The light behind the window

A king heard that one part of his kingdom was almost in a chaos. People were fighting with each other. They were hurting each other in every way possible. He was worried.

He sent a special messenger to this part with a magic glass. The magic glass had the quality that if you looked through it, you would see things as they are - not as you imagine, not as you think, not as you interpret. The magic glass would negate your mind and you would see things directly, immediately. Once you looked at things as they are, the experience became transforming. Then you could not be the old one.

The messenger left the magic glass with the people and went back to the capital, knowing well what was going to happen, because he had been on such trips before. The magic glass was placed on a crossroad, so that everyone could look through it and be transformed, so that it was available to everybody.

But this is how people reacted: a great majority gave a name to the glass and worshipped it as if it was a superhuman being. But they never looked through it. They worshipped, but they never looked through it. In fact, their worship was a way of avoiding the magic glass.

Another part of the people were sceptical from the very beginning. They said: 'This is simply foolish.

How can a glass help to see things as they are. It is superstitious.' They never experimented; they never even gave the glass a try. They were the sceptical people - and the sceptical are superstitious.

Deep down, both groups were the same because they both avoide - done by worshipping; one by saying that this WaS superstitious and useless. That's what has happened to the whole world.

Theists and atheists - both have been avoiding meditation. One by saying that there is no God; one by saying that there is God and only worship is needed. Deep down they are not different.

Then there was a third part of the people - practical, pragmatic, empirical. They said: 'The magic glass is interesting, but we cannot imagine how it is going to help us in the practical things of the world. It is impractical.' They also never looked through it. They were the scientists, the empirical minds.

Then there was a fourth part of the people. They said: 'Not only is the glass useless, it is dangerous - because whosoever looks through it becomes distorted.' They were against it, and they were planning to destroy it whenever the opportunity arose. They also had not looked through it.

Then there was another group who avoided it. They stopped walking through those streets near where the glass was. They never passed through those crossroads. They said: 'We are happy as we are.' They were not happy. But they thought: 'It may disturb our usual pattern of life.'

But a few people were there who were simple, innocent. They looked through it and they were transformed. They became totally new beings.

But then the rumour spread all around that they had been hypnotized by that stupid glass, that they were fools. Otherwise how could a glass transform a human being? They were thought to be mad.

Forget about the story - because this is the situation of the whole world.

Religion is a magic glass. The secret quality of it is to transform you. But it cannot force transformation. You have to allow it to happen; you have to be in a receptive mood. Worship won't help. That is very cunning and tricky. Logic won't help because it is a question of experience, not of logical syllogism. Scepticism is not of much use, because just by doubting you cannot come to know anything. One has to pass through the experience. Only the experience can be the criterion of truth or untruth; thinking is not enough.

Avoiding, escaping from seeing life as it is, you remain a coward and you miss the whole point of it, the whole adventure of it.

Only those who are innocent, childlike, who are ready to look through it, who are ready to be transformed, changed, mutated - only they will be helped by religion. So only very few people have been helped by religion. Christians are millions; Hindus, millions; Buddhists, millions; Mohammedans, millions; but religious people - very few. You can count them on your fingers.

To belong to an organization is not to be religious. To take the jump in deep trust and innocence is to be religious.

To be a Hassid is to be ready to see, to see life as it is.

This has to be understood because you also see, but you don't see things as they are. Before they enter your being, you have transformed their colour, you have given new shapes, forms, you have already interpreted.

Your mind goes on falsifying things. And your mind goes on creating illusions around you. And you feel that you see things as they are - but you never see. Because once you see things as they are, things disappear - only God remains. Once you can see things as they are, only one remains.

Millions of forms disappear into one: the formless.

Then the tree is no more there. Then the rock is no more there. Then the river is no more there.

One existence is there, throbbing everywhere in a thousand and one ways.

Until you see the one, you have not seen at all. IE you see the many, you are blind. If you hear the many, you are deaf. If you have heard the one sound - the soundless sound - then for the first time you have heard. If you love many, your love is false. It comes from the mind; it is not of the heart. If you love the one in the many, then for the first time you are in love.

Remember: one is the criterion. Many is the world; one is God. A Hassid is one who has attained to the vision of the one.

Now, look at, this beautiful story.

ON A CERTAIN PASSOVER BEFORE THE SEDAR CELEBRATION, RABBI YISAKHAR BAER CALLED HIS GUEST, THE RABBI OF MOGIELNICA, A GRANDSON OF THE MAGGID OF KOZNITZ, TO THE WINDOW - AND POINTED TO SOMETHING OUTSIDE.

An old man called a young man to the window and pointed to something outside. 'DO YOU SEE,'

HE SAID.'DO YOU SEE?'

What was he showing? You must be wondering what was outside the window. You must be wondering why it has not been named - that which was shown.

There was nothing special outside the window. The window was as ordinary as all windows are.

Outside was the ordinary world as it is everywhere. That's why what he was showing has not been named. In fact the whole emphasis is not on the object of seeing; the whole emphasis is on: 'Do you see?' It is not a question of what you see; it is a question of whether you see. This emphasis has to be understood, because the whole thing is focused there. The whole secret key is there: 'Do you see?'

People come to me and they ask: 'We hear you. We would ALSO like to see God. Where is He?'

They are asking for the object and God is not an object. If you can see, He is there. If you can't see, He is not there. It is not a question of what you see; it is a question: 'Do you see?' The emphasis is on the capacity to see, to perceive, to receive. The emphasis is on the eye, the capacity to see.

'DO YOU SEE,' said the old man to the Rav of Mogielnica.'DO YOU SEE?'

There was nothing outside the window; it was just as ordinary a window as any. Nothing was pointed at. On the contrary, the capacity to see was pointed at.

In India, we have called philosophy, 'darshan'. It means the capacity to see. We don't call it a love of thinking, as the word 'philosophy' means. We call it: the capacity to see. Philosophy is not a right translation of darshan. The right translation of darshan would be PHILOSIa - 'a love to see'.

Philosophy means love of thinking. SOPHIA means thinking and PHILO means love.

The Indian philosophy is not philosophy; it is PHILOSIA. SIA means to see. The whole emphasis is not on the object; the emphasis is on the subject. Subjectivity is religion. Objectivity is science. To pay attention to the object is to be scientific. To pay attention to the subject is to be religious.

You look at a flower. If you pay attention to the flower, then it is scientific. If you pay attention to the witness of the flower, it becomes religious. A scientist and a religious man may be standing side by side, looking at the same flower - but they are not looking in the same way. The scientist is looking at the flower and has forgotten himself completely. The religious man is witnessing the flower, and remembering himself. It is a change of gestalt. Try it sometimes. Look at a flower - then suddenly change the gestalt. Now look at the seer of the flower.

You are listening to me right now. You can pay attention to what I am saying - then it is a scientific listening. Or you can be aware of the one who is listening to me within you - then it becomes religious. The difference is very delicate and subtle.

Try it right now. Listen to me. Forget yourself. Then it is scientific.

A scientist while working is absolutely concentrated. Science is concentration. Religion is meditation. And that is the difference between concentration and meditation.

Concentration is not meditation. Meditation is not concentration. Concentration is focusing your eyes on the object; meditation is focusing yourself on your self. Meditation has no object in it; it is pure subjectivity.

Listen to me. Concentrate. Then you forget yourself. Then you don't know who you are: You are simply a listener. Then change the focus. It is a knack. It cannot be taught how to change it.

You simply change it. You just become aware that you are listening. Awareness becomes more important then what you are listening to. Immediately, a deep change has happened in your being.

In that moment you become religious.

If you go on paying too much attention to the object you may come to know many secrets of nature, but you will never come across God on any of the paths that you will travel. It will never be a pilgrimage, a TEERTHYATRA. You will wander and wander into the wilderness of the world and matter. That's why science cannot think that God is - it is impossible.

God is not an object. Your very approach is such that God is excluded from it. God is not an object!

God is your withinness. It is not in the object of concentration. It is in the subjectivity of meditation.

He is you.

I have heard one beautiful story. There was a man, a great devotee of Buddha. He had a beautiful statue of Buddha, a wooden statue, a piece of art - an antique, very valuable. He carried it like a great treasure.

One night it happened: he was staying in a cold hut. And the winter was really ice-cold and he was shivering. It seemed that he was going to die. There was no wood for his fire.

At midnight, when he was shivering, it is said that Buddha appeared and said: 'Why don't you burn me?' The wooden statue was there. The man became afraid. This must be a devil. He said: 'What are you saying? Burn the statue of Buddha? - never!'

Buddha laughed and said: 'If you see me in the statue you will miss me. I am in you, not in the statue. I am not in the worshipped, the object; I am in the worshipper. And I am shivering within you!

Burn this statue!'

God is your subjectivity. He is there within. When you focus outside, there are objects. When you become unfocused and look within, without any focus, He is there - absolutely alive, throbbing, ticking.

'DO YOU SEE, RAV OF MOGIELNICA?' HE SAID.'DO YOU SEE?'

Remember the emphasis. He is saying: 'DO YOU SEE?' He is saying: 'Have you got eyes to see?'

AFTER THE FEAST WAS OVER, THE RABBI OF MOGIELNICA DANCED AROUND THE TABLE AND SANG IN A LOW VOICE: 'THE HOLY OLD MAN, OUR BROTHER, HAS SHOWN ME A LIGHT.

GREAT IS THE LIGHT HE HAS SHOWN ME. BUT WHO KNOWS? - WHO KNOWS HOW MANY YEARS MUST PASS, HOW LONG WE STILL MUST SLEEP BEFORE IT COMES TO US, BEFORE IT COMES TO US?'

Each word has to be understood. AFTER THE FEAST WAS OVER, THE RABBI OF MOGIELNICA DANCED AROUND THE TABLE AND SANG IN A LOW VOICE...

Something has transpired, something has happened - something from the unknown, something not of this world. The moment the old man said: 'DO YOU SEE? DO YOU SEE?' - something had happened. What had happened?

For the first time this young rabbi became aware of his witnessing self. He had been seeing many things in his life, but for the first time he has had a glimpse of the seer itself.

When you are near a person who has become a true sage, who has attained, it is very easy to ride on his tide. Near a Buddha, there are moments when you can look through his eyes. That is the meaning of finding a Master, a zaddik. Teachers are many; zaddiks, rare.

If you find a teacher, he will explain to you many many things, but he cannot give you his eyes. He has none. He is as blind as you are. The blind leading the blind. He may be more experienced than you, he may have been groping in the dark longer than you, but he is still blind. He can give you many explanations, but he cannot give you any experience. He himself has none. You can share only that which you have. You cannot share that which you don't have.

A zaddik is a man who has known, who has become centered. Now the search is over - and he is overflowing with the attainment. You can ride on his tide. Of course, that cannot become your experience, but it can be a glimpse. And a glimpse can be very very important.

A glimpse can transform your whole life. It will be only a taste; your hunger will not be satisfied by it.

In fact, just the contrary will be the case - for the first time you will become hungry.

Up to now, you have been avoiding the fact that you are hungry. When there is nothing to eat it is better to forget that you are hungry, it is better to pretend that you are not hungry. When you are thirsty and no water is available, it is better to forget the thirst. Otherwise it will be a deep anguish.

When you come to a man who has known, who is no more hungry, his very presence becomes a deep stirring in your being. For the first time you feel the hunger that you have been hiding for centuries, for lives. You were avoiding facing it. You have been thirsty; you have never known satiety. But it was so difficult to live with the thirst that you had suppressed it, suppressed it into the unconscious. You had thrown it deep inside your being so that you wouldn't come across it in your day-to-day world. It was there already.

When you come to a man who is in deep satiety, whose whole being is flowering, in whom there is no thirst, no hunger, who has attained, suddenly your thirst arises. From the depth of your unconscious it surfaces to the conscious. You become really thirsty and hungry for the first time.

If a man has attained, he can allow you a glimpse from HIS window. That is the meaning of the story. He can call you: 'Come near me. Look from this window. Do you see?' So the window is not the ordinary window of a house; it is the window of the heart.

And when the old man said: 'DO YOU SEE? DO YOU SEE?' he was saying: 'Are you getting the point? Are you receiving my eyes and my vision?' Of course, it can be borrowed only for a single moment, and then it is gone.

Enlightenment cannot be borrowed. It can, at the most, become a lightning in a dark night. It cannot become a permanent light. But in a dark night, when you are groping, and there is sudden lightning, for a single moment everything becomes clear. Then the lightning goes. But the lightning has changed everything.

Now you know the path exists. Maybe you are not on the path yet. A thousand and one barriers may be there, but you know the path exists. Just to know that the path exists is a great achievement, because uncertainty dissolves, doubt disappears, hesitation is no more there. Faith arises. Trust arises.

The path exists: this becomes a deep-rooted phenomenon within you. Now you don't believe in others; you yourself know.

Maybe it has become just a memory now, but the memory will lead you, guide you. Now you will be groping in the right direction; the groping will no longer be blind. You have seen where the path is.

North, south, east - you will be groping in the right direction, knowing well that it is there. It is only a question of time. You will reach it.

When the old man says: 'DO YOU SEE? DO YOU SEE?' he must have become a lightning to this young man. That lightning is the window. He must have flashed; for a single moment he must have burned for this young man, so he could have a taste, so he could have a look. It is a small glimpse, but then he will never be the same again.

Gurdjieff used to say that there are seven types of men. Let me explain those seven types to you.

The first three types are very ordinary. You will find them everywhere, within and without.

The first, man number one, Gurdjieff calls'body-oriented'. He lives in the body. He is ninety-nine percent body. His whole life is body-oriented. He eats not to live; he lives to eat.

The second type of man, number two, is emotional - the feeling type, sentimental.

Number three is the intellectual.

These are the three common types. They are almost on the same level.

These three, in India, we have known long before. The body-oriented we have called the SUDRA.

The feeling-oriented, the emotional we have called the KSHATRIYA, the warrior. And the intellect- oriented we have called the BRAHMIN, the intellectual, the intelligentsia.

The fourth, the VAISYA, the businessman, is in fact not a type - but an amalgamation of all the three. Something of the SUDRA exists in him, something of the intellectual also exists in him. He is not a pure type; he is a mixture. And, in fact, he is the majority, because to find a pure type is very difficult. To find a really perfect SUDRA IS rare. To find a perfect BRAHMIN IS also rare. To find a pure warrior, a samurai, is also rare. The world consists of the fourth, which is a mixture, which is not really a type, just a crowd.

These are the three types. Unless you go beyond the three you will not be able to see. They are ALL blind.

One is blinded by the body. Another is blinded by feelings, emotions. Another is blinded by the intellect, thinking. But they are all blind.

Number four Gurdjieff calls: one who has become aware. Up to number three they are all unaware, unconscious, fast asleep. They don't know where they are. They don't know who they are. They don't know from where they come. They don't know where they are going. Number four is the one who has become a little alert, who can see.

When this old man called the young rabbi to the window, he must have felt the possibility of the fourth man, number four. Only number four can be called to the window. Only with number four can the Master share his experience.

With the first it is almost impossible to talk. To the first you can give prasad. The first one you can invite for a feast. Religion is nothing for him but a feast. Whenever a religious day comes, he eats better, he dresses well, he enjoys it.

To the second you can give emotional food: prayer, tears flowing down, sentimentality.

To the third you can talk much. He will appear to understand but will never understand. He is the intelligentsia, the intellectual.

Only with the fourth is a sharing possible - only with one who is a little alert, or is just on the brink of being alert. He is asleep, but turning in his sleep, and you know, now he is going to wake up; now any moment he is going to wake up. In this moment only, can a Master share his vision. When he sees that you are just on the brink of waking up, or are already awake and just lying down with closed eyes, or if just a little shaking is needed and you will open your eyes... it must have been such a moment in this story. The young rabbi must have been of the fourth type or just close to it.

'DO YOU SEE? DO YOU SEE?' said the old man.

This saying,'DO YOU SEE?' is a shaking to help him to become alert - even for a single moment; that will do. Once you have tasted awareness, you will long for it. That will become your goal, the very end. Then you cannot be satisfied with this ordinary world and all that it offers. Then there will arise a strange discontent which cannot be satisfied with THIS world.

Rabbi Leib has said: 'I have such a discontent that it cannot be satisfied with this world. That's why I know there must be a God. Otherwise, who will satisfy my discontent? There must be another world, there must be another way of being.'

The very discontent shows another way of being because it cannot be satisfied here. Nothing can satisfy here. A thirst which cannot be quenched here is an indication that there must be some other type of water, some other type of quenching agent, some other world.

Rabbi Leib says: 'I don't know that God is, but I know that in me there is a discontent which indicates that there must be some place, some space of being, where this discontent will disappear.'

God is the possibility only for those who can see: the fourth, number four. With number four, religion enters into the world.

Up to number three the world is materialistic. Number three may be found in prayer houses, churches, temples, gurudwaras - but that makes no difference. With number four, religion becomes alive - throbs, beats, breathes.

This young man must have been number four.

I'm here only for those who belong to number four. Make haste to become number four, because if you are a little alert, I can lend my being. You can have a vision through it. I can bring you to my window and can ask you: 'Do you see?' But this is possible only with number four.

Then there is number five, whose awareness has become settled. Now for number five there is no need of lightning; he has his own inner light burning.

Then there is number six, all of whose discontent has disappeared, who is absolutely content.

Nothing is there for him to achieve any more.

Then you will be surprised - then why does number seven exist? For number six everything is attained, fulfilled; there is nothing to attain. There is no higher than number six; number six is the highest. Then why number seven?

With number seven even contentment disappears. With the sixth, there is the feeling of fulfillment, a deep content, and arrival. With number seven, even that disappears. No content, no discontent; no emptiness, no fullness. Number seven has become God Himself. Number seven we have called the AVATARA: a Buddha, a Mahavir, a Krishna, a Christ. They are number seven.

This young man must have been of number four. And you should remember this: that I can go on talking to you - that talking is just preparing a ground so that one day I can wake you up and bring you to my window.

So the whole effort should be: how to see. The whole effort should be: how to increase the quantity and the quality of seeing, how to become eyes with your whole being.

God is not to be searched. Vision has to be created.

AFTER THE FEAST WAS OVER, THE RABBI DANCED AROUND THE TABLE AND SANG IN A LOW VOICE...

Something has happened, something tremendously significant. Only by singing can you be grateful.

And that, also, in a very low voice - because to be too loud would be vulgar. Something from the unknown has penetrated; something from the beyond has come to the vision You can only sing in a very low voice. The very thing is so significant, so sacred, that one walks cautiously, as in a winter stream, or as if afraid of enemies. One hesitates. That is the meaning of SANG IN A LOW VOICE.

'THE HOLY OLD MAN, OUR BROTHER...'

The holiest - a Buddha, a Christ - but still, our brother. That is the beauty.

Buddha may have gone beyond, may have become a god, but he remains a brother to us, because he was once a part. He travelled on the same path; he groped in the same darkness. He is of our family. He has become the holiesT - THE HOLY OLD MAN, OUR BROTHER.

God is so far away. He is the holiest of the holy - but to call God 'our brother' won't look right. That's why something unbridgeable, an abyss, exists between you and God. The bridge is no more there.

Only a Buddha or a Jesus becomes a bridge, because the bridge is joined both to this shore and that shore.

Jesus is called 'son of God' and 'son of man'. He is both. Son of man, our brother; son of God, the holy old man. The bridge has two sides. One belongs to our shore; the other belongs to the other shore. That's why a Master is even more significant than God.

Just a few days ago I was talking about a woman mystic, Sahajo. She says: 'I can leave God but I cannot leave my Master, because God has only given me this world, the bondage. My Master has given me freedom, has given me God himself. I can leave God, but I cannot leave my Master. I can renounce God, but I cannot renounce my Master.' A very significant assertion. A great statement of love. And understanding!

God is so far away. Jesus is both: near and far. God can be the goal, but Jesus is both: the path and the goal. How can you reach to the goal without the path? It will hang in emptiness. There will be no bridge to reach it. Jesus is both the end and the means: son of man and son of God.

Beautiful is this assertion: 'THE HOLY OLD MAN, OUR BROTHER, HAS SHOWN ME THE LIGHT..

What is that light he has shown? - the light that comes with the clarity of eyes, the light that comes with the awakening of the seer, the light that happens when you become a witness. Not that he has shown something! He has simply shown you the capacity of your vision. that even God is possible with the right eyes.

'DO YOU SEE?' If you see, everything is possible. If you don't see, nothing is possible. The possibility opens with your opening eyes.

'THE HOLY OLD MAN, OUR BROTHER, HAS SHOWN MC THE LIGHT. GREAT IS THE LIGHT HE HAS SHOWN ME.'

But he never forgets for a single moment that this light is something HE has shown. 'I have not seen it. It is not my attainment yet. He has lent his vision to me. He has been compassionate, he has been loving. He has shared. He called me to his eyes, to his windows; I looked through them. He has shown me the light. Great is the light! A great lightning it is. He has shown me, but it is his. I am thankful, I am grateful that he has been so loving and kind.'

'BUT WHO KNOWS? - WHO KNOWS HOW MANY YEARS MUST PASS, HOW LONG WE STILL MUST SLEEP BEFORE IT COMES TO US, BEFORE IT COMES TO US?'

He is aware that in the lightning he has seen something. But who knows when the morn will come?

When the morning will come, who knows? In fact, now a thirst arises. That thirst is in the song. A hunger arises.

'HE HAS SHOWN ME THE LIGHT. GREAT IS THE LIGHT HE HAS SHOWN ME.'

No, for the first time, a discontent: 'The light exists and I have to attain it.'

'BUT WHO KNOWS? - WHO KNOWS HOW MANY YEARS MUST PASS...'

to attain it, to earn it, to make it one's own?

Maybe a long journey will be needed. But now the trust has arisen. Howsoever long it is, one can go on singing. It is there - that much is certain. Then time is not much of a problem. One can go on singing. Once you know it is there, then you can wait infinitely.

The reason you cannot wait is because deep down you are not yet certain that it is there. The patience is difficult because you think maybe it is not there. Maybe it is just wasting life. Maybe it is just wasting time and energy. Your impatience is nothing but your doubt. Trust is patient; doubt, very impatient.

Many times you think it is your trust which is impatient; you are wrong. Many times you think you are impatient because you are such a great lover; you are wrong. Many times you think: 'My impatience simply shows my strong desire and longing.' You are wrong.

Impatience simply shows that you are not ready to waste time because deep down you are afraid, suspicious: 'Maybe the whole thing is just foolish. God doesn't exist. The truth? - who knows whether it exists or not? Life eternal may be just a wish-fulfillment. Something beyond death?it may be just a trick of human mind. To tolerate death? To accept death? To live with death? It may be just a trick of the mind.' Then you are impatient.

But once you have seen the light... even the light of somebody else, which cannot light your path, but can give you a trust. From the Masters, one doesn't learn the truth; one only learns trust.

Truth has to come to you. Whenever you are ready, it will come. Nobody else can give you the truth.

But trust? - a man who has attained - in his aroma, in his climate trust is infectious; you can catch it.

If you are near me - not only physically close, but really close, open, vulnerable to me - sooner or later, only one thing is possible: and that will be trust. But trust is enough. I don't say that trust is the goal. But without trust there is no goal. Trust is the beginning, the seed. When the seed is in your hand, the tree is not far away. It is already on the way.

'GREAT IS THE LIGHT HE HAS SHOWN MC. BUT WHO KNOWS?' - A strong longing has arisen.'BUT WHO KNOWS? - WHO KNOWS HOW MANY YEARS MUST PASS...'

But they can be passed singing, dancing; They can be passed in faith and trust; they can be passed in waiting. And I tell you, it will not be waiting for Godot! Because the trust has arisen. Now it is not that you don't know for whom you are waiting. You know exactly for whom you are waiting! You know absolutely for whom you are waiting! You are no more waiting for Godot; you are waiting for God. And that's the difference between Godot and God.

Godot is just something promised by your mind; God is something glimpsed through someone who has known. God is trust; Godot is belief. Godot is through scriptures and teachers; God is through Masters.

'WHO KNOWS HOW MANY YEARS MUST PASS...'

But then one can wait. And, in fact, waiting becomes a deep delight. When you know that something is going to happen and shower on you, you wait with such tranquil excitement. Let me use the paradoxical term, 'tranquil excitement'. Excitement is there every moment, but absolutely calm; a deep reservoir of longing, with no ripples because even ripples will disturb and divert.

One waits relaxed and tense. It is difficult to explain it. Relaxed and tense, both. Tense, because something is going to happen. Relaxed, because it can happen only when you are relaxed.

One German thinker, Herrigel, was learning archery in Japan with a great Master. For three years he worked hard and failed - because to understand the Eastern mind is very difficult for the Western mind; they function on totally different levels.

The Western mind is logical; the Eastern mind is alogical. It may not be illogical, but alogical.

Herrigel learned the whole art of archery. He was hitting his targets one hundred percent. But the Master was not satisfied. The Master would say: 'You are still not in the right posture.'

And what is the right posture? The right posture is that when you pull your arrow back your muscles should be relaxed. But this is absurd. Because when you pull the bow the muscles are bound to become tense. But the muscles should be relaxed. Herrigel went many times and touched the Master's muscles when he was pulling the bow - and they were relaxed. So you cannot say that relaxation cannot happen. They were as relaxed as a child's hand and arm - no tension.

The Master said: 'The arrow moves by itself when you are relaxed. Then God moves it; you are not the mover. You simply create the situation and then it happens. You are not the doer.' This is what tense relaxation is. You are pulling the arrow tense, and yet you are totally relaxed.

To long for God is to be tense. But to allow God to happen one needs to be absolutely relaxed.

A tranquil excitement, a tense relaxation - waiting, as if it is going to happen right now, and the readiness to wait for eternity. Let me repeat: waiting as if it is going to happen right now, this very moment, and yet ready to wait for eternity.

Whenever it happens it is never late; whenever it happens it is always early. The happening is so great that you cannot claim it for yourself. You cannot say: 'I have earned it.' The happening is so great that it is always through grace and not through effort. It happens through effortlessness.

Whenever it happens, you know well that it is through compassion, grace, that it has happened. It has nothing to do with you or your earning.

'THE HOLY OLD MAN, OUR BROTHER, HAS SHOWN ME THE LIGHT. GREAT IS THE LIGHT HE HAS SHOWN ME. BUT WHO KNOWS? - WHO KNOWS HOW MANY YEARS MUST PASS, HOW LONG WE STILL MUST SLEEP BEFORE IT COMES TO US, BEFORE IT COMES TO US?'

This is the last thing to be understood about this anecdote: when you look through an enlightened man's vision, God doesn't come to you; you go to God. When you yourself become alert and your sleep has gone, you don't go to God; God comes to you. That's the difference.

You can look at the Himalayas from a window, far away in their majesty - the sun shining on the white snow. And even from thousands of miles away you can feel the coolness, you can feel the glory, the silence, the height, the sheer majesty, the magic.

But it is your eyes that are traveling, far away, it is not the Himalayas. It is you going to the Himalayas on a visionary trip. Your eyes are moving; the Himalayas are not moving. This happens when you look through somebody else's window. This happened to this young rabbi when he looked through the old man's window. Far away he travelled.

But when YOU have become capable, when your own eyes open, it is just the other way around. It is not that you go on a faraway journey; the faraway comes closer. God comes to you. Whenever you are absolutely ready to receive, He rushes. The rush is natural, just as when it rains in the Himalayas the peaks cannot hold the water. The water rushes down. It rushes to the valley. Wherever it can find a low ground, a lake, it rushes.

Whenever you are awake, you become a space. Because whenever you are awake you are not filled with the ego. You are an empty space, a valley, a low ground. It rushes. It fills you.

I have heard: A very rich man asked a Hassidic Master to come to his palace. The palace was tremendously valuable. It was unique. It was full of valuable things: paintings, carpets, antiques, furniture of every kind and of every age.

The rich man took the Hassidic Master from one room to another. They moved around for hours and hours; the palace was vast. The rich man was bragging very much. He was feeling very deeply contented in his ego.

When the whole palace was shown to the Hassidic Master, the rich man said: 'Now tell me, what is your impression?'

The Hassid said: 'The fact that the earth is strong enough to carry the burden of such a massive palace, plus you - this has impressed me tremendously.' Plus you!

Everybody has made a palace of the ego. Everybody is too full of it. Once you become awake, ego disappears; ego is the sleep. To feel 'I am' is to be sleepy. Suddenly to be without any feeling of 'I am' is to be awake. To be without any 'I am' is an opening.

To feel 'I am' is a closed monad-like phenomenon; it has no windows, no openings. You live in a cocoon, dead inside.

Once you are awake, you become empty. You become a nothingness, a nobody. God rushes to you from all directions; He comes and fills you.

When the devotee is ready, the devotee does not travel at all. When the meditator is ready, he does not go anywhere. God comes. It is always God who comes.

When we go to God, it is only a vision. For a moment clouds disperse and the sun is seen. Again the clouds are there, and the sun, and the light - and the experience becomes just a memory. It haunts you, but it doesn't transform you.

'THE HOLY MAN, OUR BROTHER, HAS SHOWN ME THE LIGHT. GREAT IS THE LIGHT HE HAS SHOWN ME. BUT WHO KNOWS? - WHO KNOWS HOW MANY YEARS MUST PASS, HOW LONG WE STILL MUST SLEEP BEFORE IT COMES TO US, BEFORE IT COMES TO US?'