In Greek mythology there is a very beautiful story. The story is about a man whose name was Procrastes. He must have been the greatest logician ever born. And the Greek mind is logical; the story gives the whole meaning of the Greek mind.
Procrastes was a very generous man, but logical, a very rich man, but logical. How can a man who is logical be very generous? His generosity will also be poisoned by his logic. He was rich, many guests used to visit him, but no guest ever returned from his palace. What happened to the guests?
Procrastes had a bed made of gold with precious stones studded all over it. There existed no other bed in the world more valuable. And that was the bed that was used for the guests. Whenever a guest lay down on the bed Procrastes would come and look. If the guest was a little shorter than the bed he had four very strong men stretch the guest from both ends so that he became consistent in size with the bed; otherwise he was smaller. Of course the guest would die. If the guest was longer than the bed, that too happened some rare times, then he would cut off the head or the feet of the guest. The guest had to fit with the bed. The bed was so valuable; the bed was not to fit with the guest.
That is the whole point in logic: life has to fit, attune itself to logic, not logic to life. Logic exists in itself; life has to attune to it. Logic doesn’t exist for life ( as if life exists for logic. No guest ever came out of the house alive. No guest can ever come out of the house of logic alive – that is the meaning of the story.
A logical pattern is mind-created. Then you want life to fit with it: if you feel life is a little short you stretch it; if you feel life is a little long you cut it, but it has to fit with the logical pattern that your mind has dreamed of. If you move into life you will never find logic growing anywhere, it is just a nightmare in the human mind. Trees live very illogically – they follow Lao Tzu. Birds live very illogically, rivers flow very illogically. In fact the whole of existence exists without any logic. It may be a poetry but it is not a syllogism – hence it is so beautiful. Logical syllogism is a dead phenomenon.
If you move into life you can see in life all the poems that have ever been written by any poet – you can find Kalidas and Bruvudhi, you can find Shakespeare and Milton, you can find Shelley and Byron. If you move into life you can find all the poems that have ever been written alive somewhere, growing somewhere, flowering somewhere; but you cannot find a logical treatise, you cannot find Aristotle anywhere.