I am having questions coming to me. I write them down and read them over. Meditating again, I often get the answer, and coincidentally, many times the same question is read out to you in the discourse or at the video that night. Even if it is from someone else, I feel that it is my question, and I feel as if I am being answered. Also, being here with you, my intuition is functioning more clearly than ever.
Beloved master, can you please comment?
It is a fallacy that any question is yours. It is just an old habit of possessiveness: the house is mine, the wife is mine, the child is mine, even the question is mine. All human beings are potentially capable of all the questions that any one of you can ask, because all questions come out of your insane mind and you are all equally insane. There are only a few things in which you are equal – insanity is one of them. Only once in a while somebody is more insane than others; then he is caught. And the whole function of psychologists, psychiatrists, psychotherapists is not to destroy insanity – they cannot; they don’t have any understanding about what sanity is. All that they can do is that when somebody has gone a little ahead of the average insane humanity, they can pull him back: “Just be normal.” Just be normal means just be normally insane; don’t try to be abnormal. Abnormally insane people are thought to be mad. Normally insane people raise no questions, no problems, because they are the only kind of people there are, although they are full of the same problems as the mad people. But the difference is of quantity.
Just sit down in your room, close all the doors and lock them from inside and write down on your pad anything that goes on in your mind. Don’t do any kind of editing work, simply go on writing whatever comes into your mind. And you will be surprised; after ten minutes, read it, and you will be shocked: is it written by you or by some insane person? What kind of nonsense, what rubbish goes on and on in your mind?
It is said that God made the world. There are many people who prove that there are so many mistakes in the world it cannot be made by God. A perfect God cannot make such an imperfect world. But on one point I have a soft spot for him: he has not made small windows in your head through which others can look inside at what is going on. Otherwise, it would have been such a perfect world – just little windows, so at least your friends can just have a look at what is going on. And they will be surprised that on the face nothing shows, and inside this man is carrying such garbage. And it goes on, round and round, twenty-four hours a day.