Geeta Darshan #2

Man has always desired to know the ultimate mystery of life. What is the purpose of life? What is its goal? Why does creation arise and why does it dissolve? Who is hidden behind it all? In whose hands is it? Man has always wanted to know that origin, that source, that Supreme.
But as man is, so he cannot know the Supreme. Hence could arise, in the world, philosophies of denial. An analogy: if a blind man wants to know light, he cannot. So the blind may say that light is an illusion — that those who speak of light are deluded, in some hypnosis, in some dream. And logically nothing would seem wrong in what the blind man says.
The blind does not see light. And there is no way to know light other than to see it. Light cannot be heard — otherwise the blind would hear it. Light cannot be touched — otherwise the blind would feel it. Light has no taste, no smell.
So one without eyes has no means to relate to light. The blind can say: those who believe must be deceived; and if light exists, show it to me. There is some sense in his demand. If light is, let it come into my experience, then I will accept.
Man too seeks Paramatman — without asking whether he has the eye, the instrument, to see Paramatman. Therefore those who say “there is God” seem to us to be living in an illusion, in a mental dream, lost in hypnosis — or else in blind belief out of fear or temptation, or merely because of inherited conditioning planted in childhood. And so someone says: God is.
Whether God is or not is not the great question. That question cannot even be raised until we have the eye capable of seeing God. Whether light is or not is a meaningless question so long as there is no eye that sees.
To the blind, light is far — even darkness is not seen. Commonly we think the blind at least see darkness. We might imagine the blind are surrounded by dark.
This is a mistake. To see darkness too, an eye is needed. Darkness also is an experience of the eye. The blind have no experience even of darkness. When you close your eyes you experience darkness, because you are not blind — because you experience light, you can experience its opposite. One who does not experience light cannot experience darkness either.
Darkness and light are both experiences of the eye. Light is the experience of presence; darkness, of absence. But one to whom light never appears — how will the absence of light appear? It is impossible. To the blind, even darkness is not.
And one who does not even see darkness — what questions can he raise about light? And even if he asks, what answer can be given? Whatever answer we give will not fit his mind.
Mind is the sum of our sensory experiences. The blind have no experience of sight at all in their mind. So nothing can match, nothing can fit, there is no possibility of attunement. The blind man’s entire mind will say: there is no light. He will insist there is no light — even try to prove it.
Why? Because it is easier for his ego to say there is no light than to accept that he is blind. The ego of the blind is gratified by saying: there is no light. His ego is hurt by admitting: I am blind, hence I do not see light.
Thus those most filled with ego will say: there is no God — instead of accepting: I lack the eye by which, if God is, He might be seen. And remember: one to whom God does not appear cannot see God’s non-existence either — for the experience of non-being is also an experience of one who has the capacity to see.
The atheist says: God is not. His statement is the same as the blind man’s: there is no light. The atheist’s trouble is not God’s being or not being. His trouble is to accept himself as incomplete, impaired, blind. Therefore the more egocentric an age becomes, the more atheistic it becomes.
If today atheism seems dominant, its cause is not that science has made people atheists — nor that communism has done so. Its one cause is this: the achievements of the last three hundred years have tremendously strengthened man’s ego.
In three hundred years man has attained more than in the previous three hundred thousand. These attainments feed the ego. He can fight disease; perhaps extend life a little. He has bound electricity and brought light into his home. His ancestors trembled at lightning in the sky, thinking Indra was angry. He has bound that lightning. In the old tongue: he has bound Indra — Indra shines lamps in our homes, runs our fans!
By all he has gained outwardly, man has gained inwardly an inflated ego. He feels: I can do. And the stronger the ego, the denser the atheism — because it becomes harder to accept that something in me is lacking, that an instrument, an inner sense, is missing — that I lack the means to see more.
Another thing has happened. We have developed great skill in extending our physical senses. How far can the naked eye see? Yet we have telescopes that can see stars billions of light-years away. How much can the ear hear alone? Now we have telephone, radio, wireless — no limit. We can hear and speak across vast distances.
How far can a hand throw a stone? Yet we can now fling entire craft beyond Earth’s orbit to the moon. How much can one man kill? Now we have hydrogen bombs — if we wish, we can turn the entire earth to ash in ten minutes. Before the news arrives, death would have arrived!
Naturally, man has extended the outer senses. All this is expansion of the senses; we have coupled them with instruments. The senses themselves are instruments. We have built new instruments and magnified their power. Thus man got occupied extending the senses — and forgot that some senses lie sealed within.
In older times the outer strength of man was very limited. His power was small, his achievements few — there was little to thicken the ego. Life itself engendered humility. All around were such immense forces that we seemed unarmed, helpless. Outwardly there seemed no way to increase our strength — so man turned within.
Today the outer paths are so easy that the thought of turning within scarcely arises. With such facility to journey outward, the question of going inward hardly comes. If we say to someone, Go within, it does not make sense. Say, Go to the moon, to Mars — that makes sense.
Going to the moon today is easier; going within is difficult. Man chooses the path of least resistance.
Atheism grows in the measure of ego. Why? Because theism begins with a first acceptance — I am incomplete. Whether God is or not, I do not know. But I have no means to know the Supreme Truth.
Man has intelligence. But what can intelligence know? That which can be measured can be known by intelligence — because intellect is a device of measuring. Whatever falls within measurement can be known by intellect.
Our word is maya — an astonishing word. Its original meaning is: that which can be measured; the measurable; that which we can weigh. Intellect can know only maya — that which can be measured.
Consider: a scale. With it we can examine only that which can be weighed. With a scale you can weigh a man’s body — but if you try to weigh his mind, trouble begins. Mind cannot be weighed on a scale. You can weigh how much bone and flesh and marrow a body has — but how much love or hatred a man contains cannot be weighed. That does not mean love does not exist. It only means the instrument is not congruent.
Whatever can be measured, intellect can grasp. Whatever can be brought into mathematics and logic, intellect can grasp.
Science is an extension of intellect. Therefore science accepts only that which can be measured, tested, verified, touched, experimented upon. What cannot be touched, tested, grasped, weighed — science says: that is not.
There science errs. It should say only this: in that direction we have no way to go. It may be, it may not be — without a way, nothing can be asserted.
Paramatman means the Infinite. Paramatman means the All. Paramatman means the sum of whatever is.
This Vast intellect cannot measure — because intellect too is a part of this Vast. A part can never grasp the Whole. How could it?
If with one hand I try to lift my whole body — how will I lift it? The hand can lift many things, but not the body itself. The part is small; the body is large. Intellect is a part within the Vast — a drop in the ocean cannot lift the ocean.
So intellect is not the way of knowing — yet we try to know through intellect. Philosophers think, reflect, argue; they reason whether God is or not. The arguments they offer are childish. Even the greatest philosopher’s proofs for God’s existence can be broken by a child. Whatever proofs have been offered can all be refuted. Therefore one who accepts God on the basis of proof — any atheist can turn that to dust in two minutes.
There is no proof that can prove God — because if our proof could prove God, we would be greater than God. If our intellect could assemble proofs for God, and if God needed our proofs in order to be — and without our proofs He could not be — then we would be vaster than God.
Marx joked: until God can be tested in a test-tube, I will not agree. And then he added: and if God does come into the test-tube and is tested, I still will not accept — because then there is nothing left to accept. Whatever fits a test-tube is an element like oxygen or hydrogen — then we will use Him to run fans and light bulbs, to kill men, to stop births, to extend life! Science recognizes only what it can use.
Whatever proofs man can gather are childish — because intellect is childish. It is not the instrument to measure the Vast. Is there any other way besides intellect? Besides intellect we have nothing — so we think.
Let us understand what thinking is — then entry into this sutra will become easy.
We can think. But what can you think? Only what you already know. Thinking is cud-chewing. You have seen cows — they graze, then sit and chew the cud. What was eaten is brought back and chewed again.
Thought is cud-chewing. Whatever was put inside you, you chew again. You cannot think a single new thing. No thought is original — all thoughts are borrowed. So what we do not yet know, we cannot think. We can only think what we have known, heard, understood, read.
God can neither be read nor heard — how will you think God? God is the Unknown — present here, but unknown, as light is unknown to the blind. Light is all around the blind, touching his skin. The warmth he feels comes from that light; the friend who leads him by the hand on the path does so because of light; even the heartbeat within him beats because of rays of light; the movement of his blood flows because of light.
The blind man’s whole life is soaked in light. If there were no light, the blind could not exist — yet he knows nothing of it because the eye to see is missing. He lives in light, is in light, but it does not enter his experience.
We too are in Paramatman. Without Him neither blood would flow, nor heart beat, nor breath move, nor speech speak, nor mind think. Without Him nothing happens. He is Existence. But we have no sense yet to see Him.
We have hands, and by them we touch — whatever can be touched is gross. The subtle cannot be touched. Even in matter itself, leaving Paramatman aside, the subtle cannot be touched by the hand. We have ears, and by them we hear — but to what extent? There is a limit. Your dog hears a thousand times more than you; his ear is greater. If God could be known by hearing, your dog would know before you. A horse can smell ten times more; a dog ten thousand times more. If sniffing could find God, the dogs would have attained by now.
There are creatures with stronger eyes than ours, stronger hands, subtler taste. A bee catches the scent of a flower from five miles away. If a thief enters your home, an hour after he leaves the dog will still catch his scent and track him ten or twenty miles.
With our senses even the gross is not fully caught — what to say of the subtle! We hear within a tiny band; below it we hear not, above it we hear not. All our senses have limits — thus the Infinite cannot be grasped by any sense. None of our senses is infinite. Our very life is bounded.
Have you noticed how limited your life is? Look at a thermometer in your home — there the limits are visible. Drop below ninety-eight and scatter; go above a hundred-eight or ten and gone. Your life hangs within a span of twelve degrees; below it, death; above it, death.
Where life is within twelve degrees, to know the Supreme Life is difficult. From this limited life how shall we know the Infinite? Let the sun’s heat fall a little, and we all end; rise a little, and we are vaporized. Our being lives in a tiny, petty margin. From this littleness we set out to know the vast Existence — and never think what instrument we have with which to measure!
So one who says without understanding that God is — he too is naïve. And one who says without understanding that God is not — he too is naïve. The wise will first ask: what does God mean? The Vast! The Infinite! The Boundless! What is my state? In my state and that Vast, can any relationship be formed? If not, let me drop worrying about the Vast and change my state so a relation can be.
Here lies the difference between religion and philosophy. Philosophy thinks about God. Religion searches oneself — is there in me any device, any window, any state from which I can leap into the Infinite? Where my limits will not stop me, my fetters not bind me, my material existence not obstruct me — from where I can leap and plunge into the Vast and know what It is.
Now let us enter this sutra.
But by these natural eyes of yours you are certainly not able to see Me — therefore I give you the divine eye; with it behold My majesty and yogic power.
Krishna said to Arjuna: with the eyes you have — the natural eyes — you cannot see Me.
Certainly Arjuna was seeing Krishna — else with whom is the dialogue? He was hearing Krishna — else how would this conversation be happening?
Understand: there is the Krishna whom Arjuna was seeing with the natural eyes — and there is the other Being of Krishna of whom Krishna says: with these eyes you will not see Me.
Therefore those who saw Krishna with natural eyes — let them not fall into the illusion that they saw Krishna. Even Arjuna had not yet seen. He had lived with Him — friendship, intimacy, old bonds — yet he had not seen Krishna. What he had seen till now was that which can be seen within the ambit of natural eyes and experience. He had seen only Krishna’s shadow — not Krishna. He had not seen the original; he had seen a copy, as if a reflection in a mirror; or like seeing a portrait; or a reflection in water.
As water reflects, so in Nature the reflection of the soul appears. What Arjuna was seeing was Krishna’s reflection — merely a shadow. He had not seen the one who is Krishna. And you too, whatever you have seen of yourself, is your shadow — you have not yet seen who you are.
If Arjuna becomes capable of seeing Krishna’s original, he will also be capable of seeing his own original. The eye that sees the Origin is one — whether of Krishna or of oneself. And the eye that sees only shadows is also one — whether viewing Krishna’s shadow or one’s own.
Mark a few points here.
First: the Krishna who appears — who appeared to Arjuna, who appears to you in an image — note, your image is the reflection of a reflection — the shadow of a shadow — very far. The form of Krishna we have made in temples is very far from Krishna. For even when Krishna was present in the body, he said: I am not this that appears to you now. With these eyes, if you look, this is all that will appear.
A new eye is needed — not natural, but the divine eye. These eyes are called natural because through them Nature appears. Divinity does not appear through them. Whatever appears through them is matter. And whatever is divine slips through — they have no means to see the divine.
So Krishna says: I give you now that eye by which you can see Me as I am — in My origin, in My originality. Do not see My shadow in nature — see Me. But then I give you a new eye.
Many questions arise naturally. Can one man give another the divine eye? Krishna says, I give you the divine eye. Is it possible for someone to give you the divine eye? If someone can give it, great difficulty arises — where will you find such a Krishna to give it to you? And if another can give it, then another can also take it away. And if the divine eye depends on another’s gift, what remains for you to do? One day grace may descend — until then only waiting, only the world.
Consider well.
First — before Krishna said, I give you the divine eye, Arjuna had already surrendered himself utterly — not keeping back even a grain of himself. If Krishna were now to give even death, Arjuna was ready. There was no longer any insistence of Arjuna’s own.
The greatest sadhana a man can do is surrender. And the moment one surrenders totally, Krishna does not have to give eyes — it is only a manner of speaking that I give you the eye. In the very moment of surrender, the eye is born.
Yet perhaps if Krishna were not present, difficulty might arise — because Krishna functions as a catalytic agent. Those who know the language of science will understand. A catalytic agent is one who does nothing himself, yet in whose presence something happens.
Scientists say hydrogen and oxygen combine to make water. If you bring hydrogen and oxygen together, water does not form. Yet if you split water, you get hydrogen and oxygen — nothing else. Naturally one would expect that if we join hydrogen and oxygen, water should form. But it does not — unless electricity is present. Electricity does not enter the bond; it is merely present. Just presence is needed. When electricity is present, hydrogen and oxygen become water; when it is not, they do not.
That lightning you see in the monsoon is a catalytic agent; without it there would be no rain. Because of its presence rain happens — yet it does not enter the water; it is merely present.
This notion of the catalytic agent is precious — supremely so in spirituality. The Master is a catalytic agent. He gives nothing — for spirituality is not a thing to be given. He does nothing — for doing to another is violence. He simply is present. But his presence works; his presence becomes magic. In his sheer presence, something happens in you that perhaps would not have happened otherwise.
First, without Krishna present, surrender is very difficult. I believe Meera’s surrender was more difficult than Arjuna’s, and therefore Meera’s worth is greater. With Krishna present before you, surrender is easy. When Krishna is not visibly present, there is a double difficulty — first to bring Krishna present, then to surrender.
Meera had to do two works. First to bring Krishna present — through her own call, her own longing, her own thirst; to invoke, to draw Him near; to bring about a moment when Krishna appears present. Others think it is imagination — that Meera is mad in fantasy, dancing before no one! Those who look with ordinary eyes see no one. Yet Meera sings and dances — before whom?
But those who look into Meera’s eyes feel someone must be present. Or else Meera is mad. Those who do not understand call it imagination.
Yet if imagination is so intense, so creative, that Krishna becomes present — then blessed are the imaginative. Whose imagination is so powerful it erases five thousand years, collapses the interval, and Meera stands as near as Arjuna stood.
The first difficulty when Krishna is not present is to make Him present. And if one is willing to make Him present in one’s own being, He is always present — because the Supreme never withdraws; only reflections withdraw. The Origin never disappears. That Origin of which Krishna says, You will see when I give you the eye — that Origin never departs; only its copies vanish.
The Origin sometimes glimmers in water as Rama; sometimes as Buddha; sometimes as Krishna. The difference is because of the water — different waters create different reflections. The Origin remains one. The Origin is never lost — it is with you even now, always surrounding you.
The day your imagination becomes so intense that it becomes water, becomes mirror, that day the Origin reflects again in you. Before that reflection Meera dances. That reflection is seen only by Meera — for she created it in the waters of her own imagination. Others do not see it. Yet those who understand can catch its glimmer in Meera’s eyes, in the cadence of her dance — there is a hint that someone is near. For when she dances in His nearness, there is a difference.
Meera has two kinds of dances. One when she cannot catch Krishna in imagination — she weeps, is sad, her feet are heavy, she cries out, as if death surrounds her. And another moment when her imagination flames, becomes clear water, and in that mirror she catches Krishna — then her rhythm, the sound of her anklets, is utterly different. A great life flows through her; a glory radiates from every pore that makes suns look dim; she is as if possessed — another has entered.
When she weeps in separation — Meera is alone; the reflection eludes her. When she sings in joy, in ahobhava, speaking to Krishna — Krishna is near. In that nearness is surrender. Meera had it hard; Arjuna had it easy.
Yet the reverse may also be true — life is complex. Perhaps Meera had it easy and Arjuna hard. For to take one standing in flesh and blood as God is very difficult — he too feels thirst and hunger, he sleeps at night; if he does not bathe, he smells; he falls ill, will die. Reflections in matter obey matter’s laws — whoever’s reflection it be. To take such as God is hard — and without taking him as God, surrender is impossible.
The great question is not whether Krishna is God. The great question is this — for one who can take him as God, surrender becomes easy; and one who surrenders, will see God anywhere. If you can see Him in a stone, then in Krishna — who is no stone — you will certainly see.
Even if God Himself stands before you, if you cannot take Him as God you cannot surrender. Without surrender only matter appears — not God. Surrender opens your door.
Krishna gave Arjuna the eye — only in the sense of a catalytic presence. He did not hand it over — else He would have given it earlier. Why so much trouble and delay? If Krishna could give it without Arjuna’s preparation, He should have given it before. Why waste so much time?
No — until Arjuna surrendered, this eye could not come. When surrender flowered, it could come. But without Krishna present there is great difficulty in its coming.
Many times it has happened — when no divine presence is near, people return even from the very edge. The catalytic agent is missing. Many reach the point where surrender could happen, but no one to whom to surrender appears.
If their imagination is intense and creative, if they are powerful in consciousness and deep in feeling, they will create the one to whom they can surrender. Otherwise they turn back. Many spiritual seekers remain unsurrendered and hang suspended like Trishanku — neither here nor there.
This is the use of the Master — to become the occasion. This is the use of image, of temple, of pilgrimage — to create the occasion, to make it easy for you to bow down, to lie down, to lose yourself.
A German young woman came to me. She was returning from Sikkim — six months’ practice in a Tibetan monastery. I asked what practice she did. She said — for six months I was taught only to bow. Only to bow! How did six months pass? She said — all day long. Whoever among the two hundred monks appeared, immediately full prostration. A thousand times a day, sometimes two thousand — that was the only practice.
I asked, What happened? She said — something wondrous. The very thought that I am began melting away. A spontaneous gesture of namaskar remained within. Earlier I used to see whether the one I bowed to was worthy or not. Now, whoever it may be, he is only a pretext — bowing simply happens. And great joy is arising — even to those not monks, to whom there is no arrangement to bow, I bow; sometimes outside the monastery, I bow to trees and rocks.
Now it is secondary who is bowed to. The essential is that the bowing fills with supreme joy — for bowing is the contrary of ego. To bend is the death of ego. One who cannot bend — let him be pure, disciplined, chaste, nonviolent, truthful — if he cannot bow, his eye will not open. Even his virtue becomes his ego; it becomes his pride.
Thus often the so-called virtuous become more egotistic than the sinners. And there is no greater calamity than ego. The good man often becomes egoistic — thinking, I am good.
Sometimes it happens that sinners reach God sooner than the pious. This does not mean become a sinner — nor that you should not be virtuous. It only means — if with virtue there is ego, it will block; and if with sin there is no ego, it will deliver. The greatest sin is ego; the greatest saintliness is egolessness.
Arjuna bowed. He said — now whatever You will; I agree. There is no doubt, no question. Do as You wish. Then Krishna said — I give you the divine, otherworldly eye.
About the divine eye, something must be understood. It is difficult, for we have no experience of it — in what language shall we grasp it?
We see now with the eyes. At night you also see dreams — without eyes. The eyes are closed, yet you see. Even if your eyes are destroyed, you will still dream. The congenitally blind do not see in dreams; and if they do dream, it will not have sight — it will have hearing, touch. They will listen in the dream, not see. But if you become blind later, you will still dream visually. Who sees without eyes?
We never thought that seeing can happen without eyes! In the dark, eyes closed, you see the dream luminous. The artistic see in color; the artless see black-and-white. The poetic mind, the painter within, sees in hues — colors appear without eyes. Even with ears closed in sleep, sounds are heard in dream. There are no hands within — yet touch happens, embrace happens in the dream.
One thing is certain — the seer within need not depend on the outer eyes. The eyes are not the capacity to see; they are merely doors that carry vision outward, instruments to extend seeing outward. The seer is within.
The divine eye means this — only the seer remains, without any medium. Why? Because every medium imposes a boundary. Through whatever you see, by it you are limited. When there is no medium — when the pure capacity to see awakens within — what appears is the Infinite.
Imagine you peer at the sky through a small hole in a wall from within your house — then you break the wall and stand under the open sky. Until now we have hidden in the body and looked at the world through the two small holes of the eyes. When we forget the eyes and only the inner seer is alert — the drashta, the sakshi — when pure consciousness alone remains and there is no medium, the open sky is revealed.
That capacity to see — pure, without a medium — is the divine eye. It is called divine because the Infinite then can be seen. There is no longer any tie to limit.
Remember — limitation is not in things; it appears because of our senses. In this world nothing is limited — everything is infinite. But our way of seeing imposes limits, just as a man wearing colored glasses sees all things tinted. If we were born with such glasses, we would never suspect the colors are given by our lenses.
Whatever we see around is not that which is — we see what we can see. We hear what we can hear. We experience only what we can experience. Our experience is selective — because our senses are selective.
Scientists now say — of a hundred parts we see only two; ninety-eight we do not register. We do not even choose them — they slip past us.
Understand it this way — you are running along a road; your house is on fire. You pass daily by that road, but today you will not see what you usually see. A beautiful woman passes — you do not notice. How often you wished such a moment would come — that a beautiful woman passes and you do not notice! It never came. Today the house is on fire — so it comes. A song is playing — you do not hear. Someone whom you longed would bow to you finally bows — today you do not even see. Your consciousness has rushed in one direction; the senses have gone dim. Cooperation between consciousness and senses is broken.
To see through the eyes, your presence must be behind the eyes. Today you are not present there — the house is on fire, you are present there. The eye is used only to reach that house where your mind already is — just enough to guide the body to where the mind has run before. For ninety-eight or ninety-nine percent of things on the road, you are blind; only one percent remains functional.
When one becomes a hundred percent blind to the world, the divine eye arises — for even one percent is enough to keep the linkage. That one percent will draw back the ninety-nine. When one becomes a hundred percent absent to the world — the technical name for this absence is vairagya. Vairagya does not mean running away from home. In leaving there is still attachment. The one who clutches, leaves; and if you must try to leave, it means the grip is strong. Those who run away do so with the same speed as their clinging — fearing to be pulled back, they break all bridges so there is no way to return. This is fear, not vairagya.
Vairagya means — the world is where it is; I neither grip nor renounce. Only this — the consciousness that rushed out through the senses, I bring it back. Its reversal, its return — that is vairagya. If the eye becomes dispassionate, the divine eye opens.
Only one surrenders when the world loses taste. If there is even a little taste left, surrender cannot happen. Where there is desire, we say — I want it to be so. Surrender means — now I say, let it be as Paramatman wills. If within me even a trace of desire remains, I will say — I can surrender everything, but God, just this little, do for me; this house be mine — just this condition!
I have heard — the fakir Junnaid was praying: Years have I sung Your name, prayed to You, laid all at Your feet; for me nothing remains but You. One thing I want to ask. This is my feeling — that for me there is none but You. From Your side, what is Your vision of me? Then, they say, a voice came — by this very desire you are far from Me. This tiny desire — even this insistence that I should know what You think of me — shows you still hold yourself. You have not fully let go. At the end you are still present and want to know what God thinks about you. You remain the center — God is only the circumference. Even this little desire is a barrier.
Only he can surrender to whom the world has lost meaning. Perhaps Arjuna had come to this moment — nothing had meaning, the battlefield and all the people turned into a dream. He said — I am ready to renounce everything; if You wish, if it be possible and right, show me.
In this moment of surrender Krishna said — I give you the divine, miraculous eye.
Why say, I give? Because language is compelled by duality. Whatever is said in language divides into subject and object. If Krishna spoke nondual language, Arjuna would not understand — not yet, the divine eye has not arisen. We must speak in the give-and-take tongue. Even when we speak of experiences beyond language, trouble begins.
You say — I give you my love. Consider — can love be given? Or if you try to give it, can you prevent it? Love happens; it cannot be given. Try — practice, pranayama, do exercises — try to give love. Nothing happens. Only acting can be done; love cannot be given. Yet in language we say, I give love. The giving is incorrect, but in language it is fine — because language is built upon exchange, and love is beyond both.
Hence Jesus said — Love is God. Not because God is very loving, but because in human experience love is an experience of nonduality — perhaps through it one may understand. The lover finds it difficult to say, I give; it simply happens, like breathing. Breath can even be stopped for a while; love cannot be stopped. One cannot throw love outward by force; with love we can do nothing. The lover becomes helpless — as if seized by a power greater than himself. Hence lovers look mad to the so-called wise — because they lose control. The wise avoid love — control would be lost. They care for money, not love — money can be controlled, locked, used; love proves greater than the lover, and he is swept into a storm, a whirlwind — a force greater than he moves him. He becomes powerless.
Yet the lover says in language — I give love.
Just so Krishna said — I give you the divine eye. Even had He wished to withhold it, once Arjuna’s surrender was complete He could not have stopped it. Know this — Krishna’s presence and Arjuna’s surrender, and the divine eye happens. It happens as water flows downwards. So too Paramatman flows toward Arjuna — there is no other way.
But it would sound strange if Krishna said — now the divine eye is happening in you. Arjuna would not have understood. It is a happening — not a giving.
Language breaks the nondual into dual; where two arise, giving and receiving appear.
Therefore love cannot be given or taken — there are no two. Who gives? Who receives? There is only One.
In this moment of surrender, Arjuna merged with Krishna’s being. The ocean rushed toward the drop. The eye opened. Boundaries shattered. All structures fell. He could see the open sky.
Sanjaya said — O King, having said thus, the Lord, Mahayogeshwar, destroyer of sins, revealed to Arjuna the divine form majestic beyond all.
A delightful story — and on many planes truth divides. The happening unfolded from within Krishna toward within Arjuna. It happened — it was not done. Arjuna opened; all petals of consciousness opened; and he saw.
Sanjaya narrates to the blind Dhritarashtra. Sanjaya is far — as far as we are. As far from Krishna as we are. Our distance is of time; his was of space — distance nonetheless.
Whenever Truth happens, those to whom it happens go far from us in time and space. We need a messenger among us, else the news cannot reach us blind ones.
Mahavira has the happening, but he does not speak; his ganadharas, his messengers, speak. Mahavira remains silent. Between Mahavira and us, a messenger is needed — half like us, half tuned to Mahavira’s consciousness; half-and-half, standing between.
Sanjaya is a little like Arjuna — a little. If he were complete, he could not narrate to the blind Dhritarashtra. Half — half like Krishna, half like Arjuna. Half leaning toward that side — he sees what happens far away; he can catch it. He does not have the divine eye — for that happens only in totality, as it happened to Arjuna. Sanjaya has distant-vision, not divine-vision; telepathic sight, not direct realization. He sees for whom? For the blind Dhritarashtra — thus more difficulty.
Remember — the language of the Gita is Sanjaya’s language. These are Sanjaya’s words — tailored so that a blind man may understand.
Hence there are layers. One is Krishna — the plane of the happening. Second, near — Arjuna. Then, far — Sanjaya. And then, infinitely far — the blind Dhritarashtra. The Gita moves in these four steps.
We are all Dhritarashtras — blind. Nothing appears there. Dhritarashtra asks Sanjaya, and Sanjaya binds that distant happening into words. Naturally Sanjaya’s words are incomplete — and incomplete also because they must be understood by the blind.
Therefore the Gita became very popular — because it could be understood a little by the blind. People ask me why the Gita is more popular than other wondrous scriptures we have. I say: because of the Dhritarashtras! Sanjaya chose words suitable for the blind. As long as there are blind, the Gita will not lose popularity. And the blind will always be — so rest easy. The day there are no blind, Sanjaya’s words will seem childish. One whose eye opens feels — Sanjaya is speaking for a blind man. There is some news of truth here, but also admixture of untruth — only so can it reach the blind. Pure truth cannot be understood by the blind.
This is the sweet symbol of Dhritarashtra — keep it in mind.
Sanjaya said: after speaking thus, Krishna showed to Arjuna the divine form resplendent with majesty.
Note the first phrase — a divine form full of majesty. This too for Arjuna’s preparedness. For all forms are Paramatman’s. The terrible, the frightful, the ugly — that too is God. The beautiful, the majestic, the glorious — that too is God. Here the Indian vision must be understood well.
India does not say that the bad is not God. Other religions divide existence into two — they place Satan on one side for all that is bad, and God on the other for all that is good. God is the sum of goods; Satan, the sum of evils.
Then they cannot explain why evil is. If evil can happen without God’s permission, there is a power greater than God. If evil happens with God’s permission, why call God good? And if He has not destroyed evil through infinite time, when will He? Nietzsche said — whatever could happen in the world should have happened by now; why hope anymore? He is right — after infinite time, if something is not yet done, it will never be done.
Those who divided into two — Zarathustra, Jesus, Mohammed — perhaps they too had to speak thus for the blind about them; perhaps their blind were very tough — they could not understand nondual language. Mohammed’s people seem to have been utterly blind — uncultured desert folk, fierce — for whom the language of killing and dying was the only language. Mohammed had to speak to those Dhritarashtras. Sanjaya’s Dhritarashtra seems gentle — some preparedness was there. So the language of duality had to be used.
For those who cut existence in two, a great question arises: why evil? If evil happens with God’s leave — then why call Him good? If without His leave — then there is a power greater than God.
India took a great courage — accepted that evil too is God, and good too is God. All duality is God. We do not divide. Birth is God, death is God. Joy is God, sorrow is God. Truth is God, the world is God — two ends of the One. One who knows the One sees the two vanish; one who does not know the One is harassed between the two.
The harassment is because we do not know that One — not because of evil. The trouble is not death, but that we do not know the One hidden in both life and death. Hence fear of death. The trouble is not sin — but that we have no glimpse of the One hidden in both virtue and sin. If it is not seen even in virtue, how will it be seen in sin? It is our blindness.
Krishna begins from the majestic side — so Arjuna may consent. If the first unveiling had shown the terrible, the ugly, death — Arjuna might have shrunk and closed forever.
Those who by wrong methods have glimpsed first the dreadful form of the Divine fall into trouble for many births. That form exists. The German thinker Otto wrote The Idea of the Holy — there he speaks of two aspects: the attractive, beautiful; and the numinous, fearful. If one reaches the fearsome side first, by wrong approaches, the curtain lifts on terror — that person closes for many births, unable to gather the courage again for the divine eye.
Hence note — Krishna first opens the veil of majesty, beauty, tenderness — so that Arjuna may be enchanted, drawn to embrace, to merge, to become one — to be made ready.
Thus there are right methods of sadhana, and there are wrong. Wrong methods may take you there, but to such a threshold where even harmony with God becomes difficult. Right methods take you to the front door — where the union is sweet, tender, joyous. Later the other pole too must be seen — it must be, because only by knowing the Whole is one liberated.
So the difference between wrong and right methods is only this — by which gate you arrive at God. There Shiva is present, dancing the Tandava; and there Krishna is present, playing the flute. Better that you travel by the side of Krishna. There is also a journey by Shiva’s side — for some that will be fitting, even dear. Some will join Shiva’s wild wedding procession — from there too one reaches God. But that form is terrible — for the utterly daring, ready to leap into death itself. You still tremble even before life; you live trembling — what to say of death! For such, to go near the dreadful is dangerous. Therefore the Gita proceeds with great care.
Sanjaya said that Krishna showed Arjuna the divine form full of majesty. And — with countless faces and eyes, with many wondrous visions, adorned with many celestial ornaments, holding many divine weapons in His hands, wearing heavenly garlands and garments, anointed with celestial fragrance, a form of all marvels, limitless, vast — the Supreme Deva, Parameshwar — this Arjuna saw.
All these details were dear to Arjuna — therefore they were the first face of God for him. What is listed are Arjuna’s own loves. Hear again.
Supreme majesty! Ishvara means the Lord, fullness of sovereignty. For a kshatriya, to be like Ishvara — to be filled with majesty — is the first desire. A kshatriya lives for that; he would rather die as a master than live as a slave. Aishwarya is his longing; that is his language — he cannot understand another language.
So the first form unveiled was saturated with aishwarya. And among the details some will seem trivial to those bored by the language of renunciation — they will find it difficult: many faces and eyes, wondrous visions, many divine ornaments — adorned! — many divine weapons in the hands!
These are Arjuna’s beloved things. If he were not admitted by this door, entry might become impossible. Weapons are Arjuna’s love — seeing weapons in the infinite hands of the Divine, he would not enter slowly; he would run and drown like a river rushing into the ocean.
Divine garlands and garments — those too were dear to Arjuna; celestial fragrance anointing; full of marvels; limitless; vast — Parameshwar he saw.
He must have been enraptured, stunned — forgetting everything before such beauty. The breath must have halted, life stilled, he become a void. This was his desire; this was the language of his longing.
Hence when the renunciant tradition reads this, it is perplexed — such things about God! Those who worship Mahavira nude find Krishna’s adorned form distasteful — laden with ornaments — a spectacle! They say he should be an ascetic. What is this — Krishna in jewels, with peacock-feather crown! But the one who says he should be austere — if he understands rightly, this too is his language. Even for him this beloved form could be an entry, because this too is his desire. In this language of desire came Arjuna’s first experience.
Remember — how God appears first depends on you, not on God. You will see Him through the door of your own experience and language. The first form will be more your own language and understanding than God’s form.
This is Arjuna’s language, his understanding, that he saw. Blessed is one who meets God in his own tongue — otherwise attunement is difficult; the door may close.
Enough for today.
But wait five minutes. Join the kirtan, then go.