"And the super-conscious and unconscious are as distinct as two things can be, as far away from each other as there is possibility. They have nothing in common except that one point. Hence in the beginning every meditator feels that it is something like madness. But it is saner than your sanity. You have to wait a little, to become acquainted with the new territory of the world of meditation.

"Others may also think that you are mad, because sometimes you will be doing things like a madman. But the basic difference is that no madman ever acknowledges, ever accepts that he is mad. He refuses it vehemently. You can go to any madhouse, not a single madman will accept that he is mad. But the meditator can accept it smiling. He is aware of the similarity. He can understand the outsider's judgment, and he can accept it. He can see also that the action…for example, a meditator sometimes feels so blissful that you will see a smile on his face although there is no reason at all to smile. And we forgive people for being miserable without any reason, but we cannot forgive people for being so happy without any reason. We ask people, 'What is the cause? Why are you smiling?'

"And a man who is experiencing something within himself, joyful, something immensely sweet – what can he say to you? And whatever he is going to say, you are not going to believe it, because it is not your experience. You can believe only if it is also your experience. Two meditators can sit silently and smile without asking each other why they are smiling. They can laugh, they can dance without asking each other why they are doing it.

"Our life is always dominated by something from outside. The meditator's life is inspired from inwards, he cannot show anything outside as a cause. He can simply say he is feeling so blissful he would like to dance just as the birds sing in the morning, or the flowers release their fragrance.

"It is a known fact that great poets cannot explain why they are writing certain poetry. One of the great English poets, Coleridge, when he died left forty thousand incomplete poems."