It is a beautiful morning. Again and again the sun rises and it is always new. It never grows old. Scientists say it is millions of years old; nonsense! Every day I see it. It is always new. Nothing is old. But scientists are gravediggers, that’s why I say they look so grave, serious. This morning, again the miracle of existence. Each moment it is happening, but only very few, very, very few ever encounter it.
The word encounter is really beautiful. To encounter the moment as it is; to see it as it is, without adding, without deleting, without any editorial work, just to see it as it is, like a mirror…. The mirror does not edit, thank God, otherwise no face in the world would be able to fit its requirements, not even the face of Cleopatra. No face at all would be able to fit the mirror, for the simple reason that if it starts cutting you, editing you, adding to you, it will start destroying you. But no mirror is destructive. Even the ugliest mirror is so beautiful in its undestructiveness. It simply reflects.
Before coming into your Noah’s Ark, I was standing looking at the sunrise…so beautiful, at least today – and who cares for tomorrow? Tomorrow never comes. Jesus says, “Think not of the morrow….”
Today it is so beautiful that for a moment I was reminded of the tremendous beauty of the sunrise in the Himalayas. There, when the snow is surrounding you, and the trees are looking like brides, as if they have flowered white flowers of snow, one does not care a bit about the so-called bigwigs, the prime ministers and the presidents of the world, the kings and queens. In fact kings and queens are going to exist only in playing cards, that’s where they belong. And the presidents and the prime ministers will take the place of the jokers. They don’t deserve anything more.
Those mountain trees with their white flowers of snow…and whenever I saw the snow falling from their leaves I was reminded of a tree from my childhood. That kind of tree is possible only here in India; it is called madhu malti – madhu means sweet, malti means the queen. I have never come across any fragrance that is more beautiful and more penetrating – and you know that I am allergic to perfume, so I immediately know. I am very sensitive to perfume.
Madhu malti is the most beautiful tree one can imagine. God must have created it on the seventh day. Relieved of all the worries and hurries of the world, finished with everything, even men and women, he must have created madhu malti on his day off, a holiday, a Sunday…just his old habit of creating. It is difficult to get rid of old habits.