You cannot solve the problems of your life remaining in the same vicious rut. You have to jump out. And the miracle is, the moment you jump out, all those problems subside and disappear.
The only problem is being in the mind.
And the only solution is to get beyond mind.
I call it meditation.
Western psychology tries to solve the problem inside the mind. It has not yet come to the understanding that the mind itself is the problem.
Problems arise out of mind just as leaves grow out of trees. You can go on cutting those leaves, pruning those leaves, and they will come thicker and thicker; the foliage will become thicker than before.
You cannot solve problems of the mind by getting answers to them, because they are not intellectual problems. The problems are existential.
For example: you are thirsty, the problem is existential, and somebody starts giving you a discourse on thirst, on water, on the components of water; explains to you how water quenches the thirst. You will say, “That is all right, but I am thirsty right now. I am not interested that water is composed of hydrogen and oxygen, and that is not my problem. I am not inquiring intellectually about thirst and water; my problem is a problem of life and death.”
I have heard…. On one Saturday night in a pub, there was a great crowd and people were enjoying. Suddenly, a stranger came from the street and announced in the pub: “I challenge anybody! My expertise is to tell the make of the wine, the year it was made, the company by which it was made – blindfolded, just by tasting it, I can tell you about all kinds of wines.”
There was great interest; they were all wine lovers. Immediately, a black cloth was put over his eyes. Wine after wine was produced….
“Lafitte Rothschild, 1938.”
The pub was running out of its wines, and each time he was right, about the make, about the year – even about the year! He had developed that sensitivity for almost half a century. And in fact, that had been his family’s business for centuries – they were famous for being able to taste a wine and determine its quality, to decide the year of the wine.
Then, somebody produced a glass – he sipped…looked bewildered. He sipped again. There was pindrop silence. He sipped a third time and he said, “My God, this is urine!” He pulled off the black cloth covering the glass and he said, “Hell, you men! This is pure urine, fresh – still lukewarm!”
And in the crowd, from the back came a small voice, “But whose?”
Mind is such – question after question, relevant, irrelevant. Now the poor man, how is he to…he is a wine expert! He’s not Morarji Desai.
Morarji Desai perhaps could manage to tell whose urine this is and what year.