In the presence of Gautam Buddha, nobody could raise his voice because his face, his eyes, his presence was so potent that whatever he said became an eternal truth. His presence was the authority. But once he was gone, even for the temple which was raised in the memory of his enlightenment, a brahmin priest had to be given charge because they could not find a Buddhist. And for twenty-five centuries, even today, a brahmin priest still owns the temple. His family has owned it for twenty-five centuries. What a contradiction!

Man is so blind – and is always late, always missing the train. He reaches the platform, but the train has left. But still, there is no complaint, but only compassion: And what shall I give unto them who have left their plough in midfurrow, or to him who has stopped the wheel of his winepress?

The concern of a man who is awakened is how to give you more: how to awaken you, how to give you eyes to see, ears to hear, a heart which feels – how to make you more loving.

Shall my heart become a tree heavy laden with fruit that I may gather and give to them?

There is not much time: “Some gift…” He’s not concerned about what they have done to him. He understands: whatever they have done was done in their sleep, in their unconsciousness.

A man of consciousness is not a beggar. He’s an emperor, always thinking of giving more and more – more than you can contain, more than you can understand. He goes on giving. Even as you go on crucifying these people, it is understood: “What you are doing, you can do only that.” Jesus on the cross prays to God only for one thing, and it is not for himself. It is for those who are crucifying him: “Father, forgive these people because they know not what they are doing.”

Shall my heart become a tree heavy laden with fruit that I may gather and give to them?
And shall my desires flow like a fountain that I may fill their cups?
Am I a harp that the hand of the mighty may touch me..?

The time is so short. He’s concerned: what to do? – he has nothing to give.

Am I a harp that the hand of the mighty may touch me, so I can go, leaving my music behind. They have not understood me, perhaps my music can awaken them.

…or a flute that his breath may pass through me?

As far as Almustafa is concerned, he knows he is no more. He has nothing to give. But he can become a flute, a hollow bamboo so that the breath of the universe may pass through me and become a song in the hearts of the people who are rushing toward him.

A seeker of silences I am…