And if a living myth is available, don’t miss it, because a dead myth loses all contact with truth. It becomes a lie. That’s why religion has to be born again and again. When Jesus was alive, the Christian myth was alive. Then people traveled through that myth and reached to truth. Jesus gone, the myth is there but the truth is gone. When the myth is there but Jesus is no longer there, the other shore is missing. Then it is again just a lie, just a fiction with no grounding in the truth.
Christianity is a lie, Jesus is a myth; Krishna is a myth, Hinduism is a lie. That’s why down through the centuries it has always been emphasized that if you can find a living master, don’t miss the opportunity. A living master is a myth: something of the untrue and something of the true – both. Something of the untrue means something of the human, and something of the true means something of the divine. That’s why the Gospel says Jesus is the son of man and the son of God. This is a myth: the son of man and the son of God is an impossibility, but that’s what a myth is. God and man meeting, son of God and son of man – something of the lie and something of the truth…
But Jesus gone, then only lies remain. The Pope is not a myth, neither is the shankaracharya of Puri. Dead! They don’t speak from their own experience; they speak from tradition.
A myth is a very fragile flower, like a roseflower. In the morning it is there in all its glory – even Solomon will feel jealous – and by the evening it is gone. How fragile and how strong! In the morning breeze how strong it was, and how beautiful. Even the vast sky must have felt jealous, and even the sun himself must have felt jealous. A roseflower is a roseflower – so small and yet so beautiful, so fragile and so vital and so alive, so fragrant. By the evening, the petals have fallen to the earth and the flower is gone.
A Jesus is also fragile, a Buddha is also fragile.
While I am here, it is a myth – an living myth with a beating heart. Use this opportunity. When I am gone, it will be a lie.
And this is the misery, that by the time people come to know, the flower is gone. When the flower is gone, they will worship for centuries and centuries. They will worship the past, the dead, the grave. When the flower is alive, they will deny it, they will escape, they will protect and defend themselves against it. They may even destroy the flower because the very existence of the flower makes them feel very sad. The very existence of the flower makes them aware of their smallness, their ugliness. The flower creates a contrast.
Hence they crucify Jesus and poison Socrates and kill Mansoor. And then they worship them. The same people who kill Jesus will worship him. They will even worship the cross, because Jesus died on the cross. And these are the same people: the murderers and the worshipers are not different, the enemies and the believers are not different. These are the same people – the same human mind and the same human stupidity.
Yes, it is a fiction that I am creating here, but it is alive. That is the difference. While I am here, the myth is an alive bridge; you can pass through it toward the unknown.