Chit Chakmak Lage Nahin #3

There is so much concern about the ordinary person. Even this morning, as I got up, someone said to me, “What will happen to the ordinary people? They will go astray.” As if the ordinary person is not already lost. As if, just where he is now, everything is perfectly fine. It has been taken for granted that the ordinary person is in a very good state. And if faith wavers, if belief is removed, then he will go astray.

In my view, there can be no condition more lost than the one we are in.

As though morality were flourishing right now; as though there had been no immorality for thousands of years! In the state we are in, if this is not depravity, what else would depravity be? What is there in our lives that allows us to say, “This is not decline”? But because it has been going on for millennia, we have become used to it. And the idea of falling even from this makes us panic—like a sick man asking, “If I take the medicine and the illness goes away, then what will happen?”

Faith and belief have resulted in man’s fall. The first foundation of decline is blindness. The first basis of falling is laid by unseeing. The person who has pawned off his own thinking—what can come into his life except decline? The one who has ended his own dignity, his freedom to think, cannot be much better off than animals. If there is any difference between man and animal, it is that man can think. And if we stop thinking and start believing, inevitably we fall to the level of the animal. For one who does not think, no path remains except decline. This faith, this belief, and this entire propaganda going on for thousands of years has brought us to this condition.

To ask that the “common man” will go astray carries another meaning. Whoever asks this imagines himself not to be common. Whoever asks this does so out of pity for others. He himself has no fear—he is a very special person; the rest, the “common folk,” will be led astray.

I have been meeting hundreds of thousands of people, and I have yet to meet even one who says, “I am a common man.” Each one is under the illusion that everyone else is ordinary and he is special. Everyone asks me, “What will become of the common man?” Not once has anyone come and asked, “What will become of me?”

Where are these “common people”? I too have been searching; I haven’t found them. If you find them, let me know. Who are they—the “common people”? And who are the “chosen few”?

It is only ego to take oneself as special and all others as common. And each mind carries this ego: “I am special; all others are ordinary.”

There is an old Arab saying: When God makes people and sends them into the world, he says something very mischievous in each person’s ear: “I have never made anyone better than you.” And he says this to everyone. It seems there is some truth in it—otherwise how could everyone harbor the same illusion?

Gandhi went to London for the Round Table Conference. His secretary, Mahadev Desai, went to see Bernard Shaw. Mahadev said, “You must also regard Gandhi as a Mahatma, a great soul.” Bernard Shaw answered, “I do, but number two. Number one is me!” Mahadev was shocked; in India no one would say openly, “I am number one.” He might think it inwardly, say it behind your back, but never in front. He returned, distressed, and told Gandhi. Gandhi said, “Bernard Shaw seems to be a very truthful man. He has said openly what everyone secretly feels.”

This illusion is in everyone: “I am special; others are ordinary.” Hence the constant worry about “what will happen to all these ordinary people, these poor souls?”

Let me submit to you: this ego is the most common thing of all. The thought “I am special” is the hallmark of the most ordinary mind. Those who are truly special lose the very notion that they are special. Those who are truly special also lose the notion that anyone is ordinary.

And if you ask me whom I call ordinary: the one who does not trust his own intelligence and thought, but believes in someone else’s mind and ideas. That one is ordinary. If he wants to step out of the circle of ordinariness, the very first thing he must drop is this blindness of faith and belief.

When I say drop the blindness of faith and belief, I mean: trust yourself. Whoever believes in others necessarily does not trust himself. The distrust of oneself becomes belief in others. If I have no trust in my own capacities, I will believe in someone else. And if I have any trust at all in my own capacities, I will not believe in another.

Self-trust is a friend; trusting others is dangerous. And when I speak of thought, I mean exactly this. When I say: stand on your own feet, think for yourself, contemplate for yourself, experience for yourself—I am saying, trust yourself. But I deliberately avoid the word “faith.” That word has become poisonous, toxic; it leads to confusion. So I say: think. I say: inquire for yourself. The purpose is clear: I want all your belief in others to fall away and to come home—to yourself.

Only self-trust can become the path to the self. My constant insistence to drop dependence on others is only so you can rely on yourself.

No one is “common.” The one who does not trust himself—that one is common, sick, ill. And if you ask me, “What will happen to the common man if he starts trusting himself?”—what will happen? Something very auspicious. Why this fear? There are reasons: people fear that the “common man” will become licentious, immoral; he will drop ethics and religion. Why such fears? Because what we see today as morality and religion is imposed by force. The “ethics” we see is a burden placed on people’s heads. If they get a chance to be free, the first thing they will do is throw off that burden. That is the fear.

If freedom steals away our ethics and religion, know that those ethics and that religion are false. The religion and morality that dissolve when freedom appears are certainly false. The religion and morality that grow deeper when freedom appears—only those are real. Because our religion is false, because our morality and codes are phony, this fear exists.

Religion today is imposed and false. Our morality is untrue. Our conduct does not arise from our soul; it is something forcibly worn out of fear and greed. Hence the fear that if thought becomes free, immorality will follow. This very fear indicates that man is still immoral.

Freedom is the test. There is a constable at the crossroads, so you do not steal. There is a magistrate in court, so you do not steal. There is also God’s court, sending people to heaven and hell, so you do not steal. If all these courts were to vanish—from God down to the policeman—there is great fear that we would all steal. Then is refraining from theft out of fear of these courts morality? Is it religion? Is their very presence not proof that we are not moral?

You avoid stealing and cheating because of hell, heaven, fear. Is that proof of being moral? No. There is only one proof of morality: that when there is no fear whatsoever, you remain moral; when there is no fear, goodness still descends into your life; when there is no temptation, truth and love still flow from you.

Freedom alone is the touchstone of whether man is moral or immoral. Freedom alone will reveal where we stand.

Let me add: the worldwide religious fear that as freedom grows, immorality will grow—this is true in a sense, because for thousands of years they have imposed a false morality upon man. In my view, a genuine immorality is preferable to a false morality. Better to know oneself a rogue than to vainly believe oneself a saint. At least that is closer to truth. If I clearly realize that I am a thief, the possibility of change arises.

If it becomes clear that man is still immoral, not moral; that our “civilization” is false and our “culture” mostly nonsense—then we can reconsider man anew: ourselves, everyone. We can seek a new direction for transformation. But those who live in the delusion that they are moral and virtuous while immorality and vice seethe within—their doors to transformation are closed.

When thought is free, the first thing that happens is this: we become capable of seeing the facts about ourselves. Very few of us see our own factuality. We all think ourselves to be something we are not. Someone dons a certain kind of clothing and thinks he is a sadhu. Someone applies a tilak, wears a rosary and the sacred thread, and thinks he is religious. Someone visits a temple in the morning and thinks he is earning merit. If thought becomes free, we can see: what in all this is religious?

Can anyone become a saint by wearing certain clothes? Or by eating in a certain way? Neither special diets nor special garments create saintliness. Food and clothing are trivial matters. Saintliness is something wondrous and precious—no triviality can produce it. We do not even know the facts about ourselves because our thought is not free.

People say that men in such-and-such robes are saints. So we too say it. One day we wear such robes ourselves and take ourselves to be saints—because in the same robes we had taken others to be saints. It does not occur to us, we feel no sting, to inquire: what in this is saintliness?

The truth is, someone who sees saintliness in clothing is hard to surpass in foolishness. And one who sees saintliness in changing diets is laughable, nothing more. But we do not see such simple matters because to see, free thought is needed. Free thought will reveal our facts. If there is hell inside, it will expose it. Fragrant flowers pinned on top make no difference. If there is an animal within, that animal will be laid bare. And there can be no movement in life until we see the naked fact of our reality.

To know exactly what I am is essential—starkly, nakedly. Only then is transformation possible. And the wonder is, once you truly see your own nakedness, it becomes impossible not to change. If you see you are a thief—but you do not see it, because you also give alms and imagine yourself generous. Theft hides behind charity; that is why all thieves give. No thief can survive without giving, for charity conceals his thievery and soothes him. His nakedness is no longer visible.

Wherever we are wrong, whatever is vain in us, whatever is inauspicious—we devise many tricks to hide it. The irreligious person makes it a point to visit the temple; thus he can drape himself in religion. It becomes easy to deceive himself: “Irreligious? Who, me? I’m not irreligious. Those who don’t go to the temple are irreligious; I am religious.” In this way, his inner irreligion is hidden.

Our morality and our codes do little beyond concealing the deep immorality within. That is why there are so many temples and temple-goers—but where is religion? That is why there are so many religions, so many monks. By the millions, all over the world—and yet the world stands in deep depravity. With so many lamps burning everywhere… Just yesterday someone told me there are twelve hundred thousand Catholic monks alone. A friend from Thailand said: a population of forty million and two million monks. In India too, five million. In a world with so many “holy men,” there should be light everywhere. Surely these lamps are snuffed out: they count in statistics, but they shed no light. They are useful for noise, for agitation, for setting people against each other. No love arises from them. And this hollow morality is what we cling to.

If your mind becomes capable of thinking, you will see where you stand. The image you see may not be pleasing; it may be painful. The shattering of an old illusion may make you panic. But you must pass through this pain.

Whoever wants to give birth to himself must endure the pangs of birth. You must pass through the pain. Strip off all your garments, all your cheap moralities, and look: what is within, and who? If you see an animal, don’t rush to put the garments back on. It is precisely because of those garments that the animal survives and is protected. Drop those garments. Agree to know yourself as you are, and perhaps the very fact will pain you so much that you will be compelled to change. No other path will remain.

If a thief clearly knows, “I am a thief,” if a violent person clearly knows, “I am violent,” it is hard to live long with that theft and violence. You cannot live long with an illness once you know you are ill. Once the memory arises that disease has seized you, you begin to seek treatment.

These diseases go deeper than the body—they touch the mind and life-breath. If there is awareness of them. But man does not become aware because he has contrived so many ways to distract and deceive himself; the inner truth remains buried.

Hence whenever the question arises: “If we drop all this and are willing to see the truth within us, immorality will spread!”—there is panic. Immorality will “spread” only if it is there; only then will it be revealed. If it is not there, how will it appear?

Only one who is willing to see the hidden animal within can become free. The one who musters the courage to see the animal within—such a person has already taken the first step. Having shown such courage, it is very difficult that he will not show the second—finding a way to be free of that animal.

We can be free of the animal—of immorality and vice—only by becoming alert to it. Those who sleep through it—how can they be free?

Better a world of honest sinners than of fake saints; in such a world, something can be done. We want a world where, if there are thieves, they are at least clear they are thieves; they don’t make donations to cover it up, don’t build temples to launder it. Then something can happen.

The social tangle is this: we have devised fake tricks to hide ourselves and call them morality, conduct. They are neither.

Someone doesn’t eat at night and imagines he is nonviolent. What utter stupidity! Is nonviolence so cheap that by skipping dinner or by straining your water you become nonviolent? Nonviolence is such a great revolution that until the whole soul awakens, it is not possible. But you found cheap devices and declared the matter settled: you are nonviolent. And when it is so cheap to be “nonviolent,” who will undertake the real revolution, the pain? Hence the panic: “If thought becomes free, people might start eating at night—immorality will spread!” As though if no one eats at night, immorality will disappear!

It is not that cheap. Immorality runs very deep. It does not depend on what or when you eat. It has penetrated your very life-breath. That is why we fear that if we drop all the externals and set man free, who knows what he will eat or drink, how he will dress, whether he will sing in the streets, whether he will stop going to temples, stop singing hymns. This pervasive fear only indicates that the morality we have built up over thousands of years is false.

Any moral idea unwilling to allow man freedom is false. The touchstone is freedom: if man is free and remains moral, only then is the morality real. I say it will be so. If you become free, things will surface and become clear. That clarity is beneficial. For an accurate diagnosis and right treatment, the disease must be plainly visible. Your wounds and boils should be seen, not hidden; then they can be treated. After that, it becomes difficult not to seek treatment.

Whoever has attained to true conduct is one who first saw his true misconduct. Whoever has risen to the divine is one who first descended and recognized his inner animal. He who would touch the sky must first discover his roots in hell. Whoever would rise high must first uncover and face the entire animal within. Before you can behold the divine, you must behold the beast. That is your fact; it lives within you. You cannot run from it.

So do not be afraid. Do not fear freedom. Fear the untrue, fear deception, fear self-deception. Fear the masks we wear, the garments we have draped over ourselves to hide our faces. Wearing Rama’s mask won’t make you Rama. Inside, you remain what you are.

Yes, pain will arise if you choose freedom. Let it arise. If there is a genuine aspiration to change, then look—see clearly what is within. Become exactly acquainted with your truth. This cannot happen while you are dependent in thought.

Some fourteen or fifteen hundred years ago, a monk from India went to China. There was an emperor, Wu, who had built many temples, commissioned many statues, printed many scriptures. When he heard that a remarkable monk from India was coming, he went to the border to welcome him. He was eager to ask what fruits he would gain from all his pious works. When he had a moment alone with the monk—Bodhidharma—he asked, “I have built so many temples, done so much religion—what will I get?”

Bodhidharma said, “Nothing at all. And since you are thinking of getting something, since pride is arising that you have done so much, there may even be some harm. You will get nothing.”

The emperor panicked. “But all the monks told me my heaven is guaranteed!”

“They ate your food,” said Bodhidharma, “so they praised you. I tell you the truth: you will get nothing. Religion has nothing to do with how many buildings you have raised, how many statues you have made, how many scriptures you have printed. It has to do with how much your soul has changed. Will building temples change your soul? Will erecting statues transform you? No. Your soul remains the same. The soul that wanted a great kingdom in this world now wants a kingdom in heaven in old age—that is why you build temples. For worldly dominion you kept and fed soldiers; for heavenly dominion you keep and feed monks. Where is the difference? For worldly power you expanded borders; for heavenly power you give alms and show pity. But it is all false. It does not arise from your depths. Behind it lies the same craving to gain something, here or there.”

Those whose greed runs deep are not satisfied with ruling the earth; they also want a throne in heaven. This so-called religiosity built on temptation—“you will gain merit in heaven”—and on fear—“if you sin, lie, cheat, you will be punished in hell”—this morality built on reward and punishment, on fear, is untrue. The first aphorism of religion is fearlessness, not fear. Where fear is, religion cannot be. Where fearlessness is, there religion is. And who can be fearless? One who is free. Where there is freedom, there can be fearlessness. Where there is no freedom, there cannot be fearlessness; there will be fear. It is because of fear that we are dependent.

Your question also arises from fear—that immorality might happen, vice might spread. It arises from fear.

Immorality is already here; vice is already here. It is not a possibility—it is the reality. If there is any hell, it cannot be worse than this earth. What worse could there be? We practice violence twenty-four hours a day. We cheat twenty-four hours a day. We deceive ourselves and everyone else all the time. The very clever even try to cheat God—praying, flattering, buttering him up: “You are great, you are the purifier of the fallen; we are fallen.” They try bribery there too.

Everywhere there is fraud—in temples, in religion. Everywhere dishonesty. And in this world of deceit and dishonesty we worry that “immorality might come” if man becomes free! What further immorality is left to come? There is no love in hearts—only hatred and violence. That is why wars erupt repeatedly; people are forever fighting.

Someone told me that in three thousand years of human history there have been forty-five hundred wars. What kind of world is this? Here war is the norm. When there is no war, there is preparation for war. No society has known a time of peace. We have known only two kinds of times: war, and preparation for war. When preparing we call it “cold war,” when fighting we call it “hot war.” But fighting goes on in both. Day and night there is battle. Every man is at war with every other.

Wherever there is ambition, there is relentless conflict. You sit here relaxed, yet everyone’s hand is in someone else’s pocket; everyone has their fingers on others’ throats. This goes on continuously. And we call this a highly moral world! We fear that man’s freedom will bring immorality!

This is the fruit of man’s dependence. If we are to break it, we must dare to make man free. Let man be free, fearless, aware of facts—then inevitably a longing arises to transform what is inauspicious. The perception of the inauspicious becomes the cause of its transformation.

I do not see that freedom can bring any inauspicious result. All arguments to the contrary seek to preserve dependence. “The common man” is invoked to keep people enslaved. “Man might deteriorate,” they say. No master ever agrees to free his slaves. He always says, “If the slaves are freed, they will suffer terribly. They are well off because of us. If they are set free, they will face hardship.” This is a master’s language. It is the exploiter’s language: the exploited must not become free.

All the world’s priests and politicians agree on this: man does not need freedom. The more dependent he is, the better. Ideally, he should stop thinking altogether. They even plan how to “wash” the mind of anyone who thinks—how to wipe it clean. They look for drugs like mescaline and LSD so that when people take them, thought stops.

All exploiters—state and church, the two deepest exploiters—want to prevent freedom of thought. Because free, thinking people would become the cause of a revolution. This rotten society could not continue, this decayed world would not be tolerable. There would be great revolution, great fire; many things would have to be broken. Hence the great fear—so man must not think.

In totalitarian countries, where there is dictatorship, they have simply outlawed thought. To think is death—think and be shot. Today or tomorrow, the whole world is drifting toward “Don’t think.” Eat, drink, live in houses, listen to the radio, read the newspapers—but don’t think. Thinking is dangerous, rebellious.

Where there is thought, there is rebellion. So they find a hundred ways to ensure you never think. “Accept what we say”—say the politicians. “Accept what we say”—say the priests. All who hold power everywhere say, “Accept what we say.” Because thinking threatens them—not you, but their power, their shop of exploitation. So they arrange everything for this, bringing a thousand arguments.

Remember: no value is higher than freedom. Whatever is argued against freedom is dangerous and cannot be in man’s interest. Freedom is the doorway to the divine. Whatever is beautiful and auspicious in life can be attained only by a free consciousness—not by a dependent one.

Other kinds of questions are related to this as well.

It sounds right. You are born in society. But that which is born does not come from society. What is within you is not from society.

When Buddha returned to his home, his village, after twelve years, the whole village went to welcome him. His father went too. After twelve years his son was returning. The entire village went to welcome that son; the father went to express his anger, because the father was under the illusion: this is my boy, he came from me, and he ran away without asking me.

The first thing he said to Buddha was: My doors are still open. If you are willing to ask forgiveness and come back, I can forgive you even now. And it pains my heart to see that in our lineage, in our clan, no one has ever begged. Seeing a begging bowl in your hand, my life writhes. You are a prince; you have no need to beg. This has never happened in our clan, in our lineage.

Do you know what Buddha said? Buddha said: You are mistaken. I may have come through you, but I do not belong to your lineage. You were like a crossroads through which I passed; but my journey has been going on separately for a very long time. I was born from you, but I am not yours. And perhaps in your lineage, no one begged. As far as I can recall, in my lineage begging has always been the way. As far as I remember, I have always begged. In your lineage it may not have been done. I was born from you, but I am not yours.

You are born in society, but what is within you does not belong to society. Society gave you education, society gave you food, but not the soul. And if you take this food and education and clothing to be the soul, you will drown.

The soul is something altogether different and separate from this. To search for it, it is necessary to rise above all the chains of society.

This does not mean that when the sign on the road says “keep left” you should start walking on the right. I am not saying that. I am not saying start walking on the right side of the road, or in the middle. That is not freedom; that would be foolishness. I am not telling you to break such rules — that because everyone walks on two legs, you start walking on all fours and declare your freedom. I am not saying that. Not on this plane. Not on the plane of the body’s and society’s formalities.

I am speaking of that plane, the very deep inner plane of thought: be free there. Start seeing there, awaken insight there, begin to think there. Let reflection be born there, let awareness arise: What I think, what I do — how far is it appropriate, how far is it right? There society should not be able to catch you.

If tomorrow you are a Hindu and someone comes and says, “Come, let’s set fire to mosques; it is a religious duty,” then at that moment reflect: can burning mosques be a religious act? Or if tomorrow someone — you are a Muslim — comes and says, “Come, let’s smash the idols in Hindu temples; this is the work of religion,” then think. This is no longer about walking on the left side of the road. At that moment ask: is this right? Can it be religion that we burn a temple or break an image?

When any religion tells you to fight and regard the other as the enemy, it is necessary then to think: can religion teach hatred and violence? Then it becomes necessary to reflect and to be free of society.

If the youth of the world could be free of society in this sense, there would be no cause for war in the world, no cause for violence. Neither could an Indian be set against a Pakistani, nor a Hindu against a Muslim. Because then these things would be seen as sheer crudities, stupidities. And it would be known what follies man has been committing for thousands of years. On this plane it is essential to be free.

When someone tells you, “This book is the truth; accept it and worship it. Do not think even a little beyond it,” then it is necessary to think: can a book give truth to a human being? Can truth be found in the pages and words of a book? If it could be, then by now truth would have been available to all; there are so many books, so many scriptures. Yet the more scriptures people carry on their heads, the more futile their lives seem.

So reflection is needed: can truth be obtained from a book, or must I search for it myself? If someone brings you a book and says, “Keep it safe; whatever is in this book will give you love,” you will doubt: how can love come from a book? Love will be found only when it awakens in the heart. Truth too will be found only when it awakens in the heart.

There is a need to think on all these planes. When someone sets up a stone image and says, “This is God, worship it,” then questioning must arise. Someone worships a bush, someone a statue in a temple, someone a book. It is necessary to ask: are these God? And would such worship be only ignorance? Or should I search and know where the source of life is — where is the life-source of this whole universe, where is it hidden? Should I seek that, or just sit with a stone? Here the need is for reflection, for the freeing of thought.

So I am not telling you to be independent of society in matters of eating and drinking, of clothing, of walking on the road. All that is the social sphere; it is not the realm of the soul. But on the plane of consciousness, on the plane of thought, let your vision be alert, thoughtful, reflective, making its own decisions — and where something appears blind, know how to halt there, to stop, to reject. Where something appears meaningful, significant, that lifts life higher, know how to accept. Where anything stands that drags one into useless hatred, violence, ignorance, darkness, know how to reject. It is for such a free intelligence of thought that I have entreated you.

So I am not asking you to discard clothes, to change your food, to walk wrongly on the road. That is the level of society; there is no question there, nor any bondage. In fact, you are able to walk because you keep left; if you walk on the right or in the middle, you won’t even be able to walk. I say nothing against the rules of society that keep everyday life running. But where the questions of reflection, of the search for truth and for life arise, where the question is of reaching the soul, there you will have to think, there you will have to reflect, there you will have to be free. And only if you are free there can you obtain that which does not come from society — which is long before society and long after it, which is not born of father and mother. Therefore none of the education given by parents, none of the education given by society can become the knowledge of the soul. For that knowledge, the search and inquiry of an utterly free energy is necessary.

I think my point has come home to you. There are many more questions; tomorrow and the day after I will speak about them.

Now we will sit for meditation for a little while. Understand a few things. Meditation too is an experiment in moving into the complete freedom of consciousness. We are so occupied with whatever is outside that our gaze does not go to what is within, nor does our attention. And we are not only busy with what is outside; we are also very occupied and encircled by the reactions it produces in our minds. Even if you sit alone somewhere, you will still think the very things the crowd has given you. You will think of friends, think of enemies, think of business, think of something or other; but thinking goes on, and you cannot be alone.

When inside all thinking dissolves; when all worry becomes quiet and void; when no ripple arises within — such a condensed silence, such quietude comes within that not even a wave arises in the mind — that state is called meditation.

You will say: this is very difficult, very hard. Because the mind does not become quiet even for a moment; it does not fall silent. Something or other is going on there — some thought, some matter, some memory is at work. Either the future or the past is holding you. There is work there twenty-four hours a day. The body may rest at times; there is no rest there. At night you sleep and dreams keep running; by day you wake and who knows what worries and thoughts keep running.

So how will this happen? Many of you will have sat with a rosary and it did not happen. Many will have done name-repetition and it did not happen. Many will have prayed and recited mantras and it did not happen — and so the idea will have arisen that this is very difficult. It is not difficult; it does not happen because what you are doing is wrong.

If you turn the rosary, the mind will not become quiet, because turning a rosary has nothing to do with peace. And if you chant “Ram, Ram,” the mind will not become quiet, because this chanting too is a kind of restlessness; it is itself an agitation. If a man sits saying “Ram, Ram, Ram,” that is a symptom of disturbance. If you keep saying “dog, dog, dog” or “cat, cat,” people will call you mad; but if you keep saying “Ram, Ram,” people will say you are very religious.

The matter is exactly the same; there is no difference. Repeating a single word again and again is a sign of dullness. That too will not make the mind peaceful. Yes, it may be that if you are very obstinate and keep at it, the mind will fall asleep — but there is a great difference between falling asleep and becoming quiet.

When one has to put a small child to sleep, the mother starts humming the same line — “Sleep, little one, sleep,” or some such nonsense. She may imagine the song is so sweet that the child is sleeping because of it. The child gets bored. After a while, hearing the same line over and over, he falls asleep. This is the fruit of boredom, not the effect of the song; it is not the result of the sweetness of your lullaby. The child got bored with your babble — the same word again and again — he got flustered and fell asleep. In the same way, if you keep chanting “Ram, Ram,” the mind will get agitated, get bored, and then fall asleep.

Do not take that sleep to be peace. It can be got from opium as well, from wine as well — there is no difference between them. It comes from opium, from alcohol, and from new injections too. There are a thousand medicines for going to sleep. These are very old, very popular medicines for the same delusion.

Take any one word and keep repeating it — the mind will become bored, flustered. If you get up before that boredom sets in, that is another matter; but if you keep at it and at it, it will fall asleep. After sleeping, when you wake up you will feel, “Great peace happened.” That was sleep, not peace. It is produced by repeating the word of a delusion again and again; there is nothing particularly great in it. I do not call any of these things meditation. None of this is meditation.

Then what do I call meditation? I call total wakefulness meditation — not sleep, not dozing off.

The meditation we will do now is an experiment in wakefulness. Sit utterly alert to whatever is happening all around. A leaf will stir, a bird will call, a dog will bark, a child will cry, someone will cough, something or other will happen — there will be many sounds all around. And as your mind grows quiet, even the faint sounds will begin to be heard: a tiny little bird that you cannot quite hear now will become audible.

All around there is a world of happenings; sit fully awake to these happenings.