Meditation is the act of dissolving, of losing oneself into that which is our original source. As a seed breaks and becomes a tree, so when a human being gathers the courage to break, he becomes Paramatma. Man is the seed, Paramatma the tree. Only if we break can That happen.
Just as a river disappears into the ocean and becomes the ocean, so too. But if a river refuses to lose itself in the ocean, it will remain only a river. And if it refuses to dissolve, it will not even remain a river; it will become a pond, a bound, stagnant pool. For whoever denies dissolving into the ocean must also deny the flow, because all that flows finally reaches the ocean; only what is stopped never arrives. If a river refuses to reach the ocean, it will not remain a river; it will certainly not be the ocean, it will be a closed puddle. Puddles only dry up and rot. They never know the great life of the ocean.
We too become like little stagnant pools, because our streams of life do not flow toward the ocean of Paramatma. And only one who is ready to be absorbed into the Vast can flow. One who fears dissolution will stop, will stagnate, will freeze; the flow will cease. Life is flow, day by day, toward the greater and the ever-greater. Life is a journey toward ever-expanding vastness.
But we have all stopped on the road like milestones. Meditation is the longing to bring this flow back. That is why I said yesterday: meditation is surrender, surrender. And surrender must be total. The truth is, there is no such thing as partial surrender. Surrender can only be complete, total. It is not possible to place half in the hands of Paramatma and keep the other half in our own hands. If we leave it, we leave it totally; if we do not, we will not be able to leave anything at all.
In English there is a word: 'let-go.' To let everything go. If even for a single moment we can let everything go, we become worthy to receive all. This is a great paradox. When it rains on the mountains, the lofty peaks remain empty because they are already full; and the hollows and ravines fill up, the lakes fill—because they are empty. What is full remains empty; what is empty becomes filled. The rain of Paramatma is pouring every moment. It is raining on all sides. But since we are already filled within, we remain empty. If only we could become like hollows within, then Paramatma could fill us. We can all become available to that filling, to that fulfillment. It is very paradoxical, but it is the truth. Those who are full remain empty; those who are empty become filled.
Therefore the second meaning of meditation is: to become empty—emptiness. To become utterly empty, so that nothing remains. Erasing oneself, surrendering, emptying—these signify one and the same.
To understand this dissolving state of meditation we will first do three small experiments, as we did yesterday. Five minutes each. Then we will do a ten-minute meditation experiment. These three are the steps to meditation. If we understand them rightly, meditation is very easy; if not, it becomes very difficult. So first do these three experiments carefully.
First, move a little apart. Let the voice be heard far. Do not sit too dense. If someone may fall, or you fear you might fall on someone, move to a place where that will not happen. Make enough space around you that even if you lie down there will be no disturbance to anyone. Move quickly—do not wait—because by a small negligence much can be lost. No, no, just fidgeting there will not help. What difference will it make if you wriggle in place? Your shifting there will not create space. Move from there. There is plenty of space all around; there is the opportunity—use it fully. Sit in such a way that you can be completely carefree: if you fall, you fall—no problem.
Close your eyes. Do the first experiment. Close your eyes; let the body be loose. Close your eyes and let the body be loose. The first experiment is: the taste of flowing. Eyes closed, body relaxed. Now begin to see an inner picture—a river running between two mountains, the peaks shining in the sunlight; between those two mountains a river is flowing. Swift current, great speed, deep blue water; the river is flowing, rushing in search of the ocean. Somewhere far away, in the unknown, is the ocean; the river rushes toward its quest. See this river clearly; recognize its rushing. Because in a moment we shall enter it, and we too have to be carried away. See—the river speeding toward the ocean. Let it be seen clearly: the peaks on both sides glittering in the sun; between them the blue stream, flowing fast, hurrying on a long journey. We are to enter this river. And on entering, not to swim—just to be carried. As if we had no hands and feet, so we are to fall into the river, so that the river may take us along. We are to do nothing—only flow. And to understand well this experience of being carried, of floating—this will be the first step of meditation. Remember, the taste is of flowing, not of swimming. Understand the difference. Do not swim in the river. If you swim, you will have to do something; that will not be surrender. If you float, the river does; that is surrender. In meditation we leave ourselves in the river of Paramatma and are carried. We do nothing; we leave ourselves in His hands—let Him do what He will, or not do.
See—the river is flowing, running. Now you too step in and be carried in the same river. As a dry leaf falls into a flowing river, so fall into the river and be carried. Do not swim. The river is rushing; you too are being carried in it. For five minutes I will be silent; you taste the flow. You have fallen into the river and are being carried. You are not swimming. You are not moving hands and feet. No effort, no striving—just being carried. The river is running; it will take you too. You are no burden to the river. The river need not exert—it is running. You too are being carried in it. Now I am silent. For five minutes taste the flowing. Catch this experience well. Recognize it well, because this is the first step of meditation.
Flow. Let go. Be completely carried. Leave yourself in the river and be carried away. The river is racing; you too are being carried in it. We are being carried in that river. Not swimming, not making effort. The river itself is flowing and is carrying us along. Leave yourself totally and be carried. A great lightness will be felt, a great freshness. The mind will become utterly quiet. Flow, and all burdens will drop, the tensions of the mind will dissolve. Flow. Let go completely; the river will carry you. Let go. Let go as a child lets go in the mother’s lap. So leave yourself in the river’s lap—the river will take you. Flow—completely flow. Flowing, the mind will become very light and quiet. A deep freshness will fill within. Everything inside will become cool.
We are flowing, flowing, being carried. No swimming, no effort, not even moving the hands—the river is carrying us, and we are being carried along. Nothing to do—only to be carried. The mountains are shining in the sun; the deep blue river is rushing on; we too are being carried along. See—everything becomes cool, light and quiet; all tension of the mind drops. Understand and recognize this experience of flowing well. This is the first step of meditation.
Then slowly come out of the river. See—standing again on the bank—see the river racing on; and standing on the bank, feel the difference within, before and after the flowing. Has the mind become lighter? Quieter? Fresher? New? Stand for a moment on the bank and recognize how fresh everything has become—how quiet, how light the mind has become.
Then slowly open the eyes. Understand the second experiment, and then do it.
The first experiment is the experience of flowing. It is the exact opposite of swimming. In swimming we must do something; in flowing, the river does. Meditation is not like swimming; it is like flowing. When we run a shop, we must do; when we meditate, Paramatma does. We have nothing to do—only to avoid becoming an obstacle and allow Him to do what He wishes. Meditation means: we will not obstruct, and whatever Paramatma wishes to do with us, we will give Him space to do it. We will allow it; we will leave ourselves open. Let Him come and do what He will.
The sun has risen outside the house and inside there is darkness. We have kept the door closed and ask someone, “We want the sun’s rays to enter—what should we do?” He will say, “Do nothing; just leave the door open so the sun can come in. Only do not block—and the sun will enter. Just do not block. Leave the door open; the sun comes in of its own accord.” We cannot carry sunlight in bundles, nor bring it in clutched in our fists, nor sealed in boxes. We can only do one thing—negatively—and that is to keep the door open. Then the sun will come.
The taste of flowing is the taste of leaving oneself, so that if Paramatma wants to do something, He can. And the infinite powers of Paramatma can do immeasurably more than we can reckon. We only do not obstruct. We do not stand in the way. We leave it and say, “Let what must be, be.”
Now the second experience: death. Close your eyes; let the body be loose. And for five minutes enter the taste of death. Close the eyes; let the body be loose. And do not be concerned about anyone else; what happens to anyone else is irrelevant. Do not look around to see what is happening to others. That only robs you of seeing yourself. Close your eyes. I ask you to close your eyes so that you stop being concerned with others and remain alone within.
Close your eyes; let the body be loose. Now bring the second picture before your eyes. You are standing at the cremation ground; the pyre is burning; flames are leaping into the sky. Many times you have gone to the cremation ground—but always to burn someone else. Today you have arrived to burn yourself. Friends and loved ones are all gathered around. In the glow of the flames, even in the darkness, their faces are visible. Look closely—friends and loved ones are gathered all around. The pyre is lit, and none other has been laid on it—we ourselves have been laid there. See clearly: it is we who are on the pyre, not someone else. Many times we carried another to the pyre; someday many others will carry us. In meditation, let us lay ourselves upon the pyre and see what happens. Place yourself upon the fire. It is our own face that is burning on the pyre. These are our hands; this is our body. Not only is the pyre burning—we are burning. Flames are racing toward the sky. In a short while all will be ashes. For five minutes watch yourself burning on the pyre.
See—the pyre is burning; flames are leaping toward the sky. The wind is strong, fanning and swelling the flames. We ourselves are burning—hands and feet burning, face burning, body burning. Everything is being burned. Everything is being burned. Keep watching for five minutes. Everything is being burned—so that only that remains which cannot burn, and that which can burn is burned away.
We are burning—burning of our own accord. The flames rise higher; everything is being consumed. In a little while only ashes will remain. The flames rise, and the ashes grow. The flames rise, and we burn. All is coming to an end.
See—the faces are slowly turning away; those who had gathered at the cremation ground are going back. Their backs are now visible; they have begun to walk away; the sound of their footsteps can be heard. They are gone. The cremation ground is left alone; the pyre remains; and a heap of ashes is accumulating. Be erased, be burned, be finished—so that only that remains which does not burn, does not perish, does not end. The flames are shrinking now; only a heap of ashes will remain. Soon there will be no flames, the embers too will die; the cremation ground will be solitary, sinking into darkness, and there will remain a heap of ashes.
See this heap well; see this erasure. This is the second step of meditation: the disappearance of the self. Erased, burned, all is finishing. The embers are dying; a heap of ashes lies there. This heap is we ourselves—this heap is we. Dust has returned to dust. Recognize it well. The cremation ground is desolate; darkness has gathered; flames have gone out; embers have gone cold. The heap of ashes remains. All is gone. With the feeling that all is gone, a deep peace will descend. Silence will spread to the innermost corners of the breath. With the feeling “I myself am gone,” all tensions will scatter, all restlessness will dissolve, all worry will vanish. They were with me; they burned on my pyre—worries, tensions, restlessness. Now only a vast silence, a void remains within. All is burned; only a heap of ashes lies there. And when I myself am gone—what anxiety? What unrest? What sorrow? What pain? All has ended. Understand this state of being erased. This is the second step of meditation.
Now slowly open your eyes—slowly open—and understand the third step; then do it.
The first is: to flow away. The second is: to disappear. And the third is: tathata—suchness. Tathata is the center of meditation. Tathata means: whatever is, we are in accord with it—we have no resistance. Tathata means: no resistance, aversionless, no opposition to anything. Whatever is, we are wholly in agreement with its being so. We neither ask nor desire otherwise. Birds are crying out—we are in accord with their cries. There are birds; they will cry. Winds will move; leaves will tremble; there will be sound. There are leaves; they will move and make sound. We accept. Someone will pass on the road, a cart will go by, a train will pass, there will be noise—we accept. We accept life as it is, in its totality.
Tathata means: we accept all—no resistance. And when there is no resistance, where can disturbance be? When there is no resistance, where is obstruction? When there is no resistance, the mind within instantly dissolves—becomes a void. It is only in resisting that we stand and become strong. In resistance the ego is forged. The more we resist, the stronger the ego becomes. The more I say, “Not like this, not like this,” the stronger the “I” grows. When I say, “As it is, it is—so be it, so be it, so be it,” where is any way for the “I” to stand?
If life as it is is accepted, there is no way for the ego to be made. Ego arises from rejection; it is constructed, thickened, strengthened by denial. When I say, “Leaves should not be like this, winds should not be like this, the moon should not be like this, birds should not make noise, the road should be silent,” I am saying: I should be imposed upon all; all should run by my command; I should sit above all; I should be the master. But when I say, “Let things be as they are—blessed; as they are—accepted; as they are—thankful; as they are—I am grateful; as all is going—it is right,” then I do not impose myself; then I take my leave. Then I become one with all.
Tathata means: total acceptance—whatever is, is accepted as it is. And if for even five minutes everything is accepted, you will be amazed how the mind enters new realms of peace. For five minutes practice tathata. Understand it well. Then we will bring these three together in meditation.
Close your eyes; let the body be loose. Close your eyes; let the body be loose. Close your eyes; let the body be loose. The eyes are closed; the body is relaxed. We have no resistance; the world as it is, life as it is—we accept it. See—the road sounds are there; we accept them—no resistance in the mind. See within clearly: we have no resistance. Birds are making a racket—we accept. No resistance. The sun is hot—we accept. No resistance. Whatever is—we accept. No resistance. Not only outside—inside as well. If the leg begins to ache, if the leg goes numb, if there is tingling in the leg—we accept it. No resistance. If some thought is moving in the mind—let it move—we accept it. No resistance. For five minutes merge into the mood of non-resistance. What is, is. We consent. Let it be so. No demand for otherwise, no longing for otherwise. For five minutes, we are wholly in accord with what is. And see—while consenting, consenting—everything dissolves, and a deep peace, a void, an emptiness arises within.
For five minutes now, silently, sink into this mood of tathata. Let go. Leave yourself. Let what is be as it is. When we consent to all, the flow of love begins toward all. Then the birds’ sounds are heard differently; the noise of the road seems of a different sort—our own. Love begins to flow toward everything. Toward that which we consent to, love flows. And the mind becomes utterly quiet. We consent—we consent. Accepted—accepted. Whatever is, as it is—accepted. This too accepted, that too accepted, whatever is—accepted. Sink into a feeling of acceptance. All is accepted. The sun is hot—this too is accepted. The shade is cool—this too is accepted. Let go—let go completely. All is accepted. We become one with the Whole—as soon as we accept, we become one with the Whole. Then the winds are not separate, nor the sun, nor the birds’ voices, nor the trees’ movement—we too are one with all this.
Let go—let go completely and accept. Sink and accept. All is accepted. Let go and accept. For five minutes, all is accepted. Let go—let go—all is accepted. All is accepted. And merge. This vast ocean all around—merge into it. Let go—all is accepted. And the moment acceptance happens on this side, the ocean of peace enters within on that side.
Recognize well this experience of tathata—it is the soul of meditation, its very life. In the deepest of the deep, meditation is tathata. Grasp this mood of total acceptance well. Recognize it well. This is the center of meditation, its soul. All is accepted—and the mind grows quiet, the mind becomes empty. We have no opposition to the world; as the world is, we agree with it. For we are a part of the world—what opposition, what enmity, what hostility can there be? And then the prana within meets the prana outside.
Now slowly open your eyes. Then understand the meditation experiment and do the final experiment of meditation. Slowly open your eyes.
We have understood three things: the feeling of flowing; the feeling of dying, of disappearing; and the feeling of total acceptance—tathata. Now we will bring these three together in meditation. In this combined experiment, deep results will arise from flowing, from disappearing, from the acceptance of “what is, is.” The body may fall, the body may bend. If you manage it back into posture, you will be stuck right there. Do not manage it. If it falls, let it fall. Do not be frightened that you will be hurt. You never will be. When the body falls of its own accord, it does not get injured. There is no question of injury. If you hold it upright, you will be stuck there. Then resistance begins again; acceptance is lost. Tears may flow from the eyes. The mind will become very light and tears will fall. If you try to stop them, you will create trouble. Someone may begin to cry; there is no need to stop it. Whatever happens in these fifteen minutes—let it happen. We have no objection to anything. And whatever is released will be good; a profound peace and lightness will remain within.
Now sit for the fourth and final experiment—meditation.
Close your eyes; let the body be loose. For a little while I will suggest—experience with me. If you experience with me, the result will begin immediately.
Close your eyes; let the body be loose. Now I suggest—experience with me. The body is becoming relaxed. Feel that the body is becoming utterly relaxed. The body is relaxing. The body is relaxing. Keep letting go—loose, loose, loose. The body is relaxing. The body is relaxing. The body is relaxing. Slowly the body will become completely relaxed—as if it is not there. Slowly the very sense of the body will fade. The body is relaxing. The body is relaxing. Let go—let go completely. The body is relaxing. If it bends, let it bend; if it falls, let it fall. The body is relaxing. The body is relaxing. The body is relaxing. The body is becoming utterly relaxed. The body is relaxing. And as the body relaxes, a deep peace will spread within. The body is relaxing. Leave yourself to relaxation as you left yourself to the river. Let go—be carried. The body has relaxed. The body has relaxed. The body has relaxed. The body has relaxed.
Let go. Let go. Let go. The body has relaxed. The breath is becoming quiet. Feel—the breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming slow and quiet. Slowly it will seem as if the breath is utterly quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. And as the breath seems to quiet, it will feel as if we are disappearing—disappearing—disappearing. As at the pyre it felt that only a heap of earth remained; as the breath grows quiet it will seem the body is a heap of earth, a heap of ashes. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming utterly quiet. The breath is becoming quiet.
The breath has become quiet, the body relaxed; the breath has become quiet—now leave yourself completely and settle into the third: tathata. All is accepted. The body is loose; the breath is quiet. And we have come close to being one with the whole world. Now all is accepted—whatever is happening is happening. Birds are sounding; trees are trembling in the wind; sunlight is pouring; there are sounds on the road; all is accepted. Keep knowing this—accept it—keep knowing—be the witness. We are only the witness, the seer—knowing, knowing—and all is accepted. Slowly the inner curtains will rise. Slowly the inner doors will open. And a peace will rain such as you have never known. A light will pervade within—unknown, never before recognized. Springs of bliss will burst within, thrilling every pore—renewing all. Let go.
Now for ten minutes remain in the witnessing mood of tathata. The body relaxed, the breath quiet, and we have accepted the whole world. We are knowing, only recognizing, seeing, understanding—only the knower, only the seer, only the witness. Doing nothing. Birds are sounding—we are listening. Winds touch—we are knowing. Sunrays pour—we are recognizing. We are only the seer, merely the seer—and everything is accepted. For ten minutes lose yourself in acceptance.
Only the witness remains. Total acceptance, and we remain as witness—only a witness, only knowing, recognizing—only the witness. And the mind will descend into deep peace. The deepest peace will reveal itself within, and the mind will be immersed in deep bliss. Every pore will thrill with joy. A light will fill within; the inner darkness will break. In this peace, in this bliss, in this light the experience of the Divine becomes available. His presence is felt on all sides. Then birds are no longer just birds; plants are no longer only plants; winds are no longer just winds; the sun’s heat is no longer merely heat. Then all becomes the dance of Paramatma. Everywhere His dance—His footsteps can be heard.
See—and remain only the witness. Total acceptance, and only the witness remains. Sounds on the road—and we consent. Whatever is happening, we consent. We have no opposition to whatever is. As a drop dissolves into the ocean, so we consent to dissolve into the Whole. This Whole—we consent to lose ourselves in it. As a river merges into the ocean, so we consent to be lost in that vast ocean.
Let go. Let go. Let yourself go completely—be lost, be carried, disappear. Accept everything. And then see how the flowers of peace begin to bloom within. Then see how the veena of bliss begins to hum within. Then see how a thousand lamps are lit by the light of Paramatma. Total acceptance—and we are the witness. We are lost, we are gone, we are merged—we have become one with the Whole. See how a deep peace, a deep joy, a deep radiance has spread within.
Then slowly take two or four deep breaths. With each breath there will be much joy, much peace. Slowly take two or four deep breaths; with each breath there will be much joy, much peace. Slowly take two or four deep breaths. Then slowly open the eyes. Whatever has been known within, experience it outside as well. Slowly open the eyes. If the eyes do not open, place both palms upon them and then open them gently. Slowly open the eyes. Those who have fallen, take two or four deep breaths and then rise very gently. Do not be in a hurry to get up. Do not jerk—rise very gently.
Do this experiment at night on your bed as you go to sleep—and fall asleep doing it—so that all night long a deep current of meditation flows within. Then tomorrow morning come here and do the experiment again. Before coming, bathe; wear fresh clothes. From home itself, stop talking—come silent, in maun. Walk with your eyes lowered. Keep the eyes lowered. Come silent; sit here silently. Do not talk here either.
Osho's Commentary
Just as a river disappears into the ocean and becomes the ocean, so too. But if a river refuses to lose itself in the ocean, it will remain only a river. And if it refuses to dissolve, it will not even remain a river; it will become a pond, a bound, stagnant pool. For whoever denies dissolving into the ocean must also deny the flow, because all that flows finally reaches the ocean; only what is stopped never arrives. If a river refuses to reach the ocean, it will not remain a river; it will certainly not be the ocean, it will be a closed puddle. Puddles only dry up and rot. They never know the great life of the ocean.
We too become like little stagnant pools, because our streams of life do not flow toward the ocean of Paramatma. And only one who is ready to be absorbed into the Vast can flow. One who fears dissolution will stop, will stagnate, will freeze; the flow will cease. Life is flow, day by day, toward the greater and the ever-greater. Life is a journey toward ever-expanding vastness.
But we have all stopped on the road like milestones. Meditation is the longing to bring this flow back. That is why I said yesterday: meditation is surrender, surrender. And surrender must be total. The truth is, there is no such thing as partial surrender. Surrender can only be complete, total. It is not possible to place half in the hands of Paramatma and keep the other half in our own hands. If we leave it, we leave it totally; if we do not, we will not be able to leave anything at all.
In English there is a word: 'let-go.' To let everything go. If even for a single moment we can let everything go, we become worthy to receive all. This is a great paradox. When it rains on the mountains, the lofty peaks remain empty because they are already full; and the hollows and ravines fill up, the lakes fill—because they are empty. What is full remains empty; what is empty becomes filled. The rain of Paramatma is pouring every moment. It is raining on all sides. But since we are already filled within, we remain empty. If only we could become like hollows within, then Paramatma could fill us. We can all become available to that filling, to that fulfillment. It is very paradoxical, but it is the truth. Those who are full remain empty; those who are empty become filled.
Therefore the second meaning of meditation is: to become empty—emptiness. To become utterly empty, so that nothing remains. Erasing oneself, surrendering, emptying—these signify one and the same.
To understand this dissolving state of meditation we will first do three small experiments, as we did yesterday. Five minutes each. Then we will do a ten-minute meditation experiment. These three are the steps to meditation. If we understand them rightly, meditation is very easy; if not, it becomes very difficult. So first do these three experiments carefully.
First, move a little apart. Let the voice be heard far. Do not sit too dense. If someone may fall, or you fear you might fall on someone, move to a place where that will not happen. Make enough space around you that even if you lie down there will be no disturbance to anyone. Move quickly—do not wait—because by a small negligence much can be lost. No, no, just fidgeting there will not help. What difference will it make if you wriggle in place? Your shifting there will not create space. Move from there. There is plenty of space all around; there is the opportunity—use it fully. Sit in such a way that you can be completely carefree: if you fall, you fall—no problem.
Close your eyes. Do the first experiment. Close your eyes; let the body be loose. Close your eyes and let the body be loose. The first experiment is: the taste of flowing. Eyes closed, body relaxed. Now begin to see an inner picture—a river running between two mountains, the peaks shining in the sunlight; between those two mountains a river is flowing. Swift current, great speed, deep blue water; the river is flowing, rushing in search of the ocean. Somewhere far away, in the unknown, is the ocean; the river rushes toward its quest. See this river clearly; recognize its rushing. Because in a moment we shall enter it, and we too have to be carried away. See—the river speeding toward the ocean. Let it be seen clearly: the peaks on both sides glittering in the sun; between them the blue stream, flowing fast, hurrying on a long journey. We are to enter this river. And on entering, not to swim—just to be carried. As if we had no hands and feet, so we are to fall into the river, so that the river may take us along. We are to do nothing—only flow. And to understand well this experience of being carried, of floating—this will be the first step of meditation. Remember, the taste is of flowing, not of swimming. Understand the difference. Do not swim in the river. If you swim, you will have to do something; that will not be surrender. If you float, the river does; that is surrender. In meditation we leave ourselves in the river of Paramatma and are carried. We do nothing; we leave ourselves in His hands—let Him do what He will, or not do.
See—the river is flowing, running. Now you too step in and be carried in the same river. As a dry leaf falls into a flowing river, so fall into the river and be carried. Do not swim. The river is rushing; you too are being carried in it. For five minutes I will be silent; you taste the flow. You have fallen into the river and are being carried. You are not swimming. You are not moving hands and feet. No effort, no striving—just being carried. The river is running; it will take you too. You are no burden to the river. The river need not exert—it is running. You too are being carried in it. Now I am silent. For five minutes taste the flowing. Catch this experience well. Recognize it well, because this is the first step of meditation.
Flow. Let go. Be completely carried. Leave yourself in the river and be carried away. The river is racing; you too are being carried in it. We are being carried in that river. Not swimming, not making effort. The river itself is flowing and is carrying us along. Leave yourself totally and be carried. A great lightness will be felt, a great freshness. The mind will become utterly quiet. Flow, and all burdens will drop, the tensions of the mind will dissolve. Flow. Let go completely; the river will carry you. Let go. Let go as a child lets go in the mother’s lap. So leave yourself in the river’s lap—the river will take you. Flow—completely flow. Flowing, the mind will become very light and quiet. A deep freshness will fill within. Everything inside will become cool.
We are flowing, flowing, being carried. No swimming, no effort, not even moving the hands—the river is carrying us, and we are being carried along. Nothing to do—only to be carried. The mountains are shining in the sun; the deep blue river is rushing on; we too are being carried along. See—everything becomes cool, light and quiet; all tension of the mind drops. Understand and recognize this experience of flowing well. This is the first step of meditation.
Then slowly come out of the river. See—standing again on the bank—see the river racing on; and standing on the bank, feel the difference within, before and after the flowing. Has the mind become lighter? Quieter? Fresher? New? Stand for a moment on the bank and recognize how fresh everything has become—how quiet, how light the mind has become.
Then slowly open the eyes. Understand the second experiment, and then do it.
The first experiment is the experience of flowing. It is the exact opposite of swimming. In swimming we must do something; in flowing, the river does. Meditation is not like swimming; it is like flowing. When we run a shop, we must do; when we meditate, Paramatma does. We have nothing to do—only to avoid becoming an obstacle and allow Him to do what He wishes. Meditation means: we will not obstruct, and whatever Paramatma wishes to do with us, we will give Him space to do it. We will allow it; we will leave ourselves open. Let Him come and do what He will.
The sun has risen outside the house and inside there is darkness. We have kept the door closed and ask someone, “We want the sun’s rays to enter—what should we do?” He will say, “Do nothing; just leave the door open so the sun can come in. Only do not block—and the sun will enter. Just do not block. Leave the door open; the sun comes in of its own accord.” We cannot carry sunlight in bundles, nor bring it in clutched in our fists, nor sealed in boxes. We can only do one thing—negatively—and that is to keep the door open. Then the sun will come.
The taste of flowing is the taste of leaving oneself, so that if Paramatma wants to do something, He can. And the infinite powers of Paramatma can do immeasurably more than we can reckon. We only do not obstruct. We do not stand in the way. We leave it and say, “Let what must be, be.”
Now the second experience: death. Close your eyes; let the body be loose. And for five minutes enter the taste of death. Close the eyes; let the body be loose. And do not be concerned about anyone else; what happens to anyone else is irrelevant. Do not look around to see what is happening to others. That only robs you of seeing yourself. Close your eyes. I ask you to close your eyes so that you stop being concerned with others and remain alone within.
Close your eyes; let the body be loose. Now bring the second picture before your eyes. You are standing at the cremation ground; the pyre is burning; flames are leaping into the sky. Many times you have gone to the cremation ground—but always to burn someone else. Today you have arrived to burn yourself. Friends and loved ones are all gathered around. In the glow of the flames, even in the darkness, their faces are visible. Look closely—friends and loved ones are gathered all around. The pyre is lit, and none other has been laid on it—we ourselves have been laid there. See clearly: it is we who are on the pyre, not someone else. Many times we carried another to the pyre; someday many others will carry us. In meditation, let us lay ourselves upon the pyre and see what happens. Place yourself upon the fire. It is our own face that is burning on the pyre. These are our hands; this is our body. Not only is the pyre burning—we are burning. Flames are racing toward the sky. In a short while all will be ashes. For five minutes watch yourself burning on the pyre.
See—the pyre is burning; flames are leaping toward the sky. The wind is strong, fanning and swelling the flames. We ourselves are burning—hands and feet burning, face burning, body burning. Everything is being burned. Everything is being burned. Keep watching for five minutes. Everything is being burned—so that only that remains which cannot burn, and that which can burn is burned away.
We are burning—burning of our own accord. The flames rise higher; everything is being consumed. In a little while only ashes will remain. The flames rise, and the ashes grow. The flames rise, and we burn. All is coming to an end.
See—the faces are slowly turning away; those who had gathered at the cremation ground are going back. Their backs are now visible; they have begun to walk away; the sound of their footsteps can be heard. They are gone. The cremation ground is left alone; the pyre remains; and a heap of ashes is accumulating. Be erased, be burned, be finished—so that only that remains which does not burn, does not perish, does not end. The flames are shrinking now; only a heap of ashes will remain. Soon there will be no flames, the embers too will die; the cremation ground will be solitary, sinking into darkness, and there will remain a heap of ashes.
See this heap well; see this erasure. This is the second step of meditation: the disappearance of the self. Erased, burned, all is finishing. The embers are dying; a heap of ashes lies there. This heap is we ourselves—this heap is we. Dust has returned to dust. Recognize it well. The cremation ground is desolate; darkness has gathered; flames have gone out; embers have gone cold. The heap of ashes remains. All is gone. With the feeling that all is gone, a deep peace will descend. Silence will spread to the innermost corners of the breath. With the feeling “I myself am gone,” all tensions will scatter, all restlessness will dissolve, all worry will vanish. They were with me; they burned on my pyre—worries, tensions, restlessness. Now only a vast silence, a void remains within. All is burned; only a heap of ashes lies there. And when I myself am gone—what anxiety? What unrest? What sorrow? What pain? All has ended. Understand this state of being erased. This is the second step of meditation.
Now slowly open your eyes—slowly open—and understand the third step; then do it.
The first is: to flow away. The second is: to disappear. And the third is: tathata—suchness. Tathata is the center of meditation. Tathata means: whatever is, we are in accord with it—we have no resistance. Tathata means: no resistance, aversionless, no opposition to anything. Whatever is, we are wholly in agreement with its being so. We neither ask nor desire otherwise. Birds are crying out—we are in accord with their cries. There are birds; they will cry. Winds will move; leaves will tremble; there will be sound. There are leaves; they will move and make sound. We accept. Someone will pass on the road, a cart will go by, a train will pass, there will be noise—we accept. We accept life as it is, in its totality.
Tathata means: we accept all—no resistance. And when there is no resistance, where can disturbance be? When there is no resistance, where is obstruction? When there is no resistance, the mind within instantly dissolves—becomes a void. It is only in resisting that we stand and become strong. In resistance the ego is forged. The more we resist, the stronger the ego becomes. The more I say, “Not like this, not like this,” the stronger the “I” grows. When I say, “As it is, it is—so be it, so be it, so be it,” where is any way for the “I” to stand?
If life as it is is accepted, there is no way for the ego to be made. Ego arises from rejection; it is constructed, thickened, strengthened by denial. When I say, “Leaves should not be like this, winds should not be like this, the moon should not be like this, birds should not make noise, the road should be silent,” I am saying: I should be imposed upon all; all should run by my command; I should sit above all; I should be the master. But when I say, “Let things be as they are—blessed; as they are—accepted; as they are—thankful; as they are—I am grateful; as all is going—it is right,” then I do not impose myself; then I take my leave. Then I become one with all.
Tathata means: total acceptance—whatever is, is accepted as it is. And if for even five minutes everything is accepted, you will be amazed how the mind enters new realms of peace. For five minutes practice tathata. Understand it well. Then we will bring these three together in meditation.
Close your eyes; let the body be loose. Close your eyes; let the body be loose. Close your eyes; let the body be loose. The eyes are closed; the body is relaxed. We have no resistance; the world as it is, life as it is—we accept it. See—the road sounds are there; we accept them—no resistance in the mind. See within clearly: we have no resistance. Birds are making a racket—we accept. No resistance. The sun is hot—we accept. No resistance. Whatever is—we accept. No resistance. Not only outside—inside as well. If the leg begins to ache, if the leg goes numb, if there is tingling in the leg—we accept it. No resistance. If some thought is moving in the mind—let it move—we accept it. No resistance. For five minutes merge into the mood of non-resistance. What is, is. We consent. Let it be so. No demand for otherwise, no longing for otherwise. For five minutes, we are wholly in accord with what is. And see—while consenting, consenting—everything dissolves, and a deep peace, a void, an emptiness arises within.
For five minutes now, silently, sink into this mood of tathata. Let go. Leave yourself. Let what is be as it is. When we consent to all, the flow of love begins toward all. Then the birds’ sounds are heard differently; the noise of the road seems of a different sort—our own. Love begins to flow toward everything. Toward that which we consent to, love flows. And the mind becomes utterly quiet. We consent—we consent. Accepted—accepted. Whatever is, as it is—accepted. This too accepted, that too accepted, whatever is—accepted. Sink into a feeling of acceptance. All is accepted. The sun is hot—this too is accepted. The shade is cool—this too is accepted. Let go—let go completely. All is accepted. We become one with the Whole—as soon as we accept, we become one with the Whole. Then the winds are not separate, nor the sun, nor the birds’ voices, nor the trees’ movement—we too are one with all this.
Let go—let go completely and accept. Sink and accept. All is accepted. Let go and accept. For five minutes, all is accepted. Let go—let go—all is accepted. All is accepted. And merge. This vast ocean all around—merge into it. Let go—all is accepted. And the moment acceptance happens on this side, the ocean of peace enters within on that side.
Recognize well this experience of tathata—it is the soul of meditation, its very life. In the deepest of the deep, meditation is tathata. Grasp this mood of total acceptance well. Recognize it well. This is the center of meditation, its soul. All is accepted—and the mind grows quiet, the mind becomes empty. We have no opposition to the world; as the world is, we agree with it. For we are a part of the world—what opposition, what enmity, what hostility can there be? And then the prana within meets the prana outside.
Now slowly open your eyes. Then understand the meditation experiment and do the final experiment of meditation. Slowly open your eyes.
We have understood three things: the feeling of flowing; the feeling of dying, of disappearing; and the feeling of total acceptance—tathata. Now we will bring these three together in meditation. In this combined experiment, deep results will arise from flowing, from disappearing, from the acceptance of “what is, is.” The body may fall, the body may bend. If you manage it back into posture, you will be stuck right there. Do not manage it. If it falls, let it fall. Do not be frightened that you will be hurt. You never will be. When the body falls of its own accord, it does not get injured. There is no question of injury. If you hold it upright, you will be stuck there. Then resistance begins again; acceptance is lost. Tears may flow from the eyes. The mind will become very light and tears will fall. If you try to stop them, you will create trouble. Someone may begin to cry; there is no need to stop it. Whatever happens in these fifteen minutes—let it happen. We have no objection to anything. And whatever is released will be good; a profound peace and lightness will remain within.
Now sit for the fourth and final experiment—meditation.
Close your eyes; let the body be loose. For a little while I will suggest—experience with me. If you experience with me, the result will begin immediately.
Close your eyes; let the body be loose. Now I suggest—experience with me. The body is becoming relaxed. Feel that the body is becoming utterly relaxed. The body is relaxing. The body is relaxing. Keep letting go—loose, loose, loose. The body is relaxing. The body is relaxing. The body is relaxing. Slowly the body will become completely relaxed—as if it is not there. Slowly the very sense of the body will fade. The body is relaxing. The body is relaxing. Let go—let go completely. The body is relaxing. If it bends, let it bend; if it falls, let it fall. The body is relaxing. The body is relaxing. The body is relaxing. The body is becoming utterly relaxed. The body is relaxing. And as the body relaxes, a deep peace will spread within. The body is relaxing. Leave yourself to relaxation as you left yourself to the river. Let go—be carried. The body has relaxed. The body has relaxed. The body has relaxed. The body has relaxed.
Let go. Let go. Let go. The body has relaxed. The breath is becoming quiet. Feel—the breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming slow and quiet. Slowly it will seem as if the breath is utterly quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. And as the breath seems to quiet, it will feel as if we are disappearing—disappearing—disappearing. As at the pyre it felt that only a heap of earth remained; as the breath grows quiet it will seem the body is a heap of earth, a heap of ashes. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming quiet. The breath is becoming utterly quiet. The breath is becoming quiet.
The breath has become quiet, the body relaxed; the breath has become quiet—now leave yourself completely and settle into the third: tathata. All is accepted. The body is loose; the breath is quiet. And we have come close to being one with the whole world. Now all is accepted—whatever is happening is happening. Birds are sounding; trees are trembling in the wind; sunlight is pouring; there are sounds on the road; all is accepted. Keep knowing this—accept it—keep knowing—be the witness. We are only the witness, the seer—knowing, knowing—and all is accepted. Slowly the inner curtains will rise. Slowly the inner doors will open. And a peace will rain such as you have never known. A light will pervade within—unknown, never before recognized. Springs of bliss will burst within, thrilling every pore—renewing all. Let go.
Now for ten minutes remain in the witnessing mood of tathata. The body relaxed, the breath quiet, and we have accepted the whole world. We are knowing, only recognizing, seeing, understanding—only the knower, only the seer, only the witness. Doing nothing. Birds are sounding—we are listening. Winds touch—we are knowing. Sunrays pour—we are recognizing. We are only the seer, merely the seer—and everything is accepted. For ten minutes lose yourself in acceptance.
Only the witness remains. Total acceptance, and we remain as witness—only a witness, only knowing, recognizing—only the witness. And the mind will descend into deep peace. The deepest peace will reveal itself within, and the mind will be immersed in deep bliss. Every pore will thrill with joy. A light will fill within; the inner darkness will break. In this peace, in this bliss, in this light the experience of the Divine becomes available. His presence is felt on all sides. Then birds are no longer just birds; plants are no longer only plants; winds are no longer just winds; the sun’s heat is no longer merely heat. Then all becomes the dance of Paramatma. Everywhere His dance—His footsteps can be heard.
See—and remain only the witness. Total acceptance, and only the witness remains. Sounds on the road—and we consent. Whatever is happening, we consent. We have no opposition to whatever is. As a drop dissolves into the ocean, so we consent to dissolve into the Whole. This Whole—we consent to lose ourselves in it. As a river merges into the ocean, so we consent to be lost in that vast ocean.
Let go. Let go. Let yourself go completely—be lost, be carried, disappear. Accept everything. And then see how the flowers of peace begin to bloom within. Then see how the veena of bliss begins to hum within. Then see how a thousand lamps are lit by the light of Paramatma. Total acceptance—and we are the witness. We are lost, we are gone, we are merged—we have become one with the Whole. See how a deep peace, a deep joy, a deep radiance has spread within.
Then slowly take two or four deep breaths. With each breath there will be much joy, much peace. Slowly take two or four deep breaths; with each breath there will be much joy, much peace. Slowly take two or four deep breaths. Then slowly open the eyes. Whatever has been known within, experience it outside as well. Slowly open the eyes. If the eyes do not open, place both palms upon them and then open them gently. Slowly open the eyes. Those who have fallen, take two or four deep breaths and then rise very gently. Do not be in a hurry to get up. Do not jerk—rise very gently.
Do this experiment at night on your bed as you go to sleep—and fall asleep doing it—so that all night long a deep current of meditation flows within. Then tomorrow morning come here and do the experiment again. Before coming, bathe; wear fresh clothes. From home itself, stop talking—come silent, in maun. Walk with your eyes lowered. Keep the eyes lowered. Come silent; sit here silently. Do not talk here either.
Our morning meeting is complete.