There is another beautiful story about one strange mystic woman, Rabiya al Adabiya. She used to pass from the marketplace every day just to purchase some vegetables, some fruits for herself. Just in the middle of the marketplace was the mosque. She never went in, she never used to visit the mosque, she never participated in any kind of religious ritual. She always saw a man who later on became a great friend and disciple of Rabiya – his name was Hassan – praying in front of the mosque every day, a very heartfelt prayer, tears rolling down from his eyes, hands raised toward the sky – and he was calling just like a lost small child for the mother. He was always saying only one thing: “Open thy doors! How long are you not going to take any note of me? I am crying, I am calling! I am dying without you! I cannot live without you! Open thy doors!” Perhaps he was following Jesus’ advice: Knock and the doors shall be opened unto you.
Again and again Rabiya has heard this man Hassan crying, weeping, shouting. One day she came behind him, hit him on the head. Perhaps Hassan thought that God has come, but what kind of coming? – from behind and hitting him on the head? And he looked, and this strange woman was there. And he knew about this strange woman – everybody was aware of her strange ways.
She shouted at Hassan and said, “Stop all this nonsense! The doors are always open. But you are a fool. You don’t look at the open doors; you simply go on calling, ‘Open the doors!’ How can he open when the doors are already open? Just look!”
It was a transformation. For half a moment Hassan was shocked. Sometimes the shock can become an opening, because when you are shocked your thinking stops. For a moment he forgot all his prayer, all his searching. For a moment he was at a loss what to say.
At that very moment Rabiya laughed and said, “Do you see? It is already open! There is no need to cry and call for God to open it. He has never closed it.”
Since then Hassan was not seen at the mosque door. Since then he disappeared in the communion of Rabiya. Finally he became a great mystic, a realized soul, a buddha himself.
Lao Tzu also says: “Seek and ye shall never find it; do not seek and right now you have found it.”
Seeking implies the seeker, and the seeker is the ego, and the ego is the only barrier; the ego can never become the bridge.
Hence I say to you, the love that exists between a master and a disciple is not a relationship, it is dissolution of all relationships. It is a totally different phenomenon. It is not part of the world of your so-called relationships: husband and wife, mother and child, brother and sister. You cannot reduce it to any definition, any defined relationship; it is a very diffused phenomenon.
It is like two candles burning in a room, their light will become one. You will not be able to draw a line, you will not be able to separate the two lights, you will not be able to say which light belongs to which candle. In the love of a master and the disciple there are not even two candles either. The light is there, penetrating each other; there are no candles either. It is simply an orgasmic merging of two lights.
Hence, the first thing to be remembered, it is not a relationship, so how can it be established? That word established is ugly. Anything established becomes dead; anything established means; now there is no opening, no growth possible; things have settled.