The more a man goes deeper into himself the more mature he is.
When he has reached the very center of his being he is perfectly mature.
At that moment the person disappears, only presence remains. The self disappears, only silence remains. Knowledge disappears, only innocence remains.

To me, maturity is another name for realization: you have come to the fulfillment of your potential, it has become actual. The seed has come on a long journey and has blossomed.

Maturity has a fragrance. It gives a tremendous beauty to the individ­ ual. It gives intelligence, the sharpest possible intelligence. It makes him nothing but love. His action is love, his inaction is love; his life is love, his death is love. He is just a flower of love.

The maturity I am talking about will not make you a rock; it will make you so vulnerable, so soft, so simple.


The thief was looking and was amazed that there was nothing.
And he looked so simple and so innocent, as if he could not conceive that anybody could be a thief.
In the face of such simplicity and innocence the thief said, “Perhaps you do not know that I am a thief.”
The mystic said, “That doesn’t matter, everybody has to be someone. The point is that I have been in the house for thirty years and I have not found anything, so let us search together!

The thief was just losing his mind! He said, “What are you doing? 1 am a thief!”
The mystic said, “That does not matter. In this world every­ body has to be somebody, has to do something. You may be steal­ ing, that doesn't matter—a profession is a profession. Just do it well, with all my blessings. Do it perfectly, don’t be caught; otherwise you will be in trouble."

The thief had to say, “Thank you, sir,” and he closed the door and escaped. He could not believe what had happened! He could not sleep the whole night. Again and again he remembered … he had never heard such a strong voice, such power. And the man had nothing!

The magistrate said. “If you say so, then all the testimonies of the witnesses who have said that he is a thief are canceled. He is freed. " The mystic went out and the thief followed him.
The mystic said, “What are you doing? Why are you coming with me?"
He said, “Now I can never leave you. You have called me your friend, you have called me your partner. Nobody has ever given me any respect. You are the first person who has said that I am a gentleman, a nice person. I am going to sit at your feet and learn how to be like you. From where have you got this maturity, this power, this strength, this seeing of things in a totally different way?”

The mystic said, “Do you know that night how bad I felt? You had gone—it was so cold without a blanket that sleep was not possible. I was just sitting by the window watching the full moon, and I wrote a poem: ‘If I were rich enough I would have given this perfect moon to that poor fellow, who had come in the dark to search for something in a poor man’s house. I would have given the moon if I had been rich enough, but I am poor myself.’ I will show you the poem, come with me.

I offered that very night to come with you and be partners with you, but you refused. Now you want to come with me! There is no problem, you can come; whatever I have I will share with you. But it is not material, it is something invisible.

The thief said, “That I can feel—it is something invisible. But you have saved my life, and now my life is yours. Make whatever you want to make of it, I have been simply wasting it. Seeing you, looking in your eyes, one thing is certain—that you can transform me. I have fallen in love from that very night.”

Once you settle down in your inner sky. you have found a home, and a great maturity anses in your actions, in your behavior. Then what­ ever you do has grace in it. Then whatever you do is a poem in itself. You live poetry, your walking becomes dancing, your silence becomes music.

By maturity is meant that you have come home. You are no longer a child who has to grow— you have grown up. You have touched the height of your poten­ tial. For the first time in a strange sense you are not—and you are. You are not in your old ideas, imaginations, in your old compre­ hension of yourself; all that has gone down the drain. Now some­ thing new arises in you. absolutely new and virgin, which transforms your whole life into joy.

The people who are always considering others and their opin­ ions are immature. They are dependent on the opinions of others.
They can’t do anything authentically, honestly they can’t say what they want to say—they say what others want to hear.


For the first seven years a child is self-centered, as if he is the center of the whole world. The whole family moves around him.
Whatsoever are his needs, they are to be fulfilled immediately; otherwise he will go into a tantrum, anger, rage. He lives like an emperor, a real emperor — the mother, the father, all are servants, and the whole family just exists for him.
A child for seven years remains absolutely egoistic, self-centered.

After seven years, a breakthrough. The child is no longer self- centered; he becomes eccentric, literally. Eccentric—the word means “going out of the center.” He moves toward others. The other becomes the important phenomenon—friends, gangs . . . Now he is not so much interested in himself; he is interested in the other, the bigger world. He enters into an adventure to know who is this “other.” Inquiry starts.

After the seventh year the child becomes a great questioner. He ques­ tions everything. He becomes a great skeptic because his inquiry is there. He asks millions of questions. He bores the parents to death, he be­ comes a nuisance. He is interested in the other, and everything of the world is his interest. Why are the trees green? Why did God create the world?

just to see how it works, throws a clock just to look into it, how it goes on ticking and chiming—what is going on inside?

After the fourteenth year a third door opens. He is no longer interested in boys, girls are no longer interested in girls.
any friendship that happens between the seventh year and the fourteenth is the deepest, because the mind is homosexual, and never again in life will such friendship happen.

When a boy becomes interested in girls, now he is really interested in the opposite, the real other. When a girl becomes interested in a boy, now the world enters.
The fourteenth year is a great revolutionary year. Sex becomes mature, one starts thinking in terms of sex; The boy becomes a great Don Juan, starts courting. Poetry arises, romance. He is entering into the world.

By the twenty-first year—il everything goes normally, and a child is not forced by the society to do something which is not natu­ ral—by the twenty-first year a child becomes interested more in am­ bition than in love. He wants a Rolls-Royce, a great palace. He wants to be a success, a Rockefeller, a prime minister.
Ambitions become prominent; desinng for the future, being a success.
Now he is not entering only the world of nature, he is entering the world of humanity, the marketplace. Now he is entering the world of madness. Now the market becomes the most prominent thing. His whole being goes toward the market—money, power, prestige.

If everything goes right—as it never goes. From twenty-one to twenty-eight one lives in adven­ ture; by the twenty-eighth year one becomes more alert that all desires cannot be fulfilled.
If you are a fool you can go after them, but people who are intelligent enter another door by the twenty-eighth year. They become more interested in security and com­ fort. less in adventure and ambinon.
They don’t want to be Rockefellers—that urge is no more. They want a small house, but established, a cozy place to live in, security, so at least this much they can always have, a little bank balance. They start settling.
Now the vagabond is no more the vagabond. He purchases a house, starts living in it. He is no more a vagabond, not a wanderer.

By the thirty-fifth year life en­ ergy reaches its omega point. The circle is half complete and energies start declining. Now the man is not interested only in security and comfort.
he wants the status quo because now he has settled and if anything changes the whole thing will unsettle. Now he is talking against hippies, against rebels; now he has become really a part of the establishment.
And this is natural—unless something goes wrong a man is not going to remain a hippie forever. That was a phase, good to pass through but bad to be stuck in.
It was good to be homosexual between seven and fourteen.
A woman has to be contacted, that is part of life. The other sex has to become important because only then will you be able to know the harmony of the opposites, the conflict, the misery, and the ecstasy—agony and ecstasy both. It is a training, a necessary training.

By the forty-second year all sorts of physical and mental illnesses erupt, because now life is declining. Energy is moving toward death.
As in the beginning—your energies were coming up and you were becoming more and more vital, energetic, you were becoming more and more strong—now just the opposite happens, you become weaker every day. But your habits persist.
You have been eating enough up to the age of thirty-five; now if you continue your habit you will start gathering fat. Now, that much food is not needed. It was needed, but now it is not needed because life is moving toward death, it does not need that much food.
If you go on tilling your belly as you were doing betore, then all sorts of illnesses will happen: high blood pressure, heart attack, insomnia, ulcers - They all happen nearabout forty-two; forty-two is one of the most dangerous points. Hair starts falling out. becom­ ing gray Lite is turning into death.
And near the age of forty-two religion starts becoming impor­ tant for the first time. You may have dabbled a little here and there in religion before, but now religion starts becoming for the first time important—because religion is deeply concerned with death.
The truck is not sold, the toothpaste is not sold— the woman is sold. And because the smile of the woman comes with the toothpaste, you have to purchase the toothpaste also. Everywhere sex is sold.
So this society, a secular society, is good for young people. But they are not going to remain young forever. When they become forty-two suddenly the society leaves them in limbo.

If I were allowed my way then I would divide universities into two parts: one part for young people, an­ other part for old people. Young people would come to learn the art of life—sex, ambition, struggle. Then when they became older and they reached the forty-two mark, they would again come back to the university to leam about death, God, meditation—because now the old universities won’t be of any help to them. They need a new training, a new discipline, so that they can become anchored with the new phase that is happening to them.

That's why in the West there is so much mental illness. It is not so much in the East. Why? Because the East still gives a little training in religion.
In the West religion is no longer part of life. Nearabout the age of forty-two every Westerner is going through psychological problems.
Ulcers are the footprints of ambition. An ambitious man is bound to have ulcers in the stomach: ambition bites, it eats on you. An ulcer is nothing but eating yourself. You are so tense that you have started eating your own stomach lining. You are so tense, your stomach is so tense it never relaxes. Whenever the mind is tense the stomach is tense.
If you have your first heart attack nearabout forty-two you are a great success. You must be at least a cabinet minister or a rich industrialist or a famous actor; otherwise, how will you explain the heart attack? A heart attack is the definition of success.

And this is just the beginning of the interest. In fact at the age of forty-two you become again a child in the world of religion and only twenty-eight years are left. Time seems too short, not enough at all to attain such great heights.
But thousands and millions of lives have been there in the past; within twenty-eight years how are you going to cope? How- will you undo the whole past?
when you have remained filled with so much rubbish for so many lives, how are you going to unburden yourself within twenty-eight years? It is too much, seems an impossible task. So they all agree on one thing, that more future is needed, more time is needed.

Whenever you have ambition, time is needed. And to me a religious person is one who does not need time.
he is liberated, enlightened, here and now. A religious man does not need time at all because religion happens in a timeless moment. It happens now, it always happens now; it has never happened otherwise. In no other way has it ever happened.

you start looking in the Bible, just like the small child who is vague about sex starts playing with his own sex organ, not knowing what he is doing. Sometimes one sits alone silently, suddenly feels peaceful, not knowing what he is doing.

By the forty-ninth year the pareil becomes clear; seven years it takes for the search to become clear. Now a determination anses. You are no longer interested in the others, particularly if everything has gone right - and it never goes right - at the age of forty-nine one becomes uninterested in women. A woman becomes uninterested in men—the menopause, the forty-ninth year. The man doesn’t feel like being sexual. The whole thing looks a little juvenile, the whole thing looks a little immature.
near the age of forty-nine in the West: people are forced to remain in sex because the whole teaching says, “What are you doing? A man can be sexually potent up to the age of ninety! At the age of forty-nine a man starts feeling guilty that he is not making love as much as he should.
just the opposite is happening at the other end. At the age of fourteen authorities, traditions, gurus, old psychologists and religious people—they were all against sex. guilt was created. Nature was not allowed.
At the age of forty-nine psychologists are forcing people to continue to make love; otherwise you will lose life. As at the age of fourteen sex naturally arises, so at the age of forty-nine it naturally subsides. It has to, because every circle has to be complete.

In India we had de­ cided that at the age of fifty man should start becoming a vanprasth, it means one who starts looking toward the Himalayas, toward the forest. Ambitions and desires, finished, He starts moving toward aloneness, toward being himself.
Before this, life was too much and he could not be alone; there were responsibilities to be fulfilled, children to be raised. Now they have become grown up.
Now you can become homeless. At the age ot forty-nine one should start looking toward the forest, moving inward, becoming introverted, becoming more and more meditative and prayerful.

At the age of fifty-six again a change comes, a revolution. Now it is not enough to look toward the Himalayas; one has to really travel, one has to go. Life is ending, death is coming nearer. At the age of forty-nine one becomes uninterested in the other sex. At the age of fifty-six one should become uninterested in others, the so- ciety, the social formalities, the club. At the age of fifty-six one should resign from all Rotaries, all Lions; it looks foolish now, childish.
At the age of fifty-six one should be so mature as to come out of all social entanglements. Finished! One has lived enough, learned enough; now one gives thanks to everybody and comes out of it. Fifty-six is the time one should naturally become a sannyasin. One should take sannyas, one should renounce, it is natural—as you en­ ter, so you should renounce. Life should have an entrance and it should also have an exit; otherwise it will be suffocating. You enter and you never come out and then you say you are suffocated, in ag­ ony. There is an exit, and that is sannyas—you come out of the so­ ciety. You are not even interested in others by the age of fifty-six.

By the age of sixty-three you again become like a child, inter­ ested only in yourself. That is what meditation is—to be moving inward, as if everything else has fallen away and only you exist.
Again you have become a child—of course very much enriched by life, very mature, understanding, with great intelligence. Now you again become innocent. You start moving inward. Only seven years are left, and you have to prepare for death. You have to be ready to die.
And what is the readiness to die? To die celebrating is the readiness to die. To die happy, joyfully, willingly, welcomingly, is to be ready.
Now you would like to go to the ultimate home. It was a sojourn. You wandered in a strange land, you lived with strange people, you loved strangers and you learned much. Now the time has come: the prince must return to his own kingdom.

Sixty-three is the time when one becomes completely enclosed in oneself. The whole energy moves in and in and in, turning in. You become a circle of energy, not moving anywhere. No reading, not much talking. More and more silent, more and more with oneself, remaining totally independent of all that is around you. The energy by and by subsides.

By the age of seventy you are ready. And if you have followed this natural pattern, just before your death—nine months before your death—you will become aware that death is coming. As a child has to pass nine months in the mother’s womb, the same circle is totally repeated, completely repeated, utterly repeated. By the time death comes, nine months before, you will become aware. Now you are entering the womb again. This womb is no longer in the mother, this womb is inside you.
When you go to a temple the innermost part of the temple is called the womb. It is very symbolically called so, very deliberately that is the womb one has to enter.
one's own body becomes the womb. One moves to the innermost shrine where the flame has always been burn­ ing, where the light has always been, where the temple is, where the god has always been living. This is the natural process.

For this natural process, the next moment will come out of it on its own.
Just as a child grows and becomes a youth—there is no need to plan to it. one simply becomes; it is natural, it happens.
As a river flows and comes to the ocean—the same way—you flow and you come to the end, to the ocean. But one should remain natural, floating and in the moment. Once you start thinking about the future and ambition and desire, you are missing this moment. And this moment missed will create perversion because you will always lack something; a gap will be there.

If a child has not lived his childhood well, then that unlived childhood will enter into his youth. It has to be lived.
When a child is at the age of four and dances and jumps and runs around, butterfly catching, it is beautiful. But when a young man of twenty runs after butterflies, he is crazy—then you have to admit him to the hospital, he is a mental case.

If he lives the childhood completely he will come a young man, beautiful, fresh, uncontaminated. He will shed the childhood as a snake sheds its old skin.
Live youth completely. Don’t listen to the ancient authorities.
if some society is against sex then sex will spread all over your life, it will become poison. Live it! Enjoy it!
near the age of seventeen or eighteen he reaches the peak of sexuality. Never again will he be so potent, and if those moments are missed he will never achieve the beaudtul orgasm that could have been achieved near the age of seventeen or eighteen.
Near the age of seventeen you were at the peak—so potent, so powerful, that the orgasm, the sexual orgasm, would have spread to your very cells. Your whole body would have taken a bath of eternal bliss.

About my book From Sex to Superconsdousness . . . old men come to me and they say, “We have read your book but we never achieve anything like this.” How can you? You have missed the time, and it cannot be replaced. And I am not responsible; your society is responsible and you listened to it.

whatsoever they say. Listen to nature—when nature says it is time to love, love. When nature says it is time to renounce, renounce.

Everything that comes has to go. Every thing that arises has to fall.
At fourteen it comes; at forty-nine or thereabouts it goes. But a man making love five times a day at the age of sixty— something is wrong.

If you live in the moment totally then there is no need to worry for the future.

What is life? Living is not enough, one has to penetrate the mystery. A calm and quiet life brings you to meditative moments. Meditation brings you to renounce all that is useless now. just junk, garbage. The whole life becomes garbage; only one thing remains always, eternally valuable, and that is your awareness.

one who never thinks of the future will never think of the past. They are together;
when you think of the past it is nothing but trying to plan for the fu­ ture—they are together.
The present is outside of both—a man w ho lives in this moment now and here is not cluttered with the past and not clut­ tered with the future, he remains un­ burdened. He has no burden to carry, he moves without weight.
The grav­ itation doesn't affect him. In fact, he doesn’t walk, he flies. He has wrings. Before he dies, exacdy nine months before, he will become aw'are that death is coming.

He will be thankful to all that has happened—good and bad both. from everything he learned. They all helped. People who robbed him helped, people who helped him helped. People who were friends helped, people who were enemies helped—everyone helped. Summer and winter, satiety and hun­ ger. everything helped. One can be thankful to all.
When one is thankful to all and ready to die, celebrating for this op­ portunity that one was given, death becomes beautiful. Then death is not the enemy, it is the greatest friend be­ cause it is the crescendo of life. It is the highest peak that life achieves. It is not the end of life, it is the climax.
It looks like the end because you have never known life—to one who has known life it appears as the very crescendo, the vers- peak, the highest peak.



Love can have three dimensions. One is that of dependence; that's what happens to the majority of people. The husband is dependant on the wife, the wife is dependant on the husband; they exploit each other, they possess each other, they reduce each other to a commodity.
In ninety-nine percent of cases, that’s w-hat is happening in the world.

The second possibility is love between two independent per­ sons. That too happens once in a w hile. But that too brings, because there is constant conflict. No adjustment is possible; both are so independent and nobody is ready to compromise, to adjust with the other.
Poets, artists, thinkers, scientists, those w’ho live in a kind of independence, at least in their minds, are impossible people to live with; they are eccentric people to live with. They give freedom to the other, but their freedom looks more like indifference than like freedom, looks more as if they don’t care, as if it doesn’t matter to them.
They leave each other to their own spaces. Relationship seems to be only superficial; they are afraid to go deeper into each other because they are more attached to their freedom than to love.

And the third possibility is of in­ terdependence. That happens very rarely, but whenever it happens a part of paradise falls on the earth. Two persons, neither independent nor de­ pendent but in a tremendous syn- chronicity, as if breathing for each other, one soul in two bodies— whenever that happens, love has happened. Call only this love. The other two arc not really love, they are just arrangements—social, psycho­ logical, biological, but arrangements. The third is something spiritual.


C. S. Lewis has divided love into these two kinds: “need-love“ and “gift-love“. Abraham Maslow also divides love into two kinds. The first he calls “deficiency-love” and the second he calls “being-love." The distinction is significant and has to be understood.

The "need-love” or the “deficiency-love" depends on the other; it is immature love. In fact it is not truly love—it is a need. You use the other, you use the other as a means. You exploit, you manipulate, you dominate. But the other is reduced, the other is almost destroyed.
To use another human being is very unloving. So it only appears like love; it is a false coin.
But this is what happens to almost ninety-nine per­ cent of people because the first lesson of love that you learn is in your child­ hood.
A child is bom, he depends on the mother. His love toward the mother is a “deficiency-love”—he needs the mother, he cannot survive without the mother. He loves the mother because mother is his life.
The mother is a sort of food that he eats. It is not only milk that he gets from the mother, it is love also—and that too is a need. Millions of people remain childish all their lives; they never grow up. They grow- in age but they never grow in their minds; their psychology remains juvenile, immature. They are always needing love, they are hankering for it like food.

Man becomes mature the moment he starts loving rather than needing. He starts overflowing, sharing; he starts giving. The emphasis is totally different. With the first, the emphasis is on how to get more. With the second, the emphasis is on how to give, how to give more, and how to give unconditionally. This is growth, maturity, coming to you. A mature person gives. Only a mature person can give, because only a ma­ ture person has it. Then love is not de­ pendent. Then you can be loving whether the other is or is not. Then love is not a relationship, it is a state.

What happens when a flower blooms in a deep forest with nobody to appreciate it?
It dies? It suffers? It becomes panicky? It commits suicide?
It goes on blooming, it simply goes on blooming. It does not make any difference whether somebody passes by or not; it is irrelevant. It goes on spreading its fragrance to the winds. It goes on offering its joy to God, to the whole.
f I am alone, then too I will be as loving as when I am with you. It is not you who are creating my love. If you were creating my love, then naturally, when you are gone my love will be gone. You are not pulling my love out, I am showering it on you—this is "gift-love,” it is “being- love."

Love is having so much life that you don’t know what to do with it, so you share. It is having so many songs in your heart that you have to sing them—whether anybody listens is not relevant. If nobody listens then also you will have to sing your song, you will have to dance your dance.
it is overflowing.
Rivers don’t flow for you; they are flowing whether you are there or not. They don’t flow for your thirst, they don’t flow for your thirsty fields; they are simply flowing there. You can quench your thirst, you can miss—that’s up to you.

When you depend on the other there is always misery. The moment you depend, you start feeling miserable because depend­ ence is slavery. Then you start taking revenge in subtle ways, because the person you have to depend upon becomes powerful over you.
Nobody likes anybody to be pow- erful over them, nobody likes to be dependent because dependence kills freedom. And love cannot flower in dependence—love is a flower of freedom; it needs space, it needs ab­ solute space. The other has not to interfere with it. It is very delicate.

Husbands and wives—what are they doing? Loving is very rare; fighting is the rule, loving is an ex­ ception.
If the husband asks the wife, the wife re­ fuses. she is reluctant. She is very miserly: she gives but very re­ luctantly. she wants you to wag your tail around her. And so is the case with the husband. When the wife is in need and asks him, the husband says that he is tired.

When you know that love is not a need but an overflow— “being-love” or "gift-love"—then you give without any conditions.
The first kind, the so-called love, derives from a person’s deep need for another, while “gift-love” or “being-love” overflows from one mature person to another out of abundance.

just as when you light a lamp, the rays start spreading into the darkness. Love is a by-product of being. When you are, you have the aura of love around you. When you are not, you don’t have that aura around you. And when you don't have that aura around you, you ask the other to give love to you. You are a beggar. Now, two beggars spreading their hands before each other, and both are hoping that the other has it. Naturally both feel defeated finally, and both feel cheated.
the other did not prove according to your projection, that’s all. But the other has no obli­ gation to prove himself according to your expectations.
You both were hoping love would be flowing from the other, and both were empty—how can love happen? At the most you can be miserable together.
And remember, whenever two persons are miserable together it is not a simple ad­ dition, it is a multiplication.

One thing is good about it, in that now you can throw the responsibility on the other—the other is making you miserable, that is the good point.
Nothing is wrong with me, but the other.
Now you can throw the responsibility on the other; you have found a scapegoat. But misery remains, be­ comes multiplied.

Now this is the paradox: those who fall in love don't have any love, that's why they fall in love. And because they don’t have any love, they cannot give. And one thing more—an im­ mature person always falls in love with another immature person, because only they can understand each other's language. A ma­ ture person loves a mature person.
If you are twenty-five years of age, you don't fall in love with a baby two years old. Exactly like that, when you are a mature person psychologically, spiritually, you don't fall in love with a baby. It does not happen. It cannot happen, you can see that it is going to be meaningless.

In fact a mature person does not fall in love, he rises in love.
A mature person has the integrity to be alone.
And when a mature person gives love, he gives without any string attached to it.
When a mature person gives love, he feeb grateful that you have accepted his love, not vice versa.
And when two mature persons are in love, one of the greatest paradoxes of life happens, one of the most beautiful phenomena: They are together and yet tremendously alone. They are together so much so that they are almost one.
their oneness does not destroy their individuality—in fact, it enhances it.
Two mature persons in love help each other to become more free.

Remember, freedom is a higher value than love.
So if love is destroying freedom, it is not of worth. Love can be dropped, freedom has to be saved.
Freedom is the intrinsic desire of each man. So anything that be­ comes destructive to freedom, one starts hating it.

How can you give something that you don't have? To give it, the first basic requirement is to have it.


My suggestion is that marriage should happen after the honeymoon, never before it. Only if everything goes right, only then marriage should happen.
As far as I know, ninety-nine percent of marriages are finished by the time the hon­ eymoon is finished.
But then you are caught, then you have no way to escape. Then the whole society’—the law. the court, every­ body—is against you if you leave the wife or the wife leaves you. Then the whole morality, the religion, the pnest, everybody is against you.

In fact society should create all barriers possible for marriage and no barrier for divorce. Society should not allow people to marry so easily. The court should create barriers—live with the woman for two years at least, then the court can allow you to get married.
Right now they are doing just the reverse.

once you are acquainted, beauty disappears.
The day-to-day life is more like prose than like poetry.
One should become mature enough. Maturity means that one is no longer a romantic fool.
It may be just like ice cream—you can eat it some­ times. but don't depend on it. Life has to be more realistic, more prose.

Marriage simply brings out whatsoever is hidden in you.
Love is destroyed because in the first place love is not; you have been living in a dream. Reality destroys that dream. Otherwise love is something eternal, part of eternity. If you grow, if you know the art and you accept the re­ alities of love life, then it goes on growing every day. Marriage be­ comes a tremendous opportunity' to grow into love.

What do I mean when I say “really love”? I mean that just being in the presence of the other you feel suddenly happy, just being together you feel ecstatic, just the very presence of the
other fulfills something deep in your heart . . . something starts singing in your heart, you fall into harmony.
Just the very presence of the other helps you to be together; you be­ come more individual, more cen­ tered, more grounded. Then it is love.
The presence of the other enhances your presence. Love gives freedom to be yourself; it is not possessiveness.

Be alert, and when you start feeling with someone that just the presence, the pure presence—nothing else, nothing else is needed; you don't ask anything, just the presence, just that the other is, is enough to make you happy.
Something starts flowering within you, a thousand and one lotuses bloom, then you are in love. And then you can pass through all the difficulties that reality creates.
and your love will be flowering more and more, because all those situations will become chal­ lenges. And your love, by overcoming them, will grow more and more strong.

Love is eternity. If it is there, then it goes on growing and growing. Love knows the beginning but does not know the end.