When Buddha communicates he is also communing. He is saying something and he is also being something. If you listen to his words you can find them in the Upanishads, in the Vedas, somewhere, but if you listen to his being, not to his words, if you listen to his heart, the beat, the rhythm of his being, if you listen to his breathing, the way he is, just now this moment, the miracle that he is, the magic that he is – if you listen to that, then no Upanishad can report anything about it. This man has never been there! For the first time he is there; he is original.
I am talking to you, I have to use language. If you listen only to that which I am saying and not also to that which I am being you will miss my originality. Listen to the gaps between the words. Listen to the emptiness between the lines. Listen to me, not to what I say. Then an understanding will arise, and suddenly, like a flash of lightning, you will be able to see me – and the original that is right now happening before you.
But it is not part of mind. Mind is a mechanism. It cannot be original; it is not even alive – how can it be original? It is social. Hence the insistence of all the awakened ones that unless you drop the mind you will not be able to know the truth, because truth is always original. Mind: always borrowed; truth: always original. Mind and truth cannot meet.
Meditation is to attain to a no-mindness, to a state of no-thought. In that opening of no-thought, in that kind of space, suddenly you become pure, innocent, uncorrupted. You have never been like that before nobody has ever been like that before nobody is going to be like that again. Unique.
And to know that is to realize one’s self. To know that is to know all. If you have not known that, whatsoever else you know is just rubbish, garbage.
If you know that one, the original within you – the nameless, because the original cannot have any name; the formless, because the original cannot have any form; unknown, because the original cannot be known; uncharted, unpenetrated, virgin, only then you come to feel the ecstasy of existence, the beauty of it.
It happened once, in a police station; a Sufi mystic entered; he was naked, and a crowd was following him. To the police officer he said: I have been robbed. All that I had has been stolen, and as you can see, I am standing naked; my coat, my clothes, my bed, my quilt, my cushion, my pillow, my umbrella – everything has been stolen; but he was very calm and quiet. The police officer wrote down the whole list – it was very long.
And then suddenly there appeared a man who was following the crowd, and he threw an old blanket before the police officer, and he said: This is all, a wretched old blanket, that I have stolen from this man, and he is saying it was his whole world!
The Sufi took the blanket, covered his body, started moving out of the police station – the police officer stopped him, he said: First you will have to give an explanation because you have given such a big list, it is false!
The man said: No? because this is all that I have. When it is raining I use it as an umbrella. Sometimes I use it as a bed. And this is my only clothing. In the cold this is my coat. In the day I use it as a cushion. In the night, sometimes as a pillow. These are the functions of my blanket, but this is the whole world I have and the list is not false.