Please throw light on the difference between a mystic and a master.
There is an ancient Tibetan parable. It says, “When one hundred people try to reach the goal only ten ever start the journey; and out of the ten only one reaches the goal.” And those few people who reach the goal are not all capable of being masters. They are all mystics, they have known, they have seen, they have realized – but they cannot help anybody else towards the truth, they cannot explain their experience.
The mystic and the master are in the same state of being, but the master is articulate. He finds ways and means, devices, to indicate towards that which cannot be brought into words.
The mystic is dumb. He has tasted the sweet; it is not that he does not know that it is sweet. He is full of the sweetness but he cannot say anything about it, he is simply dumb.
The master is articulate. And it is the greatest art in the world.
The painter brings something of beauty on the canvas, the sculptor brings something of beauty in his works of art. The poet sings songs of the beyond. But the master tries to create a science to help people move into the unknown way towards the unknowable without falling, without going astray. It is difficult – because he has to use words, and words are very small and what he is going to express through them is so vast it cannot be contained in them. He is trying to contain oceans in dewdrops. But the miracle is that the masters have succeeded in something in which success seems to be almost impossible.
The mystic lives in his celebration, in his joy, in his inner music, but he is an island. The master is a continent.
Gautam Buddha used to say to his disciples from the very first day, “Whatever you experience, however small, try to express it. Find out a way to convey it. Even if you fail that is not important, what is important is that you tried – and go on trying. By the time you become enlightened you will have learned some secrets which make the difference between the mystic and the master.”
The mystic is great, but is of no use to the universe. He is fulfilled. As far as he is concerned he has arrived home, he has dissolved his ego, he has become part of the universe, but the beauty that he has seen, the blissfulness that he has experienced, the benediction that has showered over him remains unshared.
And remember one thing: there are things, if they remain unshared, they remain imperfect. Only in sharing do they become perfect, only in giving do you start getting more.
The mystic is closed. He has no doors, no windows. He blossoms, but his fragrance is not released to the winds.