Chapter 25: The Territory of Silence
And then his son came running and told him, “Father, you need not cry for that house. Last night I sold it to the king. He was offering any price we wanted and there was no question of any negotiation, so I asked for three times the price. We can make a house three times bigger, and then the king will know.. It is already old and you have so many new ideas. It is a good opportunity.”
The moment he heard that the house was sold, his tears disappeared, in fact he started laughing: “This is a great coincidence!” He started talking with his son and with his neighbors, “Perhaps I may purchase the land back, because what is the king going to do with the land? And I will make a palace that is three times more beautiful and big.” He already started dreaming about the future, and the palace was burning.
His second son came running and he told him, “Yes, my elder brother is right. We had agreed to sell, but it was only verbal. Neither had the money been given to us, nor had even a sales deed been written. We were waiting for you.”
Again the tears came - because now the king is not going to purchase it, he is not going to give the money. He forgot all about a palace that will be three times bigger and he was again crying like a small child.
The attachment, the identification. The moment you are unidentified with your body, even if the body is on the funeral pyre there will be no problem for you. It is as if somebody else is being burned. You can also stand by the side in the crowd and nobody will see you.
To be in the being one has to learn more and more disidentification with everything. Use everything but don’t get attached. I have been telling you to be in the world but don’t be of the world. Be in the world, but don’t let the world enter in you. I have been saying the same thing in other words: Don’t be identified. Use this whole existence, but don’t be possessive. Remain aloof, aware and silently watching.
A man had been bitten by a dog, but did not give it much thought until he noticed that the wound was taking a remarkably long time to heal. Finally he consulted a doctor who took one look at the wound and ordered that the dog be brought in.
Just as the doctor suspected, the dog had rabies. Since it was too late to give the patient a serum the doctor felt he had to prepare him for the worst.
The poor man sat down at the doctor’s desk and began to write. The physician tried to comfort him.
“Perhaps it won’t be so bad,” he said. “You needn’t make out your will right now.”
“I’m not making out my will or anything,” replied the man. “I’m just writing out a list of people I’m going to bite.”