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Chapter 9: I Bow Down to Myself

Janak is making these statements in ecstasy. The taste has arisen and he has become oblivious of everything else. If he could dance he would dance like Meera. If he could sing like Chaitanya he would sing. If he could play the flute, like Krishna he would play on his flute. Each individual has his own unique possibilities of expression. Janak was an emperor, a cultured man, a well-educated person, he was brilliant, the essence of brilliance - his statements are worthy of being written in gold letters in the history of man. To understand these words, put aside your own interpretations.

A poet says:

For some days I’m going sightseeing in this world,
the life of man is a window for seeing.
What kind of thing is this intellect
which stops my joyful heart in every activity,
which interferes with everything.
Creating beauty with meaning is the inspiration of a poet.
Getting entangled in words
is the art of the mere rhymester.
What kind of thing is this intellect
which stops my joyful heart in every activity,
which interferes with everything.

Whenever waves arise in the heart, the intellect immediately stops them. Whenever some feeling goes deep, the intellect immediately starts meddling.

What kind of thing is this intellect
which stops my joyful heart in every activity,
which interferes with everything.

Put this intellect aside a little - just for a little while, just for a moment. In these moments the clouds will scatter and the sun will be seen. If you cannot put this intellect aside it will go on interfering. It is in the habit of questioning. Its nature is to interfere, its juice is in meddling. And religion comes through the heart - those heart waves will be spoiled. The mind will influence them and they will be lost. Your understanding will be completely wrong.

Creating beauty with meaning is the inspiration of the poet.

A real poet, a seer, a sage, they give all their attention to meaning: “Creating beauty with meaning is the inspiration of a poet” - in his imagination the flowers of meaning blossom, the fragrance of meaning arises.

Getting entangled in words
is the art of the mere rhymester.

But one who is just rhyming verses gets entangled in words - he is not a poet. The rhyme-maker just goes on joining words to words. He has no use for meaning, getting words to fit together is enough.

Intellect is a rhyme-maker, a rhymester. The secret of meaning, the mystery of meaning is hidden in the heart. You will be able to listen only when you put aside the mind.

I have heard that Mulla Nasruddin went into a cloth shop and asked about a particular cloth, “Brother, what is the price of this cloth?”

The shopkeeper said, “Mulla, it’s five rupees per meter.”

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