And if the river is doing the work and you are simply floating, nondoing, you will have the feeling of the whole existence. This is how existence floats. You are unnecessarily fighting.

In meditation you are entering a river of consciousness. So many people around you creates a tremendous force, a stream. Enter into it like a swimmer, not fighting, just floating, and see what happens. It is an art.

I cannot tell you, I can just indicate, and you have to experience. You have to wait until the experience happens to you, a single moment of experience that nobody is against you, nobody is going to harm you. The existence is whole, there will be no hurt.

And I say: Even if your bone is broken there will be no pain, there will be no hurt. If you fall down and you die, even then there will be no pain. If you are just falling back to mother earth there will be no pain. You are simply absorbed.

And who knows? -- in meditation, just someone bumping into you may become your first glimpse of an enlightenment, because it is a shock -- a sudden awareness comes to you. Who knows? -- just falling on the ground and breaking a bone may become your first satori, your first enlightenment. Nobody knows -- life is mysterious. Enlightenment has happened in such different ways. Nobody knows.

Do it in love. Feel at home and allow things. If somebody bumps into you, let him bump. And let him pass through you. Don't be a wall; don't come in his way. Allow him to pass. Be porous.