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Chapter 1: Throw the Bucket and Draw the Water

One drunkard was torturing his wife by continually coming home late. Every night it was a fight. Finally, the wife gave up and she told the man, “You keep the key. Unlock the door from the outside and come in silently. Don’t disturb my sleep, and don’t create any nuisance so that the neighbors are disturbed. Just come and go to sleep.”

The drunkard was very happy. That day he drank as much as he wanted; now there was no question of any problem arising out of it. Then he came home. He tried to be as silent as possible - opened the door, went into the bathroom to change his clothes, looked into the mirror and said, “My God.”

All his face was scratched. Blood was oozing, because he had been in a fight in the pub. He said, “Right now I have managed perfectly silently, but in the morning the wife is going to discover these scratches and this blood, and that will bring the whole problem again - the same fight. Somehow I have to hide the scratches; I should at least put some ointment on them.”

He looked all around. He could not find anything except his wife’s lipstick. He thought it looked like an ointment, and it was very helpful because it covered the scratches, the blood. He was very happy at his success, went to his bed, and there was no quarrel, no fight. It was one of the most beautiful nights of his life!

But in the morning, the wife shouted from the bathroom, “Are you mad or what? You have destroyed my lipstick. Not only that, why have you been painting the mirror?”

He was, poor fellow, trying to put the ointment on his face, but his face was in the mirror. So in the mirror wherever there were scratches or blood on his face, he did a great job of painting - the lipstick was finished and the mirror was spoiled.

He could not believe how it could have happened. He said, “I did not want to disturb you so I tried some ointment, and only this thing looked like ointment. I don’t know what happened to me, why I have put it on the mirror. I was putting it on my own face!”

In life, what you see shows much about you, not about what you are seeing. The same sunset looks beautiful to one person, and to another, sad. And to another it doesn’t matter; he remains indifferent. The sunset is the same. It looks beautiful to the person who is capable of being in tune with it, who is capable of being silent and a mirror to reflect it into his own being; who can drink out of it, its colors, its radiance, its splendor.

The same sunset looks sad not beautiful to somebody else because he is sad; he projects his sadness onto it. And the third person lives in a way which can be called the way of indifference. He never looks at the sunset or the moon or the trees or the flowers or people. He has eyes but he never uses them. He is in such a rush, in such a hurry to reach somewhere he knows not where.just a tension, a constant running after shadows. He does not have time to waste to look at a stupid sunset.

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