Meditation makes everything undefined. Meditation takes you into the unknown, the uncharted. Meditation takes you slowly, slowly into a kind of dissolution where the observer and the observed become one. Now, that is not possible in science. The observer has to be the observer and the observed has to be the observed and a clearcut distinction has to be maintained continuously. Not even for a single moment should you forget yourself, not even for a single moment should you become interested, dissolved, overwhelmed, passionate, loving towards the object of your inquiry. You have to be detached, you have to be very cold – cold, absolutely indifferent. And indifference kills mystery.
Between the world of meditation and the mind there is a bridge: that bridge is called the heart. The heart is just exactly in between the two. Hence, the poet lives in a twilight land: something of him can be scientific and something of him can be mystic. But that is the anxiety of the poet also, because he lives in two dimensions, diametrically opposite to each other. Hence, poets tend to go mad, tend to commit suicide; they are always known as a little bit crazy, outlandish. Something about them remains berserk for the simple reason that they are not settled anywhere. They are neither in the world of facts nor in the world of existentials; they are in a limbo.
The poet can have a certain taste of the mysterious, but that too only rarely; it comes and goes. The mystic lives there, the poet only jumps once in a while and feels the joy of jumping beyond gravitation. But within a minute or within seconds he is back, crushed against the forces of gravitation.
Poetry is a kind of hopping. Once in awhile you are in the sky, for a moment you feel as if you have wings, but only for a moment. Hence, the despair of the poet, because he falls again and again from his peaks. He gathers a few glimpses… The greatest poets too have been able to gather only a few glimpses of the beyond.
But the mystic lives in the world of mystery. His approach is absolutely transcendental to science. He is neither in the mind nor in the heart, but in the beyond – he has transcended both.
Walter, if you really want the experience of the mysterious then you will have to open a new door in your being. I am not saying stop being a scientist, I am simply saying that science can remain a peripheral activity to you. When in the lab be a scientist, but when you come out of the lab forget all about science. Then listen to the birds not in a scientific way! Look at the flowers not in a scientific way, because when you look at a rose in a scientific way it is a totally different kind of thing that you are looking at. It is not the same rose that a poet experiences.
The experience does not depend on the object, the experience depends on the experiencer, on the quality of experiencing. When the scientist looks at the rose he thinks of colors, chemistry, physics, atoms, electrons, neutrons and whatnot…except beauty. Beauty does not come into his vision, and that’s what the rose is.