Kabir is no more. Although Kabir had started to search, what he wanted to find has been found; but the searcher has disappeared.

Those lines are beautiful, but before dying, just on his deathbed, he called his son, Kamal, and said, “You change those two lines. It is true that Kabir has disappeared. The seeker has disappeared; although what he had started out to find has been found. But the second line…I was too young, and the experience was too new.

“I am sorry that I wrote it, that the dewdrop has disappeared into the ocean. Now at my ripe old age, I can see that something just the contrary of what I had written had happened. So change it, write:

The ocean has disappeared
into the dew drop.

Both are true, but the second has deeper implications. It is not only man who is in search of God. It is not only that man disappears in God; God is also in search of man.

And when the meeting happens, it is far more significant to say that the God disappears into the man. And you are aware of it; otherwise the question would not have come to your mind.

You are saying, “Who wants to reach the ocean?”

It is just like an old parable of Aesop. A fox was trying to reach to the fruits which were hanging, ripe, on a tall tree. But her jump always fell short. She tried hard, again and again, but she could not reach the fruits. A small rabbit was watching the whole thing. The fox was not aware that there was somebody watching. Tired, the fox moved away from the tree, and the rabbit asked, “Uncle, what happened?” And the fox said, “The fruits are not yet ripe. And who cares about fruits which are not ripe?”

There have been many sannyasins who used to live on the campus, in other houses, and sometimes they were moved to Lao Tzu. And they wrote a letter to me saying, “We owe an apology to you, because living in other houses, we were always thinking, ‘Who cares to live in Lao Tzu?’ But now that we have come to live in Lao Tzu, we know perfectly well that we were repressing our desire, our longing, to be in Lao Tzu, and just consoling ourselves, ‘Who cares.’”

Don’t be like the fox in Aesop’s parable. Don’t say, “Who cares for the ocean.” The whole dance of the river is for the ocean. It is moving from the mountain just like a newly married girl, running to meet her lover.