The first question:
Is religion really that simple that even I can understand?
Yes, Sheela – even you. But when I say religion is simple, I don’t mean in the sense of easy. I mean in the sense of uncomplicated. Life is uncomplicated, existence is not complex. All complexity is brought into it by the mind. Thinking is complex; how can non-thinking be complex? When there is not a thought left in the mind, how can it be other than simple? When the mirror is absolutely empty, what complexity can be there?
Religion is simple, not in the sense of easy but in the sense of uncomplicated. Philosophy is complex, very complex. But religion comes to the simple heart; it is not a mind effort, it is not philosophizing. In fact, the philosopher finds it very difficult, almost impossible, to become religious. The more intellectual you are, the more difficult. But the difficulty comes from you. You bring the difficulty. You have a very, very difficult mind, so your mind is reflected in reality. You bring the disease.
The birds and the trees and the sun and the moon – everything is absolutely simple. If you are simple, suddenly there is a meeting: the simple meets with the simple. The complex cannot meet with the simple, the complex can meet only with the complex. So if you are simple, suddenly everything is simple. Everything is just an open secret available to everybody.
You ask: “Is religion really that simple that even I can understand?”
But the word understand is not right. Religion cannot be understood – that’s how complexity comes in. Religion can be lived but not understood. That’s how you bring the complex mind in. If you start trying to understand, the very effort to understand will make it impossible to understand.
A centipede was walking – one hundred legs – and a small rabbit was hiding in a bush. And the rabbit asked, “Uncle, I am always perplexed how you manage – one hundred legs? – which one first, which one second, which one third, and so on and so forth? And you never get puzzled? I would like to understand. You tell me something about it.”
And the centipede had never felt any puzzle before. He had been walking and walking. He had, in fact, never looked down. He had never counted his legs. For the first time he started to understand it. He became paralyzed, he fell down. He started crying and he said to the rabbit, “You fool! You have destroyed my simplicity! Now it will never be possible for me to walk rightly!”