NOTES OF A MADMAN

- A synopsis
This is good.
Now take off.
Leave the earth behind.
Go towards the skies,
to the stars.
Go on and on....

Light does not disturb me. I am facing thousands of suns so you cannot disturb me at all. Nor the noise. The whole marketplace is around me all the time, so your noise is not disturbing at all.
It is rare... it is beautiful to come so close to beauty, to come so close that there is just a thin veil and nothing else but beauty. The beauty of the beautiful... it is just like a wave in the oceanOr like the rainbow....
It is not material.
It is immaterial.

I like this light, it is good. It is something like what I am facing. I am facing such tremendous light... this is nothing. I am facing so much music I am almost drowned in it. To be close to beauty is to be close to death. I cannot forget that. I have been close to death again and again. I have been coming close to death many times in my life, knowingly. You may not know but we have faced death infinite times, but with such fear we have not seen its beauty; otherwise death is another name for God. I am amazed nobody has said it yet. It is another name for God, for light, for joy, for beauty.

SERIES #1
SESSION 7

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So I go on and on,
into myself.
Deep into the beyond,
and the beyond is all there is.
All else is going to disappear.
Only that which is beyond
will remain forever.
I am talking of the beyond.

From the beyond it is difficult. It has always been difficult. No language has words for it, particularly English. I am not against the English language. I love it for many reasons; it is accurate, more accurate than other languages. For that reason it is difficult. It is good for science, for technology, but not for religion.
Vivek calls your notes "The Ramblings of a Madman"... written by a madman, but not ramblings. If I am mad, then who is sane? If I am mad then who can say he is not mad? Nixon? Who can claim sanity? This poor earth is full of mad men, so I appear to be mad. A sane man among the insane always appears so.
There is a beautiful story by Khalil Gibran which I have always loved:

There was an ancient town ruled by a well-loved king and queen. Into the only well -- except that for the sole use of the king and queen and their prime minister -- a magician throws a potion. The magician declares, "Whoever drinks the water will go mad." Obviously, except for the king and queen and the prime minister, the whole town goes mad. They had to drink from that well, and they all went mad. Except for the king, the queen and the prime minister, they all go mad.
All the mad townspeople are gathered around the palace shouting against the king and saying, "The king has gone mad. We don't want a mad king."
The king asked his chief minister what to do. The minister must have been a wise man, not like politicians today, a man of insight, not elected but chosen by the wise. He said, "I will keep the crowd happy for a time. You run to the town's well and drink deeply. Drink deeply. Get drunk on it. Then come back and all will be right."
The king soon returns, but entering through the front door naked, singing, dancing... singing songs of ecstasy he dances with the crowd. The king's dance convinces the crowd of his sanity. They declare him sane. They recrown him. They rejoice. They celebrate his return to sanity.

I am surrounded by madmen. I am in a whole world of madmen. Certainly I will look mad... mad, even to my own people.
I have not shouted for twenty-five years. I have spoken with a microphone. But just for your sake I say, "Shut Up!" -- not for you but for the fool within you. For you I have nothing but tears... and joy... and prayer. Look, my tear is coming. It comes in the left eye, it is joined to the right brain, like the left hand.
The right side of the brain is right. When I say, "Right is right and left is wrong," it refers only to the brain. The body is just the opposite: right is wrong and left is right. If you want to see the tear you will need to come to the left side.
It is beautiful to cry for someone. To have a tear for someone is far more beautiful than to be joyous. It is like a shower; it is as if in the middle of the night the sun has risen. I will not say anything, I will only keep silent.

Arise! Ascend! Awaken!

These are words to be understood. And I am not a preacher -- preaching is dirty. I am a lover.
At least I cannot go mad. And I am not going to die at this moment. I have a few more strange things to do yet.
I was saying before that English is not the language to express It. It is too technical, too accurate. English can give good scientists to the world but not mystics. I am really a mystic, a mystic in a world of scientists... high beyond the stars.
Thank you. I always want to say the last word myself. Even in my grave I will sit up and say, "Okay, close it." If it is a funeral... but if it is done as it is in India, I will say, "Okay, start the fire!" But I want to have the last word. If you bug me I can be terrible. It is I who is going to have the last laugh.