So it is possible, Kaveesha. Sitting here just doing nothing, the spring may come at any moment, and for the first time you will understand the significance of the haiku, because something in you starts growing – so alive. It is pure life. It is you. It is your being – but there is no way to intellectually understand it.
In the East, for thousands of years, disciples have been sitting by the side of the master, just doing nothing. It looks strange to the Western mind, that what is the point of sitting there? If you go to a Sufi gathering, the master is sitting in the middle and all around his disciples are sitting silently – nothing is happening, the master is not even saying anything. Hours pass….
But something transpires – they all feel a fulfillment. When they come out, they are radiant. The master has not done anything; neither have they done anything. They fall in the same tune because both were not doing anything, both were silent.
It is possible that now you understand the haiku. Sitting here every day, just listening to me, a silence descends on you, and suddenly there is spring and the grass is growing.
The East has to be understood in its own ways. If somebody tries to interpret it intellectually, he has missed the point from the very beginning.
To me, your discourses feel like a deep cleaning inside. Whatever load of pain, anger, or any negative feeling I carry with me when I come into discourse, it has disappeared when I walk out, and I feel light and refreshed. Sometimes, it doesn’t take me long to create another one, but I know it is not going to last longer than the end of the next discourse. When away from you, although I used to meditate every day, things were taking much longer to disappear. Can you comment?
It is just the same thing…. Away from me you were trying to meditate, and that doer was your disturbance. With me – I am not even telling you to meditate; I am just talking to you and creating a certain atmosphere in which meditation happens to you.
So while you are here, see the difference between doing and happening. Alone also, let it happen. If you become accustomed to my voice, perhaps you can put on the tape recorder: forget about meditation. Just listen and the meditation will come. And, slowly, slowly this coming of meditation can be detached from listening to me.
You can sit by the side of the sea and listen to the waves crashing on the shore – so joyfully, so dancingly they come, and they have been doing that for millennia and they are not tired yet. Just listen to them. Or sitting under a tree, just listen to the birds, or the wind blowing through the tree.