Discipline, Devotion and Krishna

Question 1:

Let us first understand what I mean by completeness, wholeness.

Wholeness can be both one-dimensional and multidimensional. A painter can be complete as a painter, but it does not mean that he is also complete as a scientist. A scientist can be whole as a scientist, but that does not make him whole as a musician. So there is a one-dimensional completeness. I say Mahavira, Buddha and Jesus were complete in a particular dimension. But Krishna was complete in a multidimensional way.

It is quite possible that one chooses a particular dimension of life to the exclusion of the rest, and attains to its wholeness. This wholeness too can lead to the supreme truth The river that flows in a single stream is as much entitled to reach the ocean as one flowing in many streams. With respect to reaching the ocean, there is no difference between the two. Mahavira and Buddha and Krishna all reach to the ocean of truth, but while Mahavira does it as a one-dimensional man, Krishna does it as one who is multi-dimensional. Krishna's completeness is multidimensional, while Mahavira's is one-dimensional. So don't think that Mahavira does not attain to wholeness; he transcends the seventh body and attains to wholeness as much as Krishna does.

Krishna reaches the same goal from many, many directions, and that is significant.

Another significant thing about Krishna is that unlike Mahavira and Buddha, he does not deny life, he is not life-negative. There is an unavoidable element of negation in the lives of Mahavira and Buddha which is completely absent in Krishna's life. There is not a trace of negativity in this man with the flute. Mahavira attains through renunciation of life; Krishna attains through total acceptance of it. That is why I differentiate Krishna's wholeness from that of others. But let no one think that Mahavira is incomplete. All one can say is that while his wholeness is one-dimensional, Krishna's wholeness is multidimensional.

One-dimensional wholeness is not going to have much meaning in the future. For the man of the future, multidimensional wholeness will have tremendous significance. And there are reasons for it. One who attains to wholeness through a single facet of his life not only negates all other facets of his own life, he also becomes instrumental in negating those aspects in the lives of many other multidimensional people.

On the other hand, one who attains to wholeness, to the absolute, through all aspects of his life, proves helpful even to all kinds of one-dimensional seekers in their journey to the supreme from their own aspect. In short, while Mahavira and Buddha can be of help only to a few, Krishna's help will be available to many. For example, we cannot think how a painter or sculptor or a poet can attain to the supreme through the path of Mahavira. Mahavira is one-dimensional not only for himself; all others who will try to understand him and experiment with his discipline will have to negate all other facets of their lives as ways to attainment. We cannot conceive how a dancer can attain to the supreme in Mahavira's terms, but in Krishna's terms he can. A dancer, if he so chooses, can drop all other aspects and keep to dancing, and by going deeper and deeper into it can attain to the same state Mahavira attains through meditation. This is possible in terms of Krishna.

Krishna makes every side, every facet of his life divine; with him every direction of life becomes sacred. It is not so with Mahavira: one particular direction in which he journeys becomes sacred, while all other directions remain profane. And in fact because his one direction becomes sacred all other directions are bound to remain profane; these are automatically condemned; doomed to live in the shade of profanity. And this is applicable not only to Mahavira, but also to Rama, Buddha, Christ, Mohammed - all those who adhere to one exclusive direction in life's quest.

Krishna is the sole being about whom it can be said that he made every path, every facet of life sacred and holy. He made it possible for every kind of seeker to attain to the supreme from any direction that comes naturally to him. In this sense he is multi-dimensional, not only for himself but for others too. With a flute on his lips one can dance his way to God; playing a flute he can touch that depth where samadhi, or ecstasy happens. But to Mahavira and Buddha with a flute there is no way.

It is not possible on the paths of Mahavira and Buddha that a flute can achieve the majestic heights of meditation and samadhi. It is impossible. To Mahavira, Meera can never attain to the highest; she is attached to Krishna, she loves Krishna. And according to Mahavira, attachment can never lead you to God, only non-attachment can. But going with Krishna, both the attached and non-attached can reach the same destination.

That is why I say that Krishna's wholeness is incomparable; it is rare.

Secondly, you want to know if none of the Jaina tirthankaras attained to wholeness. No, they all had attained to it, but only to one-dimensional wholeness. And it was because of this that Jaina ideology could not achieve widespread popularity. It was inherent in the very nature of Jainism. Twenty-five centuries have passed, and there ate only three and a half million Jainas, a very poor figure.

It is ironic that the message of a person of the stature of Mahavira - and he was not alone, he carried with him an immense heritage bequeathed by twenty-three tirthankaras - could reach only three and a half million people. If only three dozen persons had been influenced by Mahavira in his lifetime, they alone through procreation would have, in the course of twenty-five hundred years, reached this figure. What is the cause? The cause is obvious. It is their one-dimensional approach. They lack the multi-dimensional wholeness of Krishna. Their appeal is limited to a few; it is ineffectual in reaching the rest of mankind. People with inclinations different from the single dimension that Jainism represents remain wholly unaffected; they don't find themselves in tune with it.

It is ironic that even this handful of Jainas don't treat Mahavira the way he should be treated. It is all right to worship Krishna, but it is repugnant to Mahavira's teachings. And the Jainas are worshipping Mahavira. Worship is okay with Krishna but not with Mahavira. It means Mahavira will not agree with the minds of even those few who are born into the Jaina community. The reason is that the dimension of Mahavira is very exclusive; it accords with few. So being born in the Jaina community one continues to be a Jaina, but takes on many things that don't belong to Mahavira's dimension.

Devotion has entered Jainism, and along with it have come worship and prayer and other rituals.

They have nothing to do with Mahavira; they are alien to his genius. In fact, devotion and worship are an outrage against Mahavira; there is no place for them in the life of Mahavira. But the Jainas have their own difficulty; they cannot feel gratified without worship and prayer. So they go on incorporating all these things into the religion of Mahavira.

Here I would like to say that all those who have attained to one-dimensional wholeness are bound to be unjustly treated by their followers; they cannot escape it. But you cannot misbehave in this way with those who have attained to multidimensional wholeness; whatever you do they will accept it. While all types of people can walk with Krishna, only a particular type can go with Mahavira.

This is the reason I have said that all the twenty-four tirthankaras of the Jainas are travelers on the same path; their direction is the same and their spiritual discipline is the same. And I don't say that they don't arrive at the goal, they do arrive. It is not that ultimately they don't achieve what Krishna achieves; they achieve exactly that which Krishna achieves.

It does not matter whether a river reaches the ocean in hundreds of streams or in a single stream.

On reaching the ocean all journeys end and all the rivers become one with the ocean. Yet there is a difference between the two rivers - one has a single stream and another has many. While a river with many streams can water a very large area of the earth, the river with a single stream cannot - only a few trees and plants can be benefited by it. This difference has to be understood, it cannot be denied.

This is what I would like to say in regard to multidimensional wholeness.

And you ask: What is samyama, the discipline of balance in life, without repression?

In terms of renunciation samyama generally means repression. By and large, every seeker on the path of renunciation understands samyama in the sense of repression. For this reason the Jaina scriptures have even a term like body-repression; they believe that even the physical body has to be suppressed and repressed. It is unfortunate that samyama has become synonymous with repression.

But in Krishna's terms, samyama can never mean repression. How can Krishna say that samyama can be achieved through repression? For Krishna samyama has an absolutely different meaning.

Words sometimes put us in great difficulty. Words are the same, whether they come from Krishna's mouth or from Mahavira's, but their meanings change from mouth to mouth. This word samyama is one such word which has different meanings with different people. Mahavira means one thing when he uses this word, and Krishna means just the opposite when he uses the same word. While the word comes from the dictionary, its meaning comes from the person who uses it.

The meaning of a word does not, as is usually believed, come from the dictionary. Of course, people who have no individuality of their own depend on the dictionary for the meanings of words. People with individuality invest words with their own meanings. So what Krishna means by samyama can be known only in his context. Similarly Mahavira's meaning of samyama will have to be known from his context. Its meaning does not lie in the word itself, it lies in Krishna and Mahavira or whoever uses it.

Looking at Krishna's life no one can say that samyama means repression. If there has been a single person on this earth who can be called utterly unrepressed, uninhibited and free it is Krishna. So samyama for Krishna cannot have anything to do with repression. And as far as I am concerned, samyama and repression are antonyms, opposites.

This Sanskrit word samyama is really extraordinary. To me it means balance, equilibrium, to be just in the middle. When the scales are equalized so that neither side outweighs the other, it is samyam.

In this sense a renunciate does not have samyama, balance any more than one who indulges in worldly pleasures. Both are unbalanced; they are wanting in samyama. Both are extremists: the indulgent holds to one extreme of life; the renunciate holds to the other extreme. Samyama means to be equidistant from the two extremes, to be just in the middle. Krishna stands for that middle state where there is neither renunciation nor indulgence. Or you can say samyama is indulgence with an element of renunciation in it, or it is renunciation with an element of indulgence; it is striking a balance between indulgence and renunciation. Really samyama is neither indulgence nor renunciation; it is a state where you don't tilt the scales to either side. He alone is samyami who maintains equidistance from either extreme.

There is a man who is mad after wealth. Day in and day out he is running after amassing money.

Day in and day out he goes on adding to his bank balance. Money has become the be-all and end-all of his life - his demigod. This person has gone to one extreme of life. There is another person who has turned his back on wealth; he is running away from wealth. He renounces wealth and does not even look back lest it attract him and entrap him again. This person has gone to the other extreme. Both have lost balance, both lack samyama. Renunciation of wealth is the goal of one and acquisition of wealth is the goal of another.

Then who is samyami, the balanced person? In Krishna's terms a person like Janaka is samyami.

Negation of the extremes is samyama; to be exactly in the middle is equilibrium. Too much fasting and too much eating go against samyama; right eating goes with samyama. Fasting amounts to tilting the balance on the side of hunger; overeating amounts to tilting the balance on the side of indulgence. The balance lies in eating just the right amount of food - neither less nor more. By samyama Krishna means balance. equilibrium, equipoise. Any movement deviating from the center, even a slight deviation from the middle to one side or another destroys the equilibrium; on either side there is the death of samyama.

And one can deviate from samyama in only two ways: one way is indulgence and the other is renunciation. Either you get attached to a thing, you cling to it, or you get repelled by it. Have you watched a wall clock with a pendulum? Its pendulum is constantly swinging from one side to the other; it never stops in the middle. It swings from the left side to the right and back; it does not stop at the center. Another significant thing about the pendulum is that when it is moving toward the right, it only seems so; in reality it is gathering momentum to move toward the left. And when it is moving toward the left, it is really gathering momentum to move toward the right.

We are exactly like this pendulum. When one is fasting he is in fact, preparing himself for feasting, and similarly when he is feasting he is preparing to go on a fast. One who is running after attachments and addictions will soon get tired and will pursue renunciation and asceticism. Both extremes are joined together; they are two sides of the same thing.

Only when the pendulum stops in the middle, swinging in neither direction, it is balanced. And it is such a pendulum that can symbolize samyama. So long as one pursues indulgence or asceticism, he is unbalanced, he is an asamyami. One can be called a rightist kind of asamyami and the other a leftist kind.

To be steadied in the middle is samyama in terms of Krishna. It can have no other meaning as far as Krishna is concerned. To be balanced is samyama.

Let us look at samyama in the context of real life. In the context of real life, in the sense of the interiority of life, a person of samyama has two connotations. Such a person is neither an ascetic nor a hedonist - or he is both. Such a person is a renunciate and a hedonist together. His indulgence is blended with renunciation and his renunciation mixed with indulgence.

But none of the old traditions of renunciation will agree with this definition of samyama. To these traditions samyama means aversion to enjoyment and asamyama, imbalance, means addiction to enjoyments. One who gives up his attachments and takes to asceticism is a samyami in the eyes of the traditionalists.

Krishna is neither a renunciate nor a hedonist. If we have to place him somewhere, he will be midway between Charvaka and Mahavira. In indulgence he will equal Charvaka, and in renunciation he will not lag behind Mahavira. If we can have a blending of Charvaka and Mahavira, it will be Krishna.

So in terms of Krishna, all such words as samyama and asamyama will undergo a transformation.

The words will be the same, but their meanings will be radically different. The meanings will stem from Krishna's own being.

The second part of your question is: WHAT IS KRISHNA'S SADHANA OR SPIRITUAL DISCIPLINE? WHAT IS HIS WAY OF WORSHIP.

There is nothing like sadhana - or spiritual discipline in the life of Krishna. There cannot be. The basic element of spiritual discipline is effort; without effort sadhana is not possible. And the second inescapable element of sadhana is ego; without the ego, the "?", spiritual discipline falls apart. Who will discipline himself? Effort implies a doer; there has to be somebody to make the effort. Effort ceases if there is no doer.

If we go into the matter deeply we will know that sadhana is an invention of the godless people, people who don't accept God. Those who deny God and accept only the soul believe in sadhana or spiritual discipline. They believe the soul has to make efforts to uncover itself, to be itself.

Upasana, devotion, is the way of a very different kind of people, who say there is no soul, only God is. Ordinarily we think that sadhana and upasana - discipline and worship - go together, but it is not so. Theists believe in devotion and worship; they don't believe in effort. They say all one has to do is to get closer and closer to God.

The word upasana is beautiful; it means to sit near God, to get close to one's object of worship. And the worshipper disappears; his ego evaporates in the very process of getting close to God. There is nothing more to be done. The theists believe that it is really one's ego that separates him from God; ego is the gulf between the seeker and the sought. The greater the ego, the greater is the distance between the two. Ego is the measure of distance between the seeker and God. To the extent this ego melts and evaporates, one gets closer and closer to God. And the day the ego disappears completely, the day the seeker ceases to be, his upasana is complete and he is God himself.

It is like ice turns into water, and water in turn evaporates and disappears into the sky. Does ice have to make efforts to become water? If it makes efforts, it will only become more hardened as ice.

Efforts will make ice more and more crystallized, solid. So if a seeker resorts to sadhana or spiritual discipline, it will only strengthen his ego, harden it and solidify it.

So sadhana ultimately leads to the soul, while upasana, devotion leads to God. One who disciplines himself will end with the soul, he cannot go beyond it He will say that he has ultimately found himself, his soul. On the other hand the devotee will say that he has lost himself and found God. So the sadhaka and the upasaka, the man of discipline and the devotee, are contrary to each other; they are not the same. While an upasaka will melt and evaporate like water, a sadhaka will be strengthened and crystallized as a soul.

In Krishna's life there is no element of discipline; there is actually no place whatsoever for sadhana.

It is upasana or devotion which has meaning for Krishna.

The whole journey of upasana is opposed to effort and discipline; it enters a different dimension altogether. For an upasaka it is a mistake to think that one finds himself. The self is the only barrier, the only falsehood. To be is the only bondage. And therefore not to be, or to be nothing, is the only freedom. While a sadhaka says, "I want to be free," an upasaka says, "I want to be free from the '?', the self." A sadhaka says, "I want freedom," but his "I" remains intact. To an upasaka, freedom means a state of "non-I" or complete egolessness. Not freedom of the "I" but freedom from the "I" is the highest state for an upasaka. So sadhana has no place in the vocabulary of Krishna; upasana has.

Therefore I will go into upasana in depth. To understand it, it is necessary first to know that it has nothing to do with efforts or discipline. Unless we know it clearly, we will continue to confuse the two. And remember that very few people want to take the path of devotion and worship. Most people would like to be sadhakas. doers. A sadhaka has nothing to lose, he has only to gain something - his soul. And an upasaka has everything to lose, he has to lose himself totally, he has nothing to gain. Losing is his only gain, and nothing else. So very few people want to take this path. That is why even the lovers of Krishna turn into sadhakas. They too talk in terms of sadhana and discipline, because they love to be doers. The ego loves the words: strive, achieve, arrive; it is always after achievement.

Upasana is arduous, devotion is hard. Nothing is more difficult than evaporating and disappearing into nothingness. One would, for sure, want to know why he should die and disappear into nothing ness, what he is going to gain by dying as an entity. A sadhaka, in spite of his lofty words, will always think in terms of gain and loss. Even his liberation is nothing more than a means to his happiness; his freedom is his freedom. So it is not surprising that a sadhaka is a selfish person in the deeper sense of the word. In this sense he cannot rise above the self. But an upasaka, a devotee will rise above self and will know the ultimate, where the self is no more.

What is this upasana? What is its meaning and significance? What is its way? Before you try to understand this question of upasana, it is essential that you drop the idea of sadhana altogether.

Forget it; it has no place whatsoever. Only then you can know what upasana is.

As I said. the word upasana means to sit near someone, to sit close to someone. But what is the distance, the remoteness that has to be overcome in order to be near? There is physical distance, distance in space. You are sitting there and I am sitting here, and there is a distance between you and me. This is physical distance. We move closer to each other and the physical distance disappears. If we sit together taking each other's hands, the distance will disappear completely.

There is another kind of distance which is spiritual, inner, which has nothing to do with physical distance. Two persons can be together holding each others' hands and yet they may be hundreds of miles away from each other spiritually. And maybe, two other persons are physically separated from each other by hundreds of miles, yet they are intimately together in spirit. So there are two kinds of distances: one is physical and the other is psychological, spiritual. Upasana is a way of ending the inner distance, the psychological separateness between the seeker and the sought.

It is ironic that even a devotee is anxious to remove the physical distance that seems to separate him from his beloved. He says, "I am restless for you; don't torture me any more. I have made the bed for you, don't delay your arrival any longer." But the difficulty is that the inner distance remains even when the physical distance has been eliminated. To come close to one's beloved is altogether an inner phenomenon. A devotee can be with God, who is invisible, and there is no physical distance between the two. Upasana is a way of uniting the devotee with the divine. But how is this inner distance created?

We know how the outer distance is created. If I walk away from you in another direction, a physical distance will immediately come to exist between you and me. And if I walk back to you the distance will be gone. But how does the inner distance come into being? There is no way to walk in the inner space as we do on the outside. This inner space is created by becoming; the more solid my ego the greater is the distance between my becoming and being. And as the ego melts and evaporates the inner distance is destroyed in the same measure. And when my ego evaporates completely and I am no more, I am all emptiness, then the inner distance between me and God disappears altogether.

So upasana, devotion, means that the devotee becomes an emptiness, a nothingness, a non-being.

To know the truth that "I am not" is to be a devotee, is to be with God. And conversely, to know that "I am" and to cling to this ego is to go far away from God. The declaration that "I am" makes for the separation and distance between the seeker and the sought.

Rumi has written a beautiful song. It is the song of the Sufis, who know what devotion is. Sufis are among those few people on this earth who know what upasana is. If any one can understand Krishna fully it is the Sufis. Although they are Mohammedans, yet it makes no difference. This song belongs to Jalaluddin Rumi.

A lover knocks at the door of his beloved. A voice from inside queries, "Who are you?"

The lover says, "I am; don't you know me?" And then no voice comes from inside; there is utter silence. The lover goes on knocking and shouting, "Don't you recognize my voice? I am your lover.

Open the door without delay."

Then a small voice is heard coming from inside the house, "As long as you are, love's door will remain closed. This door never opens for one who says, 'I am.' So go back and return here only when your 'I' is no more."

The lover goes away disappointed. Many summers and winters, springs and falls come and go.

Even years pass. Then one day the lover reappears and knocks at the same door. He then hears the same question coming from the inner sanctuary of the house: "Who are you?" And the lover answers, "Now only thou art." And the door opens.

Rumi's song ends here.

I think Rumi could not get inside the spirit of devotion fully; he fails to reach to the height of Krishna.

He walks with him, but does not go the whole length. If I have to write this song, I would have the beloved say again to the lover, "As long as 'thou' remains 'I' will be here - maybe in hiding. So go back again and return here after you are finished with 'thou' too."

The awareness of "thou" cannot exist without "I". Whether one uses "I" or not, does not make a difference. As long as "thou" exists for me, I exist Maybe my "I" hides itself in the dark recesses of the unconscious, but it is there. Because who will say "thou" if the "I" is not there? So it does not make any difference if one says, "Only thou art"; it is like Tweedledum and Tweedledee. If I am going to write this poem I would have the beloved say, "As long as 'thou' is, 'I' cannot be erased. So go back and get rid of 'thou' as you got rid of '?'."

But do you think the lover will return after losing both "I" and "thou"? He will not. And then my poem will be in real difficulty, because then it cannot be completed. The lover will not return - Who will come? And to whom? Then he will never come again, because the inner distance, in which coming and going happens, is gone. In fact, the distance is made by the awareness of "I" and "thou"; with the cessation of "I" and "thou" distance is completely obliterated. So on coming to its end my song will be in real trouble. Maybe, for this very reason Rumi concluded his song the way it iS. One cannot take it any further, because nothing remains to be said after it. The song has to be concluded there.

There is no one who will go, and there is no one who will receive him. Who will go to whom? And for what?

As long as one comes and goes, there is distance. And when "I" and "thou" disappear, distances disappear. And with the disappearance of distances the meeting happens, merging happens A devotee need not go anywhere. The meeting happens wherever he is. It is not a question of going anywhere; one has to die as a self and one comes close to the supreme.

Question 2:

Martin Buber's whole thinking is concerned with the relationship, with the intimacy between "I" and "thou". Martin Buber is one of the most profound thinkers of our age. But remember, profundity is not all; whatever the depth it is only the other end of the superficial, the shallow. Real depth comes when one is neither shallow nor deep, when both shallowness and depth disappear. Martin Buber has come upon something very profound: he says that life's truth lies in the interrelationship between "I" and "thou".

An atheist, a materialist, believes that only matter is; there is nothing other than matter. His world does not consist of "I" and "thou", it consists of "I" and "it". There is no place for "thou", because for "thou" it is necessary that another person possess a soul. So an atheist's world is confined to the relationship between "I" and "it". That is why it is such a complex world, where on the one hand he calls himself "I" and as such invests himself with a soul, he deprives others of this l-ness and reduces them into things, into "its". A materialist reduces every man and everything into matter. If I believe there is no soul or spirit, then for me you are nothing more than matter. How then can I call you "thou"? Because only an alive man, alive with a soul, can be addressed as "thou".

Therefore Martin Buber says a theist's world is comprised of "I" and "thou" and not "I" and "it". It is a theist's world only when my "I" addresses the world as "thou". This is how Buber thinks.

But I will not say so. I will say that even a theist is, in his depth, nothing more than an atheist, because he divides the world into "I" and "thou". Or you can say that Buber's world is the world of a dualistic theist. But it is not true, because dualistic theism has no meaning. In a sense, an atheist is non-dualist because he says that only matter is. And so is a spiritualist who says that only one is, and it is spirit. And I think it is easier to attain to oneness, non-dualism from the hypothesis that there is only one; it is very difficult to come to monism from the hypothesis that there are two - "I"

and "thou".

In this sense, a dualist like Buber may find himself in a more difficult situation than an atheist. A materialist is a non-dualist, a monist, and if some day he comes to know that there is no matter, that only spirit is, only consciousness is, then he will have no difficulty in being transformed. Even as an atheist he accepts the oneness of existence; he does not accept the dualistic interpretation. But a dualist's problem is more difficult. He believes that existence is dual, it is matter and soul together.

And as such it would be extremely difficult for him to attain to non-dualism, to the oneness of all existence.

Buber is a dualist. He says that the world is comprised of "I" and "thou". His dualism is human, because he cancels "it", and gives it the status of "thou" with a soul. But it remains a dualistic approach nonetheless. There can be only a relationship between "I" and "thou", there cannot be a unity, a oneness between them. However deep and intimate the relationship, there is always some distance between "I" and "thou". If I am related with you - even if the relationship is really intimate - the very act of relatedness divides me from you; we are not one but two.

And remember, a relationship is a double-edged sword which cuts both ways; it unites and divides at the same time. If you and I are related, it means we are divided as well. The point of meeting is also the point of parting. A bridge joins the two banks of a river and divides them too. In fact, whatever joins two persons or things is bound to divide them; it is inescapable, there is no way to avoid it. Two persons can relate with each other, but they cannot be one; relationship is not unity.

Even in a love relationship, the division between the lovers remains. And as long as there is a division, a separateness, love cannot be fulfilled. That is why all lovers are dissatisfied, discontented.

There are two kinds of discontent in love. You are discontented if you don't find your lover, and you are discontented even if you find one.

When you find someone you love and who loves you, you realize that in spite of the meeting, a distance remains and nothing can be done to mitigate the pain of this separateness. In spite of everything you do to do away with this separateness, this distance from your lover, it continues to torment you. So very often a person who does not find his love is not as miserable as one who finds it. One who does not find can still hope to find, but the one who has found is robbed of all hope - his discontent and despair are much deeper. In fact, no meeting can be real, because two make a meeting, and as long as there are two entities, unity or oneness is impossible.

Martin Buber speaks of a deep relationship between "I" and "thou", and it is very humanistic. And in a world which is becoming increasingly materialistic in every way, this concept of Martin Buber's seems very religious. But I don't take it as such; I say it is not at all religious. I think Buber is just attempting a compromise; if "I" and "thou" cannot unite they can at least maintain some relationship.

Religion stands for the non-dual, indivisible and integrated oneness of existence.

This is the difference between love and devotion, upasana. Love is relationship, it is dualistic, devotion is non-dual, non-relationship. Non-relation ship does not mean that two persons have separated; it simply means that they have ceased to be two, they have become one. To be one is upasana, devotion. Devotion is a higher state of love - really the highest state. Unless two lovers become divine, godly, they cannot achieve a real unity. Really, two humans cannot unite, because their being human is the obstruction. A man and woman can at best be related with each other; they cannot be united and one. Only divine elements can meet and merge into each other, because now nothing can divide them. The truth is since they have dissolved themselves as separate entities, the question of unity or separation does not now arise. There is really nothing to unite or divide them; nothing is separate from them.

Martin Buber's concept can lead you to love; Krishna can take you to devotion. And devotion is something utterly different, it is rare. In devotion both "I" and "thou" disappear, and what remains after this disappearance is inexpressible; it cannot be put into words. When "I" and "thou" disappear there is infinity, which is nameless. Whatever names you use for it - spirit, matter, "I" and "thou" - they are all going to be wrong. That is why all the great devotees chose to remain silent, they refused to name it, they simply said, "It is nameless." They said, "It is without beginning and without end, it has neither form nor name." They said, "It cannot be expressed in words." And so they remained silent.

Great devotees became silent; they did not make a statement about the highest truth, because all statements land you in the mire of duality. Man has no such word that is not likely to lead to dualism.

All words are loaded with dualistic meanings; the moment you use a word you divide existence into two opposites. As soon as you say a word you divide existence into two.

It is as if you pass a ray of the sun through a prism and it divides into seven colors. The prism of language divides every truth into two parts, and a truth divided turns into a lie. It is for this reason that great devotees kept silent. They danced, they sang, they played the flute, they made gestures, but they did not say a word. They said through their gestures, dance, laughter, what that truth is.

They have raised their hands toward the heavens to say what it is like. They have said it with their silence; they have said it with their whole being. But they did not use words.

I am reminded of a story:

During the days of the mutiny, a British soldier stuck a bayonet in the chest of a sannyasin. The sannyasin happened to pass through a military cantonment, and he was in silence. He had been in silence for long; for thirty years he had not uttered a word. The day he went into silence someone had asked him why. The sannyasin said, "That which can be said is not worth saying, and that which is worth saying cannot be said. So there is no way except to become silent." And he had been silent for thirty years.

It was the time of the mutiny when Indian soldiers of the British army had revolted against their alien masters. The British officers were alarmed, so when they saw a naked sannyasin passing through their military camp, they captured him on the suspicion he was a spy. When they interrogated him he kept silent, and this strengthened their suspicion. The suspicion would perhaps have been cleared if the sannyasin had responded to their queries, but he simply smiled when they asked him who he was. So their suspicion of his being a spy was confirmed, and they stuck a bayonet in his chest.

This man, who had been silent for thirty years, broke into a loud laughter and uttered a great maxim of the Upanishad: "TATVAMASI SHVETKETU!" With this quote from the Upanishad he said to the British soldier who struck him with a bayonet: "You want to know who I am? What I am, you are."

Truth cannot be said in words; at the most it can be indicated with indications and signs, with gestures and hints. Or like Kabir one can say it with paradoxes, self-contradictory statements.

Kabir's language has been described as sandhyabhasha, which literally means the twilight language.

Twilight is a space where it is neither day nor night, where one can neither say a clear yes nor a clear no, where one can neither accept nor deny, where one is neither a theist nor an atheist, where everything is fluid, vague and mystical. It is for this reason that up to now no one has been able to discover a clear-cut meaning in Kabir's sayings. Krishna's sayings belong to this same category.

Whosoever has attempted to express the truth in words, his language has invariably turned into the twilight language. They cannot be assertive, they have to say yes and no together. Or they will accept or deny the opposites together. And that is what makes their statements illogical and inconsistent.

It is for this reason that people who came to know the space where "I" and "thou" disappear, where all opposites cease to be and duality disappears, have decided to remain silent.

Question 3:

It is part of my work to put you into confusion. You will know the meaning of this camp only when all distinctions between devotion and discipline disappear.

Sartre and other existentialists believe that existence precedes essence, but it is a very odd state, ment. Perhaps never before had such a concept been put forth. Down the ages the contrary belief has been held. Almost every thought system, every philosophy believes that essence precedes existence. So it is good to understand it in depth.

All schools of philosophy that were born be, fore Sartre and other existentialists believe that the seed precedes the tree. And it seems natural and logical. But Sartre says the tree precedes the seed. By and large, every thought-system says that essence pre. cedes existence; without essence or soul, existence is not possible. But Sartre asserts that existence comes first and essence later.

He believes that in the absence of existence essence cannot be manifested.

Let us now go into this question in the context of Krishna.

In fact. all philosophical quarrels are childish. Even the biggest philosophical battles have been fought over a problem which can be summed up in a child's question: "Which comes first, the chicken or the egg?" It is really around this small question that all the great battles between philosophers have taken place. But those who know will say the chicken and egg are not two. Those who raise this question are stupid, and those answering it are even more stupid.

What is an egg but a chicken in the making? And what is a chicken but an egg fulfilled, come to its fullness? Egg and chicken hide each other in themselves. The question of who precedes whom is meaningful if egg and chicken are two separate things. The truth is that they are the same. Or we can say that they are the two ways of looking at the same thing. Or they are two different phases, two states of the manifestation of the same thing.

Similarly, seed and tree are not separate. Neither are light and dark. Nor are birth and death They are two ways of looking at the same thing. Maybe, because we don't know how to see a thing rightly, we see it in fragments. For example, there is a big room inside a house and the house is locked.

Someone wants to have a look at the room and so he drills a hole through a wall. Now he peers into the room from side to side. At first a chair will come into view, then another chair, and so on and so forth. He cannot have a full view of the room all at once. And he can very well ask, "Which comes first and which afterward?" No arguments can settle this question. But if the person manages to enter the room he can see the whole room together, and then he will not ask what comes first.

There is a laboratory in Oxford University which has to its credit some of the greatest explorations and researches done in the present century. And I think this laboratory is performing the most significant job for our future. It is known as the De La Warr Laboratory. There a miracle happened when a bud was exposed to a camera, and it turned out in print to be the picture of the full flower into which the bud was eventually going to bloom.

The film used in the camera had such high sensitivity, the highest ever, that it captured the hidden potential of the bud in the form of a fully-blossomed flower. It was simply incredible how a camera photographing a bud brought out the picture of the flower that the bud was going to be in the future.

At the moment of photographing it was only a bud, and no one knew what kind of flower it was going to make. Maybe the flower was already present, physically present at some mysterious level of existence which we cannot see with our physical eyes - but the extra-sensitive film used in the camera succeeded in seeing it.

It was a breathtaking event, and even the scientists working at De La Warr were dazed and left puzzled about how the magic worked. They thought that perhaps at some unseen level of existence the bud and the flower were in existence simultaneously. The scientists thought perhaps through some technical error the film had been exposed earlier, when it had taken in the picture of a flower.

Or, maybe some chemical mishap has brought about this inexplicable result.

So the scientists decided to wait until the bud turned into a full flower. But when it happened they were amazed to see that it was exactly the same flower whose picture the camera had captured earlier when it was only a bud. They now knew there was no chemical or technical error involved. A photographic miracle - say a scientific miracle - had really taken This small incident happening within the small confines of the De La Warr Laboratory is packed with tremendous significance for the future. We can now say that at some unseen level of their existence the egg and chicken happen simultaneously, but we fail to see it with our gross eyes. It is something in our way of looking at things that the egg is seen first and the chicken afterwards. If we have the eyes of a Krishna, it is not difficult to see them simultaneously. But the way we are, we will say it is something impossible; it defies our reason and logic.

But in the past twenty-five years science has been compelled to accept many things that defeat our logic.

I would like to cite another case from the scientific lab, so that you don't go with the impression that I am saying something unscientific.

Only some fifty years ago no one could have imagined that it was the case. Soon after man succeeded in splitting the atom and discovering the electron, science found itself in deep water.

The behavior of the electron put scientists in great difficulty; how to describe it? Never before had science been faced with such a dilemma; everything was going very well, as science should go.

Everything was clear-cut, defined and logical. But with the discovery of the electron science was confronted with a tricky problem; how to define the electron. On being photographed sometimes the electron appeared as a particle and sometimes it appeared as a wave. And there is a great difference between a particle and a wave. If they called the electron a particle it could not be a wave, and if they called it a wave it could not be a particle. Therefore they had to coin a new word in English to define the electron. This new word is "quanta". This word is not found in any other languages of the world, because they have not yet reached that depth in science. Quanta means that which is both a particle and a wave simultaneously.

But quanta is a mysterious phenomenon; it is both a particle and wave, an egg and chicken together.

With quanta science has entered a new phase of its journey.

So I don't agree with Sartre, nor do I agree with those who say essence precedes existence. I don't accept either position. I see the whole thing in a different perspective. To me, existence and essence are two ways of looking at the same thing. Because of our limited perception, we divide the same thing into fragments. In fact, essence is existence and existence is essence. They are not two separate phenomena. So it is wrong to say that essence has existence or that God has existence, because then it means God and existence are separate. No, if we understand it rightly we should say: God is existence.

It is utterly wrong to say that God exists. We say a flower exists because tomorrow this flower will cease to exist. But will God ever cease to exist? If so then he is not God. One who will never cease to exist cannot be said to have an existence. We can say that we exist, because we will certainly cease to exist sometime in the future. But it is an error of language to say that God exists, because he is ever and ever and ever. It is utterly wrong to say God exists; the right way to say it is: God is existence.

But language always puts us into difficulty; it is in the very nature of language. In fact, even the phrase "God is existence" is erroneous, because the word "is" between God and existence creates a schism and confusion. It means on one side is God and on the other is existence and the two are related by the word "is". This word really divides God into two - he and existence - which is again wrong. So even the word "is" has to go, and we had better say God means is-ness, God means being, God means existence. The word "is" is also a repetition; it is repetition to say Gd is.

"is" means God; is-ness is God or God is is-ness. That which is, is God. But language has its own limitations; it is created for the dualistic world.

This is the reason that one who knows wants to keep away from the trap of words and remains completely silent. The moment he says something, he at once separates himself from what he says; what he says becomes an object. But, in fact, he who says and what he says are one. Under the circumstances, there is no better way than to keep quiet.

Someone goes to a Zen sage and requests him to say something about God. The sage laughs and sways. The man says, "Why do you laugh and sway? Why don't you answer my question? I have traveled a long way just to ask this question." The sage now begins to dance, and the visitor is puzzled. He says, "Are you crazy? I want an answer to my question."

The sage says, "I am answering your question, but you don't listen."

The questioner is annoyed and says, "It seems you are going to make me as crazy as you are. You have not said a word yet."

Now the sage remarks, "If I say something, it is going to be wrong. Whatever I will say will be untrue.

If you cannot understand my silence it is better you go somewhere else where truth is spoken in words. But when the ultimate truth is said in words it becomes false. One can speak so long as he is journeying to the temple of truth; the moment he enters its innermost sanctuary all words, all languages fail. At the ultimate point one has no other way than to become silent."

Wittgenstein, one of the most profound thinkers of this age, wrote a small maxim toward the last days of his life. And what he said in this maxim is extraordinary: "That which cannot be said must not be said." Had Wittgenstein been alive I would have said to him, "But this much has to be said about that which cannot be said: that it must not be said. What you say is also a statement about the inexpressible, and whether you say much or little makes no difference. "

Wittgenstein had written in his first book, TRACTATUS, that whatever can be said can only be said through language. This statement of his is correct to some extent. What is said through gestures will have to be included in this statement, because gestures are a kind of language. A dumb person raises his hand to his mouth to say that he is hungry; it is the language of the dumb. There is a maxim in Hindi which says, "God is the dumb man's candy." A dumb person can very well enjoy the flavor of candy, but he cannot communicate it to others. This means to say that God can only be expressed through gestures - the language of the dumb. In whatever way you express it, whether you do it through silence or a dance or a smile, it all amounts to saying something. But it is true that despite everything we do to say that which is, it remains unsaid and unsayable.

What Lao Tzu says in this context is much more profound than Wittgenstein's maxim. He says, "Truth cannot be said, and that which is said is not truth." This much can he said. Therefore those who know often become silent.

Question 4:

There is no difference. The whole "I" means this much: that now there is no "thou", all thou's have become assimilated by the "?". And when "thou" and "I" become one there is no sense in calling it "I" or "thou". So whether we say whole "I" or "non-l", they are two ways of saying the same thing.

When "I" becomes whole it is empty, it is a zero experience; or when "I" becomes empty it becomes whole. Whatever way you say it makes no difference. The ultimate truth can be said both ways - positively and negatively; it includes both yes and no, and everything too. It is all right if you say nothing about it; it is also fine if you speak endlessly about it. After all that is said and unsaid, truth remains beyond it; truth is always the beyond. But in silence truth is complete, whole.

When we look at truth, what is, from a particular viewpoint, we are in difficulty. And we are all used tO looking at truth from some viewpoint; we look at it through the screen of our ideas and concepts, our emotions and feelings. And as long as we have our thoughts and concepts and viewpoints, the truth that we see is bound to be fragmentary and incomplete. It is okay if we are aware that our perception of truth is partial and fragmentary, but the difficulty is that every viewpoint claims to be complete. And when a fragmentary vision claims to be the whole, when it lays claim to being a complete philosophy, it gives rise to great confusion and illusion. There is no such danger if a viewpoint is aware that it is simply a viewpoint. Complete perception of truth is possible only when all points and angles of viewing disappear, when one is nowhere or everywhere, when one is free of all ideas and concepts, of all words and images, of all associations. Then only knowing happens, truth happens.

And there are two ways - only two ways - of saying the truth. One way is positive and the other is negative. There is no third way of saying it. Buddha uses the negative way when he says truth is utter emptiness, it is absolute nothingness, it is nirvana. On the other hand Shankara uses the positive way, he calls it the supreme, the brahman, the whole. The irony is that while Buddha and Shankara seem to be contradicting each other, they are saying the same thing: of course, their words, their metaphors, their ways of saying it are different. While Shankara loves the positive way, Buddha chooses the negative one.

If you ask me, I will say Brahman is another name for nirvana, and nirvana is another name for brahman. And language comes to its end when both Shankara and Buddha meet. It is really there that truth begins, that truth is.

Question 5:

No, I did not say that sadhana leads to the whole "I"; I only said that sadhana takes you in the direction of I or self. If spiritual discipline can take yoU to the whole "I" then there is no difference between sadhana and upasana. But the truth is that you cannot achieve the whole "I" through efforts, and that is why a moment comes in the life of a sadhaka, a traveler on the path of effort, when he is called upon to drop his self, to give up his "?".

Efforts can, at the most, lead you to the soul, which is an incomplete attainment. To complete it, to attain the supreme, the sadhaka will have to take a jump and give up the soul too. The devotee makes this leap with his very first step. You cannot come to the supreme through efforts. When all efforts cease, the ultimate truth comes into being. The devotee is in a much better position; he begins with the dropping of the "I", and after you have dropped your"l" there is nothing more to be dropped. What the sadhaka attains in the end, the upasaka attains at the very start.

And in my vision it is wise that what has to be dropped in the end should be dropped right at the beginning. Why cling to it unnecessarily? Why go through a long and tortuous and useless struggle?

Why carry a heavy load on your head from the foot of a hill to its peak, when you are aware that it has to be dropped just before setting foot on the peak? It would be sheer stupidity and waste of energy and time. No one can climb the height of a mountain with a heavy load. Sooner or later it has to be dropped, but we say we will carry it as far as we can. The upasaka is more intelligent, he drops his "I" at the very start of the journey. And the miracle happens that with the dropping of the "I" the journey is complete. This is the difference between a doer and a devotee. However there is no difference between them when they have arrived.

It is significant that while the journey of a doer is hard and painful, that of the devotee is joyful and easy. The doer's attachment to his "I" will continue to impede his progress at every step, and can even force him to leave the journey unfinished. The devotee has to face this problem only once - when he begins his journey. And if he can tackle it rightly he will be finished with it forever. He has another difficulty which comes when he compares himself with the doer. He can be tempted to think that if one can reach the summit with his "?", why should he drop it right at the start? He can be confused.

But it is a matter of inclination, type and choice that one person takes to devotion and another to discipline and effort. And while it is true that while the devotee s difficulty comes at the start and that of the doer comes at the end, the goal is the same.

But remember, the world of Krishna is the world of the devotee, the upasaka.

Question 6:

To me there is no difference whatsoever. To me words make no difference. The real thing is truth.

And it is truth that I teach through meditation, and it is truth again that I teach through devotion and prayer. Even if I speak of spiritual discipline, I teach the same truth. As far as I am concerned it makes no difference. But it does make a difference in the context of Krishna. And it also makes a difference for Mahavira. Devotion is not relevant to Mahavira; he will never accept upasana as his way. Both Mahavira and Buddha adhere to spiritual discipline, sadhana, efforts. Their whole emphasis is on discipline. Of course, Christ is for devotion. and so is Krishna; Mohammed too.

Devotion is their way. But as far as I am concerned I accept all of them together. I have no difficulty whatsoever.

So many times you will come to think that I contradict myself from day to day, that I am inconsistent.

And it is true. I can sail through any of the different winds; they present no difficulty for me. At present I am speaking about Krishna, so I am selling upasana to you. Last year I was selling sadhana when I spoke about Mahavira. Next year I will be selling something else if I am going to speak about Christ.

As I see truth. these differences don't make a difference. But when I am speaking about Krishna it would be wrong and unjust on my part to commit him to spiritual discipline. Krishna and sadhana don't go together.

Similarly I cannot impose dancing on Mahavira; he is utterly blissful with his silence and alone ness, as Krishna is with his flute. To me, the bliss of both Mahavira and Krishna, is the same. But I maintain it is not the same to them; Mahavira will not consent to dance, nor will Krishna agree to stand alone in the nude. Meditation and dancing can suit with me, but I have no right to make Mahavira dance and Krishna meditate with his eyes closed under a tree. Krishna has always danced in the shade of a tree; he has never meditated.

There is no record to say that Krishna ever meditated. And you cannot think that Mahavira danced even before he took up spiritual discipline.

So when I am speaking about Krishna I must bring devotion into focus and explain it. To me, devotion is a path for a particular type of people - the emotive ones. And discipline is a path for another type of people - the active ones. I see the relevance of every path and I know that they have their own advantages and disadvantages, as I explained a little while ago. And it will be very useful if you understand them rightly so you can choose your own paths correctly. You have to decide whether you follow the path of devotion or of discipline. I am finished with traveling; I have nowhere to go.

And it does not matter to me whether one takes me as a devotee, as a doer or as neither.

It is for your sake that I am going to put devotion and discipline as two separate and distinct paths and explain their significance and their pitfalls. First you have to know what type of person you are, then choose your path in accordance with your type. This iS very important to those who are going to be travelers on the spiritual path. There is no problem for those who think they have already arrived - wherever they are. And if someday you realize that you have nowhere to go, wherever you are you are in truth - then neither devotion nor discipline will have any meaning for you. Then you will simply laugh and say all talk of paths and techniques is sheer madness, there is nowhere to go; wherever you are you are in godliness, in truth. Truth is everywhere, and only truth is.

A Zen monk lived outside a cave and does nothing but sleep, day and night. A road passes by his hut and leads to an important place of pilgrimage in the mountains. Pilgrims passing by his hut are often surprised to see the monk lying about lazily and doing nothing. Once in a while they ask him, "Why are you lying here? Why don't you go on pilgrimage?"

The monk says to them, "I am already there where you are coming from or going to." And then he turns his back on them. He has never gone on a pilgrimage, nor is he likely to go ever. The pilgrims think him to be a madman, but he tells them again and again, "I am already there where you are going; I need not go anywhere or do anything."

For such a person neither devotion nor discipline has any meaning. But for you they are very meaningful. As far as I am concerned, from time to time I am going to speak about them, about their usefulness and even about their uselessness. But there is no contradiction in what I say if you understand me rightly. There is really no contradiction.

Question 7:

No, I did not say that. I said that all of Mahavira's achievements came through discipline, through efforts. Whether he completed them in his last life or many lives before is not at all important. What is important is that he achieved everything through efforts, a long journey of efforts. Krishna did not have to do anything in any of his lives - past or present.

Question 8:

To us it seems difficult to understand how one can come straightaway to wholeness. We think one must pass through a criss-crossing of roads before he arrives. Again, this is the same question that pilgrims asked of the Zen monk Lying near a cave. The monk says he does not have to do a thing, because he is already there where one should be. The pilgrims wonder how one could arrive without traveling, it seems impossible. They all had to walk long distances before they reached the place of pilgrimage, but the sage says to them, "If you cannot attain to truth right here, how can you attain to it by going to the mountain top? Truth is everywhere. It is here and now. This is not something that one needs any traveling to arrive at." But there are some types who cannot arrive without making a long journey. Even if they have to come home they will not do so without knocking at the doors of many other houses. They will enquire from others about directions to their own house.

Whether one chooses effort or effortlessness depends on what type of person he is. There is certainly a difference of type between Mahavira and Krishna. Mahavira will not choose to arrive without making a long journey. He will refuse to attain anything if it comes without effort. This needs to be understood. If someone tells Mahavira that he can achieve enlightenment without effort he will refuse it. He will say it is outright theft if you grab something without making any effort to achieve it, without striving and struggling for it, without earning it with the sweat of your brow. Before you have a thing, Mahavira will insist you must pay for it, deserve it. Mahavira will, as I understand him, reject even moksha, liberation, if it comes to him as a gift. He will search for it, struggle for it, he will earn it. He will accept moksha only when he is worthy of it.

Krishna will say just the opposite. He will say what is achieved through long search and struggle is not worth having. That which can be found can be lost too. He will say, "I will accept only that which comes uninvited, without efforts. I will be content with that which is, the true. And truth is not a thing that one can find."

This is a difference in approach to life that comes with individuals and their types. There is nothing superior or inferior about it. As individuals, Krishna and Mahavira are basically different from each other.

What is found through long search and striving has significance for Mahavira. This is the reason he and his whole tradition are known by that strange name shraman, which simply means one who toils. Mahavira believes the price of freedom is hard work, and what is had effortlessly is sheer thievery. According to him, if God is found without effort, it cannot he the real God; there must he some deception about it. And Mahavira's sense of self-respect will not allow him to accept anything that comes as a gift, he will earn it with the sweat of his brow. That is why a term like God's grace has no place in Mahavira's philosophy. On the other hand, it is replete with words like efforts, struggle, hard work, discipline, and sadhana. This is as it should he. His whole tradition is based on hard work.

There are two cultural traditions in India, running parallel to each other. One is known as shraman sanskriti or toil-oriented culture, and the other is called brahmin sanskriti or God-oriented culture.

The brahmanic tradition believes man is God, he does not have to become it, while the shraman tradition believes that man has to earn godliness, he is not it. And there are only two types of people in the world - brahmins or shramans - conforming to one of these traditions. And the ratio of brahmins is very small; even the brahmins are not that brahmin. The vast majority consists of shramans, doers who believe in efforts. To them everything must come the hard way. It needs tremendous courage, patience, and trust to believe that one can find without effort, that one can attain without attaining, that one can arrive without stepping out of one's house. Our ordinary mind says that if you want to find something, you will have to make adequate efforts for it, nothing is had without a price. Our ordinary arithmetic believes that efforts and achievements have to be in equal proportions.

Once in a great while a few brahmins have walked this earth, they can be counted on fingers. The rest of us are shramans, whether we accept it or not. That is why despite great differences between Buddha and Mahavira, their traditions became known by the common name of shraman. In this respect Buddhists are not different from the Jainas, they are the same.

Krishna is a brahmin - a rare thing. He says, "I am already the supreme being."

And remember, I am not saying that one is right and another is wrong. To me both shraman and brahmin are right, there is no difficulty about it. They represent two different types of minds, two different ways of thinking, two different kinds of journeying. That is the only difference.

Question 9:

Not only Krishna, even Mahavira had never been ignorant and imperfect in any of his past lives. It is another thing that Mahavira came to know of it only in his last life. Krishna had always known it; he knew it eternally. Even you are not ignorant and imperfect. Each one of us is all-knowing and each one of us is whole - just we are not aware of it. It is all a matter of remembering, of being aware that we are it. The difference lies in awareness, not in being.

For example, the sun is high up in the sky, but all of us here go into deep sleep. The sun will be very much there, but then we will not be aware of it. Then one of us wakes up and knows that the sun is shining on him. The sun will be shedding light equally on all those who remain asleep, but they will not be aware of it. And when they awaken will they be right in saying the sun rose with their awakening? No, what would be right is for them to say the sun was already there, but they woke up to it later. No one - neither Mahavira, nor Krishna nor you - is without light and knowledge. Each one of us is whole as he is. It is all a matter of remembering it, waking up to it.

Throughout his existence, in all of his lives, Krishna has been aware that he is whole. So the question of his striving for it does not arise. At a particular level of his existence, say in his last life, Mahavira comes to know through efforts and disciplines, that he is not ignorant and imperfect, but knowing and whole. And when he is awakened he also comes to know that this has always been the case, he has always been aware and whole. And what difference does it make if someone comes to know of it a few lives earlier or later?

But it makes a difference for those of us who live in time; we are always concerned about time - who comes first and who comes last. But in eternity no one is the first and no one is the last. In existence, time is without beginning and without end. So the question of one's awakening to reality sooner or later does not arise. This question has relevance only for those of us who believe time begins and ends. If time has no beginning, then what does it matter if someone awakens two days before me?

If time is without end, then what does it matter if I attain to reality two days after someone else?

The measurement of time in seconds, days and years is imaginary; man has invented it. It is conceptual, but not a fact. It is utilitarian, but not real. The truth is that time itself is a concept, not a reality. Reality is eternal and immeasurable. And enlightenment, awakening, or whatever you call it happens beyond time, in timelessness.

It will seem strange to you when I say that the moment of Mahavira's attainment is the same as the moment of Krishna's. You will say it is incredible, yet it is a fact. But to understand it we will have to go more deeply into the question of time.

Let us understand it in this way. On a piece of paper I draw a circle with a center. Then I draw a number of lines running from the circumference to the center. Right at the circumference there is a distance, a gap between any two lines, but this gap goes on shrinking as the lines proceed towards the center. And as they reach the center this gap disappears altogether. While there is clearly a gap at the circumference, there is none at the center.

It is the same with time. At the circumference of time there is a gap between Mahavira and Krishna, between Krishna and me, between me and you, but there is no gap whatsoever when we all arrive at the center. All distance disappears at the center. But since we all live on time's circumference, and we have no knowledge of its center, we find it difficult to understand that Mahavira and Krishna arrive there together and at the same time.

I will explain it in yet another way. Think of a bullock-cart on the move; its wheel revolves but the axle remains unmoving. The truth is that the wheel moves with the support of the axle; without the axle the wheel cannot move. So a moving wheel is dependent on an unmoving axle. Even when the wheel has revolved a million times, the axle will be stationary. The wonder is that the wheel and axle are joined together, and yet one moves and the other is unmoving. Remove the axle and the wheel will become useless. And the two together make for the cart and its movement. Is it not strange?

And how is it possible? It is possible because while the wheel is the circumference, the axle is the hub, the center.

In the same way time, or history forms the circumference while truth, or divinity forms the center.

The moment of arrival, whether Krishna's or Mahavira's or anyone else's, is always the same, because it happens beyond time. At that timeless center no one can say who came when. But those who live in time, which is the circumference, certainly have their different times of arrival and departure. All distances belong to time and space. At the center where eternity abides, all distances disappear.

Question 10:

No, it would not be proper. I will say what I have to say; you need not worry about it. Whatever questions you ask, I will say only that which I have to say. Questions don't make any difference.