|
Main Index
|
| |
| |
|
| |
If you are not there, there will be no smell.
There have been philosophers like Berkeley or Nagarjuna, Shankara, who say the world is unreal, it exists in your mind, because whatsoever we know about the world is really given by us. Because of this, Immanuel Kant, a German thinker and philosopher, says that the thing-in-itself cannot be known. Whatsoever we know is not the thing; it is our projection.
Your face looks beautiful to me. Your face is neither beautiful nor ugly; it is my attitude. It is I who make you beautiful or ugly. It depends on me: it is my feeling. If you are alone in the world and there is no one to say that you are ugly or beautiful, you will not be either. Or will you be? If you are alone on the earth, will you be beautiful or ugly? Will you be intelligent or foolish? You will be nothing. Really you cannot exist alone on the earth. You cannot be.
If you are sitting near a tree, meditate. Open your eyes and look at the tree, and then close your eyes and look at the tree within. If you try it -- again open the eyes, meditate on the tree and then close the eyes and look at the tree within -- in the beginning the tree within will be a faint shadow of the tree without, but if you go on continuing, by and by it will come to have the same reality and being as the tree without.
And if you continue and persist, which is difficult, a moment comes when the outer tree becomes just a shadow of the inner. The inner becomes more beautiful, more alive, because now your inner consciousness is the soil for it. Now it is rooted in the inner consciousness. Now it is feeling on the consciousness, really. It is something rare.
So when Jesus or people like Jesus talk about the kingdom of God, they talk in such colorful language that we think that either they are mad, or just in hallucination. They are neither. They have learned how to include existence. Their own inner consciousness has become now a life-giving phenomenon. Now whatsoever is planted within becomes alive. It is more colorful, more fragrant, more vital -- as if it doesn't belong to this world, this mundane world; it belongs to some other world. Poets know this a little.
|
|
|
|
| |