Let's try to become Mirrors Ourselves ❤

[SoonHei]

The following event happened in the life of Rabindranath Tagore. It is worth noting. He wrote prayers about God in the Gitanjali, for which he received the Nobel prize and became famous the world over. But there lived an old man near his house who began to harass him constantly. Wherever he met Rabindranath, he would hold on to him and ask, ”Please tell me truly: have you known God?”

The old man was obstinate and Rabindranath, being an honest person, could not tell a lie. The old man looked so straight and deep into the eyes of Rabindranath that his hands and legs used to tremble. Here was the winner of the Nobel prize. Wherever he went he was much honored by the people. People used to say, ”Here is a living example of one whom the Upanishads call a Maharishi.” Yet here he was, being troubled by an old man from his neighborhood. And the harassment was not for just one day or one morning or evening, but continued every day, because the old man, having nothing to do, spent all his time sitting on a chair near the door of his house so Rabindranath found it difficult to avoid him.

Rabindranath has written in his diary that he found it very difficult to leave the house: ”Before going out, I would inquire whether the old man was sitting there or not. Otherwise he would grab hold of me and ask, ’Have you seen God? Have you known him?’ I used to tremble on hearing these questions because I know nothing about him. On hearing my answer the old man would laugh loudly and heartily. His laughing in that way spoiled my sleep, it began to haunt me; I began to be afraid of that old man. Once I thought, ’I really created trouble for myself writing this Gitanjali.’ I thought, ’That old man must have had some glimpse of God, otherwise he could not haunt me so.’” From his eyes it appeared he knew something, because Rabindranath could not get away with it by staring at him and repeating one or two lines of the Gitanjali in answer to his question.

Thus years passed, and the old man continued his haunting. Rabindranath has said: ”A great load was removed from my mind on the day on which I could tell him, ’I have known God.’” It was the beginning of the rainy season, and the first downpours were leaving puddles everywhere. Reservoirs and small pits on the roadsides filled with water. Frogs were croaking. It was morning and Rabindranath was tempted out by these changes in nature – the croaking of the frogs, the confused din of the falling rain, the new fragrance of the earth. He saw the old man was not on his usual seat. Perhaps he was not up yet.

Rabindranath ran out of his house. The sun was rising over the sea. He stopped at the seashore. The sun was shimmering on the water. He looked at the sun and its reflection, and then began to return to his home. The sun was reflected in each puddle, in each small pond, in every dirty ditch on the roadside. It was shining all around – in dirty puddles, on the sea, in clean small streams, on every side. Seeing all this, some music, some unknown, indefinable sound within began to play in Rabindranath’s heart.

As he returned, he was dancing. He was dancing because he saw that the reflection of the sun was never tarnished. He was dancing because he saw that the sun’s reflection was as fresh and clean in the dirty, muddy water as it was in the cleanest water. Reflection can never be dirty. How can it be dirty? Only water can be muddy and dirty. But the sun that looks into it, whose reflection appears in it, is not dirty. It is absolutely fresh and clean. No water can spoil it. This was a tremendous, a revolutionary experience for him. It meant that God, who is even within the worst of men, cannot be made dirty. The reflection of God in the most sinful person is as pure as it is in the most pious person. So he was returning dancing. A door had opened within.

That old man was sitting near his door. This was the first time he was not afraid of the old man, and for the first time the old man said, ”It is all right, it seems you have known him.” And the old man approached Rabindranath and embraced him and said, ”Your ecstasy, your dancing today, tells me that you have known him. Now I can honor you!”

Then for three days Rabindranath remained in a state of ecstasy – in a state of madness. The members of the family were afraid to see this. Only the old man often used to come and tell them, ”Be glad! Be joyful!” and began to inform the neighbors that he knew God. But the people in the house were very much afraid because Rabindranath was behaving in a very strange way. If he saw a pillar he would embrace it. If a cow passed by on the road he would embrace her, too. If he saw a tree he would embrace it. The people in the house thought he had lost his mind: ”He has gone mad!” But the old man continued to say, ”Don’t worry. He was mad until now, and now he is fine. Now he has begun to see, in all existence, that without which the song he was singing all this time was useless. It was only rhyme, a poor excuse for poetry. Only now, real music is born in his life.”

Rabindranath has written: ”I could, by and by, control myself and bring my ecstasy under control, with great effort. Otherwise I yearned to embrace everybody and everything I met. Until now I was yearning and praying, ’Oh God, where is your door?’ Now God was my door, and now wherever I looked I saw his door. Up until now I was searching for him and asking, ’Where are you hiding?’ But now I was amazed because he was there already in me; there was nothing else but him.”

He who sees his presence in all existence or sees the entire existence in himself is truly a wise man; and such a person is beyond attachment and grief. Remember, there is neither happiness nor unhappiness in his life, there is only ecstasy. The purity of existence dances in his life. He is life itself, dancing and singing the praise of existence. His life itself is music; and all that brings grief, all that binds, all that becomes attachment, all that seems to bring happiness today but is the cause of unhappiness tomorrow – all these have no place in his life. He is now a mirror.

When you stand before a mirror you are seen reflected in it, and when you go away from it, it at once leaves you. It does not hold on to you. No sooner are you gone from it than it becomes empty, without reflection. The mirror carries no attachment to you. That is why, when you stand aside, instead of in front of it, it is not broken into pieces out of sorrow for you. Its heart does not break into pieces. It does not say, ”How can I now live without you?” Instead it says, ”When you stood before me you were very beautiful, very good, and you showed me great favor; and when you leave me I feel no displeasure.” Nothing changes. The mirror is as joyful when it is empty and unreflecting as it was when it was filled with reflection.

Thus lives a learned man, like a mirror in the world. He is pleased with whatever comes before him. He is happy if he sees a flower and becomes its reflection, throws its reflection back, sees godliness in it. If there is no one in front of him – when all is empty – he sees godliness in emptiness. The very emptiness is godliness. Then he dances in that emptiness, and is in ecstasy even in emptiness.

Now let us try to become mirrors ourselves.

OSHO

[zeroISinfinity]

Yes baby. Mirrors no more smile tennis and flirting with other man! 

Your edgy Son. 

Edited October 8, 2020 by zeroISinfinity

[SoonHei]

@zeroISinfinity your total post count very knotty at the moment. 

[zeroISinfinity]

1 minute ago, SoonHei said:

@zeroISinfinity your total post count very knotty at the moment. 

How I mirror this? 

Your total laziness today counts very knotty at the moment to mom, dad. 

Oh I will mirror you when I grow up dad. You bet. 

[Dodo]

Nice post