I have stilled my restless mind,
and my heart is radiant:
for in thatness I have seen beyond thatness,
in company I have seen the comrade himself.
Living in bondage, I have set myself free:
I have broken away from the clutch of all narrowness.
Kabir says: I have attained the unattainable,
and my heart is colored with the color of love.
That which you see is not:
and for that which is, you have no words.
Unless you see, you believe not:
what is told you, you cannot accept.
He who is discerning knows by the word;
and the ignorant stands gaping.
Some contemplate the formless,
and others meditate on form;
but the wise man knows
that Brahma is beyond both.
That beauty of his is not seen of the eye,
that meter of his is not heard of the ear.
Kabir says: He who has found both love and renunciation
never descends to death.
It was a beautiful morning, and the sun was just rising on the horizon, and the first rays of the sun were playing with the almond leaves, and I saw an owl settling on the almond tree. He said, “Getting dark! Is this a good place to rest until dawn?”
Only a rabbit was listening to him. The rabbit said, “Sir, it is dawn! The sun is rising. You have it the wrong way round.”
The understanding of an owl is totally different: the night is day for him and the day is night, and in the morning he settles for the night. Evening is his dawn.
And this much gap exists between the mystic and the non-mystic. What is dawn for a mystic is a dark night for you, and what is a dark night for the mystic is all that your life consists of. Hence, the misunderstanding.
Mystics have always been misunderstood. They say something, we understand something totally different. Misunderstanding is so natural between a mystic and a non-mystic that understanding seems almost a miracle. And whenever it happens that understanding flows between a mystic and a non-mystic, the non-mystic is no longer a non-mystic; he is transformed by that very understanding.
“Kindly let me help you or you will drown,” said the monkey, putting the fish safely up a tree.
Now, he is trying hard to be compassionate, trying to save the fish from drowning. He is bound to kill the fish – out of compassion. This has to be taken in very deeply; this will be the turning point.
Now, Kabir is a mystic, one of the greatest. What he is trying to say, in the first place, is much distorted the moment he says it, because he has known it in a state where words never penetrate, where silence is eternal. He has known it, experienced it, encountered it, but in a moment when he was not a mind.