In the morning I spoke of the first step. I shared a few things on how the body can be purified. The second layer of the human personality is thought. Let the body be pure, let thought be pure—then the third layer is feeling—and when feeling too is pure, the perimeter of practice is prepared. If these three are set right, a new, fresh joy and peace begin to dawn in life. If these three are set right, life itself takes a new birth.
But this is only the practice of the periphery. In a sense, it is outer practice. The inner practice goes deeper still. There, body, thought, and feeling are emptied out; purified, and then reduced to zero. For now, we purify the body; later, we renounce the very sense of body. We enter a state where the body is not. We enter a state where thought is not. We enter a state where feeling is not. But before that, on the circumference, we relinquish the impure.
I have spoken to you about the body. Now let us consider thought. What is impurity in thought? Thoughts are like waves. They, too, leave impressions on the mind—wholesome or unwholesome. A person who is agitated by certain kinds of thoughts will have a personality shaped accordingly. A person who is agitated by certain kinds of thoughts will have a personality shaped accordingly. One who continually contemplates beauty—whose consciousness circles, meditates, and dwells near beauty—will naturally give birth to a quality of beauty in his being. One who thinks of the auspicious, of what is benedictory, and keeps his consciousness revolving around that center—there is no surprise if the auspicious flowers in his life. One who reflects and meditates on truth—truth descending into his life becomes easy, almost inevitable.
So let me say to you: turn your attention upon yourself—what do you go on thinking about? What do you continually ponder?
Most of us think either of wealth, or of fame, or of sex.
Long ago in China there was a king. He went to inspect the border of his seaside kingdom, taking his minister along. Standing on a mountain peak, they gazed at the vast ocean. Countless ships were sailing—some coming, some going. The king said to his minister, ‘How many ships are arriving, and how many are departing!’ The minister replied, ‘Majesty, if you ask for the truth, only three ships are arriving, and only three are departing.’ The king asked, ‘Three? I see so many. Don’t you see them?’ He said, ‘I know only three ships—the ship of fame, the ship of wealth, and the ship of sex. On these three ships everyone is traveling.’
This is true. The journey of our thinking sails on these three ships. And one who travels on these three is moving in impure thought. Whoever climbs down from these three enters pure thought. So each of you must inquire: what is your central contemplation? What is the wound in your mind around which everything revolves? For whatever your mind returns to repeatedly throughout the day—that is your central weakness. So ask yourself: does it keep returning to wealth? To sex? To fame? Does your thinking circle back to one of these? Does it revert to falsehood? To dishonesty? To trickery? These are their secondary branches. The three central hubs are the same. If your mind broods on those three, you are in the state of impure thought. We call it impure because through such thinking you will not come to the truth of life.
Pure thought means what in our land we have called satyam, shivam, sundaram—truth, the auspicious, and beauty. These three are the centers of wholesome thought. Sex, fame, and wealth are the centers of unwholesome thought. Truth, auspiciousness, and beauty are the centers of pure thought.
How much do you contemplate truth? Do you contemplate truth at all? Do you ever ask: what is truth? In some quiet moments, is your mind stirred by this? Does the question—what is truth?—ever pierce your heart? Do you ever feel an urge to know what beauty is? To know what the auspicious is?
If these thoughts do not stir you, your state of thinking is impure—and in that impure state there will be no entry into samadhi.
Impure thinking takes you outward; pure thinking draws you inward. The trajectory of impure thought is centrifugal and downward; the trajectory of pure, auspicious thought is inward and upward. It is impossible to think on truth, beauty, and the auspicious—and not have their imprint, their engraving, and their shadow begin to fall upon your life.
Gandhi-ji was once imprisoned. He continuously reflected on truth, on non-possession, on non-attachment. In those days his morning breakfast was ten dates soaked in water. Vallabhbhai Patel was in prison with him. He thought, Ten dates—is that a breakfast? What good will that do? Since he was the one who soaked them, one day he soaked fifteen. He thought, How will this old man notice? He’ll just eat them.
Gandhi-ji noticed there were more dates. He said, ‘Vallabhbhai, count them.’ They counted—there were fifteen. Gandhi-ji said, ‘But there are fifteen.’ Vallabhbhai said, ‘What difference does it make—ten or fifteen?’ Gandhi-ji closed his eyes for a couple of moments and thought. He said, ‘Vallabhbhai, you have given me a great key. You say there is no difference between ten and fifteen. I understand now—there is no difference between ten and five either. From today we will take only five.’ He said, ‘From today we will take only five. You have said a striking thing: if there is no difference between ten and fifteen, there is no difference between five and ten either. From today we will take only five.’
Vallabhbhai was alarmed. He said, ‘I only wanted your breakfast to be a little more. I didn’t think you would take it this way.’ Gandhi-ji said, ‘One who continuously reflects on non-possession, his intelligence will respond like this. One who is thinking, “How little can suffice?”—his intelligence will arrive at this answer. One who is always thinking, “How can I have more and more?”—to him there will be no difference between ten and fifteen. One who is thinking, “How can it be the least?”—to him there will be no difference between five and ten.’
What you contemplate will start to appear in the tiniest details of your life. Another incident.
Gandhi-ji used to take hot water with lemon and honey in the morning. Mahadev Desai, who was close to him, one day prepared the drink and set it aside. It was hot water, steaming. Gandhi-ji came, and the glass was offered to him five minutes later. Gandhi-ji looked at it for a moment and said, ‘It would have been better to cover it.’ Mahadev Desai said, ‘What can go wrong in five minutes? And I’ve been watching—nothing has fallen into it.’ Gandhi-ji said, ‘It’s not a question of something falling in. Steam has been rising from it—unnecessarily, some airborne beings, tiny organisms, must have been harmed.’ He said, ‘Covering it is not about preventing things from falling in. This hot steam—many microbes in the air will have been needlessly injured. There was no reason; we could have prevented it.’
One who continuously contemplates nonviolence naturally acquires this sensibility and awareness. I am saying that whatever you reflect on continuously begins to show in the smallest acts of daily living.
This morning a friend made an announcement: ‘It is very sad that we have told many people twice, yet they have still not come, and we are ten minutes late.’ He said it is very sad that even after telling some people twice, they have not come. If I had to say it, I would say, ‘It is very delightful that with only two reminders so many have come!’ And I would add, ‘It will be even more delightful if those who haven’t yet come also join.’ That would be a nonviolent way; the other was violent. There is violence in it.
So I say: if you reflect, and set a few centers of pure contemplation, you will find a difference creeping into your smallest things. Your speech will become nonviolent. Your movements will become nonviolent. The centers of your thinking will begin to shape your life. It is natural. As a person thinks, so he becomes.
Thought is a wondrous power. What you continuously think about—much depends on that. If you are constantly thinking about wealth and you are experimenting with samadhi, your vectors are opposite. It is like yoking two oxen to the same cart facing opposite directions. The cart will be torn by their pulling, but it won’t move forward.
When the direction of thought is purified, you’ll notice changes in very small things. There are no great “big” things in life; life is made of very small things. Life is made of very small events. How you get up, how you sit, how you speak, what you speak—much depends on these. Much depends on these! And the center from which these all arise is thought.
So thought must be oriented toward truth, toward the auspicious, toward beauty. Let this remembrance be alive: let us contemplate truth. Whenever there is time, reflect a little on truth, a little on beauty, a little on the auspicious. And before beginning any action, pause for a moment and see whether what you are about to do is in harmony with truth, beauty, and the auspicious—or contrary to them. When a stream of thought starts in the mind, watch: Is this current aligned with truth, beauty, and the auspicious—or is it opposed?
If it is opposed, break that current. Drop it; it is of no benefit. It will take life into a ditch, it will pull life downward. So mindfully observe the currents that flow in the layers of your thinking—and with courage, effort, labor, and resolve, turn them toward the auspicious and the true.
Many times you may feel you cannot decide what truth is. Many times you may feel you cannot decide what is auspicious. It may be that you cannot decide. But that you have reflected, that you have attempted to decide—that itself is of great value and will bring a change in you. One who contemplates continuously slowly gains a feel for the direction—he begins to sense what is auspicious, what is true.
Before every thought, every word, every act—pause for a moment; nothing is so urgent. See: what is going to manifest through what I am doing? What is being revealed in it? What event is occurring? This ongoing inner inquiry is essential for a seeker.
So, first, the fundamental point in the purification of thought: what are the centers of our contemplation? If the centers I speak of are absent in you, they must be awakened.
You will be surprised to know—if even one of the centers of truth, auspiciousness, or beauty is awakened in you, the other two begin to awaken on their own. And let me note: there are three broad types of people in the world. Some in whom the center of truth can develop quickly. Some in whom the center of the auspicious can develop quickly. And some in whom the center of beauty can develop quickly.
It may be that among you, each has a different center. But if even one awakens, the other two begin to stir by themselves. If someone truly loves beauty, he cannot lie—because lying is ugly, un-beautiful. One who loves beauty cannot commit an inauspicious act—because inauspicious acts are ugly. He cannot steal—not because of morality as such, but because theft is a hideous act. So if a wholehearted longing for beauty arises, much is accomplished.
Once Gandhi-ji was a guest of Rabindranath. Tagore was old by then. He was a seeker of beauty; truth and the auspicious were not his direct path. In the evening both were to go for a walk. Tagore said, ‘Wait a moment, I will comb my hair.’
Gandhi-ji said, What nonsense! Combing hair! Gandhi had already done away with hair—there was no trouble of combing. And in such old age, combing hair! It was strange and, to Gandhi-ji, inconceivable. He stood there, upset, but he could not say anything to Tagore.
Tagore went in. Two minutes passed, five, ten. Gandhi-ji wondered, How long can one comb hair! He peeped through the window—Tagore stood before a full-length mirror, still combing. Gandhi-ji could bear it no longer. He said, ‘I can’t understand what you are doing. The time for the walk is passing. And why comb your hair? In this old age, why comb?’
Tagore came out and said, ‘When I was young, I could go out without combing; now that I am old, I cannot. Do not think I am eager to look beautiful. Only this: I should not become the cause of pain to anyone by appearing ugly.’ He said, ‘Do not think I am eager to look beautiful. This body I am making presentable will be ash tomorrow. I know it will go to the pyre and burn. But let my ugliness not grate upon anyone’s eyes—let me not become a cause of their discomfort. That is my only eagerness.’
A seeker of beauty will think so. Ugliness, in any form, is a kind of violence toward the other—whether in behavior, in speech, or otherwise.
So if you have an eagerness to be beautiful, become beautiful wholly—let the whole fabric of life be beautiful. I do not say that those who comb their hair are doing wrong. No. I say: by all means, comb your hair—and arrange much else as well. I do not say you do wrong by wearing ornaments. I say: you did well to wear ornaments—now also wear the true ornaments. I do not say you did wrong to wear clean white clothes. Very good—wear white; let the inner being be white as well.
If you fully cultivate beauty, you will find that truth and the auspicious are included within it. One who cultivates the auspicious will also come upon beauty and truth. One who cultivates truth will come upon the other two as well. He will come upon both.
Whichever of these three draws you—let that become your center. Let your thinking circle that center and be impacted from within by it. Choose one among the three and cultivate it. And cultivate it in the entire range of life—in conduct and behavior, in all your ways. Gradually you will experience something wondrous: as that center matures, your distortions and impure thoughts begin to dissolve.
I do not strongly tell you to drop thinking about wealth. I tell you: begin to think of the auspicious, the beautiful, the true. When you begin to contemplate beauty, you will not be able to brood over wealth—because nothing is more ugly than the brooding over money. When you contemplate beauty, you cannot brood over sex—no state of mind is more ugly than that.
So, positively and creatively, let your energy and strength be connected to some center of pure, auspicious thinking. You will find your power sliding away from useless centers; it will release its grip there.
Mindfully, drop what is impure; mindfully, steady and establish yourself in what is pure. When thought is purified, a deep movement begins in life. This is the root matter of thought, the basic of thought-purification. There are some further, secondary points; let me remind you of those too.
For thought to be pure, it is important to know that all your thoughts come from outside. No thought arises inside you of its own. All thoughts come from without. The pegs on which thoughts hang are inside; the thoughts come from outside. Understand this: thoughts come from outside, the pegs are within.
If a person continually thinks of wealth, the thoughts of wealth come from outside; only the craving—the peg for wealth—is inside. Thoughts come and hang on that inner peg. One who thinks of sex—the peg of sex is inside; the thoughts come and hang upon it. Whatever you continually think about—only its peg is inside; the thoughts always come from outside and hang upon it. All the thoughts you have are imported.
For purification of thought it is essential to know this: do not let thoughts enter in an unguarded, undiscriminating way. Be alert, and only what you choose to let in should enter. The rest, throw out.
I often say: if someone throws trash into my house, I will go and quarrel with him; but if someone throws trash into my head, I do not protest. If I meet you on the street and start telling you a film story, you have no problem. But if I come to your house and dump a little garbage, you’ll say, What have you done? It’s against the law. Yet if I dump garbage into your head by telling you a film story, you sit and listen with great enjoyment!
We still do not know that the head can be trashed as well. And we are such enemies of each other that we keep throwing garbage into each other’s heads. Those you call friends—what are they doing to you? None could mistreat you more. An enemy is better; at least he doesn’t get close enough to dump into your mind.
We are all throwing trash into each other’s minds. And we are so asleep we don’t even know what we are taking in. We accept everything. We are like a public inn with no guard, no gatekeeper to decide who may lodge and who may not. Whoever comes—human, animal, thief, cheat—stays. And leaves when he wishes; or keeps staying as long as he likes.
The mind should not be a public inn. If it is unguarded, it is hard to be free of impure thoughts. So, mindfully, there must be watchfulness over the mind. For pure thought there is a second requirement: a vigilant guard—watchfulness. Be awake, alert: what is entering? Reject what is useless.
I was traveling recently. I was there, and one gentleman shared my compartment. He wished to converse. As soon as I sat, he took out a cigarette and offered it. I said, ‘Forgive me, I won’t take it.’ He put the cigarette away. A little later he offered me a betel chew. I said, ‘Sorry, I won’t take it.’ He put that away. Then he picked up his newspaper and said, ‘Will you read this?’ I said, ‘Pardon me, I won’t read it.’ He said, ‘This is difficult—we offer you anything, and you won’t take it!’ I said, ‘Those who take whatever is offered are unwise. And what you offer—I will try not only to refuse it, but to rob you of it as well. I won’t take it—and I will try to see that even you are freed of it.’
What do you do when you are idle? You pick up a newspaper and start reading—because you are idle! Better to remain idle than to collect trash. Idleness is not bad. Some fools say, doing something—anything—is better than doing nothing. This is false. Not doing is always better than doing the wrong thing. Some say it’s better to keep doing something than to do nothing. I say to you: doing nothing is always better than doing something wrong or random. At least then you are not losing anything. At least you are not gathering the useless.
So cultivate this alertness. In the inward traffic of thought, be aware, and it is not difficult to keep thought pure. It is not hard to recognize impure thought. Any thought that, entering you, creates excitement and agitation is impure. Thoughts that, entering you, open springs of peace are pure. Thoughts that, entering you, turn you toward joy are auspicious. Thoughts that, entering you, breed restlessness, worry, anxiety—these are inauspicious. Save yourself from such thoughts. Become the vigilant guard of your own mind, and the transition toward purity of thought begins.
And a third point—as unwholesome thought circulations swirl outside in the world, as storms of unwholesome thought blow and their smoke enters and surrounds your mind; as there is an abundance of impure thinking in the world—do not forget, there are also small lamps of wholesome thought trembling in the dark. There are little streams of pure thought still alive. In this vast ocean of darkness, a few rays of light remain. Seek their nearness. This we call satsang—good company.
In this very dark world, it is not all darkness. There are lamps—even if clay lamps, even if their flames are small. Still, they are there. Seek their company. One who brings his extinguished lamp near a burning lamp—very likely the dying wick will catch fire again; the smoke will clear and there will be a flame.
Seek the nearness of those rays that point to truth, to the auspicious, to beauty. Bring yourself close to them. Bring yourself within the orbit of those thoughts, those thought-beings, those waves of insight—wherever it is possible.
This can happen in three ways: closeness to wholesome thoughts; closeness to wholesome people; and above all—and most important—closeness to nature.
Nature gives no unwholesome thought. If you sit and look at the sky, just look—the sky will not engender anything impure in you. On the contrary, in a little while your clutter will thin, and you will find that in watching the sky you have become one with the sky. Watching a waterfall plunge from a mountain, you will find you have become the mountain stream. Gazing upon a green forest, you will find you have become a tree.
A seeker was once asked, ‘I want to know truth—how can I?’ He replied, ‘There are too many people now—come when I am alone.’ The man did not come all day; he came at dusk, when no one was there. Lamps were lit; it was night. The monk was alone, about to close his door. The man said, ‘Wait—now no one is here. I stayed outside so that when all had left, I could enter. Now I have come. Tell me—how can I become quiet and attain the divine?’
He said, ‘Come outside. It will not happen inside this hut. The lamp here is lit by a man. This hut is made by a man. Come outside—there is a vast world that no man has made—or, if you like, is made by the divine. Out there, there is no human imprint.’
And remember—man alone leaves unwholesome imprints. Nothing else does.
They went out. There were bamboo groves and the moon had risen. The monk stood by the bamboo—one minute, two, ten, fifteen. The man said, ‘Say something! If you stand silent, how will I understand?’ The monk said, ‘If you could understand, you already would. You too stand silently. We have become a bamboo—now you become one too.’ The man said, ‘That’s very difficult.’
The monk said, ‘This is our practice. Standing near the bamboos, in a little while we forget we are separate—and we become the bamboo. Gazing at the moon, we forget we are separate—and we become the moon.’
In the intimacy of nature, one who discovers such oneness—his thoughts begin to purify marvelously. The impurity of his thought dissolves. So there are three ways: wholesome thoughts—their streams are infinite; wholesome people—they have never ceased, they are always present.
But we are so blind we only worship the dead. We are so blind that no living person can ever be “good” for us—only the dead can be. And all the religions of the world are worshipers of the dead. Almost no one worships the living. They all worship the dead; and all are under the illusion that all the sages who ever could be have already been—no more will come; and that anyone living cannot possibly be a sage.
Sages are always available on this earth. They exist in many places. With eyes, they can be recognized. And besides, even if they are not “perfect” by your measure or imagination, what concern is that to you?
A fakir once said, ‘I learned from everyone I ever met.’ Someone asked, ‘How can that be? What can you learn from a thief?’ He said, ‘Once I stayed as a guest in a thief’s home—indeed for a month. Every night he went out to steal and returned at three or four. I would ask, “Well, any luck?” He would laugh, “Not tonight—perhaps tomorrow.” For a month he failed. At the door a guard caught him; another time people were awake; another time he could not break the lock; another time he entered but did not reach the treasure. Every night he came back exhausted. I would ask, “Well?” and he’d say, “Not tonight—perhaps tomorrow.” That I learned from him: if today it does not happen, do not worry—remember, tomorrow it may. Even one who goes to do a bad deed is so full of hope.’ The fakir said, ‘In those days I was seeking God—I was attempting a holy theft. I too was knocking at walls and doors, finding no way. I was tired and despairing; I thought to give it up. But that thief saved me. He said, “Not today—perhaps tomorrow.” I made it my maxim: if not today, perhaps tomorrow. And then the day came when it happened. The thief made his theft, and I stole the divine.’
So the point is not that you can only learn from “good men.” The point is: if you have the intelligence to learn, this whole world is full of teachers. Without that, even those who walked past Mahavira thought, What vagrant is this, some naked lunatic! People passed by Mahavira—you hear today people call someone a naked scoundrel—this abuse was first used for Mahavira. Because he was naked and plucked out his hair, he was called a naked “luchcha,” a lout. People said, ‘He’s a naked scoundrel.’ Now that word is an insult. If someone used it for you, you would be angry. But it was first applied to that naked, hair-plucking monk—Mahavira.
There were those who could not recognize Mahavira. There were those who crucified Christ, thinking he spoke lies. There were those who gave Socrates hemlock. And do not think those people existed only then—they exist in you now. Given the chance, you would give Socrates poison; given the chance, you would crucify Christ; given the chance, you would laugh at Mahavira—What a madman! But since they are dead, you can worship them—no trouble. The living are difficult to worship; they are hard to accept, hard to understand.
If there is a true search for the good, the world is always full of good people. It has never been otherwise and never will be. The day the lineage of the good is broken, from that day onward no good person could arise—because the stream would have disappeared into a desert. That stream flows—sometimes full, sometimes slender. Become acquainted and related to it. And the way is not to wait for some absolutely perfect person. Keep your eyes open. In small events understanding can happen.
I read about a monk. He ran his business until sixty. His household name was Raja Babu. Even when he had grown old, people called him Raja Babu. One morning he went for a walk. Before sunrise, outside the village, he heard a woman in her house waking a child: ‘Raja Babu! How long will you sleep? It is morning—get up now.’ He was walking with a staff when he heard, ‘Raja Babu! How long will you sleep? Now that it is morning, get up.’ He heard this, turned back, and said at home, ‘Now it is difficult to continue—today I received the teaching. I heard it: “Raja Babu, how long will you sleep? It is morning—get up.” The matter is finished.’
Perhaps that woman was waking some child. But one who has eyes—hears a sermon. It may be that someone is directly addressing you, and you lack ears and eyes—you sit and hear and think, Perhaps he is speaking to someone else.
So, closeness to the good, a longing for the good, the search and inquiry for the good; the entry of wholesome thoughts into life; the company of nature—these are the helpful conditions and contexts for pure thought.
These few things I have said for thought-purification—take them as an essential limb and practice them lifelong. This is not a matter of today and tomorrow. There are no religious camps that in three days the thing is done and finished. There can be no “training” in religion that after three days we meet and the matter is settled. Irreligion is an illness that lasts a lifetime; therefore the religious “camp” must last a lifetime. There is no other way. Practice it throughout life.
Tomorrow I will speak about feeling—what to do for the purification of feeling. Now, for the night meditation, let us understand a few points and then we will sit.
For the night meditation, first we will take a resolve, as we did in the morning. We will take the resolve five times. Then, after the five resolves, for a little while we will evoke feeling as in the morning. After that, everyone will lie down—each in his place, silently. Once you are lying down, the lights will be turned off. Then we will relax the body. In the last camp we relaxed the whole body together. It may be that some cannot relax all at once; for them I suggest an easier path.
In the yogic view, there are seven chakras in the body. We will employ five of them in this meditation. The most primary is the Muladhara—near the genital region. That is the first chakra we will use tonight. The second is the Swadhisthana—near the navel. For now, understand by imagination: near the genitals is the Muladhara; near the navel is the Swadhisthana. Moving upward—near the heart is the Anahata. Higher still—between the eyebrows at the forehead is the Ajna. And above—at the crown is the Sahasrara.
We will use these five. In truth there are seven—and more—but we will use these five, and with their use we will lead the body into relaxation. You will be surprised: the Muladhara chakra governs your legs. When you are lying down and I say, Bring your attention to the Muladhara, bring your awareness inside to the chakra near the genitals—then I will say, Let the Muladhara become relaxed, and along with it let both legs relax. You will inwardly feel, The Muladhara is relaxing, relaxing—and the legs are relaxing. In a short while you will find both legs hanging limp like a corpse’s.
When the legs are relaxed, we will move up to the second chakra, Swadhisthana at the navel. I will say, Bring awareness to the navel, and you will bring your attention inward there. We will say, The Swadhisthana is relaxing, and the whole abdominal mechanism is relaxing. As you feel this, that entire mechanism will gradually relax.
Then we will move up to the heart and I will say, The Anahata is relaxing. You will let the heart area relax, keep attention on the Anahata near the heart, and feel it relaxing—so the entire chest system will relax.
Then we will come up to the forehead, to the Ajna chakra between the eyes. Feel that your awareness is there. I will say, The Ajna is relaxing, and the brain is relaxing. With it, the brain, neck, and the whole head will relax completely. Then you will feel only a slight throbbing and a little heaviness at the crown; the rest of the body will be relaxed. Only at the crown you will sense a faint throb and weight.
Finally I will say, The Sahasrara—bring attention to the crown. It is relaxing. And with it the whole brain relaxes. With this feeling, the inner will also relax.
We will do this in a longer process so that it works for everyone—that the body becomes utterly like a dead body. I will give suggestions for these five chakras. When all is relaxed, I will say, Now the body has become completely like a corpse—drop it. Drop it completely. Then I will say, Your breath is relaxing, becoming quiet. I will give that suggestion for a little while. Then I will suggest: the mind is becoming utterly empty. Three suggestions—first for the chakras, second for breath, and third for thought.
After completing this whole process I will say: for ten minutes, everything is zero. In that zero you will lie within, only a bare awareness remaining—a small flame of witnessing. You will lie silently. Only pure awareness will remain—the knowing that I am lying here. It may happen that as the body feels utterly corpse-like—and it will, with the chakra process—someone may get frightened. Do not be afraid. It is very auspicious. Whoever tastes the deadness of his body while alive becomes gradually free of the fear of death.
So do not be afraid. Whatever arises—light, radiance, peace—just watch silently, and lie in the quiet emptiness. This is essential: three phases—resolve, feeling, and then meditation. Such will be the night meditation.
I trust you have understood. Now everyone sit far enough apart to make your place so you can lie down. Use all the space. No one should remain seated.
Osho's Commentary
In the morning I spoke of the first step. I shared a few things on how the body can be purified. The second layer of the human personality is thought. Let the body be pure, let thought be pure—then the third layer is feeling—and when feeling too is pure, the perimeter of practice is prepared. If these three are set right, a new, fresh joy and peace begin to dawn in life. If these three are set right, life itself takes a new birth.
But this is only the practice of the periphery. In a sense, it is outer practice. The inner practice goes deeper still. There, body, thought, and feeling are emptied out; purified, and then reduced to zero. For now, we purify the body; later, we renounce the very sense of body. We enter a state where the body is not. We enter a state where thought is not. We enter a state where feeling is not. But before that, on the circumference, we relinquish the impure.
I have spoken to you about the body. Now let us consider thought. What is impurity in thought? Thoughts are like waves. They, too, leave impressions on the mind—wholesome or unwholesome. A person who is agitated by certain kinds of thoughts will have a personality shaped accordingly. A person who is agitated by certain kinds of thoughts will have a personality shaped accordingly. One who continually contemplates beauty—whose consciousness circles, meditates, and dwells near beauty—will naturally give birth to a quality of beauty in his being. One who thinks of the auspicious, of what is benedictory, and keeps his consciousness revolving around that center—there is no surprise if the auspicious flowers in his life. One who reflects and meditates on truth—truth descending into his life becomes easy, almost inevitable.
So let me say to you: turn your attention upon yourself—what do you go on thinking about? What do you continually ponder?
Most of us think either of wealth, or of fame, or of sex.
Long ago in China there was a king. He went to inspect the border of his seaside kingdom, taking his minister along. Standing on a mountain peak, they gazed at the vast ocean. Countless ships were sailing—some coming, some going. The king said to his minister, ‘How many ships are arriving, and how many are departing!’ The minister replied, ‘Majesty, if you ask for the truth, only three ships are arriving, and only three are departing.’ The king asked, ‘Three? I see so many. Don’t you see them?’ He said, ‘I know only three ships—the ship of fame, the ship of wealth, and the ship of sex. On these three ships everyone is traveling.’
This is true. The journey of our thinking sails on these three ships. And one who travels on these three is moving in impure thought. Whoever climbs down from these three enters pure thought. So each of you must inquire: what is your central contemplation? What is the wound in your mind around which everything revolves? For whatever your mind returns to repeatedly throughout the day—that is your central weakness. So ask yourself: does it keep returning to wealth? To sex? To fame? Does your thinking circle back to one of these? Does it revert to falsehood? To dishonesty? To trickery? These are their secondary branches. The three central hubs are the same. If your mind broods on those three, you are in the state of impure thought. We call it impure because through such thinking you will not come to the truth of life.
Pure thought means what in our land we have called satyam, shivam, sundaram—truth, the auspicious, and beauty. These three are the centers of wholesome thought. Sex, fame, and wealth are the centers of unwholesome thought. Truth, auspiciousness, and beauty are the centers of pure thought.
How much do you contemplate truth? Do you contemplate truth at all? Do you ever ask: what is truth? In some quiet moments, is your mind stirred by this? Does the question—what is truth?—ever pierce your heart? Do you ever feel an urge to know what beauty is? To know what the auspicious is?
If these thoughts do not stir you, your state of thinking is impure—and in that impure state there will be no entry into samadhi.
Impure thinking takes you outward; pure thinking draws you inward. The trajectory of impure thought is centrifugal and downward; the trajectory of pure, auspicious thought is inward and upward. It is impossible to think on truth, beauty, and the auspicious—and not have their imprint, their engraving, and their shadow begin to fall upon your life.
Gandhi-ji was once imprisoned. He continuously reflected on truth, on non-possession, on non-attachment. In those days his morning breakfast was ten dates soaked in water. Vallabhbhai Patel was in prison with him. He thought, Ten dates—is that a breakfast? What good will that do? Since he was the one who soaked them, one day he soaked fifteen. He thought, How will this old man notice? He’ll just eat them.
Gandhi-ji noticed there were more dates. He said, ‘Vallabhbhai, count them.’ They counted—there were fifteen. Gandhi-ji said, ‘But there are fifteen.’ Vallabhbhai said, ‘What difference does it make—ten or fifteen?’ Gandhi-ji closed his eyes for a couple of moments and thought. He said, ‘Vallabhbhai, you have given me a great key. You say there is no difference between ten and fifteen. I understand now—there is no difference between ten and five either. From today we will take only five.’ He said, ‘From today we will take only five. You have said a striking thing: if there is no difference between ten and fifteen, there is no difference between five and ten either. From today we will take only five.’
Vallabhbhai was alarmed. He said, ‘I only wanted your breakfast to be a little more. I didn’t think you would take it this way.’ Gandhi-ji said, ‘One who continuously reflects on non-possession, his intelligence will respond like this. One who is thinking, “How little can suffice?”—his intelligence will arrive at this answer. One who is always thinking, “How can I have more and more?”—to him there will be no difference between ten and fifteen. One who is thinking, “How can it be the least?”—to him there will be no difference between five and ten.’
What you contemplate will start to appear in the tiniest details of your life. Another incident.
Gandhi-ji used to take hot water with lemon and honey in the morning. Mahadev Desai, who was close to him, one day prepared the drink and set it aside. It was hot water, steaming. Gandhi-ji came, and the glass was offered to him five minutes later. Gandhi-ji looked at it for a moment and said, ‘It would have been better to cover it.’ Mahadev Desai said, ‘What can go wrong in five minutes? And I’ve been watching—nothing has fallen into it.’ Gandhi-ji said, ‘It’s not a question of something falling in. Steam has been rising from it—unnecessarily, some airborne beings, tiny organisms, must have been harmed.’ He said, ‘Covering it is not about preventing things from falling in. This hot steam—many microbes in the air will have been needlessly injured. There was no reason; we could have prevented it.’
One who continuously contemplates nonviolence naturally acquires this sensibility and awareness. I am saying that whatever you reflect on continuously begins to show in the smallest acts of daily living.
This morning a friend made an announcement: ‘It is very sad that we have told many people twice, yet they have still not come, and we are ten minutes late.’ He said it is very sad that even after telling some people twice, they have not come. If I had to say it, I would say, ‘It is very delightful that with only two reminders so many have come!’ And I would add, ‘It will be even more delightful if those who haven’t yet come also join.’ That would be a nonviolent way; the other was violent. There is violence in it.
So I say: if you reflect, and set a few centers of pure contemplation, you will find a difference creeping into your smallest things. Your speech will become nonviolent. Your movements will become nonviolent. The centers of your thinking will begin to shape your life. It is natural. As a person thinks, so he becomes.
Thought is a wondrous power. What you continuously think about—much depends on that. If you are constantly thinking about wealth and you are experimenting with samadhi, your vectors are opposite. It is like yoking two oxen to the same cart facing opposite directions. The cart will be torn by their pulling, but it won’t move forward.
When the direction of thought is purified, you’ll notice changes in very small things. There are no great “big” things in life; life is made of very small things. Life is made of very small events. How you get up, how you sit, how you speak, what you speak—much depends on these. Much depends on these! And the center from which these all arise is thought.
So thought must be oriented toward truth, toward the auspicious, toward beauty. Let this remembrance be alive: let us contemplate truth. Whenever there is time, reflect a little on truth, a little on beauty, a little on the auspicious. And before beginning any action, pause for a moment and see whether what you are about to do is in harmony with truth, beauty, and the auspicious—or contrary to them. When a stream of thought starts in the mind, watch: Is this current aligned with truth, beauty, and the auspicious—or is it opposed?
If it is opposed, break that current. Drop it; it is of no benefit. It will take life into a ditch, it will pull life downward. So mindfully observe the currents that flow in the layers of your thinking—and with courage, effort, labor, and resolve, turn them toward the auspicious and the true.
Many times you may feel you cannot decide what truth is. Many times you may feel you cannot decide what is auspicious. It may be that you cannot decide. But that you have reflected, that you have attempted to decide—that itself is of great value and will bring a change in you. One who contemplates continuously slowly gains a feel for the direction—he begins to sense what is auspicious, what is true.
Before every thought, every word, every act—pause for a moment; nothing is so urgent. See: what is going to manifest through what I am doing? What is being revealed in it? What event is occurring? This ongoing inner inquiry is essential for a seeker.
So, first, the fundamental point in the purification of thought: what are the centers of our contemplation? If the centers I speak of are absent in you, they must be awakened.
You will be surprised to know—if even one of the centers of truth, auspiciousness, or beauty is awakened in you, the other two begin to awaken on their own. And let me note: there are three broad types of people in the world. Some in whom the center of truth can develop quickly. Some in whom the center of the auspicious can develop quickly. And some in whom the center of beauty can develop quickly.
It may be that among you, each has a different center. But if even one awakens, the other two begin to stir by themselves. If someone truly loves beauty, he cannot lie—because lying is ugly, un-beautiful. One who loves beauty cannot commit an inauspicious act—because inauspicious acts are ugly. He cannot steal—not because of morality as such, but because theft is a hideous act. So if a wholehearted longing for beauty arises, much is accomplished.
Once Gandhi-ji was a guest of Rabindranath. Tagore was old by then. He was a seeker of beauty; truth and the auspicious were not his direct path. In the evening both were to go for a walk. Tagore said, ‘Wait a moment, I will comb my hair.’
Gandhi-ji said, What nonsense! Combing hair! Gandhi had already done away with hair—there was no trouble of combing. And in such old age, combing hair! It was strange and, to Gandhi-ji, inconceivable. He stood there, upset, but he could not say anything to Tagore.
Tagore went in. Two minutes passed, five, ten. Gandhi-ji wondered, How long can one comb hair! He peeped through the window—Tagore stood before a full-length mirror, still combing. Gandhi-ji could bear it no longer. He said, ‘I can’t understand what you are doing. The time for the walk is passing. And why comb your hair? In this old age, why comb?’
Tagore came out and said, ‘When I was young, I could go out without combing; now that I am old, I cannot. Do not think I am eager to look beautiful. Only this: I should not become the cause of pain to anyone by appearing ugly.’ He said, ‘Do not think I am eager to look beautiful. This body I am making presentable will be ash tomorrow. I know it will go to the pyre and burn. But let my ugliness not grate upon anyone’s eyes—let me not become a cause of their discomfort. That is my only eagerness.’
A seeker of beauty will think so. Ugliness, in any form, is a kind of violence toward the other—whether in behavior, in speech, or otherwise.
So if you have an eagerness to be beautiful, become beautiful wholly—let the whole fabric of life be beautiful. I do not say that those who comb their hair are doing wrong. No. I say: by all means, comb your hair—and arrange much else as well. I do not say you do wrong by wearing ornaments. I say: you did well to wear ornaments—now also wear the true ornaments. I do not say you did wrong to wear clean white clothes. Very good—wear white; let the inner being be white as well.
If you fully cultivate beauty, you will find that truth and the auspicious are included within it. One who cultivates the auspicious will also come upon beauty and truth. One who cultivates truth will come upon the other two as well. He will come upon both.
Whichever of these three draws you—let that become your center. Let your thinking circle that center and be impacted from within by it. Choose one among the three and cultivate it. And cultivate it in the entire range of life—in conduct and behavior, in all your ways. Gradually you will experience something wondrous: as that center matures, your distortions and impure thoughts begin to dissolve.
I do not strongly tell you to drop thinking about wealth. I tell you: begin to think of the auspicious, the beautiful, the true. When you begin to contemplate beauty, you will not be able to brood over wealth—because nothing is more ugly than the brooding over money. When you contemplate beauty, you cannot brood over sex—no state of mind is more ugly than that.
So, positively and creatively, let your energy and strength be connected to some center of pure, auspicious thinking. You will find your power sliding away from useless centers; it will release its grip there.
Mindfully, drop what is impure; mindfully, steady and establish yourself in what is pure. When thought is purified, a deep movement begins in life. This is the root matter of thought, the basic of thought-purification. There are some further, secondary points; let me remind you of those too.
For thought to be pure, it is important to know that all your thoughts come from outside. No thought arises inside you of its own. All thoughts come from without. The pegs on which thoughts hang are inside; the thoughts come from outside. Understand this: thoughts come from outside, the pegs are within.
If a person continually thinks of wealth, the thoughts of wealth come from outside; only the craving—the peg for wealth—is inside. Thoughts come and hang on that inner peg. One who thinks of sex—the peg of sex is inside; the thoughts come and hang upon it. Whatever you continually think about—only its peg is inside; the thoughts always come from outside and hang upon it. All the thoughts you have are imported.
For purification of thought it is essential to know this: do not let thoughts enter in an unguarded, undiscriminating way. Be alert, and only what you choose to let in should enter. The rest, throw out.
I often say: if someone throws trash into my house, I will go and quarrel with him; but if someone throws trash into my head, I do not protest. If I meet you on the street and start telling you a film story, you have no problem. But if I come to your house and dump a little garbage, you’ll say, What have you done? It’s against the law. Yet if I dump garbage into your head by telling you a film story, you sit and listen with great enjoyment!
We still do not know that the head can be trashed as well. And we are such enemies of each other that we keep throwing garbage into each other’s heads. Those you call friends—what are they doing to you? None could mistreat you more. An enemy is better; at least he doesn’t get close enough to dump into your mind.
We are all throwing trash into each other’s minds. And we are so asleep we don’t even know what we are taking in. We accept everything. We are like a public inn with no guard, no gatekeeper to decide who may lodge and who may not. Whoever comes—human, animal, thief, cheat—stays. And leaves when he wishes; or keeps staying as long as he likes.
The mind should not be a public inn. If it is unguarded, it is hard to be free of impure thoughts. So, mindfully, there must be watchfulness over the mind. For pure thought there is a second requirement: a vigilant guard—watchfulness. Be awake, alert: what is entering? Reject what is useless.
I was traveling recently. I was there, and one gentleman shared my compartment. He wished to converse. As soon as I sat, he took out a cigarette and offered it. I said, ‘Forgive me, I won’t take it.’ He put the cigarette away. A little later he offered me a betel chew. I said, ‘Sorry, I won’t take it.’ He put that away. Then he picked up his newspaper and said, ‘Will you read this?’ I said, ‘Pardon me, I won’t read it.’ He said, ‘This is difficult—we offer you anything, and you won’t take it!’ I said, ‘Those who take whatever is offered are unwise. And what you offer—I will try not only to refuse it, but to rob you of it as well. I won’t take it—and I will try to see that even you are freed of it.’
What do you do when you are idle? You pick up a newspaper and start reading—because you are idle! Better to remain idle than to collect trash. Idleness is not bad. Some fools say, doing something—anything—is better than doing nothing. This is false. Not doing is always better than doing the wrong thing. Some say it’s better to keep doing something than to do nothing. I say to you: doing nothing is always better than doing something wrong or random. At least then you are not losing anything. At least you are not gathering the useless.
So cultivate this alertness. In the inward traffic of thought, be aware, and it is not difficult to keep thought pure. It is not hard to recognize impure thought. Any thought that, entering you, creates excitement and agitation is impure. Thoughts that, entering you, open springs of peace are pure. Thoughts that, entering you, turn you toward joy are auspicious. Thoughts that, entering you, breed restlessness, worry, anxiety—these are inauspicious. Save yourself from such thoughts. Become the vigilant guard of your own mind, and the transition toward purity of thought begins.
And a third point—as unwholesome thought circulations swirl outside in the world, as storms of unwholesome thought blow and their smoke enters and surrounds your mind; as there is an abundance of impure thinking in the world—do not forget, there are also small lamps of wholesome thought trembling in the dark. There are little streams of pure thought still alive. In this vast ocean of darkness, a few rays of light remain. Seek their nearness. This we call satsang—good company.
In this very dark world, it is not all darkness. There are lamps—even if clay lamps, even if their flames are small. Still, they are there. Seek their company. One who brings his extinguished lamp near a burning lamp—very likely the dying wick will catch fire again; the smoke will clear and there will be a flame.
Seek the nearness of those rays that point to truth, to the auspicious, to beauty. Bring yourself close to them. Bring yourself within the orbit of those thoughts, those thought-beings, those waves of insight—wherever it is possible.
This can happen in three ways: closeness to wholesome thoughts; closeness to wholesome people; and above all—and most important—closeness to nature.
Nature gives no unwholesome thought. If you sit and look at the sky, just look—the sky will not engender anything impure in you. On the contrary, in a little while your clutter will thin, and you will find that in watching the sky you have become one with the sky. Watching a waterfall plunge from a mountain, you will find you have become the mountain stream. Gazing upon a green forest, you will find you have become a tree.
A seeker was once asked, ‘I want to know truth—how can I?’ He replied, ‘There are too many people now—come when I am alone.’ The man did not come all day; he came at dusk, when no one was there. Lamps were lit; it was night. The monk was alone, about to close his door. The man said, ‘Wait—now no one is here. I stayed outside so that when all had left, I could enter. Now I have come. Tell me—how can I become quiet and attain the divine?’
He said, ‘Come outside. It will not happen inside this hut. The lamp here is lit by a man. This hut is made by a man. Come outside—there is a vast world that no man has made—or, if you like, is made by the divine. Out there, there is no human imprint.’
And remember—man alone leaves unwholesome imprints. Nothing else does.
They went out. There were bamboo groves and the moon had risen. The monk stood by the bamboo—one minute, two, ten, fifteen. The man said, ‘Say something! If you stand silent, how will I understand?’ The monk said, ‘If you could understand, you already would. You too stand silently. We have become a bamboo—now you become one too.’ The man said, ‘That’s very difficult.’
The monk said, ‘This is our practice. Standing near the bamboos, in a little while we forget we are separate—and we become the bamboo. Gazing at the moon, we forget we are separate—and we become the moon.’
In the intimacy of nature, one who discovers such oneness—his thoughts begin to purify marvelously. The impurity of his thought dissolves. So there are three ways: wholesome thoughts—their streams are infinite; wholesome people—they have never ceased, they are always present.
But we are so blind we only worship the dead. We are so blind that no living person can ever be “good” for us—only the dead can be. And all the religions of the world are worshipers of the dead. Almost no one worships the living. They all worship the dead; and all are under the illusion that all the sages who ever could be have already been—no more will come; and that anyone living cannot possibly be a sage.
Sages are always available on this earth. They exist in many places. With eyes, they can be recognized. And besides, even if they are not “perfect” by your measure or imagination, what concern is that to you?
A fakir once said, ‘I learned from everyone I ever met.’ Someone asked, ‘How can that be? What can you learn from a thief?’ He said, ‘Once I stayed as a guest in a thief’s home—indeed for a month. Every night he went out to steal and returned at three or four. I would ask, “Well, any luck?” He would laugh, “Not tonight—perhaps tomorrow.” For a month he failed. At the door a guard caught him; another time people were awake; another time he could not break the lock; another time he entered but did not reach the treasure. Every night he came back exhausted. I would ask, “Well?” and he’d say, “Not tonight—perhaps tomorrow.” That I learned from him: if today it does not happen, do not worry—remember, tomorrow it may. Even one who goes to do a bad deed is so full of hope.’ The fakir said, ‘In those days I was seeking God—I was attempting a holy theft. I too was knocking at walls and doors, finding no way. I was tired and despairing; I thought to give it up. But that thief saved me. He said, “Not today—perhaps tomorrow.” I made it my maxim: if not today, perhaps tomorrow. And then the day came when it happened. The thief made his theft, and I stole the divine.’
So the point is not that you can only learn from “good men.” The point is: if you have the intelligence to learn, this whole world is full of teachers. Without that, even those who walked past Mahavira thought, What vagrant is this, some naked lunatic! People passed by Mahavira—you hear today people call someone a naked scoundrel—this abuse was first used for Mahavira. Because he was naked and plucked out his hair, he was called a naked “luchcha,” a lout. People said, ‘He’s a naked scoundrel.’ Now that word is an insult. If someone used it for you, you would be angry. But it was first applied to that naked, hair-plucking monk—Mahavira.
There were those who could not recognize Mahavira. There were those who crucified Christ, thinking he spoke lies. There were those who gave Socrates hemlock. And do not think those people existed only then—they exist in you now. Given the chance, you would give Socrates poison; given the chance, you would crucify Christ; given the chance, you would laugh at Mahavira—What a madman! But since they are dead, you can worship them—no trouble. The living are difficult to worship; they are hard to accept, hard to understand.
If there is a true search for the good, the world is always full of good people. It has never been otherwise and never will be. The day the lineage of the good is broken, from that day onward no good person could arise—because the stream would have disappeared into a desert. That stream flows—sometimes full, sometimes slender. Become acquainted and related to it. And the way is not to wait for some absolutely perfect person. Keep your eyes open. In small events understanding can happen.
I read about a monk. He ran his business until sixty. His household name was Raja Babu. Even when he had grown old, people called him Raja Babu. One morning he went for a walk. Before sunrise, outside the village, he heard a woman in her house waking a child: ‘Raja Babu! How long will you sleep? It is morning—get up now.’ He was walking with a staff when he heard, ‘Raja Babu! How long will you sleep? Now that it is morning, get up.’ He heard this, turned back, and said at home, ‘Now it is difficult to continue—today I received the teaching. I heard it: “Raja Babu, how long will you sleep? It is morning—get up.” The matter is finished.’
Perhaps that woman was waking some child. But one who has eyes—hears a sermon. It may be that someone is directly addressing you, and you lack ears and eyes—you sit and hear and think, Perhaps he is speaking to someone else.
So, closeness to the good, a longing for the good, the search and inquiry for the good; the entry of wholesome thoughts into life; the company of nature—these are the helpful conditions and contexts for pure thought.
These few things I have said for thought-purification—take them as an essential limb and practice them lifelong. This is not a matter of today and tomorrow. There are no religious camps that in three days the thing is done and finished. There can be no “training” in religion that after three days we meet and the matter is settled. Irreligion is an illness that lasts a lifetime; therefore the religious “camp” must last a lifetime. There is no other way. Practice it throughout life.
Tomorrow I will speak about feeling—what to do for the purification of feeling. Now, for the night meditation, let us understand a few points and then we will sit.
For the night meditation, first we will take a resolve, as we did in the morning. We will take the resolve five times. Then, after the five resolves, for a little while we will evoke feeling as in the morning. After that, everyone will lie down—each in his place, silently. Once you are lying down, the lights will be turned off. Then we will relax the body. In the last camp we relaxed the whole body together. It may be that some cannot relax all at once; for them I suggest an easier path.
In the yogic view, there are seven chakras in the body. We will employ five of them in this meditation. The most primary is the Muladhara—near the genital region. That is the first chakra we will use tonight. The second is the Swadhisthana—near the navel. For now, understand by imagination: near the genitals is the Muladhara; near the navel is the Swadhisthana. Moving upward—near the heart is the Anahata. Higher still—between the eyebrows at the forehead is the Ajna. And above—at the crown is the Sahasrara.
We will use these five. In truth there are seven—and more—but we will use these five, and with their use we will lead the body into relaxation. You will be surprised: the Muladhara chakra governs your legs. When you are lying down and I say, Bring your attention to the Muladhara, bring your awareness inside to the chakra near the genitals—then I will say, Let the Muladhara become relaxed, and along with it let both legs relax. You will inwardly feel, The Muladhara is relaxing, relaxing—and the legs are relaxing. In a short while you will find both legs hanging limp like a corpse’s.
When the legs are relaxed, we will move up to the second chakra, Swadhisthana at the navel. I will say, Bring awareness to the navel, and you will bring your attention inward there. We will say, The Swadhisthana is relaxing, and the whole abdominal mechanism is relaxing. As you feel this, that entire mechanism will gradually relax.
Then we will move up to the heart and I will say, The Anahata is relaxing. You will let the heart area relax, keep attention on the Anahata near the heart, and feel it relaxing—so the entire chest system will relax.
Then we will come up to the forehead, to the Ajna chakra between the eyes. Feel that your awareness is there. I will say, The Ajna is relaxing, and the brain is relaxing. With it, the brain, neck, and the whole head will relax completely. Then you will feel only a slight throbbing and a little heaviness at the crown; the rest of the body will be relaxed. Only at the crown you will sense a faint throb and weight.
Finally I will say, The Sahasrara—bring attention to the crown. It is relaxing. And with it the whole brain relaxes. With this feeling, the inner will also relax.
We will do this in a longer process so that it works for everyone—that the body becomes utterly like a dead body. I will give suggestions for these five chakras. When all is relaxed, I will say, Now the body has become completely like a corpse—drop it. Drop it completely. Then I will say, Your breath is relaxing, becoming quiet. I will give that suggestion for a little while. Then I will suggest: the mind is becoming utterly empty. Three suggestions—first for the chakras, second for breath, and third for thought.
After completing this whole process I will say: for ten minutes, everything is zero. In that zero you will lie within, only a bare awareness remaining—a small flame of witnessing. You will lie silently. Only pure awareness will remain—the knowing that I am lying here. It may happen that as the body feels utterly corpse-like—and it will, with the chakra process—someone may get frightened. Do not be afraid. It is very auspicious. Whoever tastes the deadness of his body while alive becomes gradually free of the fear of death.
So do not be afraid. Whatever arises—light, radiance, peace—just watch silently, and lie in the quiet emptiness. This is essential: three phases—resolve, feeling, and then meditation. Such will be the night meditation.
I trust you have understood. Now everyone sit far enough apart to make your place so you can lie down. Use all the space. No one should remain seated.