Jin Khoja Tin Paiyan #12

A few things must be understood. First, the Divine is not a person; it is energy. And energy means that nothing happens there by taking each individual into account. It is like a river flowing. The trees standing on the bank will have their roots strengthened; they will flower and bear fruit. Those that fall into the current will have their roots torn out; they will be swept away, broken. The river has no intention either to strengthen any tree’s roots or to uproot any tree. The river is simply flowing. The river is a force; it is not a person.

God is not a person, but energy
But we have continually made the mistake of conceiving God as a person. So we think about “him” the way we think about persons. We say, “He is very compassionate; he is very gracious; he always does what is good.” These are our projections, our desires that we impose upon the divine.

With a person you can impose such expectations; and if he does not fulfill them you can hold him responsible. You cannot impose expectations on energy. And whenever we relate to energy as if it were a person, we land in great trouble, because we get lost in big dreams. If you relate to energy as energy, the results are very different.

For example, there is gravitation, the pull of gravity, in the earth. You walk upon the ground because of it. But it is not there so that you can walk. Do not fall into the illusion that if you do not walk, gravity will cease to be. It was there before you, and it will be there after you. If you walk wrongly, you will fall and break a leg—also because of gravity. But you cannot file a case in any court, because there is no person there. Gravitation is a current of force. If you wish to deal with it, you must be intelligent and alert. It is not dealing with you intelligently; you must.

The divine energy does not behave with you “thoughtfully.” Strictly speaking, “the energy of God” is not accurate; God is energy. It does not deal with you with consideration; it follows its own eternal law. That eternal law is what we call dharma. Dharma means the law that governs the functioning of that energy we call God. If you act in accord with it, with understanding and discernment, that energy becomes grace for you—not from its side, but because of you. If you act against it, against its law, that same energy becomes ungrace for you. God is not ungracious; it happens because of you.

So to take God as a person is a mistake. God is not a person, but energy. Therefore, with God there is no meaning in prayer or worship; with God there is no meaning in expectations. If you want that that energy become grace for you, whatever is to be done must be done with yourself. Hence sadhana—spiritual practice—has meaning; prayer has none. Meditation has meaning; worship has none.

Understand this distinction clearly.
In prayer you do something with God—expectation, insistence, petition, demand. In meditation you do something with yourself. In worship you do something to God; in sadhana you do something to yourself. Sadhana means making yourself such that you are no longer out of tune with the law; and when the river’s current flows, you do not fall into midstream—you remain on the bank so that its waters strengthen your roots rather than uproot them. The moment we understand God as energy, our whole religious orientation changes.

So when I said that if an event happens suddenly, it can become an accident—

Grace, too, can bring about an accident
You then asked: can that happening occur to the unfit as well?

No, it never happens to the unfit; it happens only to the fit. But sometimes the unfit suddenly becomes fit, in ways even he does not know. The happening always comes to the fit. Light is seen only by the eye; the blind cannot see it. But if a blind man’s eyes have just been treated, and he comes out of the hospital today and looks straight at the sun, an accident will happen. He should wear a green glass and wait for a month or two. If the unfit becomes fit all at once, an accident is inevitable—and the sun is not to blame. He should allow his eyes two months to develop the capacity to tolerate sunlight. Otherwise he will become more dangerously blind than before; the earlier blindness could have been treated—this second blindness will be difficult to cure.

So understand rightly: the experience comes only to the fit, but sometimes the unfit can very quickly become fit; sometimes due to causes unknown to him. And then—then there is always the danger of an accident, because if the energy descends unexpectedly, you are not in a condition to contain it.

Understand it like this: if a man suddenly gets anything—say, wealth—wealth in itself need not cause an accident, yet if it comes unprepared, it will. Even if a great happiness comes suddenly, it can cause an accident; because even happiness requires the capacity to bear it. If bliss too comes gradually, we get ready to receive it. Preparation depends on many factors; our capacity to contain depends on many factors. The nerves of our brain, the capacity of our body, the capacity of our mind—all have limits. And the energy we are speaking of is unlimited. It is as if the ocean were to fall upon a drop. The drop must have some capacity, some fitness to drink the ocean; otherwise, if it happens all of a sudden, the drop will only die and disappear—it will not be able to gain anything.

Therefore, rightly understood, sadhana has a twofold work: to bring yourself onto the path of that energy, into accord with it; and, before bringing yourself into accord, to increase your capacity to bear it. These are the two tasks of sadhana. On the one hand, open the door, heal the eye; on the other, even after the eye is healed, wait and make the eye capable of seeing the light. Otherwise, too much light proves darker than darkness. It is not the light’s fault; the light has nothing to do with it—it is entirely one-sided; it depends solely on us. In this we will never be able to put responsibility on the other.

For example, a man’s journey spans many lives. In those lives he has done much. Many times it happens that he dropped out when only an inch short of being fully fit. The memories of previous births have been lost; he knows nothing. Suppose in your past life you were engaged in sadhana and reached ninety-nine degrees but not a hundred. That life is forgotten, the practice is forgotten, everything is forgotten; but the state of ninety-nine degrees is still with you. Another man sits next to you; he is stuck at one degree; he also knows nothing. You both sit to meditate on the same day, yet you are two very different men. If his one degree increases, nothing much will happen—he will reach only two degrees. If your one degree increases, the happening is going to take place. For you it will be “sudden,” because you have no idea that you were at ninety-nine. You do not know where you stand. So the mountain can collapse upon you all at once. Preparation is needed.

And when I say accident, I mean only this: something for which we were not prepared. Accident does not necessarily mean suffering; it simply means an event for which we were not yet ready. Accident does not necessarily mean bad. If a man wins a lottery of a hundred thousand, nothing “bad” has happened—yet he may die; it can stop his heartbeat. Accident means only this: we were unprepared for what happened.

The reverse can also be true: if a man is prepared and death comes, it is not necessary that death be an accident. If a man is prepared—like Socrates—he will embrace death in welcome, and for him death will become immediate samadhi, not an accident; because he will accept that dying moment with such love and joy that he will even see that which does not die.

We accept death with such panic that we faint beforehand; we do not experience the process of dying consciously. We have died many times, yet we have no idea of the process. If even once we knew what dying is, then the thought would never arise again that “I can die.” The event of death would occur, and you would be standing on the far shore. But it must happen in awareness.

So, for someone, death can be great good fortune; and for someone, grace can be misfortune. Therefore sadhana is twofold: to call, to invite, to seek, to know; and simultaneously to keep getting ready, so that when light arrives at the door, it may not happen that light too proves to be darkness for us and blinds us. If you keep in mind what I said earlier, there will be no difficulty. If you make God a person, there is much difficulty; if you see God as energy, there is none.

By making God a person we gain the convenience of shifting responsibility onto him. Our mind likes God to be a person, because then we can make him responsible, and our responsibility is no longer total—some of it becomes his.

And we make him responsible for little things, let alone big ones. A man gets a job and thanks God; he loses a job and gets angry at God. Someone gets a boil and says God did it; someone’s boil heals and he says, “By God’s grace it healed.” But we never notice how we are using God! And we never notice how egocentric it is to assume that God is looking after my boils and pimples! That if I drop a rupee and find it on the road, I say, “By God’s grace!”

To imagine that God keeps accounts even of my one rupee gives the mind great satisfaction, because then I stand at the center of the whole universe. And the way I relate to God is the way one treats a servant. We even use him like a policeman—standing by, ready to protect our rupee.

Making God a person gives us the facility to shift responsibility onto him. But a seeker takes responsibility upon himself. In truth, to be a seeker means only this: in this world he will no longer hold anyone else responsible for anything. If there is sorrow, it is mine; if there is joy, it is mine; if there is peace, it is mine; if there is unrest, it is mine—no one else is responsible. If I fall and break a leg, gravitation is not responsible; I am. With such a mindset, the point becomes clear. Then the meaning of accident also changes. That is why I said that when grace comes to a prepared person, it becomes beneficent, auspicious. In fact, everything has its proper moment, its right time; and to miss the right moment, the right time, is a great accident—in this sense.

The mistaken relationship between master and disciple

It can become dependence. If someone is eager to become a guru and someone else is eager to be made a disciple, it will turn into dependence. Therefore, don’t become a disciple even by mistake, and don’t become a guru even by mistake—otherwise it will be dependence.

But if the very question of being a disciple and a guru does not arise, there is no dependence. Then the one from whom you take help is simply your own form gone a few steps ahead. Your own form gone ahead—who, then, is the guru and who the disciple?

I have been saying again and again that, in recalling his previous lives, Buddha told a story. He said: I was ignorant then, and a buddha had attained the ultimate; I went to have his darshan. In a former life, before he became a buddha, he went to see an awakened one. He bowed down, but before he could even straighten up he was in great difficulty—for that awakened one bent to touch his feet and bowed to him. He said, What are you doing? It is right that I touch your feet, but you touch mine! The awakened one replied: If you touch my feet and I do not touch yours, it will be a great mistake, because I am only your own form gone two steps ahead. And as I bow at your feet I am reminding you: you did well to bow to mine, but do not fall into the illusion that you and I are separate; do not fall into the illusion that you are ignorant and I am knowing. It is only a matter of moments before you are also enlightened. Just as when my right foot goes forward the left is left behind; in truth, for the right to go ahead, the left has to remain behind for a little while.

The guru–disciple relationship is lethal. The unrelatedness of guru and disciple is immensely meaningful. Unrelatedness means that there are no longer two. Where there are two, only there can there be relationship. One can still understand if the disciple feels there is a guru—because the disciple is ignorant; but when the so‑called guru himself feels that he is a guru, then the limit is crossed. It means a blind man is leading the blind—and the one who is a few steps ahead is the more dangerous blind man, because he keeps assuring the other blind one, Don’t worry.

There is no spiritual meaning in the guru–disciple relationship. In fact, all our relationships in this world are relationships of power, power politics. There is a father, there is a son. If between father and son there were a relationship of love, that would be a different matter. Then the father would not be conscious of being a father, the son would not be conscious of being a son. The son would simply be the later‑arriving form of the father, and the father the earlier‑arriving form of the son. By nature, that is how it is.

A seed is sown and a tree comes; and then a thousand seeds appear on the tree. What relationship is there between that first seed and these seeds? That one came before, these came after—the same journey of the same seed that shattered and scattered beneath the tree. The father is the first link, the son is the second link in the same chain.

But then there is a continuum, not two separate persons. Then if the son is pressing his father’s feet, he is only honoring the preceding link—naturally honoring the link that is passing; he is serving the one who is going, because without him he himself could not have come; he has come from him. And if the father is raising his son, nurturing him, taking care of his food and clothing, it is not the concern for someone other than himself; he is looking after his own form. If we say the father is becoming young again in his son before he goes, there is no difficulty. Then it is not a matter of relationship, it is something else—a love where there is no relationship.

But ordinarily the relationship between father and son is political. The father is powerful, the son is weak; the father suppresses the son, telling him: You are nothing yet, I am everything. He does not see that sooner or later the son will become powerful and the father weak; then the son will begin to suppress him: I am everything and you are nothing.

This relationship between guru and disciple, between husband and wife—these are all perversions, distortions. Otherwise, what “relationship” could there be between husband and wife? Two persons have felt that they are one; therefore they are together. But it is not so. The husband suppresses the wife in his own ways; the wife suppresses the husband in hers; and they exercise over each other all their power and power politics.

Guru–disciple turns out to be exactly the same. The guru suppresses the disciple, and the disciples are waiting for the guru to die so that they can become gurus. Or, if the guru lingers too long, rebellion begins. That is why it is so hard to find a guru whose disciples do not rebel against him, whose disciples do not become his enemies. The chief disciple is bound to become an enemy; so one should choose a chief disciple with some care! Wherever there is the pressure of power, there will be rebellion. Spirituality has nothing to do with any of this.

So to my understanding, a father suppressing a son—since it is a matter of two ignorants—can be forgiven; it is not good, not right, but it can be let pass. A husband suppressing a wife or a wife a husband—again, not auspicious, it should not be, yet it can still be overlooked. But when a guru suppresses a disciple, it becomes very difficult. At least this is the one place where there should be no claimant—someone declaring, I know and you do not.

Now what is the relationship between guru and disciple? One is a claimant. He says, I know and you do not; you are ignorant and I am wise; therefore the ignorant should bow at the feet of the knower.

But we fail to see what kind of “knower” is this who tells someone to bow at his feet! This is a great ignoramus. Yes, he may know a few things; perhaps he has read some books; perhaps tradition has supplied him with some sutras which he has learned to repeat. It is nothing more than that.

The claiming guru is ignorant

Perhaps you have not heard a story. I have heard of a cat that became omniscient. She became famous among cats, because she achieved the status of a tirthankara. And the reason she was “omniscient”—all‑knowing—was that she used to slip into a library, and she knew everything about that library. Everything meaning: where to enter, where to exit, behind which book it is most comfortable to sit, and which book‑cover gives warmth even in the cold. So among cats the news spread that if you ever want to know anything about a library, that cat is all‑knowing, she is omniscient.

And certainly, what could be lacking in the knowledge of a cat who knows everything about the library—everything that is in the library! She even got disciples. But she knew nothing; about books she knew only this much: that hiding behind them gives you cover; that a book bound in woolen cloth keeps you warm in winter. This was the extent of her knowledge of books. And how could a cat ever know what is inside!

Among men, too, there are such “all‑knowing” cats who know how to hide behind books. If you attack them, they immediately put the Ramayana in between—saying, The Ramayana says so!—and they press your neck with the Ramayana. The Gita says so! Who will argue with the Gita? If I say directly, I say so, then you could argue with me. But I say, The Gita says! I bring the Gita in between; behind the Gita I am safe. The Gita gives warmth in the cold, gives livelihood; it becomes a weapon to ward off enemies; it becomes an ornament; and one can play many games with the Gita.

But what is in the Gita is known to such a man only as much as the cat knew of books in that library—nothing else. And it could happen that by living in the library long enough the cat might one day come to know what is in a book; but these book‑knowing gurus will never know. Because the more the book is memorized, the less need remains to know; an illusion arises that one has already known.

Whenever a person claims, I have known, understand that ignorance has found a voice. The claimant is ignorance. But when someone even hesitates to claim that he knows, understand that some glimpse, some ray has begun to dawn. Yet such a person cannot become a guru. He cannot even conceive of becoming a guru, because with the guru comes authority; with the guru the claim is necessary. Guru means: I know, I know for sure; you now have no need to know—know it from me.

Where there is authority, where there is dogmatic certainty, and where there is the claim “I know,” there the other’s spirit of inquiry and search is being murdered. Authority cannot exist without murdering it. A claimant cannot refrain from cutting off the other’s head, because there is always the fear that you might find out for yourself—then what will happen to my power, to my authority! So I will stop you. I will make you a follower, a disciple. Even among disciples a hierarchy will be created—who is chief, who is less. And the same net will be spread as the net of politics, with which spirituality has nothing to do.

Let shaktipat be an encouragement, not a slavery

So when I say that an event like shaktipat—the accessing of the light of the divine, its electricity, its energy—can happen more easily in the vicinity of certain individuals, I am not saying that you should grab those individuals and stop there; I am not saying, Become dependent; I am not saying, Make them your gurus; I am not saying, Stop your own search. In fact, the truth is that whenever that event happens near someone else, you will instantly feel: If coming even through another’s medium this has given so much bliss, what will it be like when it comes directly through my own medium! After all, coming through another it is bound to be a little stale, a little second‑hand. I go into a garden and am filled with the fragrance of the flowers; then you come to me and get the fragrance of flowers from me—but a little of the stench of my sweat will have mixed in, and by then it will already be much faded.

So when I say that primarily it is very useful—so that you at least get the news that there is a garden, there are flowers—then you can set out on your own journey. If you make a guru you will stop.

We do not stop at milestones. Although milestones—what you call gurus—tell you much more and give you more definite information: how many miles have been covered and how many remain to the destination. No guru gives such exact information. Yet still we neither worship a milestone nor sit down beside it. And if we sit down by a milestone we will prove ourselves worse than stone, because the stone was only there to indicate: ahead! It is not there to stop you, and there is no meaning in stopping. But if the stone could speak, it would say, Where are you going? I have told you so much and you are leaving me! Sit down; you have become my disciple, because I have told you that ten miles are done and twenty remain. Now there is no need to go anywhere; stay behind me.

A stone cannot speak, so it does not become a guru; a man can speak, so he becomes a guru—he says, Be grateful to me, express your gratitude; I have told you so much. And remember: whoever insists on gratitude, know that he had nothing of his own to give; he only had an information, just as a milestone has an inscription. The stone itself knows nothing of how far the destination is or not; it knows nothing. Only an information is engraved upon it, which it keeps repeating—whoever passes, it repeats the same.

In the same way, if gratitude is demanded of you, be alert. Do not stop with persons; go to the impersonal—to that which has no form or limit. Yet through persons a glimpse of it can be had, because ultimately persons, too, are of that. As I said yesterday, just as the ocean can be known through a well, so too through a person you can come to know of the infinite—if you can peer through. But do not become dependent anywhere, and do not turn anything into bondage. All relationships become bondage—be they husband–wife, father–son, or guru–disciple. Wherever there is relationship, dependence begins.

So a spiritual seeker should form no relationships at all. And if husband–wife is kept up, there is not much harm, because it is no obstacle—they are irrelevant. But the irony is that one breaks the husband–wife, father–son relationships only to form a new one that is very dangerous—the guru–disciple relationship. A “spiritual relationship” has no meaning; all relationships are worldly. Relationship as such is worldly. If we say that relationship itself is the world, there will be no difficulty. Unrelated, alone, are you!

But this does not mean ego—because you are not the only one alone; others are alone, too. Someone is two steps ahead of you. If you can even catch the sound of his footsteps, you get news of the path two steps ahead. Someone is two steps behind, someone is beside you, someone far away—on all sides innumerable souls are traveling. In this journey all are fellow travelers; the differences are only of distance. Take whatever benefit you can from this, but do not make it slavery; slavery begins with making relationships.

Therefore, avoid dependence, avoid relationship—especially so‑called spiritual relationship. Worldly relationships are not so dangerous, because the very meaning of the world is relationship; they are not such a hindrance. Wherever you get a glimpse, take the glimpse. And I am not saying, Do not give thanks. This is where the difficulty comes in, where complexity arises. To demand gratitude is wrong; but if you do not be grateful, it is just as wrong. Give thanks even to the milestone as you pass—Much obliged!—whether it hears or not.

A great misunderstanding arises here. When we say the guru should not ask for gratitude, usually the ego gets a taste for it and thinks, Quite right—there is no need to thank anyone. Then you go wrong again; you have caught hold of the other end of the stick. I am not saying, Do not thank. I am saying: for someone to ask for gratitude is wrong. But if you do not feel grateful, that is equally wrong. You should be grateful. But that gratitude will not bind, because what is not asked for never binds; what is a gift never binds. If I have thanked you, it never binds; but if you have demanded it, whether I give it or not, trouble begins.

And wherever you get a glimpse of That, take the glimpse. Because it has come through another, it will not be very lasting; it will be lost again and again. Only what is yours will be permanent. Therefore you will have to take it again and again—and if you fear dependency, then find your own.

Merely fearing dependence will do nothing; taking the fright of reliance on another is also needless. It makes no difference: if I become dependent on you I am related; if I run away from you out of fear I am still related and dependent. So quietly take, give thanks, move on.

And if you feel there is something that comes and is lost, then seek your own source—from where it never gets lost, from where there is no way to lose it. Only your own treasure can be infinite. What comes as a gift from another gets used up. Do not become a beggar who keeps asking from others. Let even what comes from another lead you into your own search. And that will happen only when you do not form any relationship with the other—when, giving thanks, you go on.

Power is impartial.

In fact, I did not say that it has no interest in you. I did not say that. I did not say that God has no interest in you. If It had no interest, you could not even be. I did not say that. And I also did not say that It is neutral toward you—this too I did not say. Nor can It be neutral; because you are not separate from It; you are Its own spread-out expanse.

What I said is this: It has no special interest in you. There is a difference between the two. There is no special interest in you. That force will not step outside its law for your sake. If you strike your head with a stone, blood will flow—and nature will not take any special interest in you. Interest It is taking fully, because when the blood flows, that too is Its interest; it flows through It. Whatever you did, full interest is being taken in it. If you are swept away in a river and drowning, nature is taking full interest—in drowning you. But not special interest. There is no special, extra interest in you such that the law says you should drown and yet you are saved; the law says that if you fall from a roof your head should break, and yet you fall and your head does not break—there is no such special interest.

Those who have thought of God as a person have created such fictions of special interests: that Prahlad will not be burned by fire; throw him from a mountain and he will not be hurt. These stories are our own longings—we want it to be so; we want such special interest in us; that we become the center.

I am not saying there is no interest; I am saying Its interest is in the law. The interest of energy is always in law. A person’s interest can become special. A person can be partial. Energy is always impartial. Impartiality itself is Its interest. Therefore, what is according to law will happen; what is not according to law will not happen. From the side of the Divine there can be no miracles.

The humility of the knowers
And that second aphorism you mention from the Katha Upanishad—its meanings are many. It says: the one whom That likes, upon whom It is pleased, in whom It delights—only he attains. Naturally, you will say, “This amounts to the same thing: the one in whom It has special interest.”

No, that is not the point. In truth, man has a great difficulty. And when we express a truth, it has many facets. In fact, this is said by those who have attained. Those who have attained say: What could ever have happened through our effort! What were we! We were nothing, not even dust-motes—and yet we received it! And if we sat silent in meditation for two moments, what value did that have—that we sat quietly for two moments! What is received is priceless. There is no proportion between what we did and what was received. So those who have attained say: No, this is not the fruit of our effort; this is His grace. He favored, so it happened; otherwise what could we have found! This is the statement of an egoless person, who, upon attaining, has seen what could ever have been done by oneself!

But if those who have not attained make this their belief, it becomes very dangerous. From the side of those who have attained, to say this is very tasteful, very cultured. They are saying: Who were we that He should be available to us! What power did we have, what capacity, what right, what claim! We were nothing, and yet we received; it is only His grace, not our effort. For them, saying this is right. Their meaning is only this: it is not obtained by mere effort; it is not an achievement of the ego; it is not an “achievement”; it is prasad—grace, a benediction.

For them this is absolutely right; but you will get into trouble reading the Katha Upanishad. People have gotten into trouble reading all scriptures. Because what is being spoken is by the knowers, while it is being read by the non-knowers—and they make it their own statement. The non-knower says: “Fine, then what do we need to do! If it is received only by His liking, why should we bother! When His wish arises, it will be received. Why should we exert? Why should we do anything?”

Thus what was the claim of egolessness becomes, for us, a defense of laziness. The change between these two is as vast as earth and sky. What was a mood of emptiness becomes negligence for us. We say: “Whoever is to get it will get it; whoever is not to get it, will not.”

Scriptures of the knowers in the hands of the ignorant
Now, Augustine has a similar saying: “Whom He wished to make good, He made good; whom He wished to make bad, He made bad.”

It sounds very dangerous! Because if by His will it happened that He made someone good and someone bad, then the matter is finished. And what a mad God—that He wants to make some bad and some good! When the non-knower reads this, the meanings are dangerous.

But Augustine is saying something quite different. He is telling the good man: Do not be egotistical that you are good; for whom He wished to make good, He made good. He is telling the bad man: Do not be worried, do not be seized by anxiety; whom He made bad, He made bad. He is pulling out the sting of the bad man, and he is also pulling out the sting of the good man. But that is from the side of the knower.

Yet the bad man hears and says: “Then fine, I will do evil. There is no question of ‘me’ anyway; the one through whom He makes bad, does bad.” And the good man’s journey slackens too, because he says: “What is there to be done now! He makes good whom He makes; whom He does not, He does not.” Then life becomes meaningless.

This is what has happened with scriptures all over the world. Because scriptures are the utterances of those who know. And certainly, one who knows—why would he go to read scriptures! It is the one who does not know who goes to read. Then the gap between the two is as vast as earth and sky; and the interpretation we make is our own.

They are not our interpretation. Therefore it occurs to me that two kinds of scriptures should be created—the sayings of the knowers kept separate, and a different set for the ignorant to read. The sayings of the knowers should be kept completely hidden; they should not fall into the hands of the ignorant. Because the ignorant will derive only his own meaning. And then everything gets distorted; everything has been distorted. Do you get what I mean?

Counterfeit replicas of spiritual experiences

Yes, this too needs to be understood. In this world there is nothing that cannot have a counterfeit coin; there is nothing that cannot be faked. Every authentic thing has its fake side and its fake version. And often the counterfeit coin is shinier—it has to be; it circulates on its shine, not on its authenticity. A real coin, even if it’s dull, still circulates. The counterfeit, lacking authenticity, must compensate with claims. And a fake coin is easy to make—after all, it has no intrinsic value.

So every spiritual attainment has a counterpart. There is no spiritual attainment that does not have a false, counterfeit counterpart. If there is a real kundalini, there is also a fake kundalini. What does “fake kundalini” mean? If there are real chakras, there are fake chakras as well. If there are real yogic processes, there are fake processes too. There is only one difference: all that is real happens on the spiritual plane; all that is fake happens on the psychic, mental plane.

For example, if a person gains entry into the depths of consciousness, many experiences begin to happen: exquisite fragrances he has never known; ethereal music he has never heard; colors as if not of this earth. But all of this can be produced instantly through hypnosis—without difficulty. Colors can be evoked, sounds can be made to appear, tastes and fragrances can be induced. And for this you need no sadhana—only to be unconscious. Then whatever is suggested from outside will happen inside.

This is the false coin. Whatever happens in meditation can also be made to happen through hypnosis. But it is not spiritual; it is implanted, dream-like. You can love a woman while awake, and you can love a woman in a dream. And it isn’t necessary that the dream-woman be less beautiful—often she is more so. And suppose a man sleeps on and never wakes, keeps on dreaming—he will never know whether what he sees is a real woman or a dream. How would he know? Only when sleep breaks can he check: “Ah, what I saw was a dream!”

There are techniques by which every kind of dream can be produced within you—dreams of kundalini can be produced, dreams of chakras, dreams of subtle experiences. And if you remain absorbed in those dreams—and they are so pleasant you won’t want to break them; and some dreams are hard to call dreams because they unfold while you are awake, day-dreams that can be cultivated—you can spend an entire life cultivating them. In the end you’ll discover you have arrived nowhere; you have only seen a long dream.

There are methods and setups to produce such dreams. Another person can produce them in you. And it will be hard for you to decide the difference between the two kinds—because you don’t know the real. If a man has never held a real coin and only ever handled counterfeits, how will he decide that this is fake? To recognize the fake, one must also have met the real. The day kundalini truly manifests, you will know the difference—worlds apart! It’s an altogether different thing.

The secret formula for testing experiences
And note this: the “scriptural” kundalini—exactly as per the book—will be false. There are reasons. Let me tell you a secret. All the wise ones who have ever been on this earth have left some deliberate basic “errors” in every scripture—as markers of recognition. Deliberate, fundamental omissions. Suppose I tell you—standing outside this house—that it has five rooms. I know it has six, but I tell you five. One day you come and say, “I’ve seen the house; you were exactly right, there are five rooms.” Then I know you went to a false house, you saw a dream—because there are six rooms.

One room is always held back. It tells you whether it has happened or not. If your experience is exactly by the book, know it hasn’t happened—it’s a false coin—because in the scripture one room has always been reserved. That reservation is essential. So if everything is happening to you exactly as written, understand that the book is being projected. But the day something happens not exactly as written—here it matches, there it doesn’t—know that you are on a real track where things are becoming clear to you; where you are not simply threading scripture into imagination.

When kundalini truly awakens, you will be able to see where and how the scripture used stratagems. But you cannot know this beforehand. Every scripture had necessarily to omit certain things; otherwise it would be impossible to determine what is what.

I had a teacher, a university professor. Whenever I named a book, he would say, “Yes, I’ve read it.” One day I mentioned a nonexistent book—no such author, no such title. I said, “Have you read so-and-so’s book? It’s remarkable.” He said, “Yes, I’ve read it.” I told him, “Now all your previous claims are suspect—this author and book do not exist. Produce this book for me, and then we’ll talk about the rest; otherwise the rest is finished.” He asked, “What do you mean, this book doesn’t exist?” I said, “There was no other way to test you.”

Those who know will catch you at once. If your report is perfectly “by the scripture,” you’ll be caught—because gaps were left; something incorrect was inserted, something true was omitted. It had to be that way; otherwise recognition would be very difficult.

But the “scriptural” can be manufactured. Everything can be produced. The mind’s capacity is not small. Before one enters the soul, the mind can devise many deceptions. And if it is the mind itself that wants to deceive, it is all the easier.

So I say: arrangements, claims, texts, rules—that’s not the real question. The real question is quite different. There are other ways to recognize whether what is happening to you is authentic or false.

Radical transformation from authentic experiences
A man drinks water by day and his thirst is quenched; he drinks water in a dream, but his thirst is not quenched. He wakes to find dry lips and a parched throat. Dream-water cannot quench thirst; real water can. So whether the water you drank was real or fake will be told by your thirst: was it quenched or not?

Those you speak of as awakening kundalini—whether in themselves or in others—are still searching, still seeking. They say this and that has happened, and yet their search continues. They say, “We have found water,” and still ask, “Where is the lake?”

Just the other day a friend came. He said, “I have attained the thought-free state,” and then asked me how to meditate. What am I to do? How do I tell him—what can be done with you? You say, “Thoughts have ceased; I am thought-free—now please tell me the path of meditation.” What does that even mean?

One man says his kundalini has awakened, and complains his mind will not be quiet. Another says kundalini has awakened, but asks how to be free of sex. So there are auxiliary tests—did it really happen?

If it really happened, the search is over. Even if God himself were to come and say, “I have brought you a little peace,” he would reply, “Keep it with you; I have no need.” If God were to say, “I wish to give you some bliss; I am very pleased,” he would say, “Save it for yourself, be a little more pleased—and if you need anything from me, take it.” To test it, look into that person’s very being: what else has happened there?

The deception of false samadhi
Now, a man says he goes into samadhi; he lies buried under the earth for six days and comes out alive. But leave some money at his house and he may steal; give him the chance and he’ll drink. And if you didn’t know he “goes into samadhi,” you would find nothing in him—no fragrance, no presence, no radiance—nothing; just an ordinary man.

No, he has not attained samadhi; he has learned the trick of samadhi. Those six days underground are not samadhi. They are only a trick, a method to remain underground. He has learned pranayama, learned to slow the breath; he calculates the tiny volume of his chamber and knows he can manage on that much oxygen for six days. He breathes so slowly—just the minimum—any more would consume too much oxygen—and passes six days. He is in nearly the same state as the Siberian bear that lies buried in snow for six months. That bear has not attained samadhi. After the rains, a frog lies dormant in the earth—for eight months. The frog has not attained samadhi. This man has learned something of that sort—nothing more.

But if someone has attained samadhi, and you shut him underground for six days, he may die and this trickster will emerge. Because samadhi has no connection with living underground. If you were to bury Mahavira or Buddha for six days, there would be little hope they would return alive. This fellow will come out. Because there is no relation at all; it is an altogether different matter. Yet this trick impresses. And if Mahavira doesn’t come out and this fellow does, this trickster will appear the true “tirthankara” and the real will be proved false.

All these psychic false coins come with bold claims, and with full arrangements to “prove” those claims. They have constructed a separate world that has nothing to do with the real. And they have left out the real things: the true transformations have nothing to do with staying underground for six days or six months. What is this person’s character? How quiet is his mind? What has happened to his joy? He loses a single coin and cannot sleep all night; yet he can lie underground for six days! We must ask: what are his real connections?

The use of hypnosis for false shaktipat
So those who claim, “We do shaktipat,” may well do something—but it is not shaktipat. It is some form of deep hypnosis; the use of certain magnetic forces they have learned. And it is not necessary that they fully understand the science of it. Nor is it necessary that their claim is a conscious lie. There are so many snares!

You see a street juggler: he lays a boy down, spreads a sheet, places an amulet on the boy’s chest. He asks: “What is the number on this man’s banknote?” The boy tells the number. “What time is it on that man’s watch?” The boy tells the time. He whispers into the boy’s ear: “What is this man’s name?” The boy says the name. To the onlookers it seems proved that the amulet has some power. The juggler lifts the amulet and asks, “What’s on this man’s watch now?” The boy falls silent; no answer. The juggler sells the amulet—for a few coins. You take it home, place it on your chest, and sit with it for a lifetime—nothing will happen. It is not that the boy has been taught to fake, not that he was instructed, “When I lift the amulet, don’t speak.” Not that the amulet has any special property. The trick is subtler—and surprising when you grasp it.

This is called post-hypnotic suggestion. If we hypnotize a person and, while he is in trance, say to him: “Open your eyes and look carefully at this amulet. Whenever I put this amulet on your chest and say, ‘one, two, three,’ you will immediately go back into trance.” This suggestion given in trance—“whenever this amulet is placed on you, you will go into trance again”—will work. And in that hypnotic state, it is quite possible to “read” the banknote’s number, to “see” the watch. There is nothing fake about that part. As soon as the sheet is spread and the amulet placed on the boy, he slips into hypnotic trance. Now he can tell your note’s number. He hasn’t been taught this; even the boy doesn’t know what is happening.

The juggler too doesn’t know what happens inside. He knows a trick: if you hypnotize someone and tell him in trance that whenever a certain object is placed on him he will go into trance again, he will. That much the juggler knows. The inner mechanics, the dynamics—neither of them knows. Because the one who fully knows such dynamics would not be doing street shows. Even though this is only the mind’s domain, it is still a very big subject. Not even a Freud knew its full dynamics; not even a Jung; not even the greatest psychologists fully know what happens. But the juggler knows the trick, and that much suffices for the show.

You don’t need to know what electricity is to press a button. You don’t need to know how it is generated, or the full engineering of it. You press the switch, the light comes on. You know the trick; anyone can switch on the light.

Likewise, the juggler knows that if he places the amulet and does such-and-such, this will happen; he can do that much. You take the amulet home, it’s meaningless. It works only for the one on whom that suggestion was first implanted in trance. Place it on your chest and sit—nothing will happen. Then you’ll think, “Something’s wrong with me; the amulet is fine,” because you saw it “work.”

So there are many kinds of falsehoods—not false in the sense that nothing happens, but false in the sense that they are not spiritual; they are merely mental events. And for every spiritual thing, mental parallels are possible—every single one. They can be produced; another can produce them in you. And the claimants can do that much. Yes, the non-claimant can do more.

Shaktipat that happens merely by presence
But a non-claimant never goes around saying, “I’m doing shaktipat. I will make this happen in you, I will make that happen in you. This will happen, and then you’ll be bound to me!” None of this arises. Such a person has become like a zero. Even if you simply come near him, something begins to happen. He himself has no idea it is happening.

There is an ancient Roman tale: a great saint lived, and the fragrance of his character and the rays of his knowing reached the gods. The gods came and said, “Ask for a boon; whatever you ask, we are ready to grant.” The fakir said, “What had to happen has happened; please don’t put me in difficulty. You say, ‘Ask!’ If I do not, it seems discourteous. And I have nothing left to ask; in fact, all that I never asked for has happened. Forgive me—do not put me through the hardship of asking.” But the gods were even more insistent—because now his fragrance rose even more strongly: one who has gone beyond asking! They said, “Then at least ask for something; we will not leave without giving.”

He said, “Now this is difficult! Then you give me something yourselves; I don’t know what to ask, for I have no desires left; you give me whatever you wish, I will accept.” The gods said, “We grant you this power: whomever you touch—even a corpse—will come alive; the sick will be healed.” He replied, “That will create work; those who are healed will be fine—but what about me? I will fall into great trouble. I’ll start feeling, ‘I am healing.’ The dead may arise, but I will die. Please don’t kill me; have mercy! Do something so that I won’t know.”

So the gods said, “All right, we’ll arrange it thus: wherever your shadow falls, the sick will be healed, the dead will revive.” He said, “That’s fine. And one more kindness: make it so my neck cannot turn backward—otherwise even the shadow will be a problem: my own shadow!” From then on his neck could not turn. He wandered from village to village. A withered flower would bloom when his shadow fell upon it—but by then he had already moved on. Because his neck couldn’t turn, he never knew. And when he died he asked the gods, “That boon you gave—did it ever work? I never came to know.”

I find this story very appealing. This is how it happens: it happens through the shadow—and the neck does not turn. But the condition is emptiness; otherwise the neck will try to turn. If even a trace of ego remains, there will be a backward glance—“Did it happen?” And if it did, then “I did it.” To prevent that is very difficult. Where emptiness flowers, around it shaktipat-like things are ordinary—nothing big—just as the sun rises and flowers bloom; just as a river flows and roots receive water. The river neither makes claims nor puts up billboards along the way: “I watered so many trees; so many are in bloom.” None of that. The river doesn’t even know. By the time the flowers bloom, the river has already reached the ocean. Where is the leisure to stop and look back?

What happens in such a state has spiritual value. But where there is ego and doership—“I am doing”—there it is a psychic phenomenon, a mental event, hypnosis at most.

The use of hypnosis in my meditation

A few things have to be understood. In truth, hypnosis is a science. And if hypnosis is used to deceive you, it can be. But hypnosis can also be used to help you. Every science is a double-edged sword. Atomic energy can grow wheat, and it can also wipe out the one who eats the wheat—both are possible; both are the power of the atom. Electricity brings a cool breeze into your home, and if you get a shock it can take your life. Yet you cannot hold electricity responsible.

So, if someone’s ego uses hypnosis to dominate another, to erase the other, to create illusions and dreams in the other—it can be done. But the opposite can also be done. Hypnosis is a neutral force; it is a science. With it, the dreams already running within you can be broken, and your deep-rooted illusions can be uprooted.

In my method, the preliminary stages are indeed hypnotic. But there is a fundamental element tied to it that protects you and will not let you be hypnotized—and that is witnessing. That is the only difference between hypnosis and meditation. But it is a vast difference. When someone hypnotizes you, they want to make you unconscious, because only when you are unconscious can something be done to you. When I say that meditation uses hypnotic means, I also say: remain a witness in the background, remain awake the whole time, keep knowing what is happening—then nothing can be done against you; you are always present. The very same suggestions that can be used in hypnosis to make you unconscious can be used in meditation to break your unconsciousness.

What I call meditation has preliminary steps that are all hypnotic. And they will be, because any journey toward the soul must begin from your mind. You are in the mind; that is where you are. The journey must begin there. But that journey can go two ways: either you are set on a circular path within the mind, so you begin going round and round inside it, like an ox tied to the oil-press—there will be much traveling, but you will not get out of the mind. Or the journey can take you to the very edge of the mind, to the place from which you can jump beyond. In both cases, your first steps will fall within the mind.

So the primary form of hypnosis is the same as that of meditation, but the final form is different; their goals are different; and there is one basic difference in their processes. Hypnosis seeks immediate stupor—sleep, “go to sleep.” Hence all hypnotic suggestion begins with sleep, with drowsiness—sleep; then other things follow. All of meditation’s suggestion begins with “Wake up, be awake,” and the emphasis remains on witnessing. Because when your witness is awake, no outer influence can be imposed upon you. And if whatever is happening within you is happening in your full knowing, then nothing can go against you. Keep this in mind.

The mind’s tricks to avoid the meditation experiment
Another point to understand: the difference between those to whom it is happening and those to whom it is not is only this—that those to whom it is not happening have a feeble resolve—fearful, afraid; even afraid that it might actually happen. How strange! They have come to do it, they have come so that meditation may happen. Yet now they are afraid it might happen! And seeing others to whom it is happening, those to whom it is not happening feel: perhaps they are just acting, perhaps it’s all make-believe.

These are defense measures; self-protective devices. In this way they are saying, “We are not so weak that it would happen to us! These are weak people to whom it happens.” Thus they also gratify their egos. And they do not understand that it does not happen to the weak, it happens to the strong; it does not happen to the unintelligent, it happens to the intelligent. An idiot can neither be hypnotized nor led into meditation; neither is possible. A dull-witted person cannot be hypnotized. Try hypnotizing a madman—you will see you cannot. The more intelligence a person has, the more quickly he can be hypnotized; the less intelligent, the longer it takes. But how does the untalented protect himself? How does the irresolute protect herself? By saying: “It seems some people are just putting it on; and those to whom it is happening are of weak will; they have no strength of their own, they are under someone else’s influence; so they began to do it.”

Recently a man in Amritsar came to see me. A doctor—educated, elderly, retired. He came on the third day to apologize. He said, “I have come only to ask your forgiveness, because a sin arose in my mind and I need pardon.” “What happened?” I asked. He said, “On the first day when I came to meditate, I felt that you had planted five or ten people there who were dressed up to do anything. And then some weak people, seeing them, also began to do it. That’s how it looked to me the first day. But I said, let me see on the second day what happens. On the second day I saw two or three of my friends to whom it was happening—they are all doctors. So I went to their homes. I said, ‘Look, now I can’t believe that he prepped you, but were you acting or did it really happen to you?’ They said, ‘Why would we act? Yesterday we also suspected some people might be acting! But today it happened to us.’”

On the third day it happened to that doctor, and he came to apologize. He said, “Only today, when it happened to me, did my illusion fully drop. Otherwise I couldn’t believe it; I even suspected perhaps these doctors were in on it too—nowadays who knows what anyone might do! Even though I know them, what can be said? Or perhaps they came under an influence, got hypnotized, something happened! But today it happened to me. And when I went home—my younger brother is also a doctor—he asked, ‘So, did you see that show? Did anything happen to you there or not?’ I said, ‘Forgive me, brother, I will not call it a show now; for two days I also made fun, but today it has happened to me. And I won’t be angry with you, because I was thinking exactly what you are thinking.’ And so I came to ask your forgiveness, because such a thought arose in my mind.”

These are our security measures. Those to whom it does not happen arrange defenses. But between those to whom it is not happening and those to whom it is, the distance is only an inch or two—just a slight lack of resolve. If they gather a little courage, make a firm commitment, and can drop a little inhibition…

Today itself a woman told me that another woman phoned her, saying, “In Rajneeshji’s experiment someone might become naked, something or other happens—then respectable women won’t be able to go! What will happen to respectable women?” Some people even have this conceit that “I am a respectable woman of a good family, and some other woman is from a bad family!” Then the bad-family woman can go—but what will happen to the good-family woman? These are all defense measures. And that “respectable” woman will restrain herself by imagining she is respectable. What sort of respectability is this? If someone becomes naked, and a woman is troubled by it, then she is the one of a bad house. What concern is it of hers?

Do not decide without doing
Our mind makes very strange arrangements. It says, “All this is nonsense; nothing will happen to me. I am not weak; I am strong.” But had you been strong, it would have happened; had you been intelligent, it would have happened. The first mark of an intelligent person is that until he has done it himself he does not make a judgment. He will not even say that the other is faking. Who am I to decide that? And to judge another as false is a very degrading thing. Who are we to decide that the other is pretending? It is this kind of false judgment that has caused so much trouble.

People did not accept that something had happened to Jesus—otherwise they would not have crucified him. They thought he was a confused man, saying anything. They would not have thrown stones at Mahavira. They thought, “This is a deranged person, standing naked; nothing has happened to him.”

What is happening inside another person—how can we be the judges of that? So until I have tried it myself, not making a decision is the hallmark of intelligence. And if it is not happening to me, I should examine whether I am doing the experiment fully as instructed. If I am not doing it fully, how will it happen?

Recently in Porbandar, on the last day I said: if someone does not put in one hundred degrees of energy, even ninety-nine degrees will miss. A friend came and told me, “I was going slowly; I thought it would happen in a while. But it occurred to me that it will never happen that way; it must be one hundred degrees. So today I put in my whole strength—and it happened. I had thought I would keep doing it slowly and it would happen.”

Why slowly? If you will not do it, fine—don’t. But why do it slowly?

In going slowly we want to stand with our feet in two boats. And the traveler standing in two boats gets into great difficulty. One boat is better—even if it goes to hell, at least it’s one. But with one foot in heaven’s boat and one in hell’s—actually the mind is uncertain where it wants to go. It fears: who knows whether pleasure is in hell or in heaven? Standing with feet in both, you can miss both and perish in the river. This is our mind all the time—you go, and then you hold back there too. And it harms.

Do the experiment completely! And take no decision about others. Whoever does it fully is certain to have it happen—because I am speaking of a science now, not of religion. It is purely a scientific matter that if it is done completely, the result is inevitable; there is no other way. For I call the divine a force. Over there there is no favoritism; no amount of prayer, no being born into a good family, or in such-and-such house, will work; being born in the land of India will not carry you across just like that—not so.

It is purely a matter of science. Whoever completes it— even if God himself were against you—he could not stop it. And even if there were no God, it would not matter. Care only whether you are doing it completely or not. And always take your decisions from inner experience, not from the outside; otherwise you can go wrong.