Stories of Mullah Nasrudin

His name is Mullah Nasrudin, Molla Nasrodine, Ch’ha, Joha, Toto, et cetera. He’s a member of all nationalities, particularly the oriental ones. He exists in China as well as in the other countries of the East.

Sometimes he’s an idiot; others he’s sublime. From one story to the next he moves problem-free from insignificant to remarkable. He’s often a Sufi Master, too.

His adventures aren’t exactly comical, but they are popular or traditional. They’ve been used by Sufi Masters for initiating support of their teachings.

For the sake of our readers, we will keep to the name Mullah Nasrudin in the stories that follow.

While passing in front of a pastry shop, Mullah felt an intense desire to eat a sweet roll. Even though he didn’t have so much as a penny in his pocket, he went in and began to eat. After a brief moment, the baker gave him the check, but Nasrudin didn’t pay him any attention at all. The baker pulled out his rolling pin and began to beat Mullah without stopping. As he was receiving his clubbing, Mullah kept on having his fill of the sweet rolls. Smiling, he said: “What a kind city! Its people are so affable! They beat you to make you keep eating sweet rolls!”

Nothing detours Mullah from his objective. He shoots his arrow that will hit its mark without fail… he eats the sweet roll.

If we move this story to the initiating domain, we can say that the sweet roll is our truth, our essential food, and the life’s blows bring us closer and closer to that truth. We take our blows just like Mullah but instead of getting angry, we say: “How beautiful life is! It nourishes me! It works so I can arrive at my essential truth, my realization.”

Life tests us to force us to realize ourselves. If we become conscious of that, we accept its lessons.

One night, Mullah Nasrudin had a strange dream: an unknown wealthy man visited him and gave him nine dinars. Mullah asked him: “And why only nine? Give me another, to make it a round number.”

The man ignored him. Mullah insisted, begged, and groveled so much that he finally woke up. Seeing his empty hand, he cursed his bad character that had made him lose his unexpected gift. Next, laying himself back down to sleep, he closed his eyes, held out his hand, and excused himself: “Ok, fine, just give me the nine dinars.”

A young Algerian woman, married to a Frenchman, came to see me to have her tarot cards read. She had a degree in architecture and she loved the profession. Nevertheless, she realized she couldn’t practice it in France.

“So, you feel a love so great that you left your country to live here with this man?” I asked her.

“Look, your card is construction. For you, architecture is important,” I explained.

“Perhaps you could do something in the field of interior design,” suggested my assistant.

The woman’s hands were stained because she had been printing silk. She liked the idea, recognizing that it was indeed feasible.

“You’re going through a slight depression,” I added. You left your family to live with this man and now you find yourself in the midst of an emotional paradox: you suffer for having left your loved ones, but you can’t live without your husband. You’re not well, here nor there. In the end, you don’t accept the nine dinars. But life is giving you a great gift. You live a great love here in Paris and you’re just a two or three hour plane ride from your family. You say you’re looking for work, but not finding any. Believe in yourself! Stop asking for work. In fact, you ask for it in order to be denied, to be able to say you were better off there, to be able to express your sorrow for having left your mother behind. Still, you have everything. You have nine dinars. Work here with your silk and other things. Work on interior decorating. Use your skills and visit your mother every month or two.

Because of the fact that we want the ten dinars, we don’t enjoy what we have here and now. We want everything or nothing.

People generally complain about what they have. They think they never have enough. When it’s a matter of asking, the request is infinite. Remember what the Old Testament says: “Blessed is the wise, for he is satisfied with his lot.”

If we’re dissatisfied with what we have today, we’ll want to get more and remain permanently dissatisfied. We need to accept the nine dinars. We need to learn to take advantage of them… what little we’ve got could be taken away from us when we wake up.

In his travels, Mullah Nasrudin arrives in a small town. At the plaza, he stops at a fruit stand and admires the exotic fruits for sale.

“These fruits look great. Give me a pound!” he says to the vendor, then leaves, satisfied with his purchase.

A little ways down the street, he takes a bite of one of the red fruits and his mouth immediately goes up in flames. He turns beet red. He cries. Still, he keeps right on eating.

“Since I believed these fruits to be delicious, I thought one wouldn’t be enough so I bought a whole pound.

“I see, but why do you keep on eating them? They’re chili peppers, hot ones at that.”

“What I’m eating now aren’t really chili peppers,” says Mullah burping, “it’s my money.”

We make a great effort to attain a certain situation, such as forming a couple or getting any other thing and, if we make a mistake, we don’t give up: we persist in eating the chili peppers. Here, the peppers represent the effort we’ve already made. We’re not humble enough to recognize our mistake. We continue putting everything we have into the chili peppers.

If we want to change, we need to be humble enough to say: “I was wrong. I bought a pound of chili peppers that I can’t eat. This is harmful to me. I’m giving it up and I’m going to start something else.”

“I’ve spent thirty years with this woman enduring a meaningless life,” someone told me.

“You have two options: start your life over, or reorganize your relationship,” I explained.

When we’ve spent many years with someone, we need to readjust the relationship and better organize it, instead of continuing in the same dated relationship that no longer fits in with our reality. We tell ourselves: “In my youth, I had a certain family ideal, but as the years go by, my interests have changed. I can’t continue living like this; I need to reorganize everything.”

After suffering a few setbacks, Mullah Nasrudin is obligated to sell the home he inherited from his father. Taking advantage of the situation, a man without scruples makes him a lowball offer. Nasrudin knows perfectly well that he’s dealing with a thief, but he accepts the offer, under one small condition.

“As you can see for yourself, there’s a nail in this wall… a nail that was hammered in by my father, and it’s the only keepsake I have of him. I’ll sell you the house, but I wish to continue on as owner of this nail. If you accept my condition, you’ve got a deal. As for the nail, I’ll obviously have the right to hang anything I want on it.

The buyer accepts the clause. Then they sign a contract for sale before the appropriate authorities, with Mullah Nasrudin continuing on as the legal owner of the nail, with the rights to do whatever he wanted with it. The new owner takes possession of the property and installs himself and his whole family in the house. One day, Nasrudin shows up.

The owner lets him in and Nasrudin hangs his picture (his right, as properly stipulated in the contract).

“These are some articles of clothing that belonged to my father. I want to hang them on the nail,” Nasrudin tells the owner, who’s beginning to show a bit of impatience.

He does it right away, deaf to the surprised owner’s supplications. The police show up on the scene of the dispute and, based on the contract, uphold Nasrudin’s position. The carcass begins to rot, to the dismay of the impotent owner. After a certain time, Nasrudin comes back with another carcass that he hangs on the nail. The stench is so bad that the owner sees himself forced to abandon the property. And that’s how Mullah Nasrudin got his house back.

This story has two possible readings: one positive, the other negative. Let’s begin with the positive reading.

Let’s take the house to be symbolic of the ego. The nail, in this case, would be the starting point for spiritual work. From this beginning and by means of diligent study, I can become the master of my house.

This person didn’t want to hang God on their nail. For them, such a feat was impossible. They must live in an empty house, without a nail, and without an essential being.

We often find ourselves in a similar situation, debasing our “house” down to a lowball price. That means we sacrifice ourselves for very little.

Later, I told this person: “You weren’t wanted. If you came into this world, it was because…”

“No! It was because the universe wanted it that way, and that’s the only reason.”

There are so many things opposing our birth and development that if we could just effortlessly recognize that we’re right here right now, it’s because of a universal design that’s entirely unfathomable to us.

Now, let’s have a look at the other possible interpretation. This story comes as a warning for us. It advises us to remain vigilant; to make sure someone doesn’t come along and put a nail in our personal world. Accepting a nail, although it may seem small, means running the risk of losing everything.

Not too long ago, a journalist who attends my conferences asked me for an interview. I don’t usually give interviews, unless it’s to promote my artistic productions. The Jodorowsky who gives conferences and reads the tarot doesn’t need publicity. As an exception, I accepted. It worked out well for the reporter; and for me? Maybe.

He asked my permission to bring a photographer. Again I accepted, but under the condition that he take the photos in the café, before the conference. When the photographer arrived, he immediately told me: “But I simply can’t photograph you here. There are too many people. I need to photograph you at home, in your intimacy. Let’s make an appointment.”

This man had an idea for the photography to which I’d have to adapt. I refused.

“It’s really a shame. You’ll be sorry. We could take some really beautiful photos…” he insisted.

“I have nothing to be sorry for,” I replied. “A good photo of me doesn’t interest me at all. I don’t want to enter into that world. If you want a photo, take it here! Take it, or leave it!”

Posing for photos is a concession I refuse to make. If I let this nail in, the cow’s carcass will be soon to follow: I’d end up on television playing the part of Lord Sun or, better yet, Lord Moon, Lady Sun’s buddy.

The smallest concession becomes the nail in our own house. Here’s where the intellect helps us. Its function is to watch with constant attention to ensure that nobody penetrates our universe to hammer in nails that don’t apply to us.

Every thing or experience that we accept but doesn’t apply to us is the equivalent of letting the cow’s carcass into our house.

There’s a scientific experiment I often mention. If we slowly heat a little water with a frog in it, the little animal doesn’t feel the temperature rise at all and ends up cooked without the hint of even the slightest effort to escape death.

Likewise, things degrade gradually. That’s why we need to rid ourselves of them before they arrive. We need to immediately prevent the mere placement of the nail.

If I realize the water’s boiling, I’m not going to wait until the next day to jump out of it. When I become aware that something’s not right in my life, I take the necessary corrective measures immediately. In this respect, it’s useful to learn to say no, to be able to say: “No, I won’t do what you’re asking of me.” Undoubtedly, if they put a gun to my head, I’ll do it without the slightest resistance. Otherwise, if I have the right to say what I think, I’ll use that right whenever it seems necessary to do so.

I won’t act like that poor woman who’s always being chased and who’s always involved in some unlikely sex scandal because she’s incapable of saying no. Even if she detested the situations in which she found herself, she wouldn’t dare refuse. Nobody has ever taught her how to refuse and, as if it were nothing, they blamed her whenever she tried.

“Here it is!” he replied, reaching his right arm over his head and touching his left ear.

“Why are you doing that? Wouldn’t it be so much easier to use you left hand to touch the ear on the same side?”

“It would certainly be easier, but if I did it like everyone else, I wouldn’t be Mullah Nasrudin.”

For me to be myself (or feel myself), I have to touch my ear in some eccentric fashion.

I asked my adolescent son what he thought about the matter. He replied: “We’re all conditioned to touch our ear in an identical, stereotyped manner. Why can’t I, an artist, touch mine how I feel like it?”

We can discover in Mullah Nasrudin’s way of acting a desire to single himself out by means of extravagant, attention getting acts. In this case, instead of identifying with my essential being, I’m identifying with histrionics. I don’t do it “to be,” rather “to be different” and then I believe I’ve found myself.

In my opinion, this isn’t the way. To be means to be different in a natural way. Consequently, why look to do more if the only end is to distinguish ourselves?

“How do you proceed when you go to do your ablutions at the river’s edge?” asked Mullah of a peasant.

“Facing Mecca, sure… but the most important thing is that I never take my eye off the place where I left my clothes, ever since the time when a thief stole them from me.”

On one occasion, I asked my Zen master, Ejo Takata: “Why do you tie your belt like that?” He replied: “So my pants don’t fall down.” And that was a great Zen lesson. Things have utility. When we need to close the door, we close it. We can never forget to have a practical spirit, to pay attention to what’s real. When we stop paying attention to what’s real, we distance ourselves. Religion shouldn’t remove us from reality. A true monk or a true believer never leaves reality behind. He protects his goods and constantly observes what’s happing in his surroundings.

In my family, whenever someone knocks over a bottle, spills a glass of something, or slips, the rest of us say: “Samurai!” The person in question blushes because they were caught in their error. We play this game because samurais should never err. They can’t even stumble or break a glass.

We need to always be on the alert, under the penalty of not being a true mystic.

Some time ago, I went to see Oscar Ichazo, creator of the school Enseñanza Arica. Since I had to play the role of master in the movie The Sacred Mountain, I wanted him to teach me the part. He came to my home to initiate me. We went to my library, alone, where he showed me a red powder that he said was LSD. Then he rolled a joint. Although I was forty years old at the time, I had never tried either marijuana or LSD.

He dissolved the LSD in some orange juice and gave it to me to drink. After drinking it, I commented: “For the sake of my work, I absolutely must keep my head intact. I hope you’re not going to make it explode on me.”

After about a half hour, he had me smoke the joint to bring on the effects of the LSD. I smoked it with immediate results. I quickly began to feel the effect… I perceived beautiful things. Through the window, I saw a van Gogh, a Rubens, etc. It was truly magnificent. I was moved because it was the first time I had hallucinations. I also became conscious of the nature of the hallucinations.

“If a thief or criminal attacked me right now, I’d be incapable of defending myself.”

He immediately ordered me out of my state so that I wouldn’t become anguished. I was, however, in no way anguished. I was simply considering the method while simultaneously enjoying paradise. What I discovered was that paradise wasn’t so great, because I no longer had the means to defend myself in time of need.

An enlightened Zen master defends himself. He reacts before the slightest danger. If something comes tumbling down on him, he jumps to the side to protect himself. He maintains his self-preservation instinct intact and alert, since life is sacred and so is its defense.

Ramakrishna’s disciples would probably argue with me, without taking into consideration the fact that when the ascetic remained in a trance for six months, he had to be fed by the spoonful. What was the point of his trance? Maybe there was some point, but that point does nothing for me.

I wouldn’t want to be in a trance for six months because I have a family to attend to. The truth is, if I were a parasite for my disciples, I could do it, but it goes without saying that during the time period in question they’d have to work to take care of me.

Mullah Nasrudin’s son went to see his father and told him: “Last night I dreamed you gave me a hundred afghanis.

“Fine,” said Mullah, “since you’re a wise little boy, I’m not going to take from you those hundred afghanis I gave you in your dream. You can save them and buy yourself whatever you want with them.”

Mullah Nasrudin knows, as does any good master, that it’s necessary to distinguish between illusion and reality.

If you dream that I’m important to you, I won’t let you down. Take advantage of your dream, but don’t forget that that dream doesn’t involve me. If you have illusions, be aware of their nature.

Mullah is telling his son: “If you believe in the existence of your illusion, live it! Let’s see what you can get out of it and what you can buy with it.” Nasrudin provokes commotion in the boy, and the latter realizes the illusory nature of his dream.

In reality, Mullah is saying: “Look for your truth inside yourself. How will you find it? Eliminate your dreams.”

“This man doesn’t love you. It’s all over. Stop dreaming!” Or better yet: “This woman doesn’t love you. Stop begging for her pity. You’re blind. She has nothing to give you. It’s all over. Now live!”

Imagine that you’ve been married for fifty years and at the moment of your death, your other comes along and spits on your tomb. Before, they smiled at you awaiting your inheritance and now, they deposit you in a little corner in the family crypt. You’ve become meaningless. It’s a terrible thing to live a foolish dream and never face up to reality.

One day, a peasant went to visit Nasrudin, attracted by his great fame and desirous of meeting the most illustrated man in the land. As a gift, the peasant brought along a magnificent duck. Mullah Nasrudin, honored by the offering, invited the man in to dine and spend the night in his house. The next day, the peasant returned to his fields, happy to have spent a few hours with such an important figure.

A few days later, the peasant’s children went to the city and on the way home dropped by to see Mullah. They introduced themselves: “We’re the children of the man who gave you the duck.”

Mullah began to lament having accepted a gift so inconvenient as that duck. Still, he smiled and invited the guests in to eat.

Eight days later, a whole family showed up and asked Mullah for some hospitality.

Mullah acted as though he were perfectly pleased and invited them all in to the dining room. After a few minutes, he appeared with a huge soup kettle full of hot water. He happily filled his guests’ bowls with this liquid.

One of them spoke up for the group and asked: “What is this, noble sir Mullah? For Allah’s sake, we’ve never seen such a soup!”

“This is the broth of the broth of the broth of the duck that I’m happy to offer to you, the neighbors of the neighbors of the man who gave me that damned bird,” Nasrudin calmly replied.

The neighbor’s neighbor’s neighbor arrives to eat the broth of the broth of the broth. This is a well-known story in popular circles in the Middle East. It reminds me of initiating wisdom.

At a given moment, there exists a certain truth. Suddenly, everybody wants to know that truth, but they receive the version of the version of the version of the truth. In the end, they inherit nothing of it.

Mullah had lost his ass. He went into the market and begged everybody to help him find it. He promised a reward of the ass itself, as well as a saddle and harness to go along with it, to whoever found the animal. When asked why he was going through so much trouble to find the ass, if he was just going to give it away as a reward, Mullah explained: “Perhaps none of you know the pleasure of finding something you’ve lost?”

I look for my essential being, my internal god, because I’ve lost it. Somewhere along the way, our society lost it. All my life I’ve struggled to find it. I know that somewhere, somehow, there’s a light inside of me. When I discover it, I’ll have the pleasure of finding something I know I once had and then I’ll be obligated to give it up and dissolve into the world.

All spiritual work brings us to the gift of oneself. There’s not a single realized being that hasn’t given himself up to the world, to the universe.

To love means to obtain in order to share. When I love, I look for love. When I find it, I immediately share it. I don’t just share it with my partner, but also with their family, with the family we form together, with friends, with others, etc.

Unshared love doesn’t exist; it’s either called neurosis, selfishness, or madness. I seek a loving relationship to be able to share love and become a light in the world.

I tried to simply form a couple and now I find myself surrounded by five children. What a surprise it is to have and be a family! I don’t regret it at all, because each child has opened my heart a little more, brought me work, anguish, and the psychodrama of forgiving my parents, etc. They’ve brought me to discover love and to love all.

Every being that appears in our lives is a blessing. A cat, a plant, a friend, all of them! A collaborator, an employee, a master… what joy!

Nasrudin’s wife asked him to go buy a dozen pins. Mullah left with his ass to transport the cargo. He bought a dozen pins and stowed them in the saddle. When his wife saw him coming, she said, astonished: “Why did you take the ass to transport a dozen pins? You could have carried them in your own tunic!”

Mullah immediately left to buy some. He returned carrying the firewood in his tunic, which by then was in tatters.

“What happened to you?” asked his wife, furious. “Look at the state of your clothes! Why did you do such a thing?”

“Didn’t you say my tunic was good for carrying things? I followed your advice.”

People come to me fairly frequently to ask for advice and I prescribe them psychomagical* acts to perform. I never do so without first having them tell me about their lives and their family tree. Only after I have a good perception of their difficulties and the terrain they’re walking on can I assign them a conscious act to execute.

Someone who had heard me recommend psychomagical acts on various occasions set themselves up as a therapist. Since that person had very little imagination, they made up a list of typical acts to be performed that they could prescribe without discernment. For example, they advised all their female patients to send a big pair of scissors to their mothers to cut the umbilical chord that unites them. Likewise, they recommended all their clients to buy a doll, charge it with negative thoughts, and throw it in the garbage. Their advice doesn’t take into account the particularities of each person. It’s standardized and doesn’t produce any results, since the therapy that’s works for one person doesn’t necessarily work for everybody. You can’t have a supermarket of psychomagic.

*Psychomagic is a therapeutic technique invented by Alejandro Jodorowsky and inspired by primitive shamanistic practices. It uses a symbolic language to solve specific problems. The interested person, aware of the surreal nature of their acts and gestures, lends himself to the therapy knowing full well that they will be acting on their unconscious.

“If you find the truth, grab it and throw it into the well!” said a wise man to Mullah Nasrudin.

Later, Mullah ran into a blind woman who asked him to help her cross the street.

This story illustrates quite well that a truth is not immutable. Its veracity depends on the person to whom it’s directed, the person who tells it, and the time and place in which it’s told, as well as on many other conditions. A truth that’s valid “here and now” may very well be erroneous “someplace else tomorrow.”

Mullah Nasrudin began a long journey armed with a saber and a spear. Along the way, a bandit armed with nothing more than a cane jumped him and took his belongings from him. When he arrived at the next city, he told his friends of his misfortune, and they asked him how it was possible that he, armed with a saber and a spear, could be overcome by a thief bearing nothing more than a cane.

Nasrudin explained: “That was the problem; I had my hands full with the saber and the spear. How could I have gotten out of that mess triumphantly?”

The interpretation of this story becomes clear upon looking into the next one about the grammarian…

Mullah Nasrudin is a boatman. One day, he’s transporting a grammarian in his boat. Along the way the latter asks him: “Do you know grammar?”

“Well, allow me to tell you that you’ve lost half your life!” disdainfully replies the scholar.

A little later, the wind begins to blow and the boat is swallowed by waves. As the boat is about to sink, Mullah asks his passenger: “Do you know how to swim?”

This second story is directly related to the first. It tells us: “What good is knowledge if we don’t know how to apply it to reality?” In other words, what’s the point of arming ourselves with useless knowledge?

There are people who can recite the Kamasutra from memory, but they’re incapable of satisfying their partner sexually. Despite the fact that they know this great erotic treatise perfectly well, when the practical phase arrives they’re defeated by the first undaunted boy who comes along.

After reading both stories, I ask myself: “What do I know? What techniques do I possess? What am I talking about? Do I need instruction?” Yes, instruction is important, but we need to ask ourselves the point of the acquired knowledge and know how to get rid of the useless. I prefer to use my knowledge to develop a personal technique that I will know in great depth and apply to reality, instead of collecting thousands of facts and figures that I’ll never apply to anything. What good are all those theories of sex, love, good, prayer, etc., if I never apply them? It’s like hiding behind this knowledge, but doing nothing.

Mullah fell down the stairs and hurt himself badly. Despite all the ointments and potions he used, the pain made him suffer terribly. His friends went to comfort him:

At the height of his pain, however, Mullah screamed at them: “Leave, all of you! Get out of this room immediately! Mom, don’t let anybody else in, unless it’s someone who has fallen down a stairway.”

Theory can’t replace experience. To understand the other person, you have to put yourself in their place. If a person has never suffered, how can they put themselves in the place of someone who has?

The gurus, who are perfect after three thousand reincarnations, are incapable of helping others because they don’t know human pain.

In this order of ideas, a male sex therapist can’t understand and advise a woman if he hasn’t deeply lived the feminine experience within himself, if he has never imagined himself as having a vagina, uterus, ovaries, menstruation, etc. Likewise, a woman who has never imagined herself with a penis, sperm, and erections can’t understand a man.

I’ve contemplated this theme at length: that the woman construct a man inside herself and a man do the same of a woman. That will permit them to truly communicate with each other.

The Hindu guru, Saïd Baba is a man for six months of the year and a woman for the other six. He presents himself before his disciples dressed as a woman and nobody is surprised. According to the time of year, they say he’s living his Shaktti or his Shiva, his Yin or his Yang. He creates them inside himself.

One day, Mullah Nasrudin went to the woods to look for firewood. After loading his bundles on his back, he gets on his ass and heads home.

“Why are you carrying those bundles on your back?” asked some people passing by along the way, laughing at him.

“Men of little faith, this poor beast is carrying my body, do you expect me to add additional weight as well? I’m carrying the bundles on my back to avoid overloading him.”

If the ass symbolizes the body, the wood a problem, and Mullah the intellect, we could say that there are people who think they’re freeing themselves of the weight of a problem by understanding it intellectually.

“I understand it completely!” they say, but in reality they don’t understand a thing. They keep right on bearing the burden. They don’t solve a thing because they fool themselves. They imitate those who have understood, they take them as examples, but they haven’t solved anything.

“Why don’t you put the saddlebags on your ass’s shoulders?” suggested a passerby.

“Are you crazy?” replied Mullah, “in addition to carrying me, you want my ass to carry the saddlebags as well?”

The people who enter into a relationship with you carry their saddlebags: their sadness, pain, depression, aggression, etc., and you carry them with all their saddlebags. You bear them and their trashcan. Respect your fellow human being; empty your trashcan!

Mullah went to buy himself an ass. The ass market was at its height, full of peasants. In midst of the tumult, Nasrudin heard a guy confirm that there were only asses and peasants present, nothing else.

There are people who judge the world as if they didn’t belong to it. They’re outsiders. They say: “I’m not the world; I judge it; I’m not part of it.” How, then, are they not part of it? Everything that happens in the world concerns us. We can’t say that the world is only made up of asses and peasants.

If I care about what happens in the world, I’m going to need to learn to deal with the information I receive and choose between what’s true and what’s not.

The newspapers have taken control of the ozone and other environmental problems and publish alarmist articles in which all the facts aren’t certain. It’s good to raise people’s awareness so they can take the necessary measures to end pollution on our planet. The anguishing sensationalism, with its only objective being increased newspaper sales, is pathetic. It’s a juicy business opportunity that plays upon our fear and doesn’t offer any possible solutions.

For example, we should all demand that only unleaded gasoline be sold. In Germany, this gasoline is less expensive than the rest, whereas in France every liter of unleaded gas costs one franc more than the others. Every time we fill up, we’re punished to the tune of a hundred to a hundred fifty francs for cleaning the atmosphere. Wouldn’t it make a lot more sense to sell this gas at a lower price, like in Germany?

Why poison the atmosphere and tax the planet with our car? Those who don’t use unleaded gasoline contribute to the asphyxiation of the planet, to which they don’t think they belong:
“I’m not the world, let it be trashed for all I care!”

Nasrudin’s ass got lost, surely in the nearby hills. Instead of looking for it, however, Mullah went around the streets of town shouting: “Blessed be Allah! Blessed be Allah!”

The townspeople knew how close Mullah was to his ass, as well as the dangers posed to the animal by the pack of wolves up in the surrounding hillside. Surprised, they exclaimed:

“How can you give thanks to Allah for having lost your ass! Wouldn’t you be better off asking for his help?”

“You definitely don’t understand a thing. I give thanks to Allah that I wasn’t riding my ass when it got lost.”

Going downstairs from the terrace at his house where he had just awakened from a nap, Nasrudin missed a step and fell down the stairs.

“What happened to you? asked his wife upon hearing the clatter of his fall from where she was in the kitchen.

“Nothing at all,” replied Nasrudin getting up with some difficulty, “my overcoat fell on the stairs.”

I establish a parallel between the ass and the overcoat. In the first story, Mullah has lost his ass and thanks God he wasn’t riding it at the time. In the second, he’s not the one who falls, rather his coat falls down with him inside it.

Somewhere, Mullah operates with a dissociation from part of himself. Perhaps he’s dissociated from his animal nature (supposing the coat is made of leather). The ass and the coat are active, not him.

It’s as if there were a dissociation between my acts, that I’d call natural rather than primitive, and myself, where I remain a spectator of the latter. The dissociation is concretized by saying:

“I got drunk last night but it wasn’t me. It was an accident. I never wanted it to happen.”

”I did something bad, but I’m not responsible. I got carried away. It was stronger than I am.”

“I do what I need to, but what happened has nothing to do with me. I’m a spiritual being who could never do such a thing. It’s just a part of me that does it.”
Like that guru in New York who got four of his disciples pregnant while preaching sexual abstinence.

Mullah was heating some honey on the stove when a friend arrived unannounced. The honey began to boil and Nasrudin gave some to his visitor. He served him a cup that was so hot that his guest burned himself. To cool it, Mullah grabbed a fan and started waving it above the honey while it remained on the stove.

Psychologically, the same thing happens with each of us. Our honey boils, it burns us. We say we need to cool it off, but we don’t take it off the fire. We don’t change at all.

Someone comes to see us and says: “I’m suffering, help me, I can’t go on.” We warn them that alcoholism is threatening their life. They obviously need to stop drinking, to completely remove themselves from the fire. But it doesn’t work that way. They want to give it some thought, to talk about it, while they keep doing what they’re used to. The only thing we want is for them to stop drinking. But how? How can we help someone who insists on continuing along the same path?

While he was sleeping one night, Mullah got cold and woke up. The weather was terrible. It was raining and hailing, and between crashes of thunder an argument could be heard near his house.

Overcome with curiosity, he got out of bed, wrapped himself up in his blanket, and went out to investigate the scandal. It turned out to be a band of thieves that, upon seeing him, jumped him, took his blanket away, then fled.

Shivering with fear and cold, Mullah went back inside his house, closed the door, and got into bed with his wife.

“It was just a bunch of scoundrels arguing over my blanket,” he replied with indifference. “When they took it from me, they reconciled and calmly went their way.”

That’s how Nasrudin describes the robbery, deluding himself. He distorts reality to justify himself. He refuses to face his problems and tell his wife about them.

When we refuse to show ourselves as we truly are, we can’t live our own truth.

A couple whose partners love each other leaves the truth open to view. I sometimes encounter couples that live a continuous farce because their members give in to role-playing. They never show themselves as they truly are. A relationship of true love implies the gift of oneself.

Mullah Nasrudin is brought to trial, accused by his wife of assault and battery. Before facing the judge, Mullah prepares his answers. He tells himself: “If the judge asks me if I hit her, I’ll say no, and if he asks me if I didn’t hit her, I’ll say yes. That’s easy enough!”

In the courtroom, the judge asks him: “Mullah, have you finally stopped beating your wife?”

Sometimes we need to know how to say “noyesno.” If you’re asked: “Do you love me?” a “noyesno” would be a more just response. You can’t know if you love. As Lacan says: “lovehate.” In love, there’s also a good measure of hate.

It’s better to say “noyesno” in many situations, to remain non-committal rather than intellectually close ourselves in.

Nasrudin was calmly speaking with a friend at the latter’s house when they were surprised by how dark it had become.

“It’s dark out there,” said the friend, “I can hardly see a thing. Light a candle; they’re over there to your left.”

Mullah Nasrudin doesn’t know himself. His relationship with his exterior shows him an “identity,” a false image of himself. When he’s talking in the daytime, he lets loose with verbal diarrhea to enhance his appearance in his dealings with people. The truth is he’s not living his own reality.

He’s like those people who talk about God all the time then once inside their houses they entirely forget about him. They never pray. (The Sufis talk about public and secret prayer. For them, if you don’t pray in secret, praying in public becomes useless).

We need to wonder if all those great saints on lecture tours pray in secret. Do their conferences have a real existence in their hearts?

When you read my writing, it’s totally positive, but am I truly that way outside my discourse? It’s up to me to say so. Does what I say hold true for me as well? To the contrary, I wouldn’t find the candle in the dark.

In the end, the candle in the story is my wisdom, my lamp, my internal god, my reality, my essential being, not my appearances. If I live based on appearances, when I find myself outside the presence of the other, I won’t know my right from my left; I won’t know who I am.

A thief broke in to Mullah Nasrudin’s house. Catching him in the act, Mullah hid in a corner. The thief got away with everything. Mullah witnessed the robbery, followed the wrongdoer to his home and courteously approached him: “Thanks, stranger, for moving all my personal effects and furniture. You took them from my sordid home where I was rotting away with my family. Now we’ll just live here. I’m going to get my wife and kids so we can all immediately begin to enjoy your hospitality.”

The thief, anguished by the thought of inheriting all these people, immediately replied: “Take everything, but keep your family and your problems!”

Situations like this one arise when we study under certain gurus, professors, therapists, etc.

I have known many people who make contact with a master to rob him of his knowledge. (I’m speaking here of the false masters, whom I call centi-masters). They make their way into the home of the centi-master and, although they want to rob him of his teaching, they end up stealing everything and the master ends up installing himself in their house taking over their wife, their children, etc.

This type of master takes everything. They move into the disciple’s house until they suffocate him.

A woman from Geneva told me a personal secret. When her parents used to go out at night, her older brother (he was thirteen years old and she was ten at the time) would rape her. This hurt her deeply, but since her parents weren’t very affectionate toward her, the rape was the only sign of affection she could get. Thanks to a friend, she went to see a psychoanalyst much older than she. What did the psychoanalyst do? He raped her. I began to ask her certain questions to reveal the manner in which all this had happened. Let’s say she didn’t exactly agree with this behavior, but she did nothing to try to stop it. She asked me if she should stop seeing the psychologist.

“It depends,” I replied. “Here, you’re repeating exactly the same secret, the same situation that you lived with your brother.”

“The psychoanalyst just paid my taxes for me: seven thousand Swiss francs,” she added.

The truth of the matter is the master installed himself in the disciple’s life with all his limits and deficiencies. For her to get out of the mess, she would have to return him his goods.

“This is what you need to tell him,” I recommended. “Take your car, your seven thousand francs, and your two years’ rent. I’m paying up my debt to you and taking my life back. I see I’m repeating my infantile clinging and I need to stop it here and now.”

“I can’t put a whole quart of cow’s milk in there!” exclaimed the milkman stupefied.

I was told this story by a person who offered the following commentary: “We can’t expect more from reality than the glass can contain. We can contain a certain amount, but no more.”

This reminds me of the next story… It may leave us a bit perplexed, but it makes sense in light of the above.

Once upon a time there were two brothers. One, unlike the other, always had good luck. The brother who lived in misery went to see his lucky brother who lived in a palace. When he arrived at the door, he was met by a blue gnome.

“That would be impossible. I’m your brother’s good luck and in no way could I ever be yours.”

“It’s a little green gnome who lives at the summit of that mountain over there. Go look for him! He’s sleeping, but you can wake him up.”

“I’ll go,” replied the unlucky brother, thrilled by the idea of finding his good luck.

He began his walk to the top of the mountain but when he went around an enormous rock, he ran right into a ferocious lion.

“Little lion, don’t harm me!” he pleaded. “I’m going to wake up my good luck. Ask of me whatever you like and it will give it to you, since it’s very wise.”

“Fine. I’ll let you go,” answered the lion. Still, you have to come back down by this path. Here’s my question: Why am I hungry all the time and when will I satisfy my hunger?”

Our good man went back on his way and found the green gnome sleeping at the top of the mountain. Awakening him, he said: “Look, before you tell me anything, I need to go talk to the lion. When will he stop being hungry?”

“He’ll stop being hungry when he devours the brain of the stupidest man in the world,” replied the gnome.

The young man, abandoning his good luck, went down to see the cat. “I’ve got your answer!” he exclaimed. “Your hunger will be satisfied when you devour the brain of the stupidest man in the world.”

“Fine. I’m going to devour you, since you’re the man in question!” explained the lion jumping on the unlucky brother and engulfing him.

Here we have a young man who’s envious of his brother’s good luck. But as the gnome says, to each his own.

In this case, his good luck hasn’t been useful at all. He’s too stupid to take advantage of it. A stupid being shouldn’t try to have what the other enjoys; he’s better off adapting to his lot. If he compares himself, he could be destroyed; if he accepts his fate, he could end up liberated.

If someone wins a prize and I don’t, it doesn’t bother me. To each his own fortune! If someone else is successful and I’m not, that’s fine, too!

One day, a merchant came to a small town with his caravan. The moment he passed before the temple, he got a stomach cramp so bad he couldn’t contain himself and defecated right in front of the door to the sacred building. Caught with his pants down, he was brought before Mullah Nasrudin, the town judge.

“I’ve got a two dinar coin. Cut it in two and keep half,” proposed the merchant.

“No, this coin should not be cut. I’m going to keep it and tomorrow you can defecate in front of the temple again.”

To me, Mullah Nasrudin represents one of those false masters who only see what’s sacred in terms of how they can take advantage of it.

When I go to a spiritual school, I always make it a point to ask: “How much does your enlightenment cost?” Sometimes it’s expensive, other times not so much. There’s a price to pay, but that price should be fair. To have access to enlightenment, a dinar is fine whereas two might be too much. Perhaps in this case the master is seeking your dinar, not your enlightenment. We need to be careful about which schools we join because sometimes they’re nothing more than big junk stores.

Mullah Nasrudin was taking a walk with his son when they discovered an egg lying on the ground.

Disoriented, Mullah replied: “I’ve been asking myself all my life how the birds got out of the egg and now here I’ve got another problem to solve!”

We typically ask ourselves: “How do I get out of my problems, my limitations, my anguish?” Perhaps the solution lies in asking ourselves how we got into them in the first place.

The master suggests: “Tell me where you come from and I’ll tell you where you’re going.”

A master told his disciples: “Imagine you’re trapped under a six-ton rock. What do you do to get out of there?”

Many students come up with some incredible solutions. For example, perforate the rock, dynamite it, astrally project themselves, etc. An “idiot” replies: “like this,” while taking a step forward, simulating the block doesn’t exist in reality.

The stone block is mental, it’s made up. To get out from under a made up block, all you need to do is take a step forward.

The anguish and the ghosts we bear aren’t real. They’re illusions. When we arrive at the “idiot’s” peace, there’s no more stone block.

The “sacred idiot’s” peace is the peace of the Fool of the Marseille Tarot. He bears his wealth in his bundle of clothes. He’s rich in essence and always accompanied. Simultaneously, we can also see this character as a totally poor being who’s hopping mad. Which reading are we going to believe?

Do we want to run in circles around our cane, to be bitten in the butt and carry frightening things in our bundle? Or do we want to be rich in essence, always accompanied, and advance, change, and burn with the present without clinging to anything?