Question to Osho:
What is the difference between the emptiness of the child before the 
formation of the ego and the awakened childlikeness of a Buddha?

There is a similarity and there is a difference. Essentially the child is a 
Buddha, but his buddhahood, his innocence, is natural, not earned. His 
innocence is a kind of ignorance, not a realization. His innocence is 
unconscious -- he is not aware of it, he is not mindful of it, he has not 
taken any note of it. It is there but he is oblivious. He is going to lose 
it. He has to lose it. Paradise will be lost sooner or later; he is on the 
way towards it. Every child has to go through all kinds of corruption, 
impurity -- the world. 

The child's innocence is the innocence of Adam before he was expelled from 
the garden of Eden, before he had tasted the fruit of knowledge, before he 
became conscious. It is animal-like. Look into the eyes of any animal -- a 
cow, a dog -- and there is purity, the same purity that exists in the eyes 
of a Buddha, but with one difference.

And the difference is vast too: a Buddha has come back home; the animal has 
not yet left home. The child is still in the garden of Eden, is still in 
paradise. He will have to lose it -- because to gain one has to lose. Buddha 
has come back home...the whole circle. He went away, he was lost, he went 
astray, he went deep into darkness and sin and misery and hell. Those 
experiences are part of maturity and growth. Without them you don't have any 
backbone, you are spineless. Without them your innocence is very fragile; it 
cannot stand against the winds, it cannot bear storms. It is very weak, it 
cannot survive. It has to go through the fire of life -- a thousand and one 
mistakes committed, a thousand and one times you fall, and you get back on 
your feet again. All those experiences slowly, slowly ripen you, make you 
mature; you become a grown-up.

Buddha's innocence is that of a mature person, utterly mature.

Childhood is nature unconscious; buddhahood is nature conscious. The 
childhood is a circumference with no idea of the center. The Buddha is also 
a circumference, but rooted in the center, centered. Childhood is 
unconscious anonymity; buddhahood is conscious anonymity. Both are nameless, 
both are formless...but the child has not known the form yet and the misery 
of it.

It is like you have never been in a prison, so you don't know what freedom 
is. Then you have been in the prison for many years, or many lives, and then 
one day you are released...you come out of the prison doors dancing, 
ecstatic! And you will be surprised that people who are already outside, 
walking on the street, going to their work, to the office, to the factory, 
are not enjoying their freedom at all -- they are oblivious, they don't know 
that they are free. How can they know? Because they have never been in 
prison they don't know the contrast; the background is missing.

It is as if you write with a white chalk on a white wall -- nobody will ever 
be able to read it. What to say about anybody else -- even you will not be 
able to read what you have written.

I have heard a famous anecdote about Mulla Nasruddin. In his village he was 
the only man who could write, so people used to come if they wanted to write 
a letter or some document, or anything. He was the only man who could write. 
One day a man came. Nasruddin wrote the letter, whatsoever the man dictated 
-- and it was a long letter -- and the man said: "Please, now read it, 
because I want to be sure that everything has been written and I have not 
forgotten anything, and you have not messed up anything."

Mulla said: "Now, this is difficult. I know how to write but I don't know 
how to read. And moreover, the letter is not addressed to me so it will be 
illegal to read it too."

And the villager was convinced, the idea was perfectly right, and the 
villager said: "Right you are -- it is not addressed to you."

If you write on a white wall even you yourself will not be able to read it, 
but if you write on a blackboard it comes loud and clear -- you can read it. 
The contrast is needed. The child has no contrast; he is a silver lining 
without the black cloud.

Buddha is a silver lining in the black cloud.

In the day there are stars in the sky; they don't go anywhere -- they can't 
go so fast, they can't disappear. They are already there, the whole day they 
are there, but in the night you can see them because of darkness. They start 
appearing; as the sun sets they start appearing. As the sun goes deeper and 
deeper below the horizon, more and more stars are bubbling up. They have 
been there the whole day, but because the darkness was missing it was 
difficult to see them.

A child has innocence but no background. You cannot see it, you cannot read 
it; it is not very loud. A Buddha has lived his life, has done all that is 
needed -- good and bad -- has touched this polarity and that, has been a 
sinner and a saint. Remember, a Buddha is not just a saint; he has been a 
sinner and he has been a saint. And buddhahood is beyond both. 
Now he has come back home. 

That's why Buddha said in yesterday's sutra: "Na jhanam, na praptir 
na-apraptih" -- "There is no suffering, no origination, no stopping, no 
path. There is no cognition, no knowledge, no attainment, and no 
non-attainment." When Buddha became awakened he was asked: "What have you 
attained?" And he laughed, and he said: "I have not attained anything -- I 
have only discovered what has always been the case. I have simply come back 
home. I have claimed that which was always mine and was with me. So there is 
no attainment as such, I have simply recognized it. It is not a discovery, 
it is a re-discovery. And when you become a Buddha you will see the point -- 
nothing is gained by becoming a Buddha. Suddenly you see that this is your 
nature. But to recognize this nature you have to go astray, you have to go 
deep into the turmoil of the world. You have to enter into all kinds of 
muddy places and spaces just to see your utter cleanliness, your utter purity.

The other day I told you about the seven doors -- of how the ego is formed, 
how the illusion of the ego is strengthened. It will be helpful to go deep 
into a few things about it.

These seven doors of the ego are not very clear-cut and separate from each 
other; they overlap. And it is very rare to find a person who has attained 
to his ego from all the seven doors. If a person has attained the ego from 
all the seven doors he has become a perfect ego. And only a perfect ego has 
the capacity to disappear, not an imperfect ego. When the fruit is ripe it 
falls; when the fruit is unripe it clings. If you are still clinging to the 
ego, remember, the fruit is not ripe; hence the clinging. If the fruit is 
ripe, it falls to the ground and disappears. So is the case with the ego.

Now a paradox: that only a really evolved ego can surrender.

Ordinarily you think that an egoist cannot surrender. That is not my 
observation, and not the observation of Buddhas down the ages. Only a 
perfect egoist can surrender. Because only he knows the misery of the ego, 
only he has the strength to surrender. He has known all the possibilities of 
the ego and has gone into immense frustration. He has suffered a lot, and he 
knows enough is enough, and he wants any excuse to surrender it. The excuse 
may be God, the excuse may be a master, or any excuse, but he wants to 
surrender it. The burden is too much and he has been carrying it for long.

People who have not developed their egos can surrender, but their surrender 
will not be perfect, it will not be total. Something deep inside will go on 
clinging, something deep inside will still go on hoping: "Maybe there is 
something in the ego. Why are you surrendering?"

In the East, the ego has not been developed well. Because of the teaching of 
egolessness, a misunderstanding arose that if the ego has to be surrendered, 
then why develop it, for what? A simple logic: if it has to be renounced one 
day, then why bother? Then why make so much effort to create it? It has to 
be dropped! So the East has not bothered much in developing the ego. And the 
Eastern mind finds it very easy to bow down to anybody. It finds it very 
easy, it is always ready to surrender. But the surrender is basically 
impossible, because you don't yet have the ego to surrender it.

You will be surprised: all the great Buddhas in the East have been 
kshatriyas, from the warrior race -- Buddha, Mahavira, Parshwanath, 
Neminath. All the twenty-four tirthankaras of the Jainas belong to the 
warrior race, and all the avataras of the Hindus belonged to the kshatriya 
race -- Ram, Krishna -- except one, Parashuram, who was, accidentally it 
seems, born to a brahmin family, because you cannot find a greater warrior 
than him. It must have been some accident -- his whole life was a continuous 
war.

It is a surprise when you come to know that not a single brahmin has ever 
been declared a Buddha, an avatara, a tirthankara. Why? The brahmin is 
humble; from the very beginning he has been brought up in humbleness, for 
humbleness. Egolessness has been taught to him from the very beginning, so 
the ego is not ripe, and unripe egos cling.

In the East people have very, very fragmentary egos, and they think it is 
easy to surrender.

They are always ready to surrender to anybody. A drop of a hat and they are 
ready to surrender -- but their surrender never goes very deep, it remains 
superficial.

Just the opposite is the case in the West: people who come from the West 
have very, very strong and developed egos. Because the whole Western 
education is to create an evolved, well-defined, well-cultured, 
sophisticated ego, they think it is very difficult to surrender. They have 
not even heard the word surrender. The very idea looks ugly, humiliating. 
But the paradox is that when a Western man or woman surrenders, the 
surrender goes really deep. It goes to the very core of his or her being, 
because the ego is very evolved. The ego is evolved; that's why you think it 
is very difficult to surrender. But if surrender happens it goes to the very 
core, it is absolute. In the East people think surrender is very easy, but 
the ego is not so evolved so it never goes very deep.

A Buddha is one who has gone into the experiences of life, the fire of life, 
the hell of life, and has ripened his ego to its ultimate possibility, to 
the very maximum. And in that moment the ego falls and disappears. Again you 
are a child; it is a rebirth, it is a resurrection. 

First you have to be on the cross of the ego, you have to suffer the cross 
of the ego, and you have to carry the cross on your own shoulders -- and to 
the very end. Ego has to be learned; only then can you unlearn it. And then 
there is great joy. When you are free from the prison you have a dance, a 
celebration in your being. You cannot believe why people who are out of 
prison are going so dead and dull and dragging themselves. Why are they not 
dancing? Why are they not celebrating? They cannot: they have not known the 
misery of the prison.

These seven doors have to be used before you can become a Buddha. 

You have to go to the darkest realm of life, to the dark night of the soul, 
to come back to the dawn when the morning rises again, the sun rises again, 
and all is light.

But it rarely happens that you have a fully developed ego.

If you understand me, then the whole structure of education should be 
paradoxical: first they should teach you the ego -- that should be the first 
part of education, the half of it; and they should then teach you 
egolessness, how to drop it -- that will be the latter half. People enter 
from one door or two doors or three doors, and get caught up in a certain 
fragmentary ego.

The first, I said, is the bodily self. The child starts learning slowly, 
slowly: it takes nearabout fifteen months for the child to learn that he is 
separate, that there is something inside him and something outside. He 
learns that he has a body separate from other bodies. But a few people 
remain clinging to that very, very fragmentary ego for their whole lives. 
These are the people who are known as materialists, communists, Marxists.

The people who believe that the body is all -- that there is nothing more 
than the body inside you, that the body is your whole existence, that there 
is no consciousness separate from the body, above the body, that 
consciousness is just a chemical phenomenon happening in the body, that you 
are not separate from the body and when the body dies you die, and all 
disappears...dust unto dust...there is no divinity in you -- they reduce man 
to matter.

These are the people who remain clinging to the first door; their mental age 
seems to be only fifteen months. The very, very rudimentary and primitive 
ego remains materialist. These people remain hung up with two things: sex 
and food. But remember, when I say materialist, communist, Marxist, I do not 
mean that this completes the list. Somebody may be a spiritualist and may 
still be clinging to the first....

For example, Mahatma Gandhi: if you read his autobiography, he calls his 
autobiography My Experiments With Truth.. But if you go on reading his 
autobiography you will find the name is not right; he should have given it 
the name My Experiments With Food And Sex. Truth is nowhere to be found. He 
is continuously worried about food: what to eat, what not to eat. His whole 
worry seems to be about food, and then about sex: how to become a celibate 
-- this runs as a theme, this is the undercurrent. Continuously, day and 
night, he is thinking about food and sex -- one has to get free. Now he is 
not a materialist -- he believes in soul, he believes in God. In fact, 
because he believes in God he is thinking so much about food -- because if 
he eats something wrong and commits a sin, then he will be far away from God.

He talks about God but thinks about food.

And that is not only so with him, it is so with all the Jaina monks. 
He was under much impact from Jaina monks. He was born in Gujarat. Gujarat 
is basically Jaina, Jainism has the greatest impact on Gujarat. Even Hindus 
are more like Jainas in Gujarat than like Hindus. Gandhi is ninety percent a 
Jaina -- born in a Hindu family, but his mind is conditioned by Jaina monks. 
They are continuously thinking about food.

And then the second idea arises, of sex -- how to get rid of sex. 
For his whole life, to the very end, he was concerned about it -- how to get 
rid of sex. In the last year of his life he was experimenting with nude 
girls and sleeping with them, just to test himself, because he was feeling 
that death was coming close, and he had to test himself to see whether there 
was still some lust in him.

The country was burning, people were being killed: Mohammedans were killing 
Hindus, Hindus were killing Mohammedans -- the whole country was on fire. 
And he was in the very middle of it, in Novakali -- but his concern was sex. 
He was sleeping with girls, nude girls; he was testing himself, testing 
whether brahmacharya, his celibacy, was perfect yet or not.

But why this suspicion? -- Because of long repression. The whole life he had 
been repressing. Now, in the very end, he had become afraid -- because at 
that age he was still dreaming about sex. So he was very suspicious: would 
he be able to face his God? Now he is a spiritualist, but I will call him a 
materialist, and a very primitive materialist. His concern is food and sex.

Whether you are for it or against it doesn't matter -- your concern shows 
where your ego is hanging. And I will include the capitalist in it also: his 
whole concern is how to gather money, hoard money -- because money has power 
over matter. You can purchase any material thing through money. 
You cannot purchase anything spiritual, you cannot purchase anything that 
has any intrinsic value; you can purchase only things. If you want to 
purchase love, you cannot purchase; but you can purchase sex.

Sex is the material part of love.

Through money, matter can be purchased, possessed.

Now you will be surprised: I include the communist and the capitalist both 
in the same category, and they are enemies, just as I include Charvaka and 
Mahatma Gandhi in the same category, and they are enemies. They are enemies, 
but their concern is the same. The capitalist is trying to hoard money, the 
communist is against it. He wants that nobody should be allowed to hoard 
money except the state. But his concern is also money, he is also 
continuously thinking about money. It is not an accident that Marx had given 
the name Das Kapital to his great book on communism, Capital. That is the 
communist Bible, but the name is Capital. That is their concern: how not to 
allow anybody to hoard money so the state can hoard, and how to possess the 
state -- so, in fact, basically, ultimately, you hoard the money.

Once I heard that Mulla Nasruddin had become a communist. I know him...I was 
a little puzzled. This was a miracle! I know his possessiveness. 

So I asked him: "Mulla, do you know what communism means?" 
He said: "I know." 
I said: "Do you know that if you have two cars and somebody hasn't a car, 
you will have to give one car?" 
He said: "I am perfectly willing to give." 
I said: "If you have two houses and somebody is without a house you will 
have to give one house?" 
He said: "I am perfectly ready, right now." 
And I said: "If you have two donkeys you will have to give one donkey to 
somebody else who has not?" 
He said: "There I disagree. I cannot give, I cannot do that!" 
But I said: "Why? -- Because it is the same logic, the same corollary." 
He said: "No, it is not the same -- I have two donkeys, I don't have two 
cars." 

The communist mind is basically a capitalist mind, the capitalist mind is 
basically a communist mind. They are partners in the same game -- the game's 
name is capital, Das Kapital.

Many people, millions of people, only evolve this primitive ego, very 
rudimentary. If you have this ego it is very difficult to surrender; it is 
very unripe.

The second door I call self-identity.

The child starts growing an idea of who he is. Looking in the mirror, he 
finds the same face. Every morning, getting up from the bed, he runs to the 
bathroom, looks, and he says: "Yes, it is I. The sleep has not disturbed 
anything." He starts having an idea of a continuous self.

Those people who become too involved with this door, get hooked with this 
door, are the so-called spiritualists who think that they are going into 
paradise, heaven, moksha, but that they will be there. When you think about 
heaven, you certainly think of yourself that as you are here, you will be 
there too. Maybe the body will not be there, but your inner continuity will 
remain. That is absurd! That liberation, that ultimate liberation happens 
only when the self is dissolved and all identity is dissolved. You become an 
emptiness....

Therefore, oh Sariputra, in nothingness there is no form, or: form is 
emptiness and emptiness is form.

There is no knowledge because there is no knower; there is not even vigyan, 
no consciousness, because there is nothing to be conscious about and nobody 
to be conscious about it. All disappears.

That idea that the child has of self-continuity is carried by the 
spiritualists. They go on searching: from where does the soul enter into the 
body, from where does the soul go out of the body, what form does the soul 
have, planchettes and mediums, things like that -- all rubbish and nonsense. 

The self has no form. It is pure nothingness, it is vast sky without any 
clouds in it. It is a thoughtless silence, unconfined, uncontained by anything.

That idea of a permanent soul, the idea of a self, continues to play games 
in your minds.

Even if the body dies, you want to be certain that: "I will live."

Many people used to come to Buddha...because this country has been dominated 
by this second kind of ego: people believe in the permanent soul, eternal 
soul, atman -- they would come to Buddha again and again and say: "When I 
die, will something remain or not?" And Buddha would laugh and he would say: 
"There is nothing right now, so why bother about death? There has never been 
anything from the very beginning." And this was inconceivable to the Indian 
mind.

The Indian mind is predominantly hooked with the second type of ego. 
That's why Buddhism could not survive in India. Within five hundred years, 
Buddhism disappeared. It found better roots in China, because of Lao Tzu. 
Lao Tzu had created really a beautiful field for Buddhism there. The climate 
was ready -- as if somebody had prepared the ground; only the seed was 
needed. And when the seed reached China it grew into a great tree. But from 
India it disappeared. Lao Tzu had no idea of any permanent self, and in 
China people have not bothered much.

There are these three cultures in the world: one culture, called the 
materialist -- very predominant in the West; another culture, called the 
spiritualist -- very predominant in India; and China has a third kind of 
culture, neither materialist nor spiritualist. It is Taoist: live the moment 
and don't bother for the future, because to bother about heaven and hell and 
paradise and moksha is basically to be continuously concerned about 
yourself. It is very selfish, it is very self-centered. According to Lao 
Tzu, according to Buddha too, and according to me also, a person who is 
trying to reach heaven is a very, very self-centered person, very selfish. 
And he does not know a thing about his own inner being -- there is no self.

The third door was self-esteem: the child learns to do things and enjoys 
doing them.

A few people get hooked there -- they become technicians, they become 
performers, actors, they become politicians, they become the showmen. 

The basic theme is the doer; they want to show the world that they can do 
something. If the world allows them some creativity, good. If it does not 
allow them creativity, they become destructive.

Did you know that Adolf Hitler wanted to enter an art school? He wanted to 
become a painter, that was his idea. Because he was refused, because he was 
not a painter, because he could not pass the entrance examination in art 
school -- that rejection was very hard for him to accept -- his creativity 
turned sour. He became destructive. But basically he wanted to become a 
painter, he wanted to do something. Because he was not found capable of 
doing it, as revenge, he started being destructive.

The criminal and the politician are not very far away, they are 
cousin-brothers. If the criminal is given the right opportunity he will 
become a politician, and if the politician is not given the right 
opportunity to have his say, he will become a criminal. They are border 
cases. Any moment, the politician can become a criminal and the criminal can 
become a politician. And this has been happening down the ages, but we don't 
yet have that insight to see into things.

The fourth door was self-extension. The word "mine" is the key word there. 
One has to extend oneself by accumulating money, by accumulating power, by 
becoming bigger and bigger and bigger: the patriot who says: "This is my 
country, and this is the greatest country in the world." You can ask the 
Indian patriot: he goes on shouting from every nook and corner that this is 
punya bhumi -- this is the land of virtue, the purest land in the world.

Once a so-called saint came to me, a Hindu monk, and he said: "Don't you 
believe that this is the only country where so many Buddhas were born, so 
many avataras, so many tirthankaras -- Rama, Krishna and others. Why? -- 
Because this is the most virtuous land."

I told him: "The fact is just the opposite: if in the neighborhood you see 
that in somebody's house a doctor comes every day -- sometimes a vaidya, a 
physician, a hakim, an acupuncturist, and the naturopath, and this and that 
-- what do you understand by it?"

He said: "Simple! That that family is ill."

That is the case with India: so many Buddhas needed -- the country seems to 
be utterly ill and pathological.

So many healers, so many physicians. Buddha has said: "I am a physician." 
And you know that Krishna has said: "Whenever there is darkness in the 
world, and whenever there is sin in the world, and whenever the law of the 
cosmos is disturbed, I will come back." So why had he come that time? 
It must have been for the same reason. And why so many times in India? 

But the patriot is arrogant, aggressive, egoistic. He goes on declaring: "My 
country is special, my religion is special, my church is special, my book is 
special, my guru is special" -- and everything is nothing. This is just ego 
claiming.

A few people get hooked with this "mine" -- the dogmatist, the patriot, the 
Hindu, the Christian, the Mohammedan.

The fifth door is self-image. The child starts looking into things, 
experiences. When the parents feel good with the child, he thinks: "I am 
good." When they pat him he feels: "I am good." When they look with anger, 
they shout at him and they say: "Don't do that!" he feels: "Something is 
wrong in me." He recoils.

A small child was asked in school on the first day he entered: 
"What is your name?"
He said: "Johnny Don't."
The teacher was puzzled. He said: "Johnny Don't? Never heard such a name!"
He said: "Whenever, whatsoever I am doing, this is my name -- my mother 
shouts: 'Johnny don't!' My father shouts: 'Johnny don't!' So I think this is 
my name. 'Don't' is always there.  What I am doing is irrelevant."

The fifth is the door from where morals enter: you become a moralist; you 
start feeling very good, "holier than thou." Or, in frustration, in 
resistance, in struggle, you become an immoralist and you start fighting 
with the whole world, to show the whole world.

Fritz Perls, the founder of Gestalt Therapy, has written about one of his 
experiences that proved very fundamental to his life's effort. He was a 
psychoanalyst practicing in Africa. The practice was very good because he 
was the only psychoanalyst there. He had a big car, a big bungalow with a 
garden, a swimming pool -- and everything that a mediocre mind wants to 
have, the middle-class luxuries.

And then he went to Vienna to attend a world psychoanalyst's conference. Of 
course, he was a successful man in Africa, so he was thinking that Freud 
would receive him, there would be great welcome. And Freud was the 
father-figure for the psychoanalysts, so he wanted to be patted by Freud. He 
had written a paper and had worked for months on it, because he wanted Freud 
to know who he was. He read the paper; there was no response. 
Freud was very cold, other psychoanalysts were very cold. His paper was 
almost unnoticed, uncommented upon. He felt very shocked, depressed, but 
still he was hoping that he would go to see Freud, and then something might 
happen.

And he went to see Freud. He was just on the steps, had not even entered the 
door, and Freud was standing there. And he said to Freud, just to impress 
him: "I have come from thousands of miles." And rather than welcoming him, 
Freud said: "And when are you going back?" That hurt him very much: "This is 
the welcome? 'When are you going back?'" And that was the whole interview -- 
finished! He turned away, continuously repeating, like a mantra in his head: 
"I will show you, I will show you, I will show you!" And he tried to show 
him: he created the greatest movement against psychoanalysis -- gestalt.

This is a childish reaction.

Either the child is accepted -- then he feels good, then he is ready to do 
anything the parents want; or, if again and again he is frustrated, then he 
starts thinking in terms of: "There is no possibility that I can receive 
their love, but still I need their attention. If I cannot get their 
attention through the right way, I will get their attention through the 
wrong way. Now I will smoke, I will masturbate, I will do harm to myself and 
to others, and I will do all kinds of things that they say 'Don't do,' but I 
will keep them occupied with me. I will show them."

This is the fifth door, the self-image. Sinner and saint are hooked there. 
Heaven and hell are the ideas of people who are hooked there. 
Millions of people are hooked. They are continuously afraid of hell and 
continuously greedy for heaven. They want to be patted by God, and they want 
God to say to them: "You are good, my son. I am happy with you." They go on 
sacrificing their lives just to be patted by some fantasy somewhere beyond 
life and death. They go on doing a thousand and one tortures to themselves 
just in order that God can say: "Yes, you sacrificed yourself for me."

It seems as if God is a masochist or a sadist, or something like that.

People torture themselves with the idea that they will be making God happy. 
What do you mean by this? You fast and you think God will be very happy with 
you? You starve yourself and you think God will be very happy with you? Is 
he a sadist? Does he enjoy torturing people? And that is what saints, 
so-called saints, have been doing: torturing themselves and looking at the 
sky. Sooner or later God will say: "Good boy, you have done well. Now come 
and enjoy the heavenly pleasures. Come here! Wine flows here in rivers, and 
roads are of gold, and palaces are made of diamonds. And the women here 
never age, they remain stuck at sixteen. Come here! You have done enough, 
you have earned, now you can enjoy!" The whole idea behind sacrifice is 
this. It is a foolish idea, because all ego ideas are foolish.

The sixth is the self as reason. It comes through education, experience, 
reading, learning, listening: you start accumulating ideas, then you start 
creating systems out of ideas, consistent wholes, philosophies. 
This is where the philosophers, the scientists, the thinkers, the 
intellectuals, the rationalists are hooked. But this is becoming more and 
more sophisticated: from the first, the sixth is very sophisticated.

The seventh is propriate striving: the artist, the mystic, the utopian, the 
dreamer -- they are hooked there. They are always trying to create an utopia 
in the world. The word "utopia" is very beautiful: it means "that which 
never comes." It is always coming but it never comes; it is always there but 
never here. But there are moon-gazers who go on looking for the faraway, the 
distant, and they are always moving in imagination. Great poets, imaginative 
people -- their whole ego is involved in becoming. There is somebody who 
wants to become God; he is a mystic.

Remember, "becoming" is the key word on the seventh, and the seventh is the 
last of the ego. The most mature ego comes there. That's why you will feel, 
you will see a poet -- he may not have anything, he may be a beggar, but in 
his eyes, on his nose, you will see the great ego. The mystic may have 
renounced the whole world and may be sitting in a Himalayan cage, in a 
Himalayan cave. You go there and look at him: he may be sitting there naked 
-- but such a subtle ego, such a refined ego. He may even touch your feet, 
but he is showing: "Look how humble I am!"

There are seven doors. When the ego is perfect, all these seven doors have 
been crossed; then that mature ego drops on its own accord. The child is 
before these seven egos, and the Buddha is after these seven egos. 
It is a complete circle.

You ask me: "What is the difference between the emptiness of the child 
before the formation of the ego and the awakened childlikeness of a Buddha?"

This is the difference. Buddha has moved into all these seven egos -- seen 
them, looked into them, found that they are illusory, and has come back 
home, has become a child again. That's what Jesus means when he says: 
"Unless you become like small children, you will not enter into my kingdom 
of God."