These flowers – the tulip and the rose – these suns, this moon, these stars…oh so-called intelligentsia, these may even scratch your face. Oh pundits, these may make you fall flat in the dust – because whatsoever you are doing is against beauty. Whatsoever you are doing is against the celebration of the moon and the stars.
Religious scholars have given man very dismal belief systems. No flowers bloom in such cheerless concepts, only the stench of graves comes from them. In these dreary belief systems the moon and stars don’t shine, there is only a deep darkness.
This is why although the whole of humanity seems to be religious, yet where is the religion? If there was real religion there would be celebration. Then peoples’ faces would be as flowers and there would be the moon and stars in their eyes, veenas would be playing in their hearts and a dance would arise in their lives. Where is this dance? Where are their sparkling eyes? Where are the dancing people? Where are the juice-filled souls? It is said that “God is juice”– raso vai sah. God is juice, but your religious people are just juiceless. Those who have disconnected you from God are those whom you call your religious souls. Those who stand as a wall between you and existence, as a China wall, are your so-called priests and clergy. As long as a person is not free of these pundits and priests he cannot be free of the intellect. Unfortunate is the man who lives only in his intellect and dies only in his intellect, he will never know the secret of life. He will never have any awareness of the mysteries of life.
This tulip and rose, moon and stars –
May even scratch your face, priest!
…These taverns do not close, the taverns will never close.
Although you may continue with your endless shouts, with your calling out, nevertheless somewhere or other a tavern is born. Wherever a Gorakh is born a tavern is born, wherever a Kabir arises a tavern arises, wherever a Jesus walks a wine bar opens, wherever a buddha sits there is great celebration.
These taverns do not close, the taverns will never close.
Although wherever these taverns arise – and it is not long before they are finished – this is where the temples and mosques are built in their place. Near the Buddha a sweet nectar was raining, but then came the Buddhist scholars and their kind and very quickly the wine bar was turned into a dismal temple, the dance was soon turned into rites and rituals, and soon the deep sighs that were arising in the hearts turned into formal prayers. Where the living truth used to manifest, now there is only talk about truth.