Not that anything is to be done. In fact the yogi never does anything. He simply remains in his being and things go on happening. In fact he avoids, but still, sometimes, things happen. Miracles follow. There are no miracles, but miracles follow one who has attained to Samadhi; they go on happening. Like a shadow they follow the man who has attained to inner space.
This is the science of religion. Patanjali has laid the foundation. Much has to be done. He has just given the bare structure -- much has to be filled in the gaps. It is just a concrete structure. The walls have to be raised, rooms have to be made. You cannot live in a bare, concrete structure. It has yet to be made into a house, but he has given the basic structure.
Five thousand years and the basic structure has remained basic: it has not yet become the abode of man. Man is not ready yet.
Man goes on playing with toys and the real goes on waiting -- waiting that whenever you become mature enough you will use it. Nobody else is responsible for it; we are responsible. Each human being is responsible for this vast sleepiness that surrounds earth. It is like a fog surrounding the whole earth, and man is fast asleep.
One day it happened:
One very diligent reformist inquired of a man who was staggering blindly drunk along the road, "You poor man, what drives you to drink this way?"
The happy drunk slurred, "No one drives me, lady. I am a volunteer."
Voluntarily, man is in the darkness. Voluntarily, you are in the darkness. Nobody has forced you to be there. This is your responsibility to come out of it. Don't go on blaming Satan and the devil that they have been corrupting you. There is nobody who is corrupting you. It is you. And once you are sleepy everything that you see is distorted -- everything that you touch is distorted everything that comes in your hands becomes dirty.
Two drunks were walking home along a railway line, stepping unsteadily from sleeper to sleeper. Suddenly the one in front said. "Ah, Trevor, damn it if these aren't the longest flight of stairs I ever did crawl up."
His friend called back. "I don't mind the stairs, George, but the low banisters are hell."
We go on drunk, drunk with the ego, drunk with possessions, drunk with things, ignorant of the reality; and whatsoever we see is distorted. This distortion creates the world of illusion. The world is not illusory. It is because of our drunken minds the world is illusory. Once our drunkenness disappears, the world shines forth as a tremendously beautiful phenomenon, as Tao.