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God's mysteries -- and remember there is no God, it is only an expression. Nobody knows the mysteries of existence, its abundance. Sometimes it pours on barren land, sometimes it does not rain on fertile soil. It is simply so, nothing can be done about it.
Jaydeva is a barren land. GEET GOVIND, this tremendously beautiful poetry, the song of God, descended upon him. He must have sung it, composed it, not knowing what he was doing. I don't see him anywhere near the temple, that is why I was unwilling to mention his name. It may even make him more egoistic. That is why I said "for his own sake," but I felt it is not the poor man's fault -- whatsoever he is, he is -- but he has given birth to a beautiful child, and if I have mentioned the child then let me mention the father's name; otherwise people will think the child is a bastard. The father may have been, but the child is not.
I feel a great relief because I am finished with Jaydeva forever. But there is a queue standing at the door. You don't know what a fix I am in. I had not thought of it before, because I am not a thinker and I never think before I jump. I jump, and then I think. It was just by the way that I mentioned ten beautiful books. I was not thinking so many others would start bugging me. So, ten more.
First: The FRAGMENTS of Heraclitus. I love this man. Let me mention it, just by the way, as a note in the margin, that I love all, but I don't like all. I like a few and I don't like a few, but I love all. About that there is no question. I love Jaydeva as much as I love Heraclitus, but Heraclitus I like too.
There are very few whom I can put in the same category as Heraclitus. In fact, even to say that is not true; there is no one. Now I am saying what I really wanted to say always. There is no one, I repeat, who can be put in the same category as Heraclitus. He is just far out -- dangerously awakened, unafraid of the consequences of what he was saying.
He says in these FRAGMENTS -- again the notes of a Devageet, a disciple. Heraclitus did not write. There must be something, some reason why these people do not write, but of that a little later. Heraclitus says in the
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