But this is not the only possibility, of lovingness turning into a narrow, ugly desire to dominate, to possess, to be jealous of. If this were all, no intelligent person would have tolerated life for a single moment. For the intelligent person, suicide would have been the only way out.
But it is not so – because there is an alternative.
Love can become too much concentrated on the object, the beloved. And this is the misery; then you become dependent and nobody loves dependence.
The alternative is that love does not become addressed to a single person or a single object, but takes a diametrically opposite dimension – not towards the object but towards one’s own subjectivity.
One becomes love.
It is not a question of loving someone, of being in love with someone. It is simply a transformation of your consciousness: love is your fragrance. It has nothing to do with anybody else in the world.
That’s what happened, when you were waiting and waiting for me.
A moment is bound to come – if you are silent, joyous, trusting – when waiting can become a depth in your soul. And because you are not waiting for something or someone, you are the waiting – a silent watchfulness. And because you are not concerned with anything particular, objective, then everything that happens feels as if you were waiting for this.
All the flowers bloom for you and all the stars shine for you. Because you have not attached yourself to a particular flower, you have simply become an opening, a loving, a waiting consciousness.
This is not only true about waiting; it is true about all spiritual qualities. Either the quality can move towards an object or it can move towards one’s own being. When there is no object, the energy is bound to move inwards – energy cannot remain without movement.
Energy is movement.
When there is nothing outside, your own life forces turn inwards to the very source of your being.
And this is what I call enlightenment.
You cannot desire enlightenment; you can only wait.
You are asking me if I love you in the same way, with the same intensity, with the same totality as you love me.
It will be difficult for you to understand: there is a love which is not the love that you have known.
Your love, howsoever pure, carries something of biological unconsciousness in it. You are not totally free to love anybody.
Suddenly one day you fall in love with a person.
It is not your action. It is something unconscious in you – your chemistry, your biology, your physiology. They are all conspiring and giving you the idea of love.
I cannot love you in that sense.