Now we are finished with this German and sadness, right? At least giggle…good! Yes, I can understand. Even if you laugh in sadness it has a different color to it, but it is natural. My sannyasins have to learn to be a little above nature. They have to learn things which, in the ordinary world, nobody cares about. Separation has its own beauty, as does meeting. I don’t see that there is anything wrong with separation. Separation has its own poetry; one just has to learn its language, and one has to live it in its depth. Then out of sadness itself comes a new kind of joy…which looks almost impossible, but it happens. I have known it. That’s what I was talking about this morning. I was talking about the death of my Nana.
It was a total separation. We will not meet again, yet there was a beauty in it, and he made it more beautiful by repeating the mantra. He made it more prayerful…it became fragrant. He was old, and dying, perhaps from a severe heart attack. We were not aware of it because the village had no doctor, not even a pharmacist, no medicine, so we didn’t know the cause of his death, but I think it was a severe heart attack.
I asked him in his ear, “Nana, have you something to say to me before you depart? Any last words? Or do you want to give me something to remember you by forever?”
He took off his ring and put it in my hand. That ring is with some sannyasin now; I gave it to someone. But that ring was always a mystery. His whole life he would not allow anybody to see what was in it, yet again and again he used to look into it. That ring had a glass window on both sides that you could look through. On top was a diamond; on each of its sides there was a glass window.
He had not allowed anybody to see what it was that he used to look at through the window. Inside there was a statue of Mahavira, the Jaina tirthankara; a really beautiful image, and very small. It must have been a small picture of Mahavira inside, and those two windows were magnifying glasses. They magnified it and it looked really huge. It was of no use to me because, I am sorry to say, even though I have tried my best I have never been able to love Mahavira as much as I love Buddha, although they were contemporaries.
Something is missing in Mahavira, and without it my heart cannot beat for him. He looks exactly like a stone statue. Buddha looks more alive, but not up to my standards of aliveness – that’s why I want him to become a Zorba too. If he meets me somewhere in the other world there is going to be great trouble. He is going to shout at me, “You wanted me to become a Zorba!”
But you know I know how to shout far better. He cannot shut me up; I am going to have my own way. If he does not want to become a Zorba, that is his own business, but then his world is finished; he has no future. If he wants a future then he has to listen to me. He has to become a Zorba. Neither can Zorba exist alone – he will end in Hiroshima – nor can Buddha exist alone. In the future there is no possibility of their being separate.
The future psychology of man needs to be a bridge between materialism and spiritualism; between East and West. Someday the world will feel grateful that my message is reaching to the West; otherwise seekers have been going to the East. This time a living buddha’s message has come to the West.
The West does not know how to recognize a buddha. It has never known a buddha. It has known only partial buddhas – a Jesus, a Pythagoras, a Diogenes – it has never known a total buddha.