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Chapter: 2

Simplicity Never Appeals to the Ego

The first question:

Osho,

What you have been saying about Heraclitus, Christ, and Zen seems like kindergarten teachings compared to Patanjali. Heraclitus, Christ, and Zen make the final step seem close; Patanjali makes even the first step seem almost impossible. It seems like we Westerners have hardly begun to realize the amount of work that has to be done.

Lao Tzu says, “If Tao were not laughed at, it would not be Tao.” And I would like to say to you: “If you did not misunderstand me, you would not be you. You are bound to misunderstand.” You have not understood what I had been saying about Heraclitus, Christ, and Zen. If you cannot understand Heraclitus, Zen, and Jesus, you will not be able to understand Patanjali either.

The first rule of understanding is not to compare. How can you compare? What do you know about the innermost state of Heraclitus, Basho, Buddha, Jesus or Patanjali? Who are you to compare? Comparison is a judgment. Who are you to judge? But the mind wants to judge because in judging the mind feels superior. You become the judge and your ego feels very, very good. You feed the ego. Through judgment and comparison you think that you know.

They are different types of flowers – incomparable. How can you compare a rose with a lotus? Is any comparison possible? There’s no possibility because both are different worlds. How can you compare the moon with the sun? There is no possibility because they are different dimensions. Heraclitus is a wildflower; Patanjali is in a cultivated garden. Patanjali will be nearer your intellect, Heraclitus nearer your heart. But as you go deeper, the differences are lost. When you start flowering, a new understanding dawns upon you – the understanding that flowers differ in their color, smell, shape, form and name.

But in flowering they don’t differ. The flowering, the phenomenon that they have flowered, is the same. Heraclitus is, of course, different; he has to be. Every individual is unique. Patanjali is also different. You cannot put them into one category. No pigeonholes exist where you can force them or categorize them. But if you also flower, you will come to understand that flowering is the same whether the flower is a lotus or a rose. It makes no difference. The innermost phenomenon of energy coming to a celebration is the same.

Patanjali is a scientific thinker. He is a grammarian, a linguist. Heraclitus is a wild poet. They talk differently, they have different mind patterns. Heraclitus does not bother about grammar, language or form. When you say that listening to Patanjali you feel that Heraclitus, Basho, and Zen appear childish, like kindergarten teachings, you are not saying anything about Patanjali or Heraclitus, you are saying something about yourself. You are saying that you are a mind oriented person.

You can understand Patanjali; Heraclitus simply eludes you. Patanjali is more solid, you can have a grip on him. Heraclitus is a cloud, you cannot have any grip on him. You can make head and tail out of Patanjali, he seems rational. What will you do with a Heraclitus, with a Basho? No, they are simply so irrational. Thinking about them, your mind becomes absolutely impotent. When you say such things and make comparisons, judgments, you say something about yourself – who you are.

Patanjali can be understood, there is no trouble about it. He is absolutely rational and can be followed; there is no problem there. All his techniques can be done because he gives you “the how,” and “how” is always easy to understand. What to do? How to do it? He gives you the techniques.

Ask Basho or Heraclitus what to do, and they simply say, “There is nothing to be done.” You are at a loss. If something is to be done you can do it, but if nothing is to be done you are at a loss. Still, you go on asking again and again, “What to do? How to do it? How to achieve that which you are talking about?”

They talk about the ultimate without talking about the way that leads to it. Patanjali talks about the way, never about the goal. He is concerned with the means, Heraclitus with the end. The end is mysterious. It is poetry; it is not a mathematical solution. It is a mystery. But the path is a scientific thing. The technique, the know-how appeals to you. But this shows something about you, not about Heraclitus or Patanjali. You are a mind oriented person, a head oriented person. Try to see this. Don’t compare Patanjali and Heraclitus. Simply try to see that it shows something about you. And if it shows something about you, you can do something about it.

Don’t think that you know what Patanjali is and what Heraclitus is. You can’t even understand an ordinary flower in the garden – and they are the ultimate flowering in existence. Unless you flower in the same way, you will not be able to understand. But you can compare, you can judge, and through judgment you will miss the whole point.

So the first rule of understanding is never to judge. Never judge and never compare Buddha, Mahavira, Mohammed, Christ, Krishna. Never compare! They exist in a dimension beyond comparison, and whatever you know about them is really nothing – just fragments. You cannot have the total comprehension. They are so beyond. In fact, you simply see their reflection in the water of your mind.

You have not seen the moon; you have seen the moon in the lake. You have not seen the reality; you have simply seen a mirror reflection, and the reflection depends on the mirror. If the mirror is defective, the reflection is different. Your mind is your mirror.

When you say that Patanjali and his teaching seems very great, you are simply saying that you couldn’t understand Heraclitus at all. If you cannot understand him, that simply shows that he is very, very far beyond you; he is further beyond you than Patanjali is. At least you can understand this much: that Patanjali seems to be difficult. Now follow me closely and if something is difficult, you can tackle it – however difficult, you can tackle it. More hard effort is needed, but that can be done.

Heraclitus is not easy, he is simply impossible. Patanjali is difficult. You can understand the difficult; you can do something. You can bring your will, effort, and your whole energy to it and it can be solved. The difficult can be made easy, and more subtle methods can be found. But what will you do with the impossible? It cannot be made easy, but you can deceive yourself. You can say that there is nothing in it, that it is a kindergarten teaching and you are so grown-up, that it is for children, not for you.

This is a trick of the mind to avoid the impossible because you know that you will not be able to tackle it. So the easiest course is simply to say, “It is not for me, it is below me – a kindergarten teaching.” And you are a grown-up mature person. You need a university, you don’t need a kindergarten. Patanjali suits you. He looks very difficult, but he can be solved. The impossible cannot be solved.

If you want to understand Heraclitus, there is no way except by dropping your mind completely. If you want to understand Patanjali, there is a gradual way. He gives you steps – what to do – but remember, finally, eventually, he will also say to you, “Drop the mind.” What Heraclitus says in the beginning, he will say in the end. But you can be fooled the whole way on the path. In the end he is going to say the same thing, but he will still be understandable because he makes grades; the jump doesn’t look like a jump when you have steps.

This is the situation: Heraclitus just brings you to an abyss and says, “Jump!” You look down, your mind simply cannot comprehend what he is saying. It looks suicidal. There are no steps. You ask, “How?” and he says, “There is no ‘how,’ you simply jump!” What is the “how”? And because there are no steps, “how” cannot be explained. You simply jump! He says, “If you are ready I can push you, but there are no methods.” Is there any method in taking a jump? A jump is sudden; methods exist when a thing, a process is gradual. Finding it impossible, you make an about-turn. To console yourself that you are not such a weakling you say that it is for children – it is not difficult enough. It is not for you.

Patanjali brings you to the same abyss, but he has made steps. He says, “Take one step at a time.” It appeals – you can understand it. The mathematics is simple: take one step, then another. There is no jump. But remember, sooner or later he will bring you to the point from where you have to jump. He has created steps, but they don’t lead to the bottom, just to the middle – and the bottom is so far away that you can exactly say that it is a bottomless abyss.

So the amount of steps you take makes no difference. The abyss remains the same. He will lead you along for ninety-nine steps, and you will be very happy – as if you have covered the abyss and now the bottom has come nearer. No, the bottom remains as far away as before. The ninety-nine steps are just to befool your mind, just to give you a “how,” a technique. At the hundredth step he says, “Jump!” The abyss remains the same, the span the same.

There is no difference, because the abyss is infinite, God is infinite. How can you meet him gradually? But these ninety-nine steps will befool you. Patanjali is more clever. Heraclitus is innocent, he simply says to you, “This is the thing; here is the abyss. Jump!” He does not persuade you, and he does not seduce you, he simply says, “This is the fact. If you want to jump, jump; if you don’t want to jump, go away.” He knows that to make steps is useless because finally one has to take the jump. But I think it will be good for you to follow Patanjali because by and by, he seduces you. At least you can take one step and the second becomes easier, then the third. When you have taken ninety-nine steps, it will be difficult to go back because it will be absolutely against your ego – the whole world will laugh. You have become such a great sage, and you are coming back to the world? You were such a mahayogi – a great yogi – why are you coming back? Now you are caught, and you cannot go back.

Heraclitus is simple, innocent. His teaching is not that of a kindergarten, but he is a child – that’s right – innocent like a child, wise also like a child. Patanjali is cunning, clever. He will suit you because you need somebody who can lead you in a cunning way to a point from where you cannot go back – it becomes simply impossible.

Gurdjieff used to say that there are two types of masters: one innocent and simple; another sly and cunning. He himself said, “I belong to the second category.” Patanjali is the source of all sly masters. They lead you to the rose garden and suddenly, the abyss. You are caught in such a grip of your own making that you cannot go back. You meditated, renounced the world, wife and children; for years you were doing postures, meditating, and you created such an aura around you that people worshipped you. Millions of people looked to you as a god – and now comes the abyss. Now, just to save your prestige, you have to jump. Where to go? Now you cannot go anywhere.

Buddha is simple; Patanjali is sly. All science is cunning. This has to be understood, and remember, I am not saying it in any derogatory sense; I am not condemning it. All science is cunning!

It is said that a follower of Lao Tzu – an old farmer – was drawing water from a well. Instead of using bullocks or horses, the old man and his son were working like bullocks and carrying the water out of the well, perspiring, breathing hard. It was difficult.

A follower of Confucius was passing by. He said to the old man, “Haven’t you heard? This is very primitive. Why are you wasting your breath? Now bullocks and horses can be used. Haven’t you heard that in the towns and cities, nobody is working the way you are working now? It is very primitive. Science has progressed fast.”

The old man replied, “Wait, don’t talk so loudly. When my son has gone, I will reply.” When the son had gone to do some work, he said, “Now, you are a dangerous person. If my son ever hears about this, he will immediately say, ‘Okay! Then I don’t want to pull this. I can’t do this work of a bullock any longer. A bullock is needed.’”

The disciple of Confucius said, “What is wrong in that?”

The old man said, “Everything is wrong in it because it is very cunning. It is deceiving the bullock, it is deceiving the horse. And one thing leads to another. If this boy of mine who is young and not wise discovers that he can be cunning with animals, then he will wonder why he cannot be cunning with man. Once he knows that he can exploit through cunningness, I don’t know where he will stop. Please leave, and never come back again on this road. Don’t bring such cunning things to this village. We are happy.”

Lao Tzu is against science. He says science is cunning. It is deceiving nature, exploiting nature – and through cunning ways, forcing nature. The more scientific a man becomes, the more cunning he becomes; it has to be so. An innocent man cannot be scientific, it is difficult. But man has become cunning and clever, and Patanjali, knowing well that to be scientific is to be cunning, also knows that man can only be brought back to nature through a new device, a new cunningness.

Yoga is the science of the inner being. Because you are not innocent, you have to be brought back to nature through a cunning way. If you are innocent, no means are needed, no methods are needed. A simple understanding, a childlike understanding and you will be transformed. But you are not. That’s why you feel that Patanjali seems to be very great. It is because of your head oriented mind and your cunningness.

The second thing to remember is that he appears difficult. You think Heraclitus is simple? Patanjali appears difficult; that too appeals to the ego. The ego always wants to do something which is difficult because against the difficult you feel you are someone. If something is very simple, how can the ego feed off it?

People come to me and say, “Sometimes you teach that just by sitting and doing nothing it can happen. How can it be so simple? How can it be so easy?” Chuang Tzu says, “Easy is right,” but these people say, “No! How can it be so easy? It must be difficult – very, very difficult, arduous.”

You want to do difficult things because when you are fighting against some difficulty, against the current, you feel you are someone – a conqueror. If something is simple, if something is so easy that even a child can do it, where will your ego stand? You ask for hurdles, you ask for difficulties. And if there are no difficulties you create them so that you can fight, so that you can fly against a strong wind and can feel: “I am someone – a conqueror!” But don’t be so smart.

You know the phrase “smart aleck”? You may not know where it comes from – it comes from Alexander. The word aleck comes from a short form of Alexander. “Don’t be a smart Alexander.” Be simple, and don’t try to be a conqueror because that is foolish. Don’t try to be a somebody.

But Patanjali appealed; Patanjali appealed to the Indian ego very much, so India has created the most subtle egoists in the world. You cannot find anywhere in the world more subtle egoists than you can find in India. It is almost impossible to find a simple yogi. A yogi cannot be simple because he is doing so many asanas, so many mudras, and he is working so hard, how can he be simple? He thinks himself to be at the top – a conqueror. The whole world has to bow down to him; he is the cream – the very salt of life.

Go and watch yogis; you will find that they all have very, very refined egos. Their inner shrine is still empty, the divine has not entered. That shrine is still a throne for their own egos. They may have become very subtle; they may have become so subtle that they may appear to be very humble, but if you watch, you will also find the ego in their humbleness.

They are aware that they are humble, that’s the difficulty. A really humble person is not aware that he is humble. A really humble person is simply humble, not aware. And a really humble person never claims that he is humble because all claims are of the ego. Humility cannot be claimed; humbleness is not a claim, it is a state of being. All claims fulfill the ego. Why has this happened? Why has India become a very subtle egoist country? When there is ego, you become blind.

Now when you talk to Indian yogis, they condemn the whole world. They say that the West is materialist; only India is spiritual. The whole world is materialist… As if there is a monopoly. They are so blind that they cannot see that the exact opposite is the case. The more I have been watching the Indian and Western minds, the more I feel the Western mind is less materialist than the Indian. The Indian mind is more materialist, clings to things more, cannot share; it is miserly. The Western mind can share, is less miserly. And because the West has created so much materialist affluence that does not mean it is materialist, and because India is poor that does not mean it is spiritual.

If poverty were spirituality, then impotence would be brahmacharya. No, poverty is not spirituality; neither is affluence materialism. Materialism does not belong to things, it belongs to the attitude. Neither does spirituality belong to poverty, it belongs to the inner – a nonattached sharing.

In India you cannot find anybody sharing anything. Nobody can share; everybody hoards, and because they are such hoarders, they are poor. And because a few people hoard too much, many people become poor.

The West has been sharing. That’s why the whole society rises from poverty to affluence. In India a few people have become so rich, you cannot find such rich people anywhere else – they are but a few – and the whole society drags itself in poverty. The gap is vast, you cannot find such a gap anywhere. The gap between a wealthy man like Birla and a beggar is vast. Such a gap cannot exist anywhere else, does not exist anywhere else. There are rich and poor people in the West, but the gap is not so vast. Here the gap is simply infinite. You cannot imagine such a gap. How can it be filled? – it cannot be filled because the people are materialist. Otherwise how and why would this gap exist? Can’t you share? – impossible! But the ego says that the whole world is materialistic. This has come about because people were attracted to Patanjali and to all the people who were giving difficult methods. There is nothing wrong with Patanjali, but the Indian ego found a beautiful, subtle outlet to be egoistic.

The same is happening to you. Patanjali appeals to you because he is difficult. Heraclitus is “kindergarten” because he is so simple. Simplicity never appeals to the ego. But remember, if simplicity can become an appeal, the path is not long. If difficulty becomes the appeal, the path is going to be very long because from the very beginning, rather than dropping the ego you have started accumulating it.

I am not speaking on Patanjali to make you more egoistic. Look and watch. I am always afraid of talking about Patanjali; I am never afraid of talking on Heraclitus, Basho, Buddha. I am afraid because of you. Patanjali is beautiful, but you can be attracted for the wrong reasons. This will be a wrong reason, if you think he is difficult – the difficulty of it becomes the attraction.

Edmund Hillary, who conquered Everest – the highest peak, the only peak which was unconquered, was asked, “What is the need to reach the peak? Why do you take so much trouble? And even if you reach it, what will you do then? You will have to come back down again.”

Hillary replied, “It is a challenge to the human ego. An unconquered peak has to be conquered!” It had no other utility. What will you do? What has he done? He went there, placed a flag and came back. What nonsense! And many people died in the effort. For almost a hundred years many groups had been trying. Many died, were lost, fell into the abyss – never came back. The more difficult it became to reach, the more it appealed.

Why go to the moon? What will you do there? Isn’t the earth enough? But no, the human ego cannot tolerate that the moon remains unconquered. Man must reach there, and because it is so difficult, it has to be conquered. So you can be attracted for the wrong reasons. Now going to the moon is not a poetic effort; it is not like small children who raise their hands and try to catch the moon. And since humanity came into existence every child has longed to reach to the moon. Every child has tried, but the difference must be deeply understood. The effort of a child is beautiful. The moon is so beautiful. It is a poetic effort to touch it, to reach it. There is no ego; it is a simple attraction, a love affair. Every child falls into that love affair. If you can find a child who is not attracted by the moon, what type of child is that?

The moon creates a subtle poetry, a subtle attraction. One would like to touch it and feel it; one would like to go to the moon. But for the scientist that is not the reason. To the scientist, the moon is there as a challenge. How does the moon dare to be continuously there, and to be a challenge? And man is here and he cannot reach it. He has to reach it!

You can be attracted to it for the wrong reasons. The fault is not with the moon; neither is the fault with Patanjali. But you should not be attracted for the wrong reasons. Patanjali is difficult – the most difficult – because he analyzes the whole path, and each fragment seems to be very difficult. But difficulty should not be the appeal: remember that. You can walk through Patanjali’s door, but you should not fall in love with the difficulty, but with the insight – the light that Patanjali throws on the path. You should fall in love with the light, not with the difficulty of the path. That will be a wrong reason.

“What you have been saying about Heraclitus, Christ and Zen seems like kindergarten teachings compared to Patanjali.” Please don’t compare. Comparison is also from the ego. In the real existence, things exist without any comparison. A tree which reaches four hundred feet into the sky and a very, very small grass flower are both the same as far as existence is concerned. But you look and say, “This is a great tree, and what is this? – just ordinary grass.” You bring comparison in, and wherever there is comparison, ugliness follows. You have destroyed a beautiful phenomenon.

The tree was great in its “tree-ness” and the grass was great in its “grassiness.” The tree may have risen four hundred feet and its flowers may open in the highest sky; the grass is just clinging to the earth and its flowers will be very, very small. Nobody may even be aware when they flower and when they fade. But when this grass flowers, the phenomenon of flowering is the same, the celebration is the same, and there is not a bit of difference. Remember this: that in existence there is no comparison. The mind brings in comparison. It says, “You are more beautiful.” Can’t you simply say, “You are beautiful”? Why bring in “more”?

Mulla Nasruddin was in love with a woman, and as women are prone, when Mulla Nasruddin kissed her she asked, “Are you kissing me as the first woman? Am I the first woman you have kissed? Is this the first kiss you have given to a woman?”

Nasruddin said, “Yes, the first and the sweetest.”

Comparison is in your blood. You cannot stay with a thing as it is. The woman is also asking for a comparison; otherwise why worry whether this is a first or a second kiss? Each kiss is fresh and virgin. It has no relationship with any kiss from the past or in the future. Each kiss is an existence in itself. It exists alone in its solitariness. It is a peak in itself; it is a unit – not in any way connected with the past or with the future. Why ask whether it is the first? What beauty does the first have? Why not the second or the third?

But the mind wants to compare. Why does the mind want to compare? – because the ego is fed through comparison. It can feel, “I am the first woman; this is the first kiss.” You are not interested in the kiss – in the quality of the kiss. This moment the kiss opened a door of your heart; you are not interested in that – that is nothing. You are more interested in whether it is the first or not. The ego is always interested in comparison, and existence knows no comparison. People like Heraclitus and Patanjali live in existence, not in the mind. Don’t compare them.

Many people come to me and ask, “Who is greater, Buddha or Christ?” What foolishness to ask! I say to them, “Buddha is greater than Christ, Christ is greater than Buddha.” Why do you go on comparing? There is a subtle thing working: if you are a follower of Christ, you would like Christ to be the greatest because you can only be great if Christ is the greatest. It is a fulfillment of your own ego. How can your master not be the greatest? He has to be because you are such a great disciple. If Christ is not the greatest, where will Christians be? If Buddha is not the greatest, what will happen to the ego of the Buddhists?

Every race, religion, country, thinks itself to be the greatest – not because any country is great, not because any race is great. In this existence everything is the greatest. Existence creates only the greatest; every being is unique. But that doesn’t appeal to the mind because then greatness is so common. Everybody is great? So what is the use of it? Somebody has to be lower. A hierarchy has to be created.

Just the other night I was reading a book by George Mikes and he said that where he was born in Budapest, Hungary, an English woman fell in love with him. He wasn’t very much in love with her, but he didn’t want to be rude either, so when she asked, “Can we get married?”

He replied, “It will be difficult because my mother will not allow it and she will not be happy if I marry a foreigner.”

The English lady was very offended and said, “What? I, a foreigner? I am not a foreigner! I am English! You are a foreigner and your mother too!”

Mikes said, “In Budapest, Hungary, I am a foreigner?”

The woman replied, “Yes! Truth does not depend on geography.”

Everyone thinks that way. The mind tries to fulfill its desires, to be the most supreme. One has to be watchful with religion, race, country, everything – very watchful. Only then you can get beyond this subtle phenomenon of the ego.

You say: “Heraclitus, Christ, and Zen make the final step seem close; Patanjali makes even the first step seem almost impossible.” That’s because it is both. The Upanishad says: “He is closer than the closest and he is farther than the farthest.” He is both near and far. He has to be, otherwise who will be far? He has to be near also, otherwise who will be near you? He touches your skin and he is spread beyond the boundaries. He is both!

Heraclitus emphasizes the nearness because he is a simple man. He says that he is so near, nothing is needed to be done to bring him nearer. He is almost there; he is just watching at the gate, knocking at your door, waiting near your heart. Nothing is to be done. Simply be silent and have a look, just sit silently and look. You have never lost him. The truth is near.

In fact, to say that truth is near is wrong because you are also truth. Even nearness seems to be very, very far; even nearness shows that there is a distinction, a distance, a gap. Even that gap is not there – you are it! The Upanishad says, “Thou art that: tattvamasi Svetketu.” You are already that; there is not even that much distance to say that he is close. And Heraclitus and Zen both want you to take the jump immediately – not wait.

Patanjali says that he is very far. He is also right, he is also very far. He will appeal to you more, because if he is so close and you have not attained, you will feel very, very depressed. If he is so close, just standing by the side of you; if he is the only neighbor surrounding you from every side and you have not achieved, your ego will feel very, very frustrated. Such a great man like you, and he is so near and you are missing? That seems very frustrating. But if he is very far, everything is okay because time is needed, effort is needed – nothing is wrong with you; he is so far away.

Distance is such a vast thing. You will take some time, and then one day you will get up, move, and you will achieve. If he is near, you will feel guilty and wonder why you are not achieving anything with him? One feels uncomfortable reading Heraclitus, Basho, Buddha. That never happens with Patanjali. One feels at ease.

Look at the paradox of the mind: with the easiest of people one feels uncomfortable. The discomfort comes from you. To move with Heraclitus or Jesus is very uncomfortable because they go on insisting that the kingdom of God is within you – and you know that nothing exists within you except hell. They insist that the kingdom of God is within you; it becomes uncomfortable.

If the kingdom of God is within you, then something must be wrong with you. Why can’t you see it? If it is so present, why can’t it happen right this moment? That is the message of Zen – that it is immediate. There is no need to wait, no need to waste time. It can happen right now, this very moment! There is no excuse. This makes you uncomfortable; you feel uncomfortable, you cannot find any excuse. With Patanjali, you can find millions of excuses. He is very far, and millions of lives’ effort is needed. Yes, it can be attained, but always in the future. You are at ease. There is no urgency about it, and you can be as you are right now. Tomorrow morning you will start moving on the path – and tomorrow never comes.

Patanjali gives you space, gives you future. He says, “Do this and that, and by and by you will attain – some day, nobody knows, in some future life…” You are at ease, there is no urgency. You can be as you are; there is no hurry.

These Zen people, they drive you crazy! And I drive you even crazier because I talk from both sides. This is just a way. This is a koan. This is just a way to drive you crazy. I use Heraclitus, I use Patanjali, but these are tricks to drive you crazy. You simply cannot be allowed to relax. Whenever there is a future, you are okay. The mind can desire God, and nothing is wrong with you. The very phenomenon is such that it will take time. This becomes an excuse.

With Patanjali you can postpone, with Zen you cannot. If you do postpone, it is you who are postponing, not God. With Patanjali you can postpone because the very nature of God is such that it can be attained only in gradual ways. It is very, very difficult. That is why you feel comfortable with difficulty. This is the paradox: with people who say that it is easy, you feel uncomfortable; with people who say it is difficult, you feel comfortable. It should be just the opposite.

The truth is both, so it depends on you. If you want to postpone, Patanjali is perfect. If you want it here and now, you will have to listen to Zen and you will have to decide. Are you feeling the urgency? Haven’t you suffered enough? Or do you want to suffer more? Then Patanjali is perfect – follow Patanjali. And somewhere in the distant future you will attain bliss. But if you have suffered enough… And this is what maturity is: understanding that you have suffered enough.

You call Heraclitus and Zen for children? Kindergarten? This is the only maturity, to have been realized: “I have suffered enough.” If you feel this, an urgency is created, a fire is created. Something has to be done right now! You cannot postpone it; there is no meaning in postponing. You have postponed it enough already. But if you want it in the future, if you would like to suffer a little more, if you have become addicted to the hell – to remain the same just one more day – or if you would like some modifications, follow Patanjali.

That is what Patanjali says: “Do this and do that, slowly. Do one thing, and then another thing.” And millions of things have to be done and they cannot be done immediately, so you go on modifying yourself. Today you take a vow that you will be nonviolent, and tomorrow you will take another vow. The day after tomorrow you will become celibate… In this way it goes on and on. There are millions of things to leave behind: lying, violence, aggression, all have to be dropped; by and by anger, hate, jealousy, possessiveness – millions of things. Meanwhile, you remain the same.

How can you drop anger if you have not dropped hate? How can you drop anger if you have not dropped jealousy? How can you drop anger if you have not dropped aggressiveness? They are interrelated.

So you say that now you will no longer be angry. What are you talking about? Nonsense! You will remain hateful, you will remain aggressive. You would still like to dominate, you would still love to be at the top – and you are dropping anger? How you can drop it? They are interrelated.

This is what Zen says: “If you want to drop it, understand the phenomenon that everything is related.” Either you drop it now or you never drop it. Don’t befool yourself. You can simply whitewash over it – a little here, a patch there, and the old house remains with all its oldness. While you go on working, painting the walls and filling the holes, this and that, you think you are creating a new life and meanwhile you continue in the same way. The more you continue, the more it becomes deep-rooted.

Don’t deceive yourself. If you can understand, it is immediate. That is the message of Zen. If you cannot understand, something has to be done, and Patanjali will be good – so follow Patanjali. One day or other you will have to come to an understanding and you will see that this whole thing has been a trick – a trick of your mind to avoid the reality, to avoid and escape – and on that day, suddenly you will drop it.

Patanjali is gradual, Zen is sudden. If you cannot be sudden, it is better to be gradual. Rather than being nothing, neither this nor that, it is better to be gradual. Patanjali will also bring you to the same situation, but he will give you a little space. It is more comfortable – difficult, but more comfortable. No immediate transformation is demanded. The mind can fit in with a gradual progress.

You say: “Heraclitus, Christ, and Zen make the final step seem close; Patanjali makes even the first step seem almost impossible. It seems like we Westerners have hardly begun to realize the amount of work that has to be done.” It is up to you. If you want to do the work, you can do it. If you want to realize without doing the work, that too is possible. That too is possible! It is up to you to choose. If you want to do hard work, I will give you hard work. I can create even more steps. Patanjali can be stretched even longer. I can put the goal even farther away; I can give you impossible things to do. It is your choice. Or if you really want to realize, this can be done this very moment. It is up to you. Patanjali is a way of looking, Heraclitus is also a way of looking.

Once it happened…

I was walking along a street and saw a small child eating a very big watermelon. The melon was too big for him. I looked and watched and saw that he was finding it a little difficult to finish it. So I said to him, “It seems to be really too big, don’t you think?”

The boy looked at me and said, “No! There is not enough me.”

He is also right. Everything can be looked at from two standpoints. God is near and far. Now it is for you to decide where you would like to take the jump from – near or far. If you want to take the jump from far, then all the techniques come in because they will take you far – from there you will take the jump. It is just like you are standing on this shore of the ocean; the ocean is here, and also there at the other shore – which is completely invisible, very, very far away. You can take the jump from this shore because it is the same ocean, but if you decide to take the jump from the other shore, Patanjali gives you a boat.

The whole of Yoga is a boat to go to the other shore to take the jump. It is up to you. You can enjoy the journey; there is nothing wrong in it. I am not saying it is wrong; it is up to you. You can take the boat and go to the other shore and take the jump from there. But the same ocean exists here. Why not take the jump from this shore? The jump will be the same, the ocean will be the same, and you will be the same. What difference does it make if you go to the other shore? There may be people on the other shore who may be trying to come here. And there are Patanjalis there who have also made boats. They are coming here to take the jump from the far away.

It happened…

A man was trying to cross a road. It was the rush hour, and it was difficult to cross. Cars were going so fast, and he was a very, very mild mannered man. He tried many times and came back. Then he saw an old acquaintance, Mulla Nasruddin, on the other side. He cried, “Nasruddin, how did you cross the road?”

Nasruddin replied, “I never crossed it. I was born on this side.”

There are people who are always thinking of the distant shore. The distant always looks beautiful; the distant has a magnetism of its own because it is covered in mist. But the ocean is the same. It is up to you to choose. Nothing is wrong in going on that ocean, but go for the right reasons. You may be simply avoiding the jump from this shore. And even if the boat leads you to the other shore, the moment you reach it you will start thinking of this shore because this will be the faraway point. Many times, in many lives, you have done this. You have changed the shore, but you have not taken the jump.

I have seen you crossing the ocean from this side to that and from that side to this. This is the problem: that shore is far away because you are here. When you are there, this shore will be far away. You are in such a sleep you have completely forgotten that you have also been to that shore again and again. By the time you reach the other shore, you have forgotten the shore that you have left behind. By the time you reach it, oblivion takes over.

You look to the distant shore and again somebody says, “Here is a boat, sir. You can go to the other shore and take the jump from there because God is very, very far away.” Again you start the preparation to leave this shore. Patanjali gives you a boat to go to the other shore, but when you have reached there, Zen will always give you the jump. The final jump is of Zen. Meanwhile you can do many things; that is not the point. Whenever you take the jump it will be a sudden jump, it cannot be gradual.

All gradualness is in going from this shore to that – but nothing is wrong in it. If you enjoy the journey, it is beautiful because he is here, he is in the middle, and also at that shore. No need to reach to the other shore either. You can take the jump in the middle, just from the boat. The boat becomes the shore. Where ever you jump from is the shore. Every moment, where ever you can take the jump from becomes the shore. If you don’t take the jump, it is no longer the shore. It depends on you; remember this well.

That’s why I am talking about all the contradictory standpoints, so that you can understand from every side. You can see the reality from every side and you can decide. If you decide to wait a little, beautiful. If you decide to take the jump right now, beautiful. To me everything is beautiful and great, and I have no choice. I simply give you all the choices. If you say, “I would like to wait a little,” I say, “Good! I bless you. Wait a little.” If you say, “I am ready and I want to jump,” I say, “Jump, with my blessings.”

For me there is no choice – neither Heraclitus, nor Patanjali. I am simply opening all the doors for you with the hope that you may enter a door. But remember the tricks of the mind. When I talk about Heraclitus you think it is too vague, too mysterious, too simple. When I talk about Patanjali you think it is too difficult, almost impossible. I open the door and you interpret something and make a judgment and stop yourself. The door is not open for you to judge, the door is open for you to enter.

The second question:

Osho,

You talked of moving from faith to trust. How can we use the mind that swings from doubt to belief to go beyond these two polarities?

Doubt and belief are not different – both are aspects of the same coin. This has to be understood first because people think that when they believe, they have gone beyond doubt. Belief is the same as doubt because both are concerns of the mind. Your mind argues, says no, finds no proof to say yes – and you doubt. Your mind then finds arguments to say yes, proof to say yes – and you believe. In both cases you believe in reason; in both cases you believe in arguments. The difference is on the surface. Deep down you believe in the reasoning. Trust is the dropping out of reasoning. It is mad, irrational, absurd.

I say that trust is not faith. Trust is a personal encounter. Faith is again given and borrowed. It is a conditioning. Faith is a conditioning which your parents, your culture, and society give you. You don’t bother about it; you don’t make it a personal concern. It is a given thing. A thing which is given and which has not been a personal growth is just a facade, a false face, a Sunday face.

For six days of the week you are different; then on Sunday you enter the church and you put on a mask. See how people behave in church: so gently, so humanly – the same people! Even a murderer goes to church and prays. Look at his face – it looks so beautiful, so innocent, and this man has killed! In church you have a proper face to use and you know how to use it. It’s a conditioning. It is given to you in your very childhood.

Faith is given; trust is a growth.

You encounter reality, you face it, you live it, and by and by you come to an understanding that doubt leads to hell, to misery. The more you doubt, the more miserable you become. If you doubt completely, you will be in perfect misery. If you are not in perfect misery, that is because you cannot doubt completely. You still trust. Even an atheist trusts. Even a man who doubts whether the world exists or not also trusts; otherwise he cannot live, and life will become impossible.

If doubt becomes total, you cannot live for a single moment more. How can you breathe in, if you doubt? If you really doubt, who knows if the breath isn’t poisonous? Who knows, maybe millions of germs are being carried in? And who knows, maybe cancer is being carried in with the breath?

If you really doubt, you cannot even breathe. You cannot live for a single moment more; you will die immediately. Doubt is suicide, but you never doubt perfectly, so you linger on. You linger on, somehow you drag on. Your life is not total. Just think: if total doubt is suicide, then total trust will be the absolute life possible.

That’s what happens to a man of trust: he trusts, and the more he trusts, the more he becomes capable of trusting. The more he becomes capable of trust, the more life opens. He feels more, he lives more, he lives intensely. Life becomes an authentic bliss. Now he can trust more. Not that he is never deceived because if you trust, that doesn’t mean that nobody is going to deceive you. In fact, more people will deceive you because you become vulnerable. If you trust, more people will deceive you, but nobody can make you miserable; that is the point to understand. They can deceive you, steal things from you, borrow money and never return it, but nobody can make you miserable. That becomes impossible. Even if they kill you, they cannot make you miserable.

You trust, and it makes you vulnerable, but also absolutely victorious because nobody can defeat you. They can deceive you, they can steal from you and you may become a beggar, but still you will be an emperor.

Trust makes emperors out of beggars and doubt makes beggars out of emperors. Look at an emperor who cannot trust; he is always afraid. He cannot trust his own wife, or children because a king possesses so much that his son will kill him for it, his wife will poison him for it. He cannot trust anybody. He lives in such distrust that he is already in hell. Even when he sleeps he cannot relax. Who knows what is going to happen?

Trust makes you more and more open. Of course, when you are open many things will become possible. When you are open, friends will reach your heart; of course, enemies can also reach your heart… The door is open. So there are two possibilities. If you want to be secure, you close the door completely. Bolt it, lock it and hide inside. Now no enemy can enter, but neither can a friend. Even if God comes, he cannot enter. Now nobody can deceive you, but what is the point? You are in a grave. You are already dead. Nobody can kill you, but you are already dead; you cannot come out. Of course, you live in security, but what type of life is this? You don’t live at all.

Then you open the door. Doubt is closing the door; trust is opening it. When you open the door, all the alternatives become possible. Friends may enter, foes may enter. The wind will come, and bring the perfume of flowers. It will also bring the germs of diseases. Now everything is possible – the good and the bad. Love will come; hate will also come. Now God can come and also the Devil. This is the fear – that something may go wrong; so you close the door. But then everything goes wrong. Open the door – there is a possibility that something can go wrong, but if your trust is total, not for you. You will find a friend even in the enemy, you will find God even in the Devil. Trust is such a transformation, your whole outlook changes and you cannot find anything bad.

That is the meaning of Jesus’ saying, “Love your enemies.” How can you love your enemies? It has been a problem to be solved – an enigma for Christian theologians. How can you love your enemy? But a man of trust can because a man of trust knows no enemies. A man of trust knows only the friend. It makes no difference in what form he comes. If he comes to steal, he is a friend; if he comes to take, he is a friend; if he comes to give, he is a friend – in whatever form he comes.

Once it happened that al-Hillaj Mansoor, a great mystic and Sufi, was murdered, killed, crucified. His last words, as he looked at the sky, were: “But you cannot deceive me.” Many people were there; al-Hillaj was smiling and he said in the direction of the sky, “Look, you cannot deceive me.”

So somebody asked, “What do you mean? Who are you talking to?”

He replied, “I am talking to my God; in whatever form you come you cannot deceive me. I know you well. Now you have come as death. You cannot deceive me.”

A man of trust cannot be deceived. In whatever form, whoever comes, it is always the divine coming to him, because trust makes everything holy. Trust is an alchemy. It transforms not only you, it transforms the whole world for you. Wherever you look you find him; in the friend, in the foe; in the night, in the day. Yes, Heraclitus is right: “God is summer and winter, day and night; God is satiety and hunger.” This is trust. Patanjali makes trust the base – the base of all growth.

You say: “You talked of moving from faith to trust…” Faith is that which is given; trust is that which is found. Faith is given by your parents; trust has to be found by you. Faith is given by the society; to find trust you have to search, seek, inquire. Trust is personal, intimate; faith is like a commodity – you can purchase it in the market.

You can purchase it in the market – when I say it, I say it with a very considered mind. You can become a Mohammedan, you can become a Hindu. Go into an Arya temple and you can be converted to a Hindu. There’s no problem. Faith can be purchased in the market. From being a Mohammedan you can become a Hindu, from being a Hindu you can become a Jaina. It is so simple that any foolish priest can do it. But trust is not a commodity. You can’t go and find it in the market; you cannot purchase it. You have to pass through many experiences. By and by it arises, by and by it changes you. A new quality, a new flame comes to your being.

So when you see that doubt is misery, trust comes. When you see that faith is dead, trust comes. Being a Christian, Hindu, Mohammedan, have you ever observed the fact that you are completely dead? What type of Christian are you? If you are really a Christian you will be a Christ – nothing less than that. Trust will make you a Christ; faith will make you a Christian – a very poor substitute. You go to church, you read the Bible – so what type of Christian are you? – your faith is not a knowing, it is an ignorance.

It happened…

A great economist came to talk at a Rotary Club. He talked in the jargon of economists. The local priest was also present to listen to him. After the talk, he approached the economist and said, “You gave a beautiful talk, but to be frank, I couldn’t follow a single word.”

The economist replied, “In that case, I would say to you what you say to your listeners: ‘Have faith!’”

When you cannot understand, when you are ignorant, the whole society says, “Have faith.” I say to you that it is better to doubt than to have a false faith. It is better to doubt because doubt will create misery. Faith is a consolation; doubt will create misery. If there is misery, you will have to seek trust. This is the problem, the dilemma that has happened in the world – because of faith, you have forgotten how to seek trust; because of faith, you have become trustless; because of faith, you are carrying corpses. You are Christians, Hindus, Mohammedans, and you miss the whole point. And because of faith, you think you are religious. Then the inquiry stops.

Honest doubt is better than dishonest faith.

All faith is false if you have not grown into it, if it is not your feeling, your being, your experience. All faith is false. Be honest. Doubt! Suffer! Only suffering will bring you to understanding. If you truly suffer, one day or other you will understand that it is doubt that is making you suffer. Transformation then becomes possible.

You ask me, “How can we use the mind that swings from doubt to belief to go beyond these two polarities?” You cannot use it because you have never been an honest doubter. Your faith is false, with doubt hidden deep down. Just on the surface there is a whitewash of faith. Deep down you are doubtful, but you are afraid to know that you are doubtful, so you go on clinging to faith, you go on making gestures of faith. You can make gestures, but through gestures you cannot attain reality. You can bow down at a shrine; you are making the gesture of a man who trusts, but you will not grow because deep down there is no trust, only doubt. Faith is just superimposed.

It is just like kissing a person you don’t love. From the outside everything is the same; you are making the gesture of kissing. No scientist can find any difference. If you kiss a person, the photograph of the kiss, the physiological phenomenon, the transfer of millions of germs from one lip to another, everything is exactly the same whether you love the person or not. If a scientist watches and observes, what will the difference be? – no difference, not a single iota of difference. He will say both are kisses and are exactly the same.

But you know when you love a person, something of the invisible passes which cannot be detected by any instrument. When you don’t love a person, you can kiss but nothing passes between you – no energy communication, no communion happens. It is exactly the same with faith and trust. Trust is a kiss with love, with a deeply loving heart; faith is a kiss without any love.

So from where to begin? – the first thing is to inquire into doubt. Throw away the false faith, and become an honest, sincere doubter. Your sincerity will help because if you are honest, how can you miss the point that doubt creates suffering? If you are sincere, you are bound to know. Sooner or later you will come to realize that doubt has been creating more misery – the more you go into doubt, the more misery you feel. One grows only through misery.

When you come to a point where misery becomes impossible to tolerate, you drop it. Not that you really drop it; the very intolerability becomes the dropping. Once there is no more doubt and you have suffered through it, you start moving toward trust.