My beloved Atman! A few things must be understood about meditation. For, in the deepest sense, meditation is the very name of understanding. Meditation means: surrender. Meditation means: to drop oneself totally into the hands of the Paramatma. Meditation is not an act you have to do. Meditation means: do nothing at all and let go into the hands of That which truly is sustaining us. As I said last night, Paramatma means the original source from which we come and into which we return. But neither the coming is in our hands, nor the returning. We do not know when we arrive here, nor when we depart. Meditation is the name of returning knowingly. When a person dies he returns without wanting it, without knowing it. Meditation is returning knowingly—knowingly dissolving oneself into that original source, so that we may know what That is, and also who we are. So keep one thing foremost for meditation: surrender, surrender, total surrender. Meditation is the name of dropping yourself completely. One who holds himself even a little will not be able to enter meditation; for holding oneself means stopping at oneself, and letting go means arriving at That to which, on letting go, we reach. To grasp this matter of surrender, first we will do three small experiments, so that surrender is fully understood. Then the fourth experiment will be meditation. Even surrender cannot be understood by understanding alone; it must be done, so the meaning of surrender becomes clear in our very feeling. We will do the first experiment for five minutes, then the second, then the third—three experiments of five minutes each, to bring the full flavor of surrender into the heart; then the fourth experiment of meditation. Only by understanding these three can meditation be done. Sit a little apart, at some distance; let no one be touching anyone. In meditation someone may even fall. So sit far enough apart that if someone falls, he will not fall upon anyone else. There is enough space here—spread out; there is no need to sit close. Be at a little distance, so you can let yourself go completely; otherwise the mind will keep holding on to the idea of keeping control. Holding yourself will become a hindrance. Do not be stingy about space. So much space lies open—move back. And no talking, no sound—silence. Now the first point, the first experiment. The first experiment is: the experiment of drifting. In a river someone swims—many of us have swum; otherwise we have seen people swim. When one swims, one does something. But drifting is exactly the opposite of swimming—floating. A person drifts, he does not swim. He stops moving his hands and feet and is carried away. Wherever the river takes him, there he goes. He has no personal desire to go anywhere. The swimmer has a desire. The swimmer wants to reach somewhere. The swimmer will fight the river. The swimmer wants to reach that bank, that place. If the river obstructs, she will seem an enemy. And the river will obstruct, for the river is running along her own path. If the swimmer has his own path, a conflict is bound to arise. With drifting there is no opposition to the river. Drifting means to become one with the river. Wherever the river takes us, that is our destination. Then there is no enmity with the river. The first meaning of surrender is: let there be no enmity with life. Let us be able to drift with life, not swim. The first step of meditation is: the experience of drifting. We will have that experience for five minutes. As I say, do the experiment a little, so that its feel can arise inside. Close the eyes. And closing the eyes means, allow the eyes to close—do not press them shut. Leave the eyelids loose, relaxed, so the eyes close. Close the eyes—let them close by themselves. Leave the lids relaxed so the eyes close. Leave the body loose; keep no stiffness, no rigidity in the body. Leave the body utterly loose. Because we are not going to do any work; we are going to drift—so leave yourself totally relaxed and loose. The eyes have closed, the body has been left loose. Do not sit in the middle. Now you people move back. Whoever comes back, sit back there—do not sit in the middle, back. Close the eyes, leave the body loose. Now see a small picture so we can experience it. See: between mountains, shining in the sunlight, a river is rushing by. The mountains gleam in the sun and the river races with great speed. See on the screen of the closed eyes clearly—the river is racing swiftly, the mountains are shining in the sun, the waves of the river are sparkling, the river is racing quickly. The river thunders and rushes along. See the river flowing, clearly upon the inner screen. See the river well, the river running between mountains toward the ocean—very deep, blue in color, waves powerful, movement strong. When you see rightly, you will begin to see continually—the river racing along. Notice its racing well. Know its depth well too; for in a short while we ourselves will be drifting with it. We shall descend into its depth. The river is running, racing swiftly. As you watch it, a light peace will spread over the mind. Now we also must enter this river. Enter. On the inner screen, in imagination, see that we too have stepped into the river—and we are not to swim, we are to drift—and we have begun drifting in the river. Like a dry leaf drifting in the stream. How could a dry leaf swim? It has no hands or feet. Become like a dry leaf and begin to drift in the river. The waves will carry you, carry you. The river will race toward the ocean; you too will drift with it. Become one with the river. Now for five minutes experience drifting with the river. Only drifting. Remember, do not swim. Do not move hands or feet—let yourself go. If the river drowns you, be drowned; if she brings you up, come up. Wherever she takes you, go there. We have no destination; we are ready to drift. Now I fall silent for five minutes. Drift in the river—so that the exact experience of drifting dawns within, what drifting means. This will become the first step of meditation. Recognize it well. Two mountains shine in sunlight; the river runs between them; we too are drifting along. And as you drift, such peace will be felt, such freshness will surround you, such bliss will begin to arise within; all worries will fall away, all burdens will drop. For all worries belong to the swimmer; the drifter has no need of worry. All tensions will fall, for all tensions belong to the swimmer; the drifter has no need of tension. Now I am silent. Keep drifting for five minutes. Leave yourself utterly loose and drift. Let go. Drift. Completely drift. Surrender into the river and drift. The river rushes on and you are carried along. Let go. Drift. Completely drift. Let go. Let the river carry you; become one with the river. The river runs; you are carried along. Experience drifting rightly; the mind will begin to grow utterly quiet. A coolness and freshness will enter within. Drift. Let go. Leave the body, leave everything and drift. Completely let go. The river rushes on. See: mountains shine in the sun; the river runs and you too are carried along. See yourself drifting. Do this experience of drifting well—this is the first step of meditation. Drifting. Drifting. Drifting. Not swimming, not doing anything—the river is carrying you, carrying you. The river runs; you too are carried along. You have nothing to do but drift. See—mind will become completely quiet. A freshness will surround you. Now slowly step out of the river, come onto the bank. The river is still flowing; standing on the bank, for two moments feel what joy, what peace, what bliss has filled the within through drifting in the river! You have come out. Now slowly open your eyes and understand the second experiment. Slowly open your eyes; understand the second experiment. The first experiment is: drifting, floating—the first step of meditation. The second experiment is: dying, death, dissolving away. As a seed dissolves and then a sprout happens. As a bud dissolves and then a flower happens. Only when something dissolves does something happen. When we dissolve as a man, only then can we be as Paramatma. The first link of birth is death. And the one who does not learn to die, to dissolve, never reaches that Vastness where reaching requires that everything be left behind. There is a saying of Jesus: Those who save themselves will be lost, and those who lose themselves will be saved. The second experiment, the second step of meditation, is dissolving away. Now we will do the second experiment. Let this be grasped as experience, so we can bring it into play in meditation. Sit for the second experiment. Close the eyes—meaning, let the eyes close. Leave the eyes loose so they close. Close the eyes, leave the body loose. Leave the body utterly loose; close the eyes. The body is loosened, the eyes are closed. Leave the body completely loose; we are not to hold it—we have already let it go; and the eyes have closed. Now see a second picture: before the eyes a funeral pyre is ablaze. Flames are leaping high. Around the pyre—though it is dark—faces can be recognized. Your friends, your loved ones have gathered. The flames rise higher and higher. See the pyre clearly, because in a little while we ourselves must be laid upon it. We drifted in the river; now we must drift in fire. The river can carry; the fire will annihilate. See upon the inner screen: fire burns, the pyre burns. The flames leap skyward. Friends and loved ones stand encircled; their faces are visible. In the flames their faces glow. See the flames well. Now we are to enter it. This is not someone else’s pyre—it is ours. See—the pyre burns, and you have been placed upon it. Now not only the pyre burns—you too are burning. See yourself burning. In a little while all will be ash, all will be gone. Neither pyre will remain nor we; only a little ash will lie at the cremation ground. For five minutes see yourself burning. Everything is burning. The mind will want to run; you cannot run. You have died—where will you run? The mind will want to climb down from the pyre; you cannot. Who will climb down? In a little while ash will begin to form. Friends and loved ones will take leave. The cremation ground will be left to silence. See clearly—you are on the pyre, burning. Flames rise; everything is being consumed; we ourselves are being consumed. For five minutes I will be silent. See yourself burning. In a little while only ash will remain. The cremation ground will fall silent. Surrender yourself into the fire. The fire is growing more intense, and we are burning. All that can burn will burn. Only that will remain which cannot be burned. What can burn must be allowed to burn. It is precisely That which cannot burn that we must recognize. Let what burns, burn. See—fire has taken hold; the pyre’s flames are blazing; you are burning, burning, burning. The flames rise; the body burns. The flames keep rising; the body keeps burning. In a little while all will be ash. We ourselves will be ash. And to see oneself become ash is a very deep experience. See—everything is becoming ash, everything is being consumed. Friends and loved ones have begun to leave. You see their backs now; their faces are no longer visible. They are returning. How long can they stand in the cremation ground? They have started to go; they are going. Flames rise, ash rises. Here the flames grow, there the ash grows. We are being burned, burned, coming to an end—completely to be gone. Dissolve. Completely dissolve. Now no one is visible in the cremation ground. Even the flames begin to die; only a heap of ash remains. Silence has settled on the cremation ground. Everything will be gone. In a little while the embers will die and only ash will remain. Keep watching; to see oneself dissolving is a very deep experience. That is the second step of meditation. Silence has come upon the cremation ground. Even the sound of the flames has ceased. The embers too are fading. A heap of ash lies there. See, see clearly—now there is no one in the cremation ground; a heap of ash remains—the heap of our own ash. We are gone; a heap of ash remains. And there is the cremation ground, and there is silence. The winds come and the ash is blown away. There is no one left even to gather the ash. This is what we are. This is what we were. Recognize clearly this heap of ash—this is the very face we saw so many times in the mirror. This is the very body we protected all our life, through many, many lives. This heap of ash is a very great truth. Experience it rightly. This is the second step of meditation. All is gone, all is gone—there is silence. A heap of ash lies there—see it rightly. Have you seen the heap of ash—your being, your final outcome? Now slowly open your eyes. Then understand the third experiment, and do the third experiment for five minutes. The first experiment is: the experience of drifting. The second experiment is: the experience of dying. And the third experiment is: Tathata. The third experiment is the deepest. It must be understood well. Tathata means: things are as they are. We have no opposition to them. Birds are making sounds—so be it. The sunlight is hot—so be it. Winds blow and coolness is felt—so be it. Life as it is we accept. We do not wish to change it, nor to meddle. No opposition, no rejection. Tathata means: things are such—as they are—and we are in accord. Tathata means: becoming perfectly willing—total acceptability. When we become wholly willing toward anything, all the mind’s turmoil and its quietude both disappear. Then all the disease of the mind is destroyed. Then all tension ends. The tension and restlessness of mind arise from our opposition. We want things to be in a certain way. Now a crow caws, a bird cries—and we want, because we are meditating, that the birds keep silent. But what concern do birds have with your meditation? The winds will blow, and we will want them not to blow—let them hold for a while. Vehicles will pass on the road, there will be sounds, horns will blare, and we will say, this is a great disturbance. Then you will never be able to enter meditation. Life cannot stop for you. Life will go on, it will keep moving. Then what is the way? The difficulty of those who sit to meditate is that sometimes someone honks on the road, sometimes a baby cries, sometimes a dog barks, sometimes there is a quarrel in the street—disturbances arise. But I want to tell you: if the point of Tathata is understood, then in this world there is no such thing as disturbance. Tathata means: whatever is happening, we accept. Where then is disturbance? Disturbance occurs—hindrance occurs—when we say, this should not happen, and it happens; then trouble arises. But we say: as it is happening, it is happening—we are willing. If a horn sounds, we are willing to listen. If a baby cries, we are willing to listen. If birds call out, we are willing to listen. We have no opposition. We do not stand as an adversary to life; we accept this life as a friend. The feeling of acceptance is the deepest matter in meditation. And whoever accepts everything becomes the most free. As far as our opposition extends, there is our bondage. As far as we are stiff, there is our misery. As far as we say, let this be, let that not be—there is trouble. But when we say, as it is happening, so it is happening—we accept, we are willing, we too are a part of it—then all opposition dissolves. So do the third five-minute experiment of meditation, and then the fourth experiment will be meditation itself. Out of the total of these three, meditation will be born. Do the third experiment of Tathata. Close the eyes, leave the body loose. Let the eyes close and leave the body loose. Leaving the body loose means we have become one with all around—we are not separate. Now whatever is happening, silently experience it, know it. Do not oppose. See—cars sound, birds sing—accept it all. Whatever is happening, is happening—we are willing. We are willing—let this echo deep inside. We are willing, we are willing with everything. Whatever is happening, whatever is happening, whatever is happening—we are willing. We have no opposition. And not only outside, inside also we are willing. If the foot becomes numb, if an ant bites the foot—we are willing for that too. If a thought moves within—we are willing for that too. We have no opposition at all; inside and outside, everywhere, we are willing. For five minutes leave yourself in the state of Tathata. Sunlight falls upon the face, sweat begins to flow—we are willing. All right—sunlight will fall, sweat will flow. And when we are willing, even sunlight will begin to feel very cool. See—even the sounds of the road will feel most pleasant when we are willing. When we are willing, a loving experience with the whole existence begins. And through the door of that love the Paramatma arrives. When we are willing, there is love—and when there is love, there is Paramatma. Now for five minutes I fall silent. Become willing. Accept everything in totality and see how quiet the mind becomes—like never before. Fountains of peace burst open inside—like never before. A light spreads within. A cool radiance, a soft shadow of light spreads. See, silently experience: what is, is—and we are willing. Birds, make your sounds! Winds, blow! Sun, blaze! We are willing. We are willing. We are willing. For whatever is, we are willing. We have no opposition. We are but a part of this vast existence. We are part of these winds, of these calling birds, of this burning sun, of the noise upon the road—we are a part of this great universe. We have no opposition. How can a part oppose? We are willing. Completely willing. Surrender into this acceptance. Whatever is happening, is happening, is happening. Whatever is happening is right, is auspicious. Whatever is happening is beautiful. Whatever is happening, is happening—we are willing; we have no opposition. And see how the mind fills with peace. See how the mind grows silent. See how a new light begins to spread within. The train’s sound is so pleasant. The voices of birds, the sound of the winds, the rustling of trees and leaves—all is accepted. Life as it is is accepted. Acceptance. Acceptance. Total acceptance. Whatever is, is accepted. And the moment acceptance happens, we become merely a part of the Whole. Then the sun is not separate, the birds not separate, the trees not separate—none is separate; earth not separate, sky not separate—all is joined, all is one. We become one with all. Experience Tathata rightly—this acceptance, this consent—experience it rightly. This is the third step of meditation. Recognize well what acceptance means. See whether anywhere within there is opposition. See whether anywhere within there is a mood of refusal. See whether because of anything a hindrance or obstacle arises inside. Experience: all is accepted, all is accepted; whatever is happening is accepted. There is no rejection at all. Now slowly open your eyes. Then understand the experiment of meditation and we will do it. We did these three experiments in order to understand. These are the three stages of meditation. The first experiment is: letting oneself drift. We did the experiments so that if it does not become clear through words it may become clear through experience—hence the use of imagination. You must have understood the contrast between swimming and drifting. Do not swim—drift. Swimming is an ego; drifting is surrender. The second experiment we did: dissolving, becoming finished. Trying to save oneself is great madness. One who engages in saving himself will never know the Whole. If a drop insists on remaining a drop, it cannot know the ocean. If the drop wants to know the ocean, it must dissolve. But the drop, by losing herself in the ocean, does not truly disappear—she becomes the ocean. From the small, she becomes the vast. In truth, we are the small. If the great is to be known, the small must dissolve. The petty we are; we are bound by limits. Only when the limits break can we be the limitless. Yet we are all busy saving ourselves. So the second link of meditation is: do not save yourself—let go, dissolve, become finished. Surely, what can dissolve will dissolve. What cannot dissolve will not dissolve. And within us there are both—what can dissolve and what cannot. What can dissolve, will dissolve—it will dissolve whether we wish it or not. What cannot dissolve cannot be made to disappear, even if we wish. It will remain, remain. So the second experiment we did: ascending the pyre, burning, becoming ash. It is very necessary for meditation; for one must dissolve, one must die. Meditation is the very name of death brought voluntarily. The third experiment we did: Tathata. Tathata means: the acceptance of things as they are. And if one accepts, then one cannot be disturbed. Restlessness comes from rejection. Tension comes from rejection. All our life’s trouble and worry come from rejection. A bullock cart is going along; a drunkard is sitting in it; you are also seated, and the cart overturns. Remember—you will be hurt; the drunkard will not. It is a strange thing: the drunk should be the one to be hurt—he was intoxicated. Why did we get hurt? We were not drunk. Yet the cart overturns, the drunkard is saved, and you are injured. Because the drunk accepts everything—he has no awareness to oppose. He falls, and he falls totally. There is not even the mood to save himself. One who is alert will try to save himself. When the cart overturns he will stiffen; in the effort to save himself he will strain. Bones will stretch, alertness will contract. The tense bones will take the blow and will break. The drunkard falls on the road every day—he is not hurt. You fall, and you are in trouble. Children fall daily and are not injured. We fall, and bones break. Children accept even the falling—they are willing for that too. And when one becomes willing even to fall, then it becomes very hard to be hurt. Because of his willingness, opposition ceases. One who takes life with the mood of acceptance—life cannot wound him. And the one who opposes life, life wounds him much, leaves many scars, creates many ulcers. One who accepts life totally, as it comes, opening the doors in consent—life can never hurt him. Therefore the third experiment is: acceptance. Because if one has to know the Paramatma, one can know only by accepting life totally. That which we reject, with that we become enemies. That against which we stand, our doors are closed to it. Our mind becomes closed, shut. Then it does not open. But when we accept, all opens. In that open mind the descent happens—that becomes the doorway. So the third step is: Tathata—total acceptance. Now in meditation we will employ all three together. Before sitting for the experiment of meditation, I would like you to move a little farther apart, because—now you will have to drop the body completely; it may fall—and if it falls, do not worry. If you become engaged in preventing the fall, you will be stuck right there. If it falls, let it fall. So move a little farther apart. Some more friends have come; those who have come, silently move to an open place, so that if anyone falls he does not fall upon another, and no one needs to control himself for another. And some friends are seated at the back—if they do not wish to do the experiment, at least do not talk there. Do not talk at the back and sit a little away. If someone wishes to lie down, quietly go to some corner and lie down beforehand. Now we will begin. First, close the eyes, leave the body loose. Close the eyes, leave the body loose. And I will suggest for a little while—experience with me, so the body becomes completely relaxed. I suggest— the body is becoming relaxed—experience with me, the body is becoming relaxed. And keep leaving the body into relaxation, keep letting go. If it falls, let it fall; if it bends, let it bend—do not hold it back. The body is becoming relaxed. The body is becoming relaxed. The body is becoming relaxed. Let go; do not hold even a little. The body is becoming relaxed. The body is becoming relaxed. The body is becoming relaxed. The body is becoming utterly relaxed—as if there were no life in it. Let go, completely let go—just as you drifted in the river, drift now into relaxation. Let go. Let go. The body is becoming relaxed. Each limb is becoming loose and relaxed. The body is becoming relaxed. The body is becoming relaxed. The body is becoming relaxed. The body is becoming relaxed. Let go. Completely let go. The body has become relaxed. The body has become relaxed. The body has become relaxed. Let go; do not hold—if it bends, let it bend; if it falls, let it fall; whatever happens, let it happen. Do not keep your grip upon the body. The body has become relaxed. The body has become relaxed. The body has become relaxed. See—let go; keep no hold at all. The body has become relaxed. The body has become relaxed. The breath is becoming quiet. Let the breath go as well. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. Let go; leave the breath loose too. The breath is becoming quiet. Feel it, sense it: the breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. As the breath quiets, the body will become even more relaxed, utterly loose. The body will become completely relaxed. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. Leave the breath completely loose; gently, gently it quiets so much that one cannot tell when it comes and when it goes. Its very recognition ceases. As upon the pyre you had climbed and dissolved—so let the breath become quiet, let it dissolve. The breath has been the base of our ego—leave it loose, loose, loose—then let it be lost, be lost. The breath has become quiet. The breath has become quiet. And now the third step—Tathata. Now be immersed in absolute acceptance. What is, is. Remain the witness of it. Birds are sounding—we are listening. The sun is hot—we are experiencing it. There is noise on the road—we are the knower of it. Pain is arising in the leg—we are knowing it. The body is falling—we are recognizing it; we are not stopping it. We are not doers; we are only knowers. If the body falls, we know it. If the body bends, we know it. If tears begin to flow from the eyes, we know it. If sobbing arises, we know it. Whatever is happening, is happening. We are not restrainers, not doers—we are only knowing, knowing, knowing. And all is accepted. And whatever we are knowing is accepted—there is no denial of it. Now for ten minutes leave yourself in total acceptance. And slowly, slowly all will become empty, all will be erased, all will be lost. In that very emptiness, for the first time, the footsteps of the Paramatma are heard. His lamp seems to be lit. The music of his veena seems to be arriving. Let go. Now I fall silent. For ten minutes become absorbed in witnessing and acceptance. Remain a witness, keep knowing. The winds are blowing—we are knowing. Birds are sounding—we are knowing. The leaves in the trees are making a murmur—we are knowing. We are only knowing, and there is acceptance. We are merely the knower, the witness only. Seeing, knowing, recognizing—and all is accepted. Slowly, slowly within, emptiness will arise. Slowly, slowly within, a void will be formed. In the temple of that void the meeting with the Lord happens. Keep knowing, keep listening, keep recognizing—only witnessing, filled with total acceptance. Let go. Let go. Be lost. Drift—into this Being, into this existence—be utterly absorbed. We are but its very part. These winds, this sun, these trees are not separate—we all are one. Completely let go. Keep knowing, keep accepting. And the mind will slowly become empty. In that empty mind, springs of bliss will burst forth. In that empty mind, lamps of bliss will be lit. In that empty mind, the veena of bliss will begin to play. Let go—drop yourself in every way. Drift, dissolve—remain only the witness. The mind has become empty. The mind has become silent. The mind has become filled with great coolness and bliss. Remain the witness. Remain the witness. Total acceptance—what is, is. Accept everything and remain only the witness. In your bliss the winds are also blissful, the trees are blissful, the sun is blissful. Only know, accept—accept all—and be lost in all this. The mind has become empty. The mind has become silent. The mind has become filled with bliss. In this mind, filled with quiet bliss, the presence of the Lord is sensed. He begins to be felt all around. The rays of the sun become his rays. The gusts of wind become his gusts. The songs of the leaves become his songs. The clamor of birds becomes his clamor and his call. Now finally, experience his presence—he alone is present everywhere, in all. Slowly take two or four deep breaths; in each breath he is present—each breath will feel filled with bliss. Slowly take two or four deep breaths; he is present in every breath. Slowly take two or four deep breaths. He enters within, he goes out. He alone is everywhere—outside and inside. Slowly take two or four deep breaths. Then slowly open your eyes. If the eyes do not open, place both palms over them, then slowly open the eyes. With eyes closed he was present; with eyes open, all around he is present. Slowly open your eyes. Those who have fallen, take a few deep breaths, then rise very slowly. Do not hurry. If you cannot rise, remain lying, breathe a little more, and then get up. Slowly—without a jerk. Do this experiment at night as you go to sleep, and then fall asleep, so that when you come here tomorrow morning the deep peace of the night is with you, and we can go deeper into the experiment. Do the experiment on your bed at night and fall asleep, so that through the whole night the same peace, the same bliss keeps flowing within. And when you come in the morning, we can go deeper still. Our morning sitting is complete.
Osho's Commentary
A few things must be understood about meditation. For, in the deepest sense, meditation is the very name of understanding.
Meditation means: surrender. Meditation means: to drop oneself totally into the hands of the Paramatma. Meditation is not an act you have to do. Meditation means: do nothing at all and let go into the hands of That which truly is sustaining us.
As I said last night, Paramatma means the original source from which we come and into which we return. But neither the coming is in our hands, nor the returning. We do not know when we arrive here, nor when we depart. Meditation is the name of returning knowingly. When a person dies he returns without wanting it, without knowing it. Meditation is returning knowingly—knowingly dissolving oneself into that original source, so that we may know what That is, and also who we are.
So keep one thing foremost for meditation: surrender, surrender, total surrender. Meditation is the name of dropping yourself completely. One who holds himself even a little will not be able to enter meditation; for holding oneself means stopping at oneself, and letting go means arriving at That to which, on letting go, we reach.
To grasp this matter of surrender, first we will do three small experiments, so that surrender is fully understood. Then the fourth experiment will be meditation. Even surrender cannot be understood by understanding alone; it must be done, so the meaning of surrender becomes clear in our very feeling.
We will do the first experiment for five minutes, then the second, then the third—three experiments of five minutes each, to bring the full flavor of surrender into the heart; then the fourth experiment of meditation. Only by understanding these three can meditation be done.
Sit a little apart, at some distance; let no one be touching anyone. In meditation someone may even fall. So sit far enough apart that if someone falls, he will not fall upon anyone else. There is enough space here—spread out; there is no need to sit close. Be at a little distance, so you can let yourself go completely; otherwise the mind will keep holding on to the idea of keeping control. Holding yourself will become a hindrance. Do not be stingy about space. So much space lies open—move back. And no talking, no sound—silence.
Now the first point, the first experiment. The first experiment is: the experiment of drifting. In a river someone swims—many of us have swum; otherwise we have seen people swim. When one swims, one does something. But drifting is exactly the opposite of swimming—floating. A person drifts, he does not swim. He stops moving his hands and feet and is carried away. Wherever the river takes him, there he goes. He has no personal desire to go anywhere. The swimmer has a desire. The swimmer wants to reach somewhere. The swimmer will fight the river. The swimmer wants to reach that bank, that place. If the river obstructs, she will seem an enemy. And the river will obstruct, for the river is running along her own path. If the swimmer has his own path, a conflict is bound to arise. With drifting there is no opposition to the river. Drifting means to become one with the river. Wherever the river takes us, that is our destination. Then there is no enmity with the river. The first meaning of surrender is: let there be no enmity with life. Let us be able to drift with life, not swim. The first step of meditation is: the experience of drifting. We will have that experience for five minutes. As I say, do the experiment a little, so that its feel can arise inside.
Close the eyes. And closing the eyes means, allow the eyes to close—do not press them shut. Leave the eyelids loose, relaxed, so the eyes close. Close the eyes—let them close by themselves. Leave the lids relaxed so the eyes close. Leave the body loose; keep no stiffness, no rigidity in the body. Leave the body utterly loose. Because we are not going to do any work; we are going to drift—so leave yourself totally relaxed and loose. The eyes have closed, the body has been left loose.
Do not sit in the middle. Now you people move back. Whoever comes back, sit back there—do not sit in the middle, back.
Close the eyes, leave the body loose. Now see a small picture so we can experience it. See: between mountains, shining in the sunlight, a river is rushing by. The mountains gleam in the sun and the river races with great speed. See on the screen of the closed eyes clearly—the river is racing swiftly, the mountains are shining in the sun, the waves of the river are sparkling, the river is racing quickly. The river thunders and rushes along. See the river flowing, clearly upon the inner screen. See the river well, the river running between mountains toward the ocean—very deep, blue in color, waves powerful, movement strong. When you see rightly, you will begin to see continually—the river racing along. Notice its racing well. Know its depth well too; for in a short while we ourselves will be drifting with it. We shall descend into its depth.
The river is running, racing swiftly. As you watch it, a light peace will spread over the mind. Now we also must enter this river. Enter. On the inner screen, in imagination, see that we too have stepped into the river—and we are not to swim, we are to drift—and we have begun drifting in the river. Like a dry leaf drifting in the stream. How could a dry leaf swim? It has no hands or feet. Become like a dry leaf and begin to drift in the river. The waves will carry you, carry you. The river will race toward the ocean; you too will drift with it. Become one with the river. Now for five minutes experience drifting with the river. Only drifting. Remember, do not swim. Do not move hands or feet—let yourself go. If the river drowns you, be drowned; if she brings you up, come up. Wherever she takes you, go there. We have no destination; we are ready to drift. Now I fall silent for five minutes. Drift in the river—so that the exact experience of drifting dawns within, what drifting means. This will become the first step of meditation. Recognize it well.
Two mountains shine in sunlight; the river runs between them; we too are drifting along. And as you drift, such peace will be felt, such freshness will surround you, such bliss will begin to arise within; all worries will fall away, all burdens will drop. For all worries belong to the swimmer; the drifter has no need of worry. All tensions will fall, for all tensions belong to the swimmer; the drifter has no need of tension.
Now I am silent. Keep drifting for five minutes. Leave yourself utterly loose and drift.
Let go. Drift. Completely drift. Surrender into the river and drift. The river rushes on and you are carried along. Let go. Drift. Completely drift. Let go. Let the river carry you; become one with the river. The river runs; you are carried along. Experience drifting rightly; the mind will begin to grow utterly quiet. A coolness and freshness will enter within.
Drift. Let go. Leave the body, leave everything and drift. Completely let go. The river rushes on. See: mountains shine in the sun; the river runs and you too are carried along. See yourself drifting. Do this experience of drifting well—this is the first step of meditation. Drifting. Drifting. Drifting. Not swimming, not doing anything—the river is carrying you, carrying you. The river runs; you too are carried along. You have nothing to do but drift. See—mind will become completely quiet. A freshness will surround you.
Now slowly step out of the river, come onto the bank. The river is still flowing; standing on the bank, for two moments feel what joy, what peace, what bliss has filled the within through drifting in the river! You have come out.
Now slowly open your eyes and understand the second experiment. Slowly open your eyes; understand the second experiment.
The first experiment is: drifting, floating—the first step of meditation. The second experiment is: dying, death, dissolving away. As a seed dissolves and then a sprout happens. As a bud dissolves and then a flower happens. Only when something dissolves does something happen. When we dissolve as a man, only then can we be as Paramatma. The first link of birth is death. And the one who does not learn to die, to dissolve, never reaches that Vastness where reaching requires that everything be left behind. There is a saying of Jesus: Those who save themselves will be lost, and those who lose themselves will be saved.
The second experiment, the second step of meditation, is dissolving away. Now we will do the second experiment. Let this be grasped as experience, so we can bring it into play in meditation. Sit for the second experiment. Close the eyes—meaning, let the eyes close. Leave the eyes loose so they close. Close the eyes, leave the body loose. Leave the body utterly loose; close the eyes. The body is loosened, the eyes are closed. Leave the body completely loose; we are not to hold it—we have already let it go; and the eyes have closed.
Now see a second picture: before the eyes a funeral pyre is ablaze. Flames are leaping high. Around the pyre—though it is dark—faces can be recognized. Your friends, your loved ones have gathered. The flames rise higher and higher. See the pyre clearly, because in a little while we ourselves must be laid upon it. We drifted in the river; now we must drift in fire. The river can carry; the fire will annihilate. See upon the inner screen: fire burns, the pyre burns. The flames leap skyward. Friends and loved ones stand encircled; their faces are visible. In the flames their faces glow. See the flames well. Now we are to enter it. This is not someone else’s pyre—it is ours.
See—the pyre burns, and you have been placed upon it. Now not only the pyre burns—you too are burning. See yourself burning. In a little while all will be ash, all will be gone. Neither pyre will remain nor we; only a little ash will lie at the cremation ground. For five minutes see yourself burning. Everything is burning. The mind will want to run; you cannot run. You have died—where will you run? The mind will want to climb down from the pyre; you cannot. Who will climb down? In a little while ash will begin to form. Friends and loved ones will take leave. The cremation ground will be left to silence. See clearly—you are on the pyre, burning. Flames rise; everything is being consumed; we ourselves are being consumed. For five minutes I will be silent. See yourself burning. In a little while only ash will remain. The cremation ground will fall silent. Surrender yourself into the fire. The fire is growing more intense, and we are burning. All that can burn will burn. Only that will remain which cannot be burned. What can burn must be allowed to burn. It is precisely That which cannot burn that we must recognize. Let what burns, burn.
See—fire has taken hold; the pyre’s flames are blazing; you are burning, burning, burning. The flames rise; the body burns. The flames keep rising; the body keeps burning. In a little while all will be ash. We ourselves will be ash. And to see oneself become ash is a very deep experience.
See—everything is becoming ash, everything is being consumed. Friends and loved ones have begun to leave. You see their backs now; their faces are no longer visible. They are returning. How long can they stand in the cremation ground? They have started to go; they are going. Flames rise, ash rises. Here the flames grow, there the ash grows. We are being burned, burned, coming to an end—completely to be gone. Dissolve. Completely dissolve.
Now no one is visible in the cremation ground. Even the flames begin to die; only a heap of ash remains. Silence has settled on the cremation ground. Everything will be gone. In a little while the embers will die and only ash will remain. Keep watching; to see oneself dissolving is a very deep experience. That is the second step of meditation. Silence has come upon the cremation ground. Even the sound of the flames has ceased. The embers too are fading. A heap of ash lies there.
See, see clearly—now there is no one in the cremation ground; a heap of ash remains—the heap of our own ash. We are gone; a heap of ash remains. And there is the cremation ground, and there is silence. The winds come and the ash is blown away. There is no one left even to gather the ash. This is what we are. This is what we were. Recognize clearly this heap of ash—this is the very face we saw so many times in the mirror. This is the very body we protected all our life, through many, many lives. This heap of ash is a very great truth. Experience it rightly. This is the second step of meditation. All is gone, all is gone—there is silence. A heap of ash lies there—see it rightly. Have you seen the heap of ash—your being, your final outcome?
Now slowly open your eyes. Then understand the third experiment, and do the third experiment for five minutes.
The first experiment is: the experience of drifting.
The second experiment is: the experience of dying.
And the third experiment is: Tathata.
The third experiment is the deepest. It must be understood well. Tathata means: things are as they are. We have no opposition to them. Birds are making sounds—so be it. The sunlight is hot—so be it. Winds blow and coolness is felt—so be it. Life as it is we accept. We do not wish to change it, nor to meddle. No opposition, no rejection. Tathata means: things are such—as they are—and we are in accord. Tathata means: becoming perfectly willing—total acceptability.
When we become wholly willing toward anything, all the mind’s turmoil and its quietude both disappear. Then all the disease of the mind is destroyed. Then all tension ends. The tension and restlessness of mind arise from our opposition. We want things to be in a certain way. Now a crow caws, a bird cries—and we want, because we are meditating, that the birds keep silent. But what concern do birds have with your meditation? The winds will blow, and we will want them not to blow—let them hold for a while. Vehicles will pass on the road, there will be sounds, horns will blare, and we will say, this is a great disturbance. Then you will never be able to enter meditation.
Life cannot stop for you. Life will go on, it will keep moving. Then what is the way? The difficulty of those who sit to meditate is that sometimes someone honks on the road, sometimes a baby cries, sometimes a dog barks, sometimes there is a quarrel in the street—disturbances arise. But I want to tell you: if the point of Tathata is understood, then in this world there is no such thing as disturbance. Tathata means: whatever is happening, we accept. Where then is disturbance? Disturbance occurs—hindrance occurs—when we say, this should not happen, and it happens; then trouble arises.
But we say: as it is happening, it is happening—we are willing. If a horn sounds, we are willing to listen. If a baby cries, we are willing to listen. If birds call out, we are willing to listen. We have no opposition. We do not stand as an adversary to life; we accept this life as a friend. The feeling of acceptance is the deepest matter in meditation. And whoever accepts everything becomes the most free. As far as our opposition extends, there is our bondage. As far as we are stiff, there is our misery. As far as we say, let this be, let that not be—there is trouble. But when we say, as it is happening, so it is happening—we accept, we are willing, we too are a part of it—then all opposition dissolves.
So do the third five-minute experiment of meditation, and then the fourth experiment will be meditation itself. Out of the total of these three, meditation will be born. Do the third experiment of Tathata.
Close the eyes, leave the body loose. Let the eyes close and leave the body loose. Leaving the body loose means we have become one with all around—we are not separate. Now whatever is happening, silently experience it, know it. Do not oppose. See—cars sound, birds sing—accept it all. Whatever is happening, is happening—we are willing. We are willing—let this echo deep inside. We are willing, we are willing with everything. Whatever is happening, whatever is happening, whatever is happening—we are willing. We have no opposition. And not only outside, inside also we are willing. If the foot becomes numb, if an ant bites the foot—we are willing for that too. If a thought moves within—we are willing for that too. We have no opposition at all; inside and outside, everywhere, we are willing.
For five minutes leave yourself in the state of Tathata. Sunlight falls upon the face, sweat begins to flow—we are willing. All right—sunlight will fall, sweat will flow. And when we are willing, even sunlight will begin to feel very cool. See—even the sounds of the road will feel most pleasant when we are willing. When we are willing, a loving experience with the whole existence begins. And through the door of that love the Paramatma arrives. When we are willing, there is love—and when there is love, there is Paramatma.
Now for five minutes I fall silent.
Become willing. Accept everything in totality and see how quiet the mind becomes—like never before. Fountains of peace burst open inside—like never before. A light spreads within. A cool radiance, a soft shadow of light spreads. See, silently experience: what is, is—and we are willing. Birds, make your sounds! Winds, blow! Sun, blaze! We are willing. We are willing. We are willing. For whatever is, we are willing. We have no opposition. We are but a part of this vast existence. We are part of these winds, of these calling birds, of this burning sun, of the noise upon the road—we are a part of this great universe. We have no opposition. How can a part oppose? We are willing. Completely willing. Surrender into this acceptance. Whatever is happening, is happening, is happening. Whatever is happening is right, is auspicious. Whatever is happening is beautiful. Whatever is happening, is happening—we are willing; we have no opposition. And see how the mind fills with peace. See how the mind grows silent. See how a new light begins to spread within. The train’s sound is so pleasant. The voices of birds, the sound of the winds, the rustling of trees and leaves—all is accepted. Life as it is is accepted.
Acceptance. Acceptance. Total acceptance. Whatever is, is accepted. And the moment acceptance happens, we become merely a part of the Whole. Then the sun is not separate, the birds not separate, the trees not separate—none is separate; earth not separate, sky not separate—all is joined, all is one. We become one with all.
Experience Tathata rightly—this acceptance, this consent—experience it rightly. This is the third step of meditation. Recognize well what acceptance means. See whether anywhere within there is opposition. See whether anywhere within there is a mood of refusal. See whether because of anything a hindrance or obstacle arises inside. Experience: all is accepted, all is accepted; whatever is happening is accepted. There is no rejection at all.
Now slowly open your eyes. Then understand the experiment of meditation and we will do it.
We did these three experiments in order to understand. These are the three stages of meditation.
The first experiment is: letting oneself drift. We did the experiments so that if it does not become clear through words it may become clear through experience—hence the use of imagination. You must have understood the contrast between swimming and drifting. Do not swim—drift. Swimming is an ego; drifting is surrender.
The second experiment we did: dissolving, becoming finished. Trying to save oneself is great madness. One who engages in saving himself will never know the Whole. If a drop insists on remaining a drop, it cannot know the ocean. If the drop wants to know the ocean, it must dissolve. But the drop, by losing herself in the ocean, does not truly disappear—she becomes the ocean. From the small, she becomes the vast. In truth, we are the small. If the great is to be known, the small must dissolve. The petty we are; we are bound by limits. Only when the limits break can we be the limitless. Yet we are all busy saving ourselves.
So the second link of meditation is: do not save yourself—let go, dissolve, become finished. Surely, what can dissolve will dissolve. What cannot dissolve will not dissolve. And within us there are both—what can dissolve and what cannot. What can dissolve, will dissolve—it will dissolve whether we wish it or not. What cannot dissolve cannot be made to disappear, even if we wish. It will remain, remain. So the second experiment we did: ascending the pyre, burning, becoming ash. It is very necessary for meditation; for one must dissolve, one must die. Meditation is the very name of death brought voluntarily.
The third experiment we did: Tathata. Tathata means: the acceptance of things as they are. And if one accepts, then one cannot be disturbed.
Restlessness comes from rejection. Tension comes from rejection. All our life’s trouble and worry come from rejection.
A bullock cart is going along; a drunkard is sitting in it; you are also seated, and the cart overturns. Remember—you will be hurt; the drunkard will not. It is a strange thing: the drunk should be the one to be hurt—he was intoxicated. Why did we get hurt? We were not drunk. Yet the cart overturns, the drunkard is saved, and you are injured. Because the drunk accepts everything—he has no awareness to oppose. He falls, and he falls totally. There is not even the mood to save himself.
One who is alert will try to save himself. When the cart overturns he will stiffen; in the effort to save himself he will strain. Bones will stretch, alertness will contract. The tense bones will take the blow and will break. The drunkard falls on the road every day—he is not hurt. You fall, and you are in trouble. Children fall daily and are not injured. We fall, and bones break. Children accept even the falling—they are willing for that too. And when one becomes willing even to fall, then it becomes very hard to be hurt. Because of his willingness, opposition ceases.
One who takes life with the mood of acceptance—life cannot wound him. And the one who opposes life, life wounds him much, leaves many scars, creates many ulcers. One who accepts life totally, as it comes, opening the doors in consent—life can never hurt him.
Therefore the third experiment is: acceptance. Because if one has to know the Paramatma, one can know only by accepting life totally. That which we reject, with that we become enemies. That against which we stand, our doors are closed to it. Our mind becomes closed, shut. Then it does not open. But when we accept, all opens. In that open mind the descent happens—that becomes the doorway. So the third step is: Tathata—total acceptance.
Now in meditation we will employ all three together.
Before sitting for the experiment of meditation, I would like you to move a little farther apart, because—now you will have to drop the body completely; it may fall—and if it falls, do not worry. If you become engaged in preventing the fall, you will be stuck right there. If it falls, let it fall. So move a little farther apart. Some more friends have come; those who have come, silently move to an open place, so that if anyone falls he does not fall upon another, and no one needs to control himself for another. And some friends are seated at the back—if they do not wish to do the experiment, at least do not talk there. Do not talk at the back and sit a little away. If someone wishes to lie down, quietly go to some corner and lie down beforehand.
Now we will begin.
First, close the eyes, leave the body loose. Close the eyes, leave the body loose. And I will suggest for a little while—experience with me, so the body becomes completely relaxed. I suggest— the body is becoming relaxed—experience with me, the body is becoming relaxed. And keep leaving the body into relaxation, keep letting go. If it falls, let it fall; if it bends, let it bend—do not hold it back. The body is becoming relaxed. The body is becoming relaxed. The body is becoming relaxed. Let go; do not hold even a little. The body is becoming relaxed. The body is becoming relaxed. The body is becoming relaxed. The body is becoming utterly relaxed—as if there were no life in it.
Let go, completely let go—just as you drifted in the river, drift now into relaxation. Let go. Let go. The body is becoming relaxed. Each limb is becoming loose and relaxed. The body is becoming relaxed. The body is becoming relaxed. The body is becoming relaxed. The body is becoming relaxed. Let go. Completely let go. The body has become relaxed. The body has become relaxed. The body has become relaxed. Let go; do not hold—if it bends, let it bend; if it falls, let it fall; whatever happens, let it happen. Do not keep your grip upon the body. The body has become relaxed. The body has become relaxed. The body has become relaxed. See—let go; keep no hold at all. The body has become relaxed. The body has become relaxed.
The breath is becoming quiet. Let the breath go as well. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. Let go; leave the breath loose too. The breath is becoming quiet. Feel it, sense it: the breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. As the breath quiets, the body will become even more relaxed, utterly loose. The body will become completely relaxed. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. Leave the breath completely loose; gently, gently it quiets so much that one cannot tell when it comes and when it goes. Its very recognition ceases. As upon the pyre you had climbed and dissolved—so let the breath become quiet, let it dissolve. The breath has been the base of our ego—leave it loose, loose, loose—then let it be lost, be lost. The breath has become quiet. The breath has become quiet.
And now the third step—Tathata. Now be immersed in absolute acceptance. What is, is. Remain the witness of it. Birds are sounding—we are listening. The sun is hot—we are experiencing it. There is noise on the road—we are the knower of it. Pain is arising in the leg—we are knowing it. The body is falling—we are recognizing it; we are not stopping it. We are not doers; we are only knowers. If the body falls, we know it. If the body bends, we know it. If tears begin to flow from the eyes, we know it. If sobbing arises, we know it. Whatever is happening, is happening. We are not restrainers, not doers—we are only knowing, knowing, knowing. And all is accepted. And whatever we are knowing is accepted—there is no denial of it. Now for ten minutes leave yourself in total acceptance. And slowly, slowly all will become empty, all will be erased, all will be lost. In that very emptiness, for the first time, the footsteps of the Paramatma are heard. His lamp seems to be lit. The music of his veena seems to be arriving. Let go.
Now I fall silent. For ten minutes become absorbed in witnessing and acceptance.
Remain a witness, keep knowing. The winds are blowing—we are knowing. Birds are sounding—we are knowing. The leaves in the trees are making a murmur—we are knowing. We are only knowing, and there is acceptance. We are merely the knower, the witness only. Seeing, knowing, recognizing—and all is accepted. Slowly, slowly within, emptiness will arise. Slowly, slowly within, a void will be formed. In the temple of that void the meeting with the Lord happens. Keep knowing, keep listening, keep recognizing—only witnessing, filled with total acceptance.
Let go. Let go. Be lost. Drift—into this Being, into this existence—be utterly absorbed. We are but its very part. These winds, this sun, these trees are not separate—we all are one. Completely let go. Keep knowing, keep accepting. And the mind will slowly become empty. In that empty mind, springs of bliss will burst forth. In that empty mind, lamps of bliss will be lit. In that empty mind, the veena of bliss will begin to play. Let go—drop yourself in every way. Drift, dissolve—remain only the witness.
The mind has become empty. The mind has become silent. The mind has become filled with great coolness and bliss.
Remain the witness. Remain the witness. Total acceptance—what is, is. Accept everything and remain only the witness. In your bliss the winds are also blissful, the trees are blissful, the sun is blissful. Only know, accept—accept all—and be lost in all this.
The mind has become empty. The mind has become silent. The mind has become filled with bliss. In this mind, filled with quiet bliss, the presence of the Lord is sensed. He begins to be felt all around. The rays of the sun become his rays. The gusts of wind become his gusts. The songs of the leaves become his songs. The clamor of birds becomes his clamor and his call. Now finally, experience his presence—he alone is present everywhere, in all.
Slowly take two or four deep breaths; in each breath he is present—each breath will feel filled with bliss. Slowly take two or four deep breaths; he is present in every breath. Slowly take two or four deep breaths. He enters within, he goes out. He alone is everywhere—outside and inside. Slowly take two or four deep breaths. Then slowly open your eyes. If the eyes do not open, place both palms over them, then slowly open the eyes. With eyes closed he was present; with eyes open, all around he is present. Slowly open your eyes. Those who have fallen, take a few deep breaths, then rise very slowly. Do not hurry. If you cannot rise, remain lying, breathe a little more, and then get up. Slowly—without a jerk.
Do this experiment at night as you go to sleep, and then fall asleep, so that when you come here tomorrow morning the deep peace of the night is with you, and we can go deeper into the experiment. Do the experiment on your bed at night and fall asleep, so that through the whole night the same peace, the same bliss keeps flowing within. And when you come in the morning, we can go deeper still.
Our morning sitting is complete.