That’s the very purpose of my stopping: to pull the carpet from under your feet, to give you a chance to become aware what you are without me. So once in a while, I pretend to be sick. I have to; otherwise you start forgetting your reality. You start becoming more and more my music, my poetry, my painting, and I don’t want that. You have to be your own music and you have to be your own poetry.
You have to be just yourself.
What happens when I stop speaking? You are saying, “Everything feels fine when you are talking, but when you stop it feels like the carpet has been pulled from under my feet.” Suddenly you become aware of all the garbage that you had forgotten you are carrying within you. All that crap – centuries old – starts rising within your mind; it is really stinking. You forget all the fragrance I was talking about; you don’t see any flowers anywhere. You don’t see the beautiful sunrises, the beautiful sunsets; you don’t hear anymore the songs of the birds. You are so full of your own garbage, you become completely closed to the world.
I open you, your windows, your doors, your eyes, your ears. I give you a chance to be unafraid, fearless, and open your doors.
The unknown is not your enemy.
The unknown is your friend.
The stranger is your guest.
Allow the strange, allow the unfamiliar.
With me you gather courage, you open up; you start listening to the silences, you start seeing the beauties of existence. But left alone you immediately rush to close your doors and windows, and start hiding in your dark hole which you think is your security and safety.
It is not safety, it is not security, it is your grave – although the grave has a certain kind of security. For example, you cannot die again. You can rest at ease, no death is ever going to disturb you – but do you want that kind of security? The dead are so safe, they will not even fall sick, not even the common cold – no problems, no anxieties, no responsibilities.
While you are alive, don’t create a grave for yourself. As I see it, everybody is a gravedigger; he digs his own grave continuously, in search of security, safety, protecting himself from the unknown, the unfamiliar, the strange – who knows what it is. It is better to live with your known sadness, misery, darkness – but at least you know them, you have been with them long enough, you are acquainted.
So the moment you are not listening to me, you start listening to yourself. That is the problem. You have to come to a point when you don’t have anything to say. Then without me you will have even greater experiences, even greater ecstasies, even greater moments of splendor.
I am simply showing you the path.
It leads to faraway stars.
But when I am not with you, you have to understand that what starts surfacing in you is your reality – and you have to get beyond it.