Chit Chakmak Lage Nahin #5

If no vision happens, that is auspicious. Because there is no benefit in falling into any delusion or any imagination. Yes, it may be that the dream is very sweet and feels very good. But still, a dream is a dream. Imagination is imagination, no matter how much happiness it seems to give. And the imagination that gives pleasure is more dangerous than the one that gives pain. Why? Because it is easier to wake up from a painful imagination, whereas a pleasurable imagination makes you want to sleep even more; the desire to wake does not arise.

Blessed are those who see painful dreams, because in them the urge will arise to break the dream. And unfortunate are those who see very pleasant dreams, because then the desire to awaken from those dreams does not arise. It becomes a very fatal, very poisonous, very intoxicating state.

I am not asking you to internalize anything—any thought, any belief, any imagination; rather, I am saying that when all beliefs, all thoughts, all imaginations take leave of you, what remains is your consciousness. In that remaining consciousness, let questions arise; in that remaining consciousness, let only the problem stand—naked problem, naked question. Then, in the pain of that question, when no imagination and no memory are there to answer, the answer will arise from your very being, the solution will come from your very life.

That solution is your own experience, your own insight. What is borrowed and internalized never becomes yours; it cannot, and there is no way it can.

The next question too is somewhat related to the previous one.

Commonly it is said, “What value is there in thought? The real value is in conduct.” This is utterly false and futile. It is false and futile because conduct, deep down, is nothing but the expression of thought. Where there is no seed of thought, there can be no plant of conduct. Yes, it is possible to throw a false conduct over oneself from the outside. But false conduct has no value whatsoever, except that it deceives others and destroys one’s own life.
The question asked is: “What will happen by thought alone?”
This is why I ask, and why the question arises—if I were to pray to you, I would say: as yet no thought has been born in you. You are taking others’ thoughts to be your own. Hence the problem of trying to bring thought and conduct into harmony. If the thought were truly yours, it would be impossible for conduct to go against it. If the thought were yours, conduct would follow behind like a shadow. As a bullock cart moves and the ruts of the wheels appear behind it, so wherever thought arises, the track and imprint of conduct form behind it. Conduct does not have to be brought; it comes by itself.
Thought is the center, thought is the life-breath, and thought is the soul. But we have no thoughts of our own; we have learned all our thoughts on loan. We have gathered others’ stale and secondhand thoughts, and taken them as our own possession. From those stale, chewed-over thoughts, conduct does not arise, and therefore the difficulty. So the question arises: how to bring thought and conduct into accord? This is downright foolishness.

Wherever the idea of aligning thought and conduct appears, understand that the thought is stale, old, borrowed—someone else’s, not mine. “One should speak the truth, and one should love; love your neighbor as yourself; deceive no one, tell no lies; let there be no adultery in the mind, no lust, no craving”—all these thoughts are taken from others. When conduct runs contrary to them, there is great restlessness and pain: how to make thought and conduct match? They cannot. They cannot—there is no way to make them match.

It is essential to grasp this very fundamentally: your conduct is yours, and the thought belongs to someone else. If you are a thief, then that thieving—your conduct—is yours. And the idea that non-stealing is dharma, that not stealing is a great virtue, a lofty thing—that is someone else’s. Your conduct is yours; the thought is another’s. How will they match? The thought might be Mahavira’s, Buddha’s, Krishna’s, Christ’s; the conduct is yours. Mahavira’s conduct was in accord with Mahavira’s thought—it followed behind it, it was its shadow. You have borrowed the thought—but from where will you borrow the conduct? You can borrow thought; conduct is not available for borrowing. Thought is free; conduct is not handed out.

So the thought is of the great ones; the conduct is your own. Between the two there grows a wide gap, a deep conflict, great pain, great misery. And inside a constant conflict continues, twenty-four hours a day, in which one needlessly rots in hell. The conduct remains the same as it was. Take oaths every day, take vows every day, go to the temple daily and make pledges—nothing will change. The thoughts are others’. How will anything change?

When you see such conflict, the discerning person’s first decision will be this: let me, for now, take my conduct as my real being; that is what I am. And then why should I accept someone else’s thought? Why not inquire for myself? Why not arrive through the experience of life? Why not grow quiet and dig into my own life-breath and find what is? Have you ever dug within yourself about this? Have you ever searched within to see whether anger can bring bliss? Have you ever investigated this layer by layer in your own life?

No; you say, “Anger is a very bad thing.” You are repeating someone else’s words. The day your own being experiences that anger is poison, is sorrow, is pain—the day your life-breath is filled with the scorching of anger’s misery and toxicity—on that day is it possible that you could be angry again? When you were angry, did you ever sit silently in a corner with all doors closed and explore what was happening to you? Did you see and witness your life-breath being seared in the burning fire of anger? When anger is aflame, have you ever sat silent and looked within to see what is happening? If even once you had seen it—and if even once the whole burn and scorch of anger, the entire pain and hell of it had become clear before you—who then could persuade you to enter anger again?

But no, this has never been seen. Yes—when anger goes and its smoke drifts away, then we sit with the Gita, with the words of Mahavira, with the sayings of Buddha, and we think, “Anger is a very bad thing. What a bad act I have done. I should not do this.” Then a double trouble arises—anger on one side, and repentance on the other.

Anger torments, and repentance torments. And that repentance has no meaning. The anger has already gone; there is no way now to see it. When anger was present, if you had brought your full awareness and understanding to bear and witnessed it, that seeing would have given birth to a realization in your life by which you would know what anger is. And that knowing—that knowledge—would change your conduct.

I do not say, “Repent for anger.” I say, “Witness anger.” Fools are those who repent. They will repent their whole life and reach nowhere. And do you know why you repent? Not because anger is bad. You repent because, as a shadow behind anger, you are hit by the sense, “How mean and low I became.” After anger subsides, when you realize how depraved you appeared, what abuses you hurled, what ugly words you uttered—then your ego is hurt. Because you believe you are a very good person who cannot say such bad things. The ego is wounded, so to flatter it again, to dress it up again, you repent. In the temple you swear, you decide, “Now I will never be angry.” And by making such a decision you again become a decent man, a non-angry man, a good person. Then you get angry again, and then again you repent.

Repentance is not for anger. It is to lift back up the image of yourself in your own eyes that had fallen down. It is the ego’s replenishment. It is a supplement to the ego. The ego gets fractured; repentance fills the broken part.

All these vows of celibacy, all these oaths—“I will not get angry; I will remain celibate; this, that”—they are all props for the ego. Nothing happens through them. They are utterly false and illusory.

Something can happen—not through repentance, but through awareness. When any state seizes the mind, be alert toward it, wakeful; inquire into what is happening; recognize what is happening. And if you come to see its sorrow and pain, who would be mad enough to enter that sorrow and pain again? But we have never seen.

I tell you with certainty: you must have been angry many times. I tell you again: you have not yet seen anger. You will say, “I have been angry so many times—how could I not have seen it?” If you were capable of seeing, you would become incapable of anger. The truth is that when you are angry, your capacity to see becomes utterly feeble. You are intoxicated, in a swoon, unconscious. That is why anyone can do, in anger, what he could not even imagine doing when he is sober and quiet.

Many murderers have said before the courts that they did not commit the murder. Earlier, courts used to think this was a lie. Now psychologists say it is true. They committed murder in such a surge of anger that in that surge there was no consciousness within them. They were almost unconscious. Therefore after the murder they do not remember that they killed. Now psychologists say they are not telling a lie. Many murderers could not later remember that they had killed. They were hanged, or condemned to life imprisonment and rotted in jail their whole lives, yet they could not recall that they had done the murder. They kept saying, “I do not remember ever doing it.” Because in the state of mind in which they did it, there was not even the slightest awareness. So who would remember? Who would recall?

Whatever sin is done in life is done in unconsciousness. And when do we repent? When the unconsciousness has passed. There can be no connection between the two. We commit sin in unconsciousness; in consciousness we take vows of virtue. There is no connection at all. Hence we fall into the same pit every day in which yesterday we had decided never to fall again. The same pit stands before us again—ten times a day. And then we cry and repent and think, “These Mahaviras and Buddhas, these Krishnas and Christs—they must have been great gods; only then could they rise above anger. How can we rise above it? We decide every day and fall every day.”

No—they were people just like you. None of them is God, none a Tirthankara, none a son of God. The same bones as you, the same flesh as you, the same everything. They are born as you are born, and they die as you die. There is nothing special. In this world no human being is special. All human beings are alike. And then it appears even more astonishing: how does a person become such that anger has dissolved in him? No fire of lust burns within him? No hatred or jealousy arises within him?

I tell you: this can happen in everyone’s life. But we are unfamiliar with the method and the science. The method and the science are: do not condemn your conduct on the basis of another’s thought; instead, investigate your conduct. See your conduct. Become alert through awareness toward your own conduct. Do not call it bad. Because the one who calls it bad becomes incapable of seeing it. The person we call bad—we do not want him to come to our home; we do not even want to see his face. So the act that you label bad—because of that labeling, a wall stands between your mind and that act. Do not call anger bad. You have no right to call it bad. You have no right to call theft bad. But know: what is this theft that is within me? Recognize it very peacefully, very easily. Inquire: what is this anger? what is this sex? why is it? what is it? Very peacefully, very neutrally, without any condemnation, see it; witness it. The day this witnessing becomes effortless and complete, that day a revolution will arise in your life. On that day your own thought will be born. And against one’s own thought, conduct neither has ever gone nor can go.

Therefore I do not say that you should reconcile your thoughts and conduct. Kindly never try to reconcile them. Conduct is your truth. Whatever it is, witness your conduct. From that witnessing, true thought is born. And that true thought becomes a revolution in your conduct. Then, without any imposition, without any force, without any suppression or repression, you will experience a new human being awakening within you. That is the reflection of thought risen out of one’s own experience.

And there are a few more questions; I will take them tomorrow.

Now we will sit for the night meditation. So let me say a few things to you about meditation, and then we will sit for meditation.

Yesterday I spoke a little about meditation. In my view, meditation is not a task, not an attempt, not an effort. Therefore if you make effort, if you strive much, you will not be able to enter meditation. Meditation is relaxation. So no great striving, no great attempt, no inner fight.

As someone swims in a river—when a person swims, he has to move his arms, cut the current, exert. Meditation is not like swimming. Then what is it like?

Meditation is like flowing. A man lies in the river and is carried along. He neither moves his arms nor cuts the current. He lies quietly and the current carries him. He makes no effort; he simply flows. Meditation is not like swimming; meditation is like flowing.

Do not swim—flow. For fifteen minutes drop all effort and make no attempt. Do not try any method; do not try, “I will sit like this, do this, think this, fix the mind like this.” Do none of this. Because whatever is produced by your effort cannot be greater than your intellect. Whatever comes out of your effort will only be a part of your intellect.

Meditation is not a part of your intellect. Therefore, please, do not strain yourself. Neither force the breath nor hold it. Do not make any great effort. Then what should you do?

Only this much: sit very relaxed, very at ease. Even sitting is not necessary. When you practice somewhere, you can lie down, you can stand—whatever suits your mood. You need not freeze into some special posture or statue. You can be however you are. The point is the inner state of consciousness, not your posture. Never fall, even by mistake, into these childish notions that if you sit like this you will become God, you will become a siddha; or if you hold your nose in such and such a way, or stand on your head, this will happen, that will happen. Do not fall into all these childlike ideas.

Meditation has no very deep relation with the body. Meditation’s relation is with the inner state of the mind. Therefore leave the body in whatever is the most comfortable condition for you, so that the body does not create any hindrance. That much is enough with the body. And then what within?

No name-remembering, no mantra-chanting, no focusing on a point, no imagining some flame alight or a flower blooming in the heart—no need to get into these imaginations. Do not look for beautiful scenes; do not look for heaven or the netherworld or hell. Do not look for God. None of that.

Sit perfectly quiet and keep only awareness—wakefulness—toward whatever is happening around you. All this is happening—a train passes, a plane may go overhead, a bird will flutter among the leaves and make a sound, someone will cough, a child will cry, someone will walk, someone will move about. Events are happening all around. Toward all these events, maintain awareness—quietly—so that not even the smallest sound around me occurs outside my awareness. Let my awareness remain alert. Let me remain fully awake. Whatever is happening, let me feel it, know it, recognize that it has happened. But do not get into thinking about it.

If a dog barks, you are not to think whose dog is barking. Whether it is black or white or red—do not think any of that. The dog is barking; its sound will enter within you, it will reverberate—let it reverberate in your awareness and pass. Let whatever comes within come; let it go when it goes. Thoughts may run within. It is not necessary that today they will fall silent all at once. For thousands of years the human race has been nurturing and feeding thoughts. They are very old guests; they have been living in the house for a long time. And we too, with our entire life, have been nursing and feeding them. So be under no delusion that we will sit today and they will take their leave. They can come. They will come. How would they know that you have decided not to invite them now? You have been inviting them daily, so they come under the same impression, the same old affection.

There is nothing to be alarmed about in that. Let them come. Watch them peacefully. As they come, they will go. What thought ever lingers long? It will come and it will go. You remain only the witness. You are neither to stop them nor push them away—“Oh, move away! Where did this thought come from, everything got spoiled.”

Meditation is not something that gets spoiled. When meditation happens, there is no power in this world that can disturb it. And when it does not happen, then you are already in disturbance. You are in disturbance. Meditation is not being spoiled. When meditation is, disturbance cannot be. And when it is not, you are in disturbance; there is no question of meditation at all.

Therefore do not worry that this disturbance happened, this thought came. No—this thought came and it will go. What has it to do with you? You remain peaceful, silent, watching. The breath will move; you will feel it—watch. An insect will bite and you will have to brush it away with your hand—let the hand brush it away and watch quietly. Do not force anything. Keep only one attention: whatever is happening—brushing away an insect with the hand, or changing the leg’s position, or opening the eyes in between, or a thought running, or a dog barking, or a bird calling—let only one thing remain in attention: I am hearing everything; I am seeing everything in aware wakefulness. As when we light a lamp, it throws light on whatever is around, so light the lamp of awareness within, and let whatever is happening all around be illuminated; let that light fall upon everything.

Slowly, even within these five to seven minutes, if we can hold awareness within even this much, then with the very holding of awareness, peace begins to come. A rare peace begins to arise.

A friend came to me just today and said that

It will be; it is bound to be beyond imagination. You don’t even know—what will happen is utterly unknown and unknowable. You cannot make any expectation of it; you have no idea what it will be. What will happen in meditation cannot be said in advance, nor can it be imagined. What happens is unprecedented. It has never been known before. It is totally unknown, utterly unknowable. It will happen only when this entire known mind of yours becomes utterly quiet. And it will become quiet.

Awareness stills the mind. When the mind becomes still, meditation descends. Meditation is not something you do; it descends. It surrounds you. Meditation is a state outside the mind-field. Meditation is the very nature of the soul. As soon as the mind-field is quiet, meditation begins to spread.

So, very quietly, very effortlessly, without any tension, in silence; everyone sit with a little space between you, very easily. Today we will put out this light here so that you are utterly alone in darkness. Sit at slight distances from one another. If someone touches you, you remain as if sitting in a crowd; it becomes a little difficult. And set aside your friends for a while. No worry—if you sit on the grass, consider it no problem.

So now, wait a moment; let us put out the light. Let everyone sit, and then we will put it out.

Just keep in mind that no one around you is touching you. If someone keeps touching you needlessly, your attention will remain on that.

Let me assume that you are all sitting so that you are not touching one another.

Yes, space is a bit limited.

There is always enough space; what is needed is the courage to spread out.

All right. You have understood me. Close your eyes and sit completely at ease. There will be darkness, so relaxing will not be difficult. No one is looking at you. Otherwise that same fear lingers—that someone might be watching. There are strange kinds of fears in the world, and the greatest fear is that someone might be watching; who knows what they will think.

So we will make it dark. No one is watching you. You are utterly alone. See yourself. Drop all concern for others.

Close your eyes. Since no one is looking at you, please do not make any attempt to look at anyone else. Close your eyes gently. Do not squeeze them tight; that only creates tension. The eyelids become tense. Let them drop softly, as if sleep has come to the eyes and they have closed by themselves. Let the lids fall softly. And in the same way, sit light and easy, like a flower—quiet and relaxed.

The night is wondrous. If the silence of the night descends within you, something will bloom inside like a flower, will glow like a lamp. Something can be experienced within. Do not miss the moment. Sit utterly quiet, the body relaxed, free of all tension in every way.

Close your eyes. Close them softly. Drop all tension from the head. The greatest burden is on the head. Release the tightness on the forehead. Drop all weight from the crown, as if you have put down every load beside you. Let there be no tension on the face at all. Make the face like that of a small child—tension-free. Remember how you were as a little child: that same face, that same lightness—let everything become loose and soft.

Now awaken within. As if you are utterly awake inside, filled with alertness. Sit so sensitive and aware that even the faintest sound, the slightest stir, any sound at all can be heard. As if a lamp has been lit within and you are fully awake in awareness. Now listen. Listen filled with watchfulness in every way. For ten minutes, become silence itself.

Sit as if utterly alone, like sitting all by yourself in a deep forest. The night is utterly quiet and full of stillness. Sit very alert; even a faint sound, the slightest noise is being heard. You are completely awake. Slowly, the hush will begin to descend. Slowly, the mind will become quiet. You will begin to feel even the vibration of the breath. You will begin to feel even the vibration of the breath. See, and only keep seeing. Listen, and only keep listening. The mind is becoming quiet.

Look within; see inside—everything is becoming quiet. There is silence outside, and within too the stillness is entering. Inside, layer by layer, all is becoming calm. Watch within, awake, and see how slowly the mind is settling. An extraordinary peace descends.

The mind is becoming quiet… slowly, slowly it will become utterly quiet. You are simply awake, and everything is becoming still. The mind is gradually quieting… an extraordinary peace will begin to descend; it is descending… peace is descending… every layer of the mind will become quiet, as if peace is raining and the whole mind is washed clean.

The mind is becoming quiet… see how the mind is becoming still… understand this quieting of the mind. This is the key. See how the mind is becoming quiet… understand the mind’s becoming still. This is the key. The mind is becoming quiet… slowly, slowly it will become absolutely still. You will dissolve completely, and only peace will remain. You will disappear; only peace will remain.