I speak on Krishna. He is multidimensional, superhuman, miraculous, but looks more like a myth than a real man. He is so extraordinary that he cannot be. On this earth such extraordinary persons cannot exist – they exist only as dreams. And myths are nothing but collective dreams. The whole of humanity has been dreaming them…beautiful, but unbelievable. I talk about Krishna and I enjoy it, but I enjoy it as one enjoys a beautiful story and the telling of a beautiful story. But it is not very meaningful – a cosmic gossip.
I speak on Jesus Christ. I feel deep sympathy for him. I would like to suffer with him and I would like to carry his cross a little while by his side. But we remain parallel, we never meet. He is so sad, so burdened – burdened with the miseries of the whole of humanity. He cannot laugh. If you move with him too long you will become sad, you will lose laughter. A gloominess surrounds him. I feel for him but I would not like to be like him. I can walk with him a little while and share his burden – but then we part. Our ways are different ways. He is good, but too good, almost inhumanly good.
I speak on Zarathustra – very rarely, but I love the man as a friend loves another friend. You can laugh with him. He is not a moralist, not a puritan; he can enjoy life and everything that life gives. A good friend – you could be with him forever – but he is just a friend. Friendship is good, but not enough.
I speak on Buddha – I love him. Down through the centuries, through many lives, I have loved him. He is tremendously beautiful, extraordinarily beautiful, superb. But he is not on the earth, he does not walk on the earth. He flies in the sky and leaves no footprints. You cannot follow him, you never know his whereabouts. He is like a cloud. Sometimes you meet him but that is accidental. And he is so refined that he cannot take roots on this earth. He is meant for some higher heaven. In that way he is one-sided. Earth and heaven don’t meet in him. He is heavenly but the earthly part is missing. He is like a flame, beautiful, but there is no oil, no container – you can see the flame but it is going higher and higher, nothing holds it on the earth. I love him, I speak on him from my heart, but still, a distance remains. It always remains in the phenomenon of love – you come closer and closer and closer, but even in closeness there is a distance. That is the misery of all lovers.
I speak on Lao Tzu totally differently. I am not related to him because even to be related a distance is needed. I don’t love him, because how can you love yourself? When I speak on Lao Tzu I speak as if I am speaking on my own self. With him my being is totally one. When I speak on Lao Tzu it is as if I am looking in a mirror – my own face is reflected. When I speak on Lao Tzu, I am absolutely with him. Even to say “absolutely with him” is not true – I am him, he is me.
Historians are doubtful about his existence. I cannot doubt his existence because how can I doubt my own existence? The moment I became possible, he became true to me. Even if history proves that he never existed it makes no difference to me; he must have existed because I exist – I am the proof. During the following days when I speak on Lao Tzu, it is not that I speak on somebody else. I speak on myself – as if Lao Tzu is speaking through a different name, a different nama-rupa, a different incarnation.