Geeta Darshan #11

Those who have become free of sin, whose mind’s vasanas have fallen silent, who have become a quiet lake unto themselves — they become available to the silent Brahman.
Arjuna only wanted escape. He had not thought Krishna would be eager to lead him into an inner revolution. The poor fellow got entangled. He thought he would find support to run away. He had not imagined he would have to pass through a self-revolution. His intention in beginning his inquiry was only this much: how can I avoid this war? There was no longing to attain to a new life. But with one like Krishna, even if someone goes to him asking for a stone, it is his helplessness that he cannot give a stone. He can only give diamonds. One may go seeking stones — Krishna has no way to hand out stones; diamonds alone fall from his hands.
What Krishna gave to Arjuna, Arjuna neither asked for nor desired. Listening to Krishna, he must have found himself in difficulty. Brahman, and the identity of a stilled mind with Brahman — to Arjuna it must have seemed these words were passing over his head.
A story comes to my memory. A saintly soul had been laboring for years to transform the inmates of a prison. For years he persisted in the effort that the prisoners should be transformed — reformed. No success was in sight. But a true saint is one who continues to strive for the good even in the face of failure. He kept at it.
One day a man who had been sentenced four times, finishing his fourth term, was returning home. The criminal was sixty years old. As the saint was bidding him farewell at the prison gate he asked, “Now what are your plans? What is your scheme for the future?” The old criminal said, “In a far-off village my daughter has a large vineyard. Now I will go there, work in that vineyard, and rest.”
The saint was delighted; he began to dance with joy. He said, “For some days I have felt it — you are reforming; something is changing within you.” The prisoner started and said, “Who says anything about reforming? I am just retiring! Who told you I am changing? I am only retiring. Who said I am changing? I am simply tired and now I am going to rest!”
Arjuna wanted to retire; Krishna wanted to reform. Arjuna wanted merely to slip away! Krishna wants to give his whole life-energy a new direction.
And there are only two kinds of pathways for life-energy. One path is to go on weaving more and more nets of restlessness — which is what we all do. Restlessness has its own method. Madness too has its method. There are ways to become ill. To make the mind diseased and deranged is a highly systematic work! We do not notice it, because from childhood the society in which we grow is full of people just like us. Whatever we do, we never pause to consider that whatever we are doing will change us.
No act leaves the doer untouched. A thought, too, does not leave the thinker untouched. If for an hour you sit and imagine murdering someone — suppose you commit no actual murder — after an hour you come out of that thought. But for an hour the thought of murder has degraded you; you have fallen. Your consciousness has descended. And for you the act of murder will now be easier than it was an hour before. Your potential to murder has developed. If in your mind you are angry at someone — even if you do not express anger — you have sown the seeds of your own restlessness, which can sprout at any time.
Our difficulty is this: the seeds we sow today in human consciousness we often forget we ever sowed. When the fruits arrive, so much distance seems to lie between the two states that we are unable to connect fruit with seed.
Whatever happens in our life, we have sown it. It may be that the farmer sowed long ago — the sprout came six months later, the sprout came a year later — but without a seed a sprout never appears.
We go on becoming available to restlessness. The more restlessness increases, the more our relation with Brahman seems to wane — because only those who are utterly quiet can be related to Brahman. Peace is the bridge between Brahman and oneself. The moment one becomes quiet, one becomes one with Brahman. The moment one becomes restless, one’s face turns away.
A restless mind can relate to the world. A quiet mind cannot relate to the world. A restless mind cannot relate to Paramatman. A quiet mind abides in Paramatman.
Therefore Krishna says, those whose sins have become attenuated!
What is sin? Whenever we want to injure another — in thought or in act — sin happens that very instant. The person who wants to cause pain to another — in deed or in feeling — becomes possessed by sin. The person who, on this earth, does not wish to hurt anyone — in deed or in thought — steps outside sin.
Whose intelligence has become doubtless!
Whose intelligence has become without doubt, even, balanced; one who has settled; within whom no winds of doubt now blow, no storm, no hurricane of doubt rises; doubtless, he has become equanimous.
Many of us think we live in equanimity. When we feel we are in equanimity — even then — even then we are not in equanimity. Our equanimity is almost like something people once discovered in a courtroom.
The magistrate came in the morning and, standing in court, said, “As you all know — jury, lawyers, and all officers of the court — I have always been established in justice and equality. I have never taken anyone’s side. Law alone is my vision. But today I have to decide a case in which one party sent an envelope to my house last night containing four thousand rupees. Half an hour later the other party also sent an envelope containing five thousand rupees. Now I am in great difficulty. But, as is my habit, I always find a way to equality. I have found it. The one who sent five thousand may take back one thousand. Now both are equal at four thousand each. The court can proceed in equanimity!”
Such are our equanimities. Even if we hold equality between two other persons, we cannot hold equality between ourselves and others. True equanimity is not forged between two others; it is forged between oneself and the other.
The magistrate spoke truly: so far as the two parties are concerned, the matter is equal — each has paid four thousand in bribe. Now the proceedings can begin as though no bribe had been given — four thousand cancels four thousand. But as far as the magistrate is concerned, he has eight thousand rupees in his pocket. He found equality between the two others, not between himself and the others.
Deep equanimity is never between two others. Deep equanimity is always between oneself and the other. It is easy to be neutral between two others — very easy. The real question arises only when neutrality has to be between oneself and the other.
Bertrand Russell has offered a very profound and precious criticism of Pandit Nehru. He said: as long as quarrels were between two other nations, Pandit Nehru always preached neutrality. But when he himself, his nation, fell into conflict with another country, then all neutrality vanished. Then he did exactly what that magistrate did. Easy it is, always.
If two people are fighting on the road, you can stand aside and say, “We are neutral; we are on no one’s side.” The real question is: when someone stands with a knife upon your chest, can you remain neutral?
Equanimity is not between two; equanimity is between oneself and the other. Doubtless, quiet, even is only one who becomes neutral even towards himself; who becomes a witness even towards himself; who begins to see himself as one sees the other.
If you abuse me and I hear the abuse, and in this incident of abuse there are only two persons — you who give it and I who receive it — neutrality will not be born. Neutrality will be born when I know: you abused me; there are three persons here — one who abuses, one who hears the abuse, and I — distinct from both, beyond both. Then neutrality can arise.
Only those can be neutral who step to the third point outside the duality; who are beyond the pairs of opposites.
Remember, whoever is outside the dual is quiet. Whoever is inside the dual is restless. One who is choosing between two is restless. The one who attains choiceless awareness — as Krishnamurti repeatedly calls it — the one who comes to choice-free consciousness becomes quiet.
Such a quiet person establishes a relation with the silent Brahman. Such quietude itself is temple, is holy place. For one who enters such quiet, the doors of the Lord open.
कामक्रोधवियुक्तानां यतीनां यतचेतसाम्‌।
अभितो ब्रह्मनिर्वाणं वर्तते विदितात्मनाम्‌।। 26।।
And for those who are free of lust and anger, whose minds are mastered — for the wise who have realized the Atman — all around, the peace of Brahman prevails.
For the one who has gone beyond lust and anger, all around only Paramatman is obtained. For the consciousness that has become free of lust and anger!
In regard to lust we always feel: sometimes I am lustful, not always. In regard to anger too it seems: sometimes I am angry, not always. From this we take very mistaken decisions about ourselves. Naturally, this is a highly statistical decision — arithmetic supports it.
In twenty-four hours you are not angry for twenty-four hours. Within those twenty-four hours anger comes at some moment, then it passes. Naturally, we think: when anger is not present, then I am non-angry. Lust too arises sometime in the day; a vasana grasps for a moment. Then we become absorbed in another work and it disappears. So the mind feels: sometimes there is vasana, otherwise we are mostly without vasana. For two or four moments a vasana holds us; otherwise for twenty-four hours we are beyond vasana. For a moment anger grips us; otherwise we are non-angry. But understand this delusion — it is dangerous.
The man who is not under an undercurrent of anger twenty-four hours a day cannot be angry even for a single moment. And the man who is not surrounded within by lust twenty-four hours a day cannot be seized by lust even for a single moment.
Our situation is like a well. When we lower a bucket, water comes up. The well might think, “Water is not in me. Sometimes in twenty-four hours, when someone lowers a bucket, for a moment it comes out.” But if there is no water in the well, then by lowering the bucket nothing will come out. Try it with a dry well — the bucket returns empty. In the hours when no one is drawing, the well may feel there is no water. When someone draws for a while, the well may feel there is water.
When someone abuses you, anger comes up. When no one is abusing, anger does not come up. The abuse only serves as the bucket. Anger is filled in you twenty-four hours.
When some object, some attractive point of desire, passes near you, you are suddenly drawn. The bucket has been dropped — the vasana has come out! A beautiful woman passes by, a handsome man passes by, or a beautiful car goes by, anything that pulls the mind — the vasana rises. You think, “It comes sometimes; it’s not a disease. It’s an accident; it happens now and then; it is an incident, not a nature.”
But just as in a dry well no matter how many times you drop the bucket nothing comes up, so with the one who has become free of vasana — no matter what is dropped, nothing of vasana comes out.
So first, this delusion must be dropped; only then will you understand this sutra: free of lust and anger! Otherwise everyone thinks, “We are already free. Sometimes circumstances compel us, therefore we get filled with anger!” Those who know will say: if for even a moment you are filled with anger, know that you are filled with anger always. If even for a moment lust grips you, know that you are full of lust always. Do not take that one moment as one moment; or else, against that one moment hundreds of hours will appear lustless, and you will be deluded about yourself that you are free of lust. And of all the deceits a man can practice in this world, the greatest is to create a false image, a false portrait of oneself.
We all maintain false images of ourselves. And once we make an image, we keep seeking justifications for it.
Aristotle said man is a rational animal. But now? Those who know now say: to call man a rational animal is difficult; he is a rationalizing animal. He does not seem truly intelligent, but he is certainly engaged in trying to explain everything in an intelligent-looking way. He renders everything “reasonable.”
A man went to a psychiatrist and said, “I am very troubled; please help me. Do you think it is something wrong if a person falls in love with an animal?” The psychologist said, “There’s nothing wrong in that — hundreds love animals. I myself love my dog.”
The man, who had been sitting leaning forward, now relaxed into his chair. He had found his rationalization. There’s nothing wrong in loving an animal. When the psychologist himself loves his dog, we ordinary people… But he added, “Still I want to say one thing — this love is not ordinary; it has become very romantic.” The psychologist said, “I don’t understand; what do you mean?” He replied, “This love has become such that unless I see that animal two, four, ten times a day I feel very restless. I keep that animal’s picture close to my heart.”
Now the psychologist was a bit startled. He said, “This is going beyond limits; it is abnormal.” Still, he asked, “Which animal is it?” The man took a photo from the pocket near his chest — just as if Majnu were taking out Laila’s picture, or Romeo Juliet’s, or Farhad Shirin’s — with that same enchantment. The psychologist, amazed, took the picture — it was a horse.
The psychologist said, “You have fallen in love with a horse!” The man said, “Do you take me for a madman? This is not a horse; it is a mare!” The psychologist said, “But the picture is of a horse!” The man said, “I love a horse? Am I mad? This is not a horse, it is a mare!”
Such a man seeks rationalization even at the edge of absurdity. He seeks to say: one who loves a horse is insane; one who loves a mare is not so insane — it is heterosexual, so not so mad!
If you sit in a psychologist’s office, you will find that all day such people come looking for rationalizations — someone who will somehow certify that they are okay, not too wrong. All of us…
When you get angry, take a look. Is there truly a cause worthy of anger — or is it that you must be angry and so you seek a cause? Causes worthy of anger rarely exist in life. And they can be found only by those who do not get angry without cause. But we go seeking causes.
Even little children know: if there has been a quarrel between mother and father, today they will be beaten. Any cause will be found. They will stay a little alert, a little distant from mother that day. It’s not that yesterday was different — yesterday too they returned from school with a torn book; yesterday too their clothes were dirty; yesterday too they played with that troublesome neighbor boy. Yesterday there was no beating; today there will be. Why? Yesterday all the causes existed — still no beating. Today the same causes — yet the beating will happen. Because mother is ready. She will find any cause.
Causes of anger are fewer; they are sought more. And within us anger accumulates periodically. If you keep a diary, you will be amazed. Note when exactly yesterday you got angry; when the day before yesterday. Keep such a diary for six months and draw a graph. You will be surprised — you can predict at what time tomorrow you will be angry. It runs almost periodically. Keep a diary of your sexual craving and you will be able to predict on which day, which night, your mind will be seized by it.
You go on gathering energy every day; then, getting a chance, it bursts. If no chance is found, it creates one and bursts. And if no chance at all is available, it turns into frustration — into inner gloom and pain.
Anger and lust are our states, not incidents. We are with them twenty-four hours. One who accepts this can change his life. One who thinks “I get angry only sometimes” is protecting himself; he is devising deceits to explain himself to himself. One who accepts can be saved.
Frederick the Great wrote a memoir in his diary. He wrote that he went to the main prison of his capital. The emperor himself was coming — naturally every prisoner caught his feet, folded his hands, and said, “I did no crime. Mischief-makers trapped me.” Someone said, “I was not in my senses; conspirators made me do it.” Another said, “It is just the law — I was poor, I could not save myself; I could not hire a big lawyer, so I was trapped. The rich man who was against me was saved; I am serving the sentence.”
Frederick went around the entire jail among hundreds of prisoners. Each declared it would be hard to find a more innocent person than himself! Finally there was one man sitting with his head bowed. Frederick said, “You have nothing to say?” The man said, “Forgive me — I am a very criminal man. For what I did, I have received less punishment than I deserve.”
Frederick told the jailer, “Release this man at once — lest the rest of these innocent and good people get spoiled by staying with him! Throw him out of the prison immediately. Lest the rest of this jail — filled as it is with innocents — be spoiled by his company. Free him at once.”
The man was astounded. He said, “What are you saying? I am a criminal.” Frederick the Great said, “There is no greater innocence than that a man accepts his crime. Go out.”
In the realm of God as well, only those go beyond the world who are capable of accepting their actual state. One who deceives himself may go on — but one cannot deceive God.
Lust and anger are present with us twenty-four hours. Their undercurrent flows. Like the Nile flows for hundreds of miles under the earth and disappears — one cannot tell where it has gone — still it flows beneath. In the same way, for twenty-four hours the river of your anger and lust flows underneath. Dip within and you will at once find it present. Sometimes it surfaces and becomes visible; otherwise it runs underground. When it appears, do not think that this much is the anger. If it were only that much, everyone would be free. What appears is only a glimpse of the anger. When lust shows itself, do not think that is all the lust there is. Were it only that much, it would be child’s play. Beneath, a great undercurrent flows.
Krishna says: the one who becomes free of these two, who goes beyond them — only he attains the silent Brahman.
स्पर्शान्कृत्वा बहिर्बाह्यांश्चक्षुश्चैवान्तरे भ्रुवोः।
प्राणापानौ समौ कृत्वा नासाभ्यन्तरचारिणौ।। 27।।
यतेन्द्रियमनोबुद्धिर्मुनिर्मोक्षपरायणः।
विगतेच्छाभयक्रोधो यः सदा मुक्त एव सः।। 28।।
And, O Arjuna! Not thinking of the external objects of enjoyment, leaving them outside; fixing the gaze in the space between the brows; equalizing the prana and apana that move within the nostrils — the sage whose senses, mind, and intelligence are mastered, who is devoted to liberation, who is free of desire, fear, and anger — such a one is ever free.
In this sutra Krishna has given the method. In the previous sutra he said: free of lust and anger! In this sutra he speaks of the scientific method of becoming free of lust and anger. This must be understood well.
It is not enough to know that if you are free of lust and anger you will enter Brahman. That much, perhaps, we all know. How will you become free? What is the methodology, the method? That is what matters.
Krishna has said three things. First: who concentrates his attention at the center between the two eyes, at the space between the brows. Second: who makes equal the outgoing and the incoming breath; where the two meet. Let attention be at the brow center; let breath become equal. In the very moment this occurs, the person goes beyond the undercurrent of anger and sex.
This must be understood a little.
We all know our body possesses senses that connect us to the outer world. If there are no senses, the connection is cut. There are the eyes; if there are no eyes, the connection to the world of light is cut. The absence of eyes does not abolish light, but the seeing of light ceases. Without ears, the realm of sound disappears. Without the nose, the world of fragrance is not there. Our senses join us to the outer world.
There are seven senses. Ordinarily we speak of five. But two more — not ordinarily mentioned — are now accepted by science. In the days when five senses were spoken of, these two were not clearly known. Some who went deeper spoke of six. But the talk of seven senses began in the last fifty years when science discovered a new sense. There are seven senses.
In our ear there are two senses, not one. The ear hears — and the ear also contains the organ that keeps the body balanced. It is a hidden sense concealed in the ear. That is why if someone slaps your ear sharply, you may fall down in a swoon — you fall because the sense that maintains the balance of your body is shaken. If you spin rapidly, the spinning will stop, yet inwardly it feels as if the spinning continues — because that sense in the ear has become so activated. When a drunkard staggers on the road, it is not for any other reason — alcohol affects that sense in the ear and his legs lose balance. So two senses reside in the ear.
The notion of the sixth sense came much earlier — the inner organ, the heart. Ordinarily we all know this; you will hardly find a person who, saying he has fallen in love, places his hand on his head. Such a person is difficult to find. Whenever someone speaks of love, he places his hand on the heart. And it is surprising that all over the earth, in every corner, the hand is placed at the same spot. Languages differ; cultures differ; some peoples had no contact with others — yet there is some unknown intuition that near the heart there is a place from which feeling is sensed.
Thus there are seven senses — five, plus an affective sense, and a vestibular sense of balance in the ear. These seven connect us to the outer world. If any one of these is destroyed, our connection to the outer is severed to that extent. Even if not destroyed, if covered, the connection is cut. My eyes may be completely fine — but if I close them, the connection breaks.
Just as there are seven senses for relating to the outer world, so there are seven centers — seven inner senses — for relating to the inner world. Yoga calls them chakras. Those seven chakras are, just like the seven senses, gateways to the inner realm. Krishna has spoken in this sutra of the most important among them for Arjuna — the one that would be most significant for him. He says: concentrate attention in the middle of the two eyes, at the center of the forehead.
The chakra at the center of the forehead, in the language of yoga, is called the ajna-chakra. It is the center of resolve, of will. Whoever wants to bring resolve into his life should meditate on that chakra — resolve becomes dynamic, it begins to move. The power of resolve in one who meditates at this chakra becomes invincible.
Krishna, knowing this, tells Arjuna. This sutra is especially addressed to Arjuna. For a kshatriya the arrangement is to meditate at the ajna-chakra. The kshatriya’s whole life-orientation is the orientation of resolve. That is his most developed part. Upon that he can meditate. What will happen by meditating on this chakra? Take one more point into account and you will understand.
Suppose someone arrives right now with the news that your house is on fire. You will run. On the way, someone greets you; your eyes see him — yet, yet you do not see. And tomorrow that person meets you and says, “What happened yesterday — you were rushing headlong! I greeted you; you did not reply.” You will say, “I had no awareness — I did not see.” He will say, “But your eyes were looking straight at me — I was right before your eyes.” You will say, “Certainly you must have been before my eyes — but my attention was not on the eyes.”
Even the body’s senses function only when there is attention; otherwise they do not function. If you want to activate the body’s senses, they become active through attention — otherwise not. The eye sees only when inner attention connects with the eye; the ears hear only when attention connects with the ears. Without attention the senses cannot carry news to consciousness. Exactly so with the seven inner chakras — they become active only when attention connects with them.
The chakra of resolve is ajna. Krishna says to Arjuna: focus there. For a karma-yogi that is right. It is the chakra of action, of vast energy — focus there. But meditation will happen only when the outgoing and incoming breaths are equal; when they meet. When attention is at the brow center, and breath becomes equal — in the very moment of this event one goes beyond the undercurrent of anger and sex.
About this equal breath you may have no idea. You know when breath goes in; you know when breath goes out. But there is a moment when the breath is inside and is not yet going out — a gap. There is also a moment when the breath has gone out and is not yet coming in — a small interval. In that interval consciousness is utterly stilled. If, in that interval, attention is rightly applied, the ajna-chakra begins, it becomes active.
And when energy activates the ajna-chakra, its condition becomes like a sunflower in the morning — before the sun it hangs toward the earth, sad, withered, with its petals closed, drooping. Then the sun rises — the sunflower begins to lift, begins to bloom, the petals spread, a smile spreads, a dance comes upon the flower. Radiance, freshness — the flower becomes alive; it stands up.
A chakra without attention is like an inverted flower, withered. As soon as attention goes there — as if the sun had performed a miracle upon the flower — just so the rays of attention lift the flower of the chakra. And once the flower of any chakra lifts, a new inner sense has become active in your life. You have begun to connect with the inner world.
Different types of persons find it easier to go in through different chakras. For instance, ninety out of a hundred women, if they follow this sutra, will fall into difficulty. For women it is appropriate never to meditate at the brow center — meditate at the heart, or at the navel. The feminine personality is non-aggressive; it is receptive, a receiver; not attacking.
Only the one whose personality is very aggressive — as I said, Krishna has prescribed ajna for a kshatriya — only he should experiment with the ajna-chakra. Even for all men it is not appropriate to meditate at ajna. The one who knows his personality is positively aggressive, who is certain of his attacking tendency — only he should experiment at ajna; then his energy will immediately relate to the inner realm.
One who feels his personality is receptive, a taker-in, not aggressive — he can absorb something into himself, he cannot assault — like women. The entire biological make-up of woman is receptive. She is to conceive; she is to silently take something in and let it grow.
Therefore if a woman experiments at the ajna-chakra, one of two things will occur. Either she will fail and be disturbed — or, if she succeeds, her femininity will lessen. She will become non-receptive; her love will grow thin and masculine traits will begin to appear. If the experiment is pursued with great intensity, it is entirely possible that male characteristics begin to manifest.
If a man meditates too much on the heart-chakra, feminine traits can begin to appear in him. Ramakrishna experimented in this way for six months and a most astonishing event occurred. His breasts enlarged, feminine; Ramakrishna’s voice became like a woman’s. That was fine, but an even more wondrous thing happened — after six months of this experiment Ramakrishna began to have menses. It was thought impossible! And when he dropped the experiment, it took about two years for the signs slowly to recede; otherwise they continued to increase. His gait became like that of women!
The structure of our personality is related to our chakras. Therefore each person has a different arrangement of chakras suitable for meditation. For Arjuna — and that is why I am explicitly telling you — this sutra is said to him. For Arjuna’s personality it is appropriate that he steady attention at the ajna-chakra.
And meditation will enter only when breath becomes equal — neither out nor in, poised in between. At that moment you are in almost the same state as at the time of death, or at the time of birth.
Do you know why, if a newborn does not cry, everyone becomes anxious? Why efforts are made to make him cry? What is the reason? In the mother’s womb the child does not breathe — he remains in equality. In the mother’s womb the child has no need to breathe — he remains in equality, in the very sam-state of which Krishna speaks. For nine months he remains in equality. Breath neither goes out nor comes in; breath does not move.
Therefore when a child is born and cries, shouts, he is only trying to start the apparatus of breath — nothing else. By crying and shouting, his lungs begin to work with force. If he misses a little time, there can be difficulty. So, if the child cries, it is a happy sign — it means he is healthy, and the work will start.
The state of equality comes at the time of birth. Exactly the same state returns when the breath is neither going in nor going out — the in-between moment. Then your rebirth can happen — you can be reborn. You can begin the inner journey. And at the time of death, again, the same equality returns.
Three times the equal-state appears — at birth, at death, and at Samadhi. As many times as Samadhi comes, that many times the equal-state comes. But in essence there are three occasions when breath is neither out nor in.
Why can consciousness go in at this time? Because as soon as breath is neither outside nor inside, all relationship with the world becomes still, is arrested. Now you can transform. This is the chance to change gears. The gear has reached neutral. When you drive a car, you cannot shift directly from one gear to another; you first pass through neutral, then into the next gear.
If you think of breath as a gear, then the incoming breath is the breath of life; the outgoing breath is the breath of death. Between the two is the neutral gear, where equality is — where neither in nor out; where existence is, but neither death nor life. In that very moment your transformation happens.
Hence Krishna emphasizes two things: let the breath be equal, Arjuna, and let your attention be at the brow center, the ajna-chakra — then the flower will rise, the chakra will open. And as soon as it opens, suddenly you will find that the very power which earlier became sex and anger, that entire power is absorbed by the ajna-chakra — all that energy becomes resolve.
Remember, if you are very angry or very lustful, in one sense it is misfortune — but in another sense it is great good fortune. For in this world only those who are very sexual, very lustful, and very angry can become men of great resolve. Misfortune — because lust and anger will trouble you. Good fortune — because if you meditate, the resolve available to you will be of a kind those lacking lust and anger cannot have.
Therefore, those who attained great power in this world were the very people who were very sexual. It is surprising — those who attained great energy were those who were over-sexual. Not ordinarily so, but very much so. But when the energy changed, that very great energy that had been manifesting in sex became resolve.
If Arjuna is transformed, then as great a kshatriya as he is in the outer world, he will become a Mahavir in the inner world. The same energy that flows into anger and lust — if it is given to resolve, resolve becomes great.
There are people in this world who turn boons into curses; and there are also those who turn curses into boons. If there is much lust and anger, give thanks to God — energy is at hand. Now transformation is in your hands. If there is no lust and no anger, then it is very difficult — very difficult. There is no energy at hand — what shall be transformed!
So do not be distressed if there is much lust and anger; rather, become contemplative. And this is a very scientific method of transforming lust and anger — as scientific as Krishna could possibly make it: equal breath, attention at the ajna-chakra. Keep practicing it. Slowly, slowly, what I have said will begin to come into your awareness. Slowly, one day, all the inner energy will have been transformed.
People ask me: “If it happens that all anger is lost, all lust is lost, and all energy becomes resolve — how will we live in this world? At times anger is needed.”
Certainly, it is needed. But such a person too can use anger — only that such a person does not become angry. He can use anger, but he does not become angered. He can even employ anger, but it is an instrument. Just as you raise your hand and lower it — this is not a disease. But if the hand starts moving up and down and you say, “I cannot stop it, it just happens; it is beyond me” — then it is disease.
Anger can be used — but only those can use it who are beyond it. In our case anger uses us; we do not use anger. Our senses dominate us.
Can sex not be used? This land made very scientific experiments even in that direction. For hundreds of years, if someone had no son, he could ask a rishi for a son for his wife. He could pray to a rishi-muni: “Grant a son.” Astonishing!
When people in the West first learned of it, they said, “What strange people they must have been!” First, would those rishis consent to intercourse? Second, what kind of immoral act is it, that a man should go to ask a son for his wife! Beyond their understanding. Miss Mayo and others who wrote against India gathered such stories. But they knew nothing. If Miss Mayo were alive today, she would see the West is now thinking the same.
The West is thinking it is better if not everyone produces children. For the West says: if we can choose seed to produce better flowers and better fruit, why can we not choose semen to produce better human beings? Today or tomorrow the West will be choosing semen. Their ways will be technological.
But in this land, one could pray to a rishi. A rishi’s lust had been dissolved. Hence one could ask a rishi. One whose cravings are no more, whose vasanas have ceased — only from him can the purest semen be obtained. One who has no desire, who has no thought to enjoy the body — even he can donate his body.
Remember, semen is not something spiritual; it is a physiological phenomenon. When you die, all your semen will be destroyed with your body. It is not something of the soul that goes with you. It is a bodily donation.
Rishis knew: their body will be lost; but if something of their body can be of use, it can be used. These were very courageous people. Ordinary courage would not suffice.
After this state of resolve, even lust and anger can be used as instruments. If not used, there is no compulsion. Then it depends on individuals whether they will use them or not. One thing is certain — lust and anger cannot use you.
That is why this chakra is named ajna — order. One who comes into possession of this chakra finds that his senses obey his order. One who has no mastery over this chakra must obey the orders of his senses. On this side of the chakra, the senses command; beyond it, your sovereignty begins. Hence it is called “ajna,” the Order. On this side you must obey the senses; on that side you can command them.
It is a very scientific sutra — less to be understood than to be done. Less to be recognized by words than to be brought into experiment. If you experiment a little, slowly it will come into your awareness.
भोक्तारं यज्ञतपसां सर्वलोकमहेश्वरम्‌
सुहृदं सर्वभूतानां ज्ञात्वा मां शान्तिमृच्छति।। 29।।
And, O Arjuna! My devotee, knowing me in essence as the enjoyer of all sacrifice and austerity, as the Lord of all worlds and the friend — the selfless lover — of all beings, attains peace.
Krishna says: one who loves me as the Paramatman of all worlds — me, says Krishna — one who loves me. We read: “the Paramatman of all worlds! The God of even the gods!” When we read, it may trouble us that Krishna calls himself the God of the gods! It appears full of ego. Because we know only one meaning of “I.”
Our “I” is always opposed to “you.” Our only experience of “I” is against the “you,” different from the “you,” separate. In our “I,” the “you” is not included — it is excluded. When a person like Krishna says “I,” all “you’s” are included in his “I.” All “you’s” are gathered into it.
This dimension is not for us; we have no acquaintance with it. Hence many find fault with Krishna: “What is he saying! He says that one who loves me as the God of gods — only he attains to liberation, to bliss! He attains to moksha — to me!”
Jesus speaks in exactly this language. Jesus too says, “I am the Truth, I am the Way — and whoever wishes to reach the Father, come through me.”
Buddha too says so.
Certainly, there must be some difference between the use of “I” by us and by them. When we say “I,” it is a word opposed to “you.” When Krishna and Christ say “I,” it has nothing to do with the “you.” It is unrelated. There is no give-and-take with “you.” Therefore they can so simply say, “Renouncing all else, surrender to me. Love me as the God of gods.”
Arjuna does not raise a doubt. A question must have arisen in his mind — his friend, his companion, sits as his charioteer! Surely, in that moment, in worldly status, Arjuna’s position was higher. It was he who sat enthroned upon the chariot. Krishna was merely the charioteer, holding the reins. As far as worldly standing goes, in that hour Krishna’s station was not above Arjuna’s.
Now it is a very amusing event — one who says, “I am the God of gods,” becomes the charioteer of an ordinary, ignorant man! Were he egoistic, he would never do so. He brings water for the horses at dusk, unyokes them, cleans them. Were he egoistic, it would not be possible. Where have the egoists become charioteers? Egoists sit enthroned upon the chariot. Arjuna knows well there is no question of ego here. For the man who has taken the reins of the horses in hand and sits as a charioteer — where will you find a man more egoless?
Still, that man, sitting as charioteer, says, “Know me as the God of gods.” Arjuna recognizes it. He recognizes Krishna’s humility. Therefore he also understands Krishna’s use of words that might appear egoistic.
We will have great difficulty. That is why many have objected that Krishna declares, “Sarva-dharmān parityajya — abandoning all dharmas, take refuge in me alone — māmekaṁ śaraṇaṁ vraja — come to my refuge.” This does not seem right.
Those to whom it does not seem right should reconsider: perhaps it does not seem right because their own ego is disturbed by it — “That we should take refuge in someone? That I should go to Krishna’s refuge? No, this cannot be. This Krishna appears egoistic.”
Remember, it is the wound to our ego that makes us say and rationalize, “Krishna is egoistic.” “That I should accept this Krishna as the God of the whole universe — I?” This we will not accept. We will say, “This cannot be accepted. If any man says, ‘I am God,’ it is sheer ego.” We will not notice our own ego to which this gives pain.
Thus a very amusing thing happened. For forty years Krishnamurti told people hundreds and thousands of times, “I am not your guru, I am not your God, I am not your teacher. I am nobody.” To all the egoistic people this greatly appealed. They said, “Absolutely right! Exactly right.”
I have been surprised to learn that the audience who listens to Krishnamurti is, in a deep sense, a class of the egoistic. It pleases them — not because they understand what Krishnamurti is saying; that is very difficult to understand — as difficult as it is to understand Krishna’s statement, “I am the God of gods.” Just as difficult. But they do understand one thing: “Good! Here is one man before whom we need not become disciples, before whom we need not bow.”
But it is a great irony that Krishnamurti denies being a guru because, today, if anyone in this world were to declare, “I am a guru,” if someone were to speak with Krishna’s courage, if Krishna himself were to return and again say, “I am the God of gods,” we would not accept it. The world’s ego has become very developed.
When Krishna said it, the world’s ego was immature. People were guileless, simple. Their egos were not dense. If someone said, “I am God,” people would think, “Let us consider; perhaps he is.” Today if someone says, “I am God!” people will say, “Lock him in an asylum. He needs treatment.”
Therefore Krishnamurti says, “I am no God, no guru.” But then another mistake begins. Better that Krishna should err — for he cannot err — than that Arjuna should err — for his error is certain.
The other mistake begins: the listener says, “This man is perfectly right. There is no need to bow here.” Listen, understand, but do not become a disciple — no need to touch feet. No problem — one can keep one’s stiffness intact!
If a guru is full of stiffness, he goes mad. When a disciple, too, is full of stiffness, he becomes even more mad. Such is the change of the age.
But Arjuna understood Krishna. He felt no obstruction. He did not say, “You, being a charioteer — my charioteer — and you say you are God!” He knows that one whose humility is so deep — there is no reason for quick conclusions. He can be understood. And if Krishna speaks so, there must be some meaning.
When a person like Krishna proclaims “I,” it is to dissolve your “I”; so that your “I” can surrender. And without surrender, one is not liberated. Surrender is liberation.
It is very amusing that in the previous sutra Krishna says, “Enlarge your resolve, awaken the ajna-chakra.” And immediately after, he says, “Know that I am God.”
In truth, only one of great resolve can surrender. One who has no resolve cannot surrender either. Resolve is what becomes surrender. For the weak there is no resolve; and the strength becomes surrender.
Thus the fifth chapter comes to a close. In this whole chapter Krishna has placed before Arjuna the entire alchemy of being free while acting, while remaining immersed in the web of all action. Each chapter of the Gita is complete in itself. The Gita is not one book; it is many books. One chapter of the Gita is complete in itself. It is not necessary to read beyond. Only if the fifth chapter cannot be read, cannot be understood, is it necessary to proceed further.
Remember, only if the fifth chapter goes in vain does one read the sixth. It went in vain for Arjuna — hence Krishna had to speak further. It went in vain because Krishna could see that nothing had happened yet. Then more had to be said, and more, and more.
If even a single chapter of the Gita is truly understood — understood meaning: it comes into life, into experience; into the blood, into the bones; into the marrow, into the flesh; it pervades the pores of the life-breath — then the rest of the book can be thrown away. Then whatever is in the rest has entered your understanding. If not, then one must go on.
But remember: if anyone engages with the Gita, the Bible, or the Koran merely on the level of intellect, he is making a mistake. He is making the same mistake as someone who sits by the roadside on a cement road with pole and bait to catch fish — on a cement road! No fish will be caught there. Just such a mistake it is.
If someone goes out to seek in the realm of existence with intellect, nothing is caught. There is no meaning to intellect there. The only meaning is that your fixed, shackled unintelligence might be broken. That you might become light.
Understand it this way: there are chains on your hands and feet; you cannot move from your place. I bring a hammer and break your chains. I can break your chains with a hammer — I cannot make you free. Even then, if you go on sitting in the same place, what am I to do? The chains fall to the ground and you still sit there — what am I to do!
Intellect can only do the negative work. The many un-intelligent notions gripped upon your mind — intellect can cut and break them. But that does not constitute freedom. It only breaks bondage. And if you do not get up and walk, new chains will gather around you again.
Whoever sits still, chains gather around him. One who keeps walking becomes free. The river is pure so long as it flows; if it stops, it stales. One who only keeps thinking stops; one who lives, flows and moves.
So in the end I will say only this: flow. Whatever you have heard and understood — do it somewhere. A thousand miles of talk is useless before a single step taken. One step is enough. If a single step is taken, there is no need to talk of a thousand miles. And step by step, a thousand miles are crossed.
Now for five minutes, this final day, we will sit in kirtan. No one will go. Not a single person will leave. And join in. You also sing. You also sway where you are; clap your hands. Five minutes of joy — and then we will take leave.