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It is How You Die That Matters
We are afraid of graves and graveyards, forgetting that my
bed is going to be my grave; in it I am going to die. You know that
story of the man who was ferried across a river by a girl. He was a
wise man, supposed to be a wise man among wise men. He asked the girl,
“Are you not frightened of this ferry business?” She said, “My lord,
I have to earn my living. This is how I do it.” “Yes, but my dear, it
is so dangerous. What happens when the wind blows and the river gets
rough?” She says, “It can be dangerous, yes.” “How did your father die?”
“He died in a storm.” “And your grandfather?” “He died in a storm, too.
We have all died in storms in this river.” So the wise man says, “Are
you not afraid then, of ferrying this boat across the river?” She says,
“Father, forgive me. How did your father die?” “Oh, he died at home
peacefully in bed.” “And your grandfather?” “He too died peacefully
at home in bed.” And she said, “Are you not afraid of sleeping in your
bed at home?”
So you see, we should be afraid of our beds, because that
is where most of us are going to die. We should be afraid of our homes,
but on the contrary, a good man in a good hospital under good attendants
says, “Please take me home. I want to die at home.” What on earth for?
It is not where you die which matters, it is how you die which matters.
How you die does not mean by sickness or ill health, or heart attack
or accident. The way in which my Self leaves this lower self, gets out
of its cage which is a prison for it, and says “Today I am free.” Is
that freedom real, or ephemeral, imaginary. If it is real, it is liberation.
If it is not, it is a momentary freedom, like Babuji has described a
prisoner being let out, even from the dungeon for one hour a day, up
into the sunlight for exercise, and after the one hour is over he goes
back. For the bulk of humanity, death is such an escape; a moment of
exercise in the sunlight of His benign presence, where we are told,
“Think over what you did, which has brought about your incarceration
here.” If he is wise he will think over it, he will repent, he will
be free. If he is arrogant and says, “Theek hai! [all right]
Twenty years here or there, what does it matter?” he goes back in and
he stays in.
So it is how we die that matters, not where
we die. Kings die in their palaces, beggars die in their, I don’t know,
hovels. The sick die in hospitals, the miserable die in their misery.
They all go to the same destination. Now, many people imagine that there
are more – there’s a bigger population in hell than in heaven, but Babuji
told me it is wrong. There are fewer souls in hell, than in heavens.
He told me a story of a long queue at the doors of Heaven,
at the gates of Heaven, waiting there for days, millions of people lined
up. Each one has to come and report to the receptionist, have his identity
checked, and sent in to Heaven. Suddenly a vehicle draws up and there
is a big flurry, you see, telephones operating everywhere, bells clanging,
the gates opening. They are led in through a wicket gate one by one,
normally. But the gates of Heaven are opened, and a car comes from inside.
Bugles, fanfare, and this fellow is driven up, he is put into the car
and driven there, when all these people are waiting for weeks, months.
One fellow there, you know, must have been a Communist while on earth.
Eventually when he reaches the sannidhanam of Heaven, the grand
audience chamber of God, he says, “My Lord, I have to make a complaint.”
The Lord says, “Yes? Even here? Even in my Divine presence there is
a complaint? Yes, speak, my son.” He says, “Lord, I waited eighteen
days at your door. We were let in one by one. Eighteen days outside
Heaven you know it is like Hell. When you are not in Heaven you are
in Hell.” “Yes, what is your complaint?” He says, “Suddenly a car came
up, your authorities from the gatehouse telephoned, there was a big
flurry of activity, the gates were opened for this fellow, your Divine
car came and took him in with much fanfare and bugles. I object to this
nepotism, this favoritism.” God smiled. He said, “In a way, you are
right. But remember my son, people like you come in the millions every
day to Heaven. A soul like that comes once in many millions of years.
Don’t you think he deserves a little special attention?” That was a
rich man, who was a great man on earth. Such people come very rarely.
“Even a camel may walk through the eye of a needle, but a rich man shall
not enter the gates of Heaven. But this man made it, you see. Therefore,
a little extra attention, a little recognition of the fact that even
such a soul can come into my Divine presence!” So you see, at the same
time the rarity of such a soul going to Heaven, and also the multitudes
of simple, innocent people who reach Heaven without any effort. Therefore
Heaven is the more populous, not Hell.
Many people asked Babuji, “Can we progress after we are dead?”
If you are liberated, yes. Therefore, liberation is the minimum that
we have to achieve in this life – the absolute minimum. It is not progress,
it is just escape. Then some sort of progress through eternity becomes
possible, unimpeded by grossness, because the soul has no grossness.
So if you are not willing to do anything else, at least make sure of
your liberation, because without liberation you are back again, into
another body, into another harem, into another sensory world,
into another arena of temptation, danger, fear, despondency. So an awareness
of the Self, the existence of something inside me which is making me,
myself, exist, is an absolute requirement – the bottom line for a spiritual
search to begin. It is no use coming here as businessmen, as beautiful
women, as wise people, to find out.
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