Before departing, Mahavira said to his disciples, “Whenever five of you will be together in meditation, there will also be a sixth – invisible though he will be. You may not be able to see me, but I will be able to see you, and that’s what really matters. I have been with you for eighty-two years and you have not seen me; I have been in a material body and you went on missing me. So your seeing is unimportant; what is important is my seeing you.
“But you will feel my presence more because I will be no longer confined in my body; I will surround you like a cloud, I will overwhelm your hearts, and you will know I have come because suddenly the whole climate will be different. The moment I am present amongst you, you will become absent. My presence will dispel your presence just as light dispels darkness.” And these were the people who had tried many times to kill him.
And the same is the story in different contexts, but again and again. Man seems to be stubborn, adamant, but the mystics are more stubborn and more adamant than you are; whatever you do is not going to prevent them. They will go on working for the evolution of your consciousness – they are still working, and you are still doing the same stupid things you have done before. It is a strange story of love and hate. From the side of mystics, it is love; from the side of the masses, it is hate. But it cannot be changed.
Perhaps it is a law of nature: the masses don’t have anything else to give. They are so full of poison that they can give only poison. And the mystics are also helpless; they are so full of love and nectar of life that they can give only that.
The story between the masses and the mystics has never been clearly unfolded – what has been happening? Why did you have to poison a Socrates? Why did you have to kill a Jesus? Why did you have to murder a Mansoor? Not that you were aware of doing it; if you had been aware, it would have been impossible to do it. In your sleep, in your unconsciousness, you go on doing things that are ugly, degrading to humanity, not worthy of man. And out of the mystic’s superconsciousness he goes on showering flowers on you, irrespective of what comes in return.
Fare you well, people of Orphalese. This day has ended. I am going; my ship is ready, I am ready. I lingered long enough amongst you, hoping that somebody may hear, somebody may be touched, somebody may become aware that the stranger is not a stranger – he’s the very heart of your hearts, that he’s not only outside you, he’s inside you too.
It is closing upon us even as the water-lily upon its own tomorrow. He has used a beautiful metaphor – the water-lily opens with the sun. As the sun rises in the morning, the water-lily opens its petals. When the sun comes in the middle of the sky, the water-lily comes to its full opening, and as the sun starts descending, the water-lily starts closing. By the time the sun sets, the water-lily closes its petals upon itself – “upon its tomorrow,” says Almustafa. But the sun will rise tomorrow again, so nothing is lost if this day is lost.
If you have not been able to open this day, don’t be worried. Tomorrow when the sun rises you may open your heart – you may yourself become a water lily.