How can you still your mind? Who is this one who is going to still the mind? It is mind itself. It will be just like a dog chasing its own tail. Hence, I say it is mystically incorrect. I don’t know much language, but I know what mysticism is. I may not be well informed about mysticism – but there is no need to be well informed about mysticism, it is my experience.
Information is knowledge received by tuition; knowing is knowledge unfolded in intuition. I am a mystic, I am not a poet. Rabindranath was a great poet, and he has seen to it that the translation should remain poetic, linguistically correct, but he has missed something of tremendous value.
Let me repeat it: Chalat mansa achal kinhi. “Oh my God, it is amazing! It is a miracle. I could never have believed that it could happen. It is incredible! So you have done it! And I am simply amazed…. I cannot believe it, and it has happened. I am nowhere. You have stilled me. Your grace is great.”
Kabir is grateful. This is a song of gratefulness. And Kabir does not believe in methods; he does not believe that man has to do something to attain to God. What can man do? Human hands are so small, their reach cannot be very big. Our reach will be our reach; how can we reach God through human reach? It is impossible. Only God can reach us. We can be available, that’s all. We can bow down, surrender, that’s all.
Kabir does not believe in effort, he believes in effortlessness. That’s what he calls sahaj samadhi, spontaneous ecstasy. Kabir is a lover; his path is the path of love. Love knows no effort.
Have you not observed it in your own life? Can you do anything about love? If I say to you, “Go and love that man,” what will you do? You will say, “What nonsense! How can I go and love like that?” You cannot command anybody to go and love somebody. If love happens, it happens; if it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t happen. There is no way to produce it on order. And that is one of the miseries of the world: we have all learned to produce it on order, so of course it is false.
The mother says to the child, “Love me, I’m your mother.” And the child is helpless, and the child is so dependent that rather than becoming a lover of his mother, he becomes a politician. He starts pretending, “Yes, I love you.” He smiles. We corrupt small children, we corrupt them into politicians. He does not mean it at all, but he has to do it. The mother says, “I am your mother and you have to love me.” Now, how is one supposed to love? What can you do to love somebody? You can pretend, you can act, you can play a game of love, but it will not be love at all. And the child starts playing a game of diplomacy. He becomes political. When the mother comes he smiles. The smile is just on the lips; you cannot force the heart to smile. You can, at the most, exercise the lips. And he looks at the mother with adoring eyes, false, and he says again and again to the mother, “I love you” – and so on and so forth.