Unstained by the Mud
I loved wearing expensive clothes. I would go to the market myself to pick out fabric, then take it to a tailor to have it measured and cut. I often wore a tie and dressed in all sorts of outfits that drew compliments.
When I was young, I had an unfortunate habit: I loved wearing expensive clothes. I would go to the market myself to pick out fabric, then take it to a tailor to have it measured and cut. I often wore a tie and dressed in all sorts of outfits that drew compliments.
Some of the Guru's disciples were baffled by this and grumbled about my way of life. It went on for five years, and the Guru never said a word about it.
Later, I learned a lesson that proved crucial to my growth.
Every time I stood before the Guru, he would say, "Your taste is terribly low."
I would protest, "Master, this is top-quality fabric!"
One day, I lost interest in dressing up and went to see the Guru wearing simple pajamas. He said, "You look wonderful." He wanted me to experience worldly things, understand their value, and then let them go.
A refined mind and a simple life go a long way toward cultivating aesthetic sensibility. But developing taste — weaving goodness and beauty into daily life — doesn't happen overnight. Expensive clothing can't hide our ugliness, and fashion alone can't make us beautiful. We shouldn't fix our attention on externals, but rather nurture inner beauty and let it express itself. That inner beauty radiates a light everyone can see.
The monastic path is a path of fire, for those who have already burned away worldly desires. Many students are easily discouraged by worldly gains and losses; in impulsive moments, they think about going back to the secular world. But such people, wherever they go — even if they find comfortable circumstances — will never find stability within. Without spiritual discipline, it's impossible to shed greed, craving, attachment, disappointment, jealousy, and anger. Those who feel defeated and dissatisfied aren't suited for the monastic path. Sitting in a cave while longing for worldly pleasures is misery. My Guru wanted me to have a normal childhood and didn't want me to meet with frustration. During those years, I often bought the finest cars, replacing them twice a year. I lived better than any Indian prince. My wealth and extravagance astonished my relatives, my friends, and even the police. The secret was simple: whatever I asked for, the Guru gave me. He kept nothing for himself and spent nothing on himself.
Once I understood the value of worldly things, I settled into stillness, and my mind found peace. This helped my meditation enormously. Latent desires are dangerous — they surface more readily in meditation than in ordinary life. And this grasping at worldly things is an obstacle on the path to awakening.
One day, the Guru said, "Let's go to the banks of the Ganges. I have another lesson for you." I asked, "What lesson?"
He said, "Why do you live in the Himalayas?"
I replied, "For spiritual practice."
He asked again, "And why do you practice?"
I said, "To awaken and become a perfect human being."
The Guru said, "Then why do you still want worldly things? Why do you need this world? You're a renunciate, living in a cave, yet your mind is caught up in worldly matters. That means a desire still lies hidden within you, waiting to be satisfied. This headache can only be resolved through self-discipline — there's no other way. With self-discipline, you can train yourself, and through training, you gain direct experience. Through direct experience, we expand our spiritual awareness. And expanding spiritual awareness is the very purpose of life."
The world exerts a powerful pull — its attractions, temptations, and attachments are strong. But a spiritual seeker yearning for awakening must never let the force of the world divert them from the quest for eternal joy.