A Master is a reflection of Khidr

On the appointed day, Mojud met Khidr, who said to him, “Tear your clothes and throw yourself into the stream. Perhaps someone will save you.”

The words are of great significance.

Khidr says, “Tear your clothes and throw yourself into the stream.”

That’s what I go on saying to you. Many are told, only few listen. Many are called, only few come.

Now, for no rhyme or reason at all, this poor Mojud comes, and Khidr simply says this: “Tear your clothes and throw yourself into the stream.”

Just a few days ago a beautiful woman, Sharda, became a sannyasin. The next day she wrote a letter: “It was quick and efficient” – that she was not ready to become a sannyasin, that I seduced her into sannyas. Naturally, later on she must have felt that she had been seduced into it. She had not come with a conscious desire. The unconscious desire was there, otherwise I would not have pushed her. But later on she must have thought, “What has happened?” – she had become a sannyasin. And she knows much of the world, she is a money-expert, so naturally she is worldly-wise. She must have thought that this was quick and efficient, that she was not even willing to become a sannyasin and she is a sannyasin now. But she is intelligent too: soon she had understood that it was not I pushing her into sannyas. I was just mirroring her inner guide. That’s what I go on doing. A Master on the outside is nothing but a reflection of Khidr.

You cannot understand your own inner guide, hence the Master on the outside is needed. And you cannot understand your own inner guide because you don’t know that language. You are completely unacquainted with those words, those symbols, those metaphors, those whispers, those sounds. You are completely unaware of how the inner guide conveys its message to you. The outer Master is just a screen on which you project your Khidr. And the outer Master helps you to understand your inner Master. When you have understood the inner Master perfectly, then the outer Master says, “If you meet me on the way, kill me.”

Now Khidr is saying this to him without even introducing him to what is going to happen, without even motivating him about what is going to happen, about why, why he should tear his clothes and throw himself into the stream? Why?

There is no why. If you live with a Master, there is no why. Only then are you with a Master.

“Tear your clothes and throw yourself into the stream.”

And not only that, he says,

“Perhaps someone will save you.”

There is no guarantee either.

The Master always speaks in that language, of perhaps, because if the Master says it is guaranteed then you will not need trust. Then the guarantee will function as your trust. You will trust the guarantee, you will not trust the mysterious life and its mysterious processes. The Master always says, “Perhaps.”

People come to me and they ask, “If we become sannyasins, will we be able to become enlightened?” I say, “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Who knows?” I have to use that ‘perhaps’. I have to give you a feeling of perhaps because only then will you be able to risk. If it is guaranteed, a hundred percent guaranteed, then where is the risk? And where is the need for trust? Nothing can be guaranteed, all remains open. That’s why only those who can dare, who have guts to dare, enter into sannyas, enter into meditation, enter on the spiritual path.

Mojud did so, even though he wondered if he were mad.

Have you not wondered many times about yourself: “What am I doing here?” It comes again and again to your mind, I know: “What am I doing here? What have I got into? For what? Why am I in orange? Why am I wearing this mala around my neck? What am I doing with this madman here? And who knows, he may be simply mad? And what is the guarantee that he is enlightened?”

That is natural. But one who trusts, one who loves, goes in spite of all this. The mind will go on following you and chasing you like stray dogs, barking, but slowly, slowly if you don’t pay much attention to it and you go on going those dogs are left behind. Their barking becomes more distant and distant and distant, and one day suddenly you are alone; the mind is no more there. That day is a day of great joy.

Mojud did so, even though he wondered if he were mad.

Who will not wonder? This looks so absurd. He may have gone there thinking that Khidr might give him a glimpse of God, or might give him a key to open the door of mystery, or might show him hidden treasures or something. And now here is this man: he says, “Tear your clothes and throw yourself in the stream. Perhaps someone will save you.” That’s all!

But he did. Remember it: when I say to you, “Jump into the stream,” I know, it is natural – the mind will resist. But if you can do it, only then is something possible.

Since he could swim, he did not drown, but drifted a long way before a fisherman hauled him into his boat, saying, “Foolish man! The current is strong. What are you trying to do?”

Since he could swim… I know that if you jump into the stream you will be able to swim, because swimming is a natural phenomenon. One need not learn it. I’m not talking about the outer stream and swimming. There you may be drowned. But I am talking about the stream of the inner consciousness, the stream of consciousness. If you jump into it… And that’s what is meant, that is the parallel story that you have to decode. You naturally know. Have you ever seen any fish learning to swim?

Once Mulla Nasrudin was caught because he was fishing at a place where fishing was prohibited. And the inspector came suddenly, and he was caught red-handed. He was just taking out one fish. He immediately dropped the fish back and sat there, undisturbed. The inspector was standing there.

He asked, “What are you doing, Mulla?”

He said, “I am teaching this fish to swim.”

Now no fish needs to be taught swimming; the fish is born there. Swimming is like breathing. Who has taught you breathing? And there is no need to be afraid: if you are ready to trust, to jump into the stream of your consciousness, you will know how to swim. At the most it can happen that you may be drifted a long way before a fisherman hauls you up. You can, at the most, drift, that’s all. You cannot be drowned. You belong to consciousness, you are part of that stream.

The fisherman said, “Foolish man! The current is strong. What are you trying to do?”

Just see the beauty of the answer. And he really does not know what he is doing, because he has not been told for what. He had not even asked Khidr, “Why should I jump into the stream, and why should I throw my clothes? What is the purpose of it?” He had not asked about the purpose. That is trust. That is going into the unknown I talk about continuously. That is adventure, that is an unclinging mind, that is courage.

“I don’t really know.” he said.

And he is true, he does not know. If you know and then you do something it is not courage. If you know and then do something it is not trust; you are trusting your knowledge.

There are two kinds of sannyasins here: one who has jumped into the stream when I told him or her to jump, the other who thinks, broods, contemplates for and against, and then one day decides. That decision is coming out of his mind, that decision will be only of his own past, of his own conditioning. I will have to work hard on him, because he had missed the first opportunity that was provided for him. He clings to his ego. The first opportunity was there, and things would have been immensely simple if he had simply taken a jump. There are those types of people here also; the majority are of that type. My work basically consists with those who have simply taken a jump, who have not asked why, who have simply looked into my eyes and felt a mad desire, a mad longing to go with me, to go with me without knowing where it is going to end.

“You are mad,” said the fisherman, “but I will take you into my reed hut by the river yonder, and we shall see what can be done for you.”

When he discovered that Mojud was well-spoken, he learned from him how to read and write. In exchange, Mojud was given food and helped the fisherman with his work. After a few months, Khidr again appeared, this time at the foot of Mojud’s bed, and said, “Get up now and leave this fisherman. You will be provided for.”

Now things are changing. Mojud is trusting, and even the inner guide is showing respect. This time he appeared at the foot of Mojud’s bed – this is showing respect. Now Mojud is not an ordinary man anymore: the trust changed him, transformed him. He is a courageous man, heroic, brave – without asking any why. He knows how to love, he knows how to penetrate into the future without carrying the load of the past. The inner guide is showing respect.

Khidr said, “Get up now and leave this fisherman…”

It is the middle of the night. Things have settled by now, the fisherman is very happy. Whenever you are settling the inner guide will unsettle you again. Whenever you are settling the Master will unsettle you again. Because you are not to be allowed to settle anywhere before God, hence constant unsettling. All are stations on the Way. You can have an overnight stay but by the morning you have to leave.

In the middle of the night Khidr says, “Get up now and leave this fisherman.” And it is always now with a Master, it is never tomorrow. It would have been far easier and more compassionate to tell him, “You can rest right now, but tomorrow morning you leave.” But it is always now! For a Master the only time that exists is now and the only space that exists is here.

“You will be provided for.”

Now things have changed. He does not say, “Perhaps you will be provided for.” Just these small nuances of the words, and you will be unfolding the mystery of the story. First he had said, “Perhaps someone will save you.” Now he says, “You will be provided for.”

What has changed? The trust shown by Mojud is enough. There is no need to say ‘perhaps’. He has been tested by ‘perhaps’, he has proved his mettle. Now things can be said as they are.

There is no perhaps really. If you meditate, samadhi is guaranteed. If you fall in love with an alive Master, enlightenment is guaranteed. There is no perhaps, but the perhaps has to be used just to give you an opportunity to grow in trust. Once the trust has arisen there will be no need for perhaps.

Mojud immediately quit the hut. He didn’t even ask for time: “I can go tomorrow. In the night where will I go? It is so dark. And what is the point of going in the night, and where?”

No, he simply quit the hut, dressed as a fisherman, and wandered about until he came to a highway. As dawn was breaking he saw a farmer on a donkey on his way to market. “Do you seek work?” asked the farmer, “because I need a man to help me bring back some purchases.” Mojud followed him.

That’s how it happens in the inner journey. If you can trust, something or other will always happen and will help your growth. You will be provided for. Whatsoever is needed at a particular time will be given to you, never before it. You get it only when you need it, and there is not even a single moment’s delay. When you need it you get it, immediately, instantly! That’s the beauty of trust. By and by you learn the ways of how existence goes on providing for you, how existence goes on caring about you. You are not living in an indifferent existence. It does not ignore you. You are unnecessarily worried; all is provided for. Once you have the knack of knowing this, all worry disappears.

Mojud followed him. He worked for the farmer for nearly two years, by which time he had learned a great deal about agriculture but little else.

This too will be happening here.

Now, Asheesh may have learned much about carpentry, but what about anything else? Krishna may have become a perfect guard, but what about anything else? Mukta may have learned many things about gardening, and Deeksha about cooking, but what about anything else? And the idea is bound to arise many times in your mind: “What am I doing here? Three years have passed and I am only cleaning the floor. What about meditation? And what about enlightenment? And what about the ultimate? And I had come for that, and I am only cleaning the floor or washing the vegetables or watering the plants! What about the real goal?”

Only trust knows that while you are cleaning the floor something is being cleaned in you too. While you are watering the plants somebody deep down is watering your being too. If you trust, all is possible; such is the magic of trust. Cleaning is meditation, cooking is meditation, washing is meditation. Meditation is not something apart from life; it is a quality that can be brought to any act and the act is immediately transformed.

Osho, The Wisdom of the Sands, Vol 2, Ch 1 (excerpt part 3 of 4)

Image from special edition, with illustrations by Ma Prem Pujan
Mojud: The Man with the Inexplicable Life
An Ancient Sufi Story with Commentary by Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh
Ansu Publishing Company, Portland, Oregon, USA, 1988