Again and again the miracle of the morning…the sun and the trees. The world is just like a snow flower: take it in your hand and it melts away. Nothing is left, just a wet hand. But if you see, just see, then a snow flower is as beautiful as any flower in the world. And this miracle happens every morning, every afternoon, every evening, every night, twenty-four hours, day in, day out…the miracle. And people go to worship God in temples, churches, mosques and synagogues. The world must be full of fools – sorry, not fools but idiots, incurable, suffering from such retardedness. Has one to go to a temple to search for God? Is he not here and now?

The very idea of search is idiotic. One searches for that which is far away, and God is so close, closer than your own heartbeat. When I see the miracle every moment I am amazed how it is possible. Such creativity! It is possible only because there is no creator. If there were a creator you would have the same Monday every Monday, because the creator created the world in six days, then was finished with it. There is no creator, but only creative energy – energy in millions of forms, melting, meeting, appearing, disappearing, coming together and departing.

That is why I say the priest is the farthest away from the truth, and a poet, the closest. Of course the poet has not attained it either. Only the mystic attains it…. Attain is not the right word: he becomes it, or rather he finds that he has always been it.

People ask me, “Do you believe in astrology, in religion…in this, in that?” I don’t believe in anything at all, because I know. That reminds me of the story I was telling you the other day…. The old astrologer came. My grandfather could not believe his eyes. The astrologer was so famous that even kings would have been surprised if he had visited their palace; and he came to my old grandfather’s house. It has to be called a house, but it was nothing much, just made of mud walls, not even a separate bathroom. He visited us and I immediately became a friend to the old man.

Looking into his eyes, although I was only seven, and I could not read a word…but I could read his eyes – they don’t need your three Rs. I said to the astrologer, “It is strange that you traveled so far just to make my birth chart.”

Varanasi in those days, and even now, is far away from that small village. The old man said, “I had promised, and a promise has to be fulfilled.” The way he said “a promise has to be fulfilled” thrilled me. Here was an alive man!

I said to him, “If you have come to fulfill your promise, then I can predict your future.”

He said, “What! You can predict my future?”