Living in the memories or living in imagination – that is the way of passion. Passion is a wavering – either to the left or to the right, but never in the middle. And middle is the truth, the present is the truth…the door to reality.
Buddha says: Those who have passions are never able to perceive the way.
We are always on the way – there is no other way to be – but we never perceive that which we are always together with. We are always in God, but we never perceive God. God is so obvious. But we perceive everything except God, and he surrounds you…within and without. He is pulsating in everything. Only he is…but you cannot see him because you are never in the real, you are unreal. So how can the unreal meet the real? A mind full of passion cannot meet with the real. And this continues.
Children are full of passion. One can understand – they are childish, they don’t know life yet. Young people are full of passion. One can forgive them too; they are yet too young. That means they are yet too foolish – they will have to learn. But even old people, dying, on their deathbed…but still full of passion. Then it is too much; an old man cannot be forgiven.
A child is okay, a young man can still be forgiven, but an old man? – impossible to forgive. He has lived his whole life and he has not come to understand a simple fact – that you cannot be in the future and you cannot be in the past. He has lived his whole life and he has been frustrated each moment of it, and yet he goes on expecting. He has lived his whole life, desiring and desiring and desiring, and nothing has come out of it. Death has come and life has not yet arrived. He has been waiting only, preparing for it…it has not happened. Yet he goes on – hankering for more life.
As I see many people…I have watched people dying – it is very rarely that a person dies without passion. When a person dies without passion, the death is beautiful. It has tremendous significance, it has intrinsic value. But people die ugly deaths. Even death cannot shake them out of the dreams and passions and fevers. Even death cannot make them realize what is happening.
I have heard a very beautiful anecdote:
There is a whorehouse. The doorbell rings and the madam answers it, but she sees no one. Then, looking downstairs, she sees a man with no arms or legs sitting on a platform with wheels. She says to the guy, “What could you possibly want here?”
The guy looks up at her, smiles and says, “I rang the doorbell didn’t I?”