Chapter 4: Go with the River
The first question:
It seems to me that I don’t understand anything.
That’s far out, Vidya. If it is really true, then it is great. If you don’t understand anything, then the door is open, then there is nothing to hinder your way, to hinder your vision. It is knowledge that is obstructing. Ignorance is an opening. Ignorance is very blissful. It is knowledge that creates noise. It is knowledge that does not allow you to see. If your eyes are completely rid of knowledge, then what is there to hinder you from seeing the truth? The truth is obvious. You just need a clarity to see it. Ignorance gives that clarity.
To be consciously ignorant is to be in satori. A child is ignorant, but not conscious of his ignorance. A saint is ignorant, but is conscious of his ignorance. He knows that he knows not. That’s the only difference. The child also knows not, but he does not know it. The saint knows that he knows not. His whole knowledge consists of one single thing: that there is nothing to be known and there is no possibility to know, that the whole effort towards knowledge is futile, that existence is such a mystery that it can never be reduced to knowledge.
All that we know is superficial, arbitrary. All that we know has nothing to do with reality. The reality remains untouched by our knowledge. The reality remains mysterious.
If it is really true that you have become aware of your ignorance, then there is nothing else to be sought, nothing else to attain. Relax in this ignorance. Accept this ignorance. And feel blissful.
But it may not be true. That’s why I say if it is true. It may again be just a hankering to know. Then you have not understood, then you are not at ease with your non-knowing. The question seems to be because you are worried; otherwise why a question? You are worried. Something is gnawing at your heart. You are worried that “I don’t understand anything, and I have to understand.” In fact, when Vidya had come, she must have thought that she knows. Now by and by I have been hammering on her, and her knowledge has disappeared. Now she is worried.
When you come to me you come full of knowledge. You come with much luggage, and that luggage has to be destroyed, burned utterly, so that you cannot find it again. When you lose your luggage you start feeling as if you are missing something. Naturally so. You have been carrying the load so long; now suddenly it is gone; you feel you are missing something. The question has arisen because of your feeling that something is being missed: “I don’t know anything?” The knowledge has disappeared and ignorance has not yet been accepted.