Spirituality means waking up. Most peopl e, even though they don’t know it, are
asleep. They’re born asleep, they live asleep, they marry in their sleep, they breed
children in their sleep, they die in their sleep without ever waking up. They never
understand the loveliness and the beauty of this thing that we call human existence. You
know, all mystics—Catholic, Christian, non-Christian, no matter what their theology, no
matter what their religion—are unanimous on one thing: that all is well, all is well.
Though everything is a mess, all is well. Strang e paradox, to be sure. But, tragically, most
people never get to see that all is well because they are asleep. They are having a
nightmare.
Last year on Spanish television I heard a story about this gentleman who knocks on
his son’s door. “Jaime,” he says, “wake up!” Jaime answers, “I don’t want to get up,
Papa.” The father shouts, “Get up, you have to go to school.” Jaime says, “I don’t want to
go to school.” “Why not?” asks the father. “Three reasons,” says Jaime. “First, because
it’s so dull; second, the kids tease me; and th ird, I hate school.” And the father says,
“Well, I am going to give you three reasons why you must go to school. First, because it
is your duty; second, because you are forty-five years old, and third, because you are the
headmaster.” Wake up, wake up! You’ve grow n up. You’re too big to be asleep. Wake
up! Stop playing with your toys.
Most people tell you they want to get out of kindergarten, but don’t believe them.
Don’t believe them! All they want you to do is to mend their broken toys. “Give me back
my wife. Give me back my job. Give me back my money. Give me back my reputation,
my success.” This is what they want; they want their toys replaced. That’s all. Even the
best psychologist will tell you that, that people don’ t really want to be cured. What they
want is relief; a cure is painful