THE DHAMMAPADA: THE WAY OF THE BUDDHA, VOL. 9-12 The ...

274 THE DHAMMAPADA: THE WAY OF THE BUDDHA, VOL. 9-12
Rena went into the city clerk’s office to report the birth of her sixth child.
”But, miss, this is your sixth child by the same father,” said the clerk. ”Why don’t you marry him?”
”Are you jivin’?” replied Rena. ”I don’t even like the sonofabitch!”
But people have to do something; they can’t just sit. They have to find something to remain occupied with.
That’s how all the mischiefs arise in the world.
Buddha says: A MASTER GIVES UP MISCHIEF.
HE IS SERENE.
Serenity is the flavor of meditation, serenity is the fragrance of meditation. He is so serene, so silent that he
can be absolutely empty, with no desire to do anything. When all desire to remain occupied disappears, then only
can something good happen through you, then God can happen through you and good only happens through
you when God happens through you. Good is nothing but God flowing through you.
HE IS SERENE.
HE LEAVES EVERYTHING BEHIND HIM.
He leaves the past, he leaves his mind, he leaves his memories, he leaves his tradition. He is not a conformist,
he cannot be a conformist. No master has ever been a conformist; that would be a contradiction in terms. He
is always a rebel. He is pure rebellion. He dies every moment to the past; he never collects the past. Hence he
remains always fresh, as fresh as the dewdrops in the early morning sun, as fresh as the lotus leaf, as fresh as the
petals of a rose. He is always fresh, he is always young; he never grows old. He grows up, but he never grows old.
The body of course grows old, but his consciousness remains absolutely fresh; it never gathers any dust or rust.
And he is so serene that he can sit alone for eternity with nothing to do still he will be absolutely blissful. He
will enjoy his serenity.
This serenity cannot be cultivated from the outside; this serenity comes only when you have become a watcher
of the mind, when you have become a witness of the mind and through witnessing you have transcended the mind.
Then suddenly, out of nowhere, a serenity explodes from all directions. It showers on you like flowers and it goes
on showering. Your life then is a life of virtue. It is not a question of cultivating it, it is not a question of creating
it it is a consequence of meditation.
This point should be remembered again and again; never forget it, because it has been forgotten millions of
times. Again and again a buddha comes to remind you but you go on forgetting it, for the simple reason that a
cultivated serenity is cheap. You can look serene, you can make a serene face; you can act it, you can be a good
actor, you can be very efficient, but that will be nothing but hypocrisy. Deep down you will be boiling; deep down
inside you there will be hell. And from the outside you have perfumed yourself and inside you are stinking. Inside
you are clinging to all your misery, to your past, to all that is dead, to all that is rotten, to all that should be
burned; you are clinging to it. And those who cling to dead corpses slowly, slowly become dead themselves; those
who live with corpses become corpses themselves. On the surface you may smile, you may laugh; deep down there
are only tears tears of pain.
But this strange fact about man has to be understood: that he clings to the past. Even if the past is ugly he
clings to the past, even though he has only suffered. Why does he cling to the past? because the past gives him
a definition, the past gives him an identity, the past gives him an idea of who he is.
After six weeks away on business the married executive entered a West Side brothel in Chicago. He walked up
to the madam, handed her a hundred-dollar bill and said, ”I want the worst screw in the house!”
”But sir,” answered the madam, ”one hundred dollars will buy you our best.”
”No,” demanded the businessman, ”I want the worst available.”
”I can’t let you do this,” the woman pleaded. ”You’re entitled to the top of the line.”
”Listen, lady,” said the man, ”I’m not horny, just homesick!”
Watch your mind, how you cling to the past. There is nothing to cling to just dry bones, skeletons, but you
are holding onto them as if they are your very life. And because you are holding them, your hands are not empty
to hold anything else; because you are looking towards the past you cannot see the present and you cannot enjoy
the beauty of it, the joy of it. You cannot enter into the present and the present is the door to God. The past is
no more.
And God is never past, God is always present. God is never future either, God is always present. You cannot
say ”God was,” you cannot say ”God will be,” you can only say ”God is.” In fact to say ”God is” is a repetition
because God means isness; isness and God are synonymous.
Buddha says: HE LEAVES EVERYTHING BEHIND HIM.
The master cannot be a Hindu, cannot be a Buddhist, cannot be a Christian. The master is simply a master;
these names are of the slaves. Somebody is a slave in the name of Christianity and somebody is a slave in the name