Jin Khoja Tin Paiyan #15

First, what we call body and what we call soul are not two such things between which no bridge could ever be built. There is no chasm between them; there is a continuity, a joining.

For long there was a notion that body is one thing and soul is another, and that they are so separate that no bridge could possibly connect them. Not only separate, but mutually opposed. This notion split religion and science. Religion was defined as the search for that which is other than the body; science as the search for the body—what is other than the soul.

Naturally, each kind of search affirmed one and denied the other. Science, searching the body, said: there is only body—where is the soul? Religion, searching the beyond, said: there is only soul—where is the body?

When religion reached its heights it called the body illusion, maya—unreal; only the soul is true. When science reached its heights it declared the soul false—only the body is everything. This confusion arose from taking body and soul as necessarily antagonistic elements.

I spoke of seven bodies. If we take the first body as the physical body and the last as the spiritual, and we leave out the five bodies in between, then no bridge can be built between them—just as if, on a staircase, you keep only the bottom and the top steps and remove all the steps in between, you will feel the two are separated by a gulf. If you see all the steps, the first is connected to the last; in fact, the last step is only the ultimate extension of the first, and the first is the beginning of the last.

Etheric energy subtler than atomic energy
When we understand all seven bodies, a linkage appears between the first and the second. The first body is the physical body; the second is the etheric body—ether, the feeling body. It is the most subtle form of the physical. It is not non-physical; it is the physical in its subtlest form—so subtle that physical instruments are not yet able to grasp it clearly. But materialists can no longer deny that matter, in its finest divisions, becomes almost immaterial.

Modern science says that if we keep breaking matter down, what we finally reach—electrons—are immaterial; they are just particles of electricity. No substance remains, only energy. An astounding event of the last thirty years is that the very science which began by affirming matter as truth has reached the conclusion that matter as such does not exist—only energy does; matter is a rapidly spinning form of energy, hence the illusion.

A fan spins above us. If it runs fast enough, its three blades disappear and you see a single metallic circle. The empty spaces between the blades seem to be filled because the blades are moving so fast that before the image of one blade fades on the retina the next blade has already arrived; images overlap. If the fan spins even faster, you could sit on it and not realize anything beneath is changing—because the gap is filled before you can fall through it. It is a question of velocity.

When energy spins at tremendous speed, to us it appears as matter. The atomic energy science is elaborating today—no one has seen it directly; only its effects are seen. The primal power of the atom no one has seen, and now it is questionable whether anyone ever will. But we see effects.

If we call the etheric body the primal atomic body, there is no harm. Its effects are visible. No one has seen the etheric body directly; only its effects. Because of those effects, we need to accept it. This second body is the subtlest form of the first, therefore there is no difficulty in building a bridge between the two. They are joined—one is gross and visible, the other is subtle and hence invisible.

Astral energy subtler than etheric energy
After the etheric comes the third, the astral body—the subtle body. It is the subtlest form of ether. Science has not reached there yet. It has reached the idea that if we analyze matter down to its limits, only energy remains; we call that ether here. If ether too can be divided into its subtlest units, what remains is the astral—the subtle of the subtle.

Science will get there. Once it believed only in matter and denied the atomic; once it said: matter is solid. Today it says: there is nothing truly solid; everything is non-solid. This wall that looks so solid is porous; there are gaps, and things pass through. You might still say: then at least the units surrounding the gaps must be solid atoms! They too are not solid. If we could magnify an atom, the space between its particles would be as vast, proportionally, as the distance between the earth and the moon and the stars. Even those joining particles are not solid—they are only electrical entities. Even the term “particle” is being dropped, because particle suggests a chunk of matter. They are not particles, for a particle would remain as it is; these keep changing moment to moment. They are like waves, not particles. But even a water wave is a physical event.

So science coined a new word thirty years ago: quanta. Some words resist translation—like Brahman into English, or Om in any language—because they were coined to point to unique experiential realities. Similarly, “quanta” is a peak term of Western science with no equivalent elsewhere. If we try to understand it: a quantum is both particle and wave together—difficult to conceive. Sometimes it behaves like a wave, sometimes like a particle—unpredictably.

Signs of consciousness in matter’s subtlest energy units
Matter used to be reliable, certain. But these ultimate energy units are uncertain; their behavior cannot be fixed in advance. Earlier science stood upon certainty; now the scientist cannot assert with the same confidence. Certainty is a surface phenomenon; go deeper and uncertainty abounds.

What does uncertainty imply? Where there is uncertainty there must be consciousness; otherwise uncertainty is impossible. Uncertainty is a mark of consciousness; certainty belongs to matter. Leave a chair in this room—you will find it where you left it. Leave a child here—you will not find him where he was. The chair allows certainty; the child does not. About matter we can be certain; about consciousness we cannot.

The day science accepted that about the ultimate atomic entities we cannot be certain how they will behave, that day—though science has not seen it clearly—it implicitly accepted the possibility of consciousness in matter’s ultimate units.

Inanimate matter cannot be uncertain. Fire does not burn if it “feels like it” and refrain if it doesn’t; water does not sometimes flow downwards and sometimes upwards by mood; it doesn’t boil at 100 degrees if it wishes, or at 80 if it wishes. Matter’s behavior is fixed. But as we enter into the depths, the ultimate constituents become indeterminate.

Consider this: in Bombay we could estimate how many people die each day—fairly accurately—from annual statistics of a city of ten million. For a whole country, the error decreases; for the whole world, even more certainty. But try to predict for one individual—certainty drops drastically. The larger the crowd, the more material the phenomenon; the more individual, the more conscious it becomes.

A stone is a crowd of millions of atoms; hence we can be sure about it. Go down to one atom—now you face an individual; prediction falters. Its behavior it decides. For the whole stone we can say: it will be found here. The atoms within will not be found as they were; by the time we return they have moved, traveled.

Finer planes within the atom
As we descend into matter, uncertainty begins. Hence science now speaks not of certainty but of probability: this is likelier than that. No longer: this will be. The prestige of science had rested on certainty; deeper inquiry shook that ground. Why? Because it has moved from the physical to the etheric—without realizing it, since the language to acknowledge that shift is not accepted. They have entered the second body within matter, and that body has its own possibilities. Yet there is no gap between the first and second.

The third, astral body is subtler still. If we could break the ether into its units—still difficult, for we have only just reached atomic units in physics—it would yield the astral. When we broke the physical, its units proved etheric; when we break ether, its units will prove astral. Then the linkage will be evident. These three bodies are clearly connected. That is why photographs of entities without physical bodies—ghosts—have been taken.

Powers of the subtle bodies
A ghost has no physical body; its sheath begins with the etheric. Ghost images have been captured only because condensed ether can be registered by very sensitive plates. Ether, being subtle, is highly susceptible to mind. If such an entity wills to appear, it can condense its etheric body—bringing its dispersed units closer—to form an outline; that outline can be photographed.

Our second, etheric body is far more influenced by mind than the physical. The subtler, the more it yields to mind. The astral is still more responsive. Hence astral traveling is possible. A person asleep in this room can, through the astral body, be anywhere on earth. Stories of someone seen in two or three places are not difficult to understand. The physical remains here; the astral can be elsewhere. It is a matter of a little practice.

The deeper we go within, the greater the power of mind; the more we move outward, the less. Like a lamp covered by glass shades: with one cover the light dims; with two, more; with seven, only a faint glow remains—having passed through seven veils.

Psychic energy as the subtlest form of physical energy
Our life-energy grows dim by the time it reaches the body; hence we feel little mastery over the body. But as one moves inward, mastery over the body increases proportionately.

The third body is astral—the subtle of the etheric, which is the subtle of the physical. The fourth is mental.

Until now we thought mind and matter were separate. In truth, definitions were circular: matter is what is not mind, mind is what is not matter. But now we know mind is the subtlest form of matter—or conversely, matter is condensed mind.

Distinct wave-forms for distinct thoughts
If the astral is broken into its units, they become thought-waves. There is great kinship between quanta and thought-waves. We never thought thoughts have physical existence. But when you think, the wave-field around you alters.

Not only thoughts—each word has its own wavelength. Sprinkle sand on a glass plate and, from below, sound a word loudly—Om—and a particular pattern appears in the sand; say “Ram”—another; utter a crude abuse—yet another. The uglier the word, the more chaotic the pattern; the more refined the word, the more beautiful and ordered.

Words are manifest thought. Unmanifest thought too has its sound-pattern—what we call thought. As you think, special vibrations spread, enveloping you. Often you feel suddenly depressed in someone’s presence though he smiles; another’s presence uplifts you. A room feels peaceful or agitated as you enter. Why? Thought-waves are continuously entering you.

A French scientist has built a small device that detects thought-waves. As one approaches, it begins to register the type of thought. An idiot produces few readings; a highly creative mind makes the instrument vibrate intensely.

What we call mind is the subtle of the astral. We are forever moving toward the subtler within. Science has reached the etheric—though it calls it atomic energy. It will not take long to reach the astral; the needs are already arising.

On the fourth body too much work is happening from other directions, because many have studied mind separately. They have discovered much.

Research on thought-transmission
In Russia, for example, a scientist named Fayadev transmitted a thought a thousand miles. He sat in Moscow and sent it to a person far away. Just as radio transmits, if we concentrate and project a thought intensely in one direction, it reaches there; if the receiver simultaneously focuses and remains open, the thought transmits.

A simple home experiment in thought-transmission
Try a small experiment at home. Children receive quickly; their receptivity is keen. Darken a room. Seat a small child in one corner, you in another. Tell the child: for five minutes, keep your attention on me; I will say something silently—try to hear, and if you do, speak it. Choose a word—Ram or rose—and, holding the child in attention, resound it within yourself without speaking. In two or three days the child will begin to catch it. Then reverse it: have the child think a word and project it to you; now you can receive, because your doubt has lessened.

Nirjara—shedding of karmic dust
Between you and the child lies the physical world. Thought, in some deep sense, must be physical; otherwise it could not traverse a physical medium.

You may be surprised that Mahavira called even karma material. When in anger you kill someone, you perform karma—of anger and killing. Mahavira says it adheres to you as subtle particles, as karmic dust. It is material. Hence nirjara means the day this karmic dust falls away and you remain pure. Nirjara is the shedding of karmic atoms. Because they are ultra-subtle they carry over births.

So the mental body is the subtlest of the astral. There is no gap among these four; each is a subtler phase of the previous. Much work has been done on the mental body, especially in parapsychology. Many astonishing facts have come into science’s grasp.

The effect of thought-waves on matter
In Monte Carlo there are gamblers whom it is hard to defeat because the number they will is the number the dice fall on—no matter what dice are used, even blindfolded. Investigation showed their intense thought influences the dice. If a thought-wave can alter a die, thought is physical; otherwise it could not.

A small experimental test of thought-power
Fill a glass with water. Float a thin film of glycerine on top. Place a tiny pin on the film so it floats. Close the room. Kneel with hands on the floor and fix your gaze on the pin. Sit quietly for five minutes, then say inwardly to the pin: turn left. It will turn left. Say: turn right. It will turn right. Say: stop. It will stop. If your thought can move a pin left and right, then in principle it can move a mountain; the mountain is just a larger task.

Objects absorb thought-waves
If someone is given your handkerchief, they can tell much about you—because your kerchief absorbs your wave-field; your jewelry does the same. Such waves are so subtle that a kerchief once in Alexander’s hand can still carry his aura. That is why we began to build tombs and samadhis.

The waves of the blessed remain effective for thousands of years
In this land we cremate ordinary dead immediately so their souls do not hover; but we do not burn a sannyasin, because his soul had ceased hovering even while alive. We preserve his body; a person who lived thirty years in purity will have a body that radiates those waves for thousands of years. His samadhi becomes meaningful; its surroundings are affected.

Thought has infinite possibilities—but they are all physical. Hence think with care; your waves will remain even after you are gone. Your lifespan is short; thought, being subtler, lives longer. Scientists suggest that if Jesus or Krishna ever lived, someday we will be able to capture their thought-waves and determine whether Krishna indeed spoke the Gita—because those waves still traverse the cosmos, reflecting off planets and moons.

Throw a pebble into the sea: the pebble’s life on the surface is brief, but the ripples expand without end. Thoughts, even unspoken, still travel in the sky of this universe. If our scientific speed ever surpasses them, we could listen.

From Delhi a radio broadcast does not reach Bombay instantly; there is a time gap. A New York TV image you see arrives after a delay; the person could be dead, yet you see him alive. From earth, waves of thought and image go to infinite realms. If we could go ahead of them and capture them, they would still be “alive.” Man dies; thought dies much later. The unmanifest thought lasts longer than the expressed, being subtler. The subtler, the longer-lived; the grosser, the shorter.

Specific sonic effects and their specific influences
Thoughts influence the physical world in many ways. Botanists have found that pleasant, loving music near plants makes them flower out of season; harsh, noisy music inhibits flowering and fruit. Cows give more milk under certain music; under others, they stop. Thought generates even subtler waves; each of us carries a world of our own waves, constantly radiating.

Scientific study of the mental world during sleep
These radiations are physical. Mind is not merely “mental”; it is a four-steps-subtle form of the physical. Hence science can reach it; its waves can be detected.

We once could not measure how deep someone slept; now we can. Just as we have instruments for heartbeats, we have devices for sleep. Sensors on the skull draw a graph through the night—how deep, how shallow. They indicate how long one slept, how long one dreamed, how long the dreams were pleasant or unpleasant, sexual or not.

In America there are some ten laboratories where thousands are paid to sleep while their sleep is studied. A third of life is sleep; without it, the rest cannot be sustained. One could live sixty years asleep, but cannot live sixty awake without sleep. Sleep is more fundamental.

In sleep we are elsewhere. Now we can measure how deep. Many say they don’t dream. They are mistaken. We dream all night; only the last, near-awakening dream is remembered. The machine says so.

It has become necessary to study what we dream in deep sleep, because those dreams reveal the real personality. Awake we are mostly false; in dreams we are more true. If someday we make a window into the skull to see dreams, man’s last freedom will go; even dreams will be policed. For now, sleep remains free—but not for long; encroachment has begun.

Teaching children during sleep
In Russia they have begun sleep-teaching. Awake, the child resists; asleep, there is no resistance. A tape plays through the night: “Two and two are four.” In the morning, ask: “How much is two plus two?” “Four.”

What can be inserted by speech in sleep can also be inserted by thought-waves. A gramophone record does not store language; it stores impacts of waves. The needle retraces them and sound reappears. If you know the sand-pattern Om creates, you can, from the pattern, recreate Om. We will, sooner or later, make records of thought. We are beginning to capture the impacts of thought; records will follow. Then a strange thing will happen: Einstein may die, but if his thinking process is fully recorded in a machine, the machine could think further as Einstein would have—because it has the entire impacts of his thought.

We have caught sleep, dreams, unconsciousness—and also how to intervene in mind scientifically.

Prospects of scientific intervention in the mental world
If a person is angry, earlier we could only preach: don’t be angry; threaten hell. If he says, “I’m ready for hell,” we were helpless. As hell’s fear faded, morality collapsed.

Science says: no need. Anger requires a particular biochemical process; anger is a physical event. Certain secretions are necessary; block them and anger cannot arise. We keep telling fourteen-year-olds to be celibate. They don’t, and never have. Science says: don’t worry. Since certain glands mature to produce sex, delay their maturity to twenty-five. This is dangerous—because once mind is entirely in scientific grasp, it can be misused. The biochemical composition of a rebellious person differs from that of an orthodox one. If we can identify it, we can suppress rebellion or orthodoxy. No need for prisons or hangings; take the thief to a hospital, remove a certain secretion, or administer an antidote.

Such work shows that entry into the fourth body faces no real difficulty—except that much of science is consumed by war, so progress is slower. Still, remarkable work is ongoing.

Chemical replicas of spiritual experiences
Aldous Huxley claims that what happened to Kabir or Mira can be induced by an injection. There is some truth in this provocative claim.

If Mahavira fasts for a month and attains peace, fasting is a physical act; if mind becomes peaceful through a physical act, the mind is physical. What happens in fasting? The body’s chemistry changes. Science says: why struggle a month? The chemical arrangement can be altered now—and the peace that Mahavira reached after a month can be yours now, for the underpinning is the same.

In meditation I tell you to breathe intensely; what happens is a change in oxygen proportion. We could change the room’s oxygen and induce the same state without your exertion.

Science is entering the fourth body from many sides. Experiences you have in meditation—fragrances, inner colors—can now occur without meditation. We know which brain areas are active when inner colors appear, and their wavelengths. No need to meditate: stimulate that area electrically at that wavelength and colors appear. The two ends are parallel; trigger one and the other happens.

The problem of voluntary death
There are dangers. Any new discovery, the deeper it goes into man, the greater the dangers. For instance, how long to prolong life is now in our hands. Thousands of old people in Europe and America demand euthanasia—the right to die—because machines can keep them alive indefinitely. The law lags behind. Our old laws were made when we could not keep someone alive—only kill. Now we can “sentence” someone to be kept from dying; it could be a greater punishment than death.

By the end of this century science’s hold over the mental body
Science has already entered the fourth body and, in the next thirty years, will complete much of what this century has begun. Entry into the mental body is a major task that will reach its culmination.

Transcending linguistic barriers in the self-body
The fifth body—the self-body—is the subtlest form of the fourth. There are not only thought-waves; there are waves of my very being. Even if I sit utterly silent with no thoughts, my being radiates. If you come near me then, you enter the field of my presence. And the waves of being are more penetrating than those of thought.

Hence one who attains thoughtlessness becomes immensely impactful. His influence is immeasurable because waves of existence begin to arise—the subtlest waves known: of the self-body.

Often this happened—as with Mahavira—that he spoke very little, perhaps not at all. He would sit; people would sit with him, understand, and leave. That was possible then; today it is harder because to receive the waves of being, you too must be ready to drop thought. If you are noisy with thoughts, those subtle waves will pass through you unnoticed.

If waves of existence begin to flow, animals too can understand, plants can, stones can. An animal does not comprehend human language, but it understands the language of being as much as we do. If I sit thoughtless near a cat, the cat is thoughtless already. With you I must talk, for guiding you into thoughtlessness is a long journey.

Science will reach this body too—but only after the fourth. Since the fourth has been breached at many doors, science will soon accept the self-state; later comes difficulty.

Science’s reach up to the self-body
Up to the fifth body, things can be clarified scientifically; beyond, difficulties begin. Why? Science is specialization—knowing more and more about less and less. Its focus narrows to know deeply. Earlier a doctor knew the entire body; now no one does, nor can. An eye doctor knows only eyes; tomorrow left and right eye may even split; then white of the eye and black. Science concentrates its focus smaller and smaller.

Hence up to the fifth body, science can enter—because up to the fifth the domain is individual and comes into focus. From the sixth it is cosmic—the total. Science cannot grasp the total; only religion can.

Thus up to the soul science will manage; the difficulty comes at God—the cosmic. There I doubt science can ever grasp, unless it drops specialization; then it is no longer science, but becomes generalized like religion.

So up to the fifth, science and spirituality can travel together; in the sixth science is lost; the seventh—no. Science’s search is rooted in life: to live with less disease, more health, longer, more comfort. The seventh body is the acceptance of death—the great death. There the seeker goes beyond the search for life: he wants to know death too; having known being, he seeks non-being. There science has no meaning. Freud says the wish for nirvana is a death-wish, a sickness. He must say so, because science stands upon the expansion of the life-wish. But a moment comes when the wish to die is as healthy as the wish to live. If someone wants death from the beginning, he is ill; but at life’s end, wanting to die can be healthy.

Perfect dissolution into the great void is perfect health
Life and death are existence’s two legs. If you accept only one, you remain lame. The perfectly healthy one embraces both equally—being and non-being. He says: having known being, now let me know non-being; and he knows it without fear.

The seventh body is only for those brave ones who, having known life, now want to know death. Know that ordinary death too comes from the seventh body, while life begins from the first. Birth means the beginning of the physical body; hence in the womb the physical forms first, then other bodies enter. The last, nirvana body, is the source of death. One who clings to the physical fears death; such a one will never know the seventh.

Gradually withdrawing from the physical, a moment comes when one embraces death, and then knows. One who knows death is utterly free; life and death become two faces of one coin, and he goes beyond both.

A rare confluence: scientific intellect and religious heart
Science will never reach the seventh body; even the sixth is unlikely. The fifth is possible because the fourth’s gates are open. What is required are people who have a scientific intellect and a religious heart. This combination is rare. Scientific training inhibits religiosity in many ways; religious training inhibits scientific temperament. Where the two overlap, a great peak is reached—like Patanjali. With a scientific mind he entered religion and raised yoga to a summit unsurpassed since.

Sri Aurobindo tried hard; he had even more scientific intellect, trained fully in the West, but religion for him was later planted and did not go deep. He brought Darwin’s evolution into religion, and Western notions into the spiritual—but he had no religious essence to take into science. He created a vast body of literature, but its religiosity is superficial.

Whenever a scientific mind and a religious heart meet, a summit is scaled. This is likelier in the West now; the East has lost religion, and has no science. When things become excessive, the pendulum swings. The most intelligent in the West read the Gita with a relish no Indian does. When Schopenhauer read it, he danced with it on his head, saying: this is not for reading but for dancing.

By this century’s end a great peak can be touched, because when the time ripens, countless causes align. Einstein died a religious man. In life he was a scientist; at the end, religious. Some extreme scientists say: don’t take his last words seriously; his mind failed. But what he said was extraordinary: I thought I would know the universe, but the more I knew, the more I saw that the unknown is infinite. I thought science would turn mystery into a mathematical problem; instead, mathematics itself became a greater mystery.

Modern science in the echo of religion
Other top scientists circle the periphery of religion. As science approaches the third body—it has crossed the second—religion’s echo is inevitable; it is entering the realms of uncertainty, probability, the unknown. A hundred years ago we said: what cannot be seen, heard, or touched does not exist. Now science says: what can be touched is very little; the untouchable is vast. What can be heard is little; the unheard is infinite. What is visible is small; the invisible is immense. Our eyes catch only a narrow band of wavelengths; below and above are millions beyond our senses.

Accidents reveal this. A climber fell in the Alps and injured his ear; afterward he began to receive his village radio station with his ear. In hospital he was tormented—there is no on-off switch for the ear. At first he thought he was going mad; then it was verified: at the hour the station broadcast news, he heard exactly that. The ear’s wavelength had shifted due to injury. Sooner or later we will devise attachments to retune the ear’s wavelength to hear other bands.

Millions of sounds pass around us—huge and tiny. When a star explodes, a terrible roar passes, but we do not hear; otherwise we would go deaf. Our bodies, too, live within narrow ranges—like temperature. Similarly, every sense has limits. But beyond those limits, there is. Science has begun to accept this; acceptance is followed by inquiry.

That is why I said: up to the fifth it is possible.

No, this is not a question; this question does not arise. It neither arises nor can it be formed. Because when we say, “Who knows non-being?” we have already assumed that someone remains. Then non-being has not happened. Nirvana is not an expression of bodily experience.

I am telling you this as an example. By way of example I am telling you that you will know up to the sixth body. In the seventh body you will dive and come back into the sixth, and then you will say, “Ah, I had gone somewhere else, I had become non-being.” This reporting is reporting only up to the sixth body. Therefore some people did not speak at all about the seventh body. They also had a reason for not speaking: because what cannot be said, why try to say it!

There was a man, Wittgenstein; he wrote a few very precious things. One of his statements is: that which cannot be said must not be said. What cannot be said should not be said. For many have said it and landed us in difficulty. For with it they add the condition that it cannot be said, and then they say it as well; so whatever is said becomes negative reporting. It is not of that state, it is news only up to just before that state—the last milestone: “Up to here I was; beyond this I was not.” Because beyond this, neither was there a knower, nor was anything left to be known; neither was there anyone to bring back a report, nor was there any place for a report. But up to a certain boundary there was, before that boundary I was.

So that boundary line is the boundary line of the sixth body.

Unreachable, imperceptible, indescribable nirvana
Up to the sixth body the Vedas, the Upanishads, the Gita, the Bible go. In truth, the ineffable and indescribable is the seventh. Up to the sixth there is no hindrance. Up to the fifth there is great ease. But there is none—because no knower remains; nor does anything remain to be known. In fact, what we would call “that which remains”—even that does not remain. So this empty interval, this void—if we speak of it, all our words will be negative. Therefore the Vedas–Upanishads say: neti, neti. They say: Do not ask what was there; we can tell you only what was not—this is not, that is not; this was not, that was not. And do not ask what was; that we shall not say. We can only say: this too was not, that too was not—there was no wife, no father, no matter, no experience, no knowledge, no “I,” no ego, no world, no God—not there; because that becomes the boundary of our sixth. What was there? Then they become utterly silent; it cannot be said.

Buddha’s utmost effort to express the nirvana body
Therefore reports have been given up to Brahman. And therefore those who gave news beyond Brahman—the news can only be negative, hence it appears negative to us. Like Buddha; Buddha worked very hard to give news about it. Therefore everything is negation, therefore everything is denial. Hence the Indian mind could not catch his point. Brahma-jnana the Indian mind used to catch; up to there it runs positive. Brahman is—bliss, consciousness, being. Up to there it is positive assertion; we can say: this is, this is, this is. Buddha spoke of that which is not. He spoke of the seventh; perhaps that lone man made the most strenuous effort to speak of the seventh.

That is why Buddha’s roots were uprooted from this land, because about the place he was speaking there are no roots; about the place he was speaking there is no form, no shape. We all listened and it seemed futile: what will we do going where there is nothing at all! Tell us of some place where at least we will be. Buddha said: you will not be at all. Then we felt: why fall into such danger! We want to save ourselves till the very end.

Therefore Buddha and Mahavira both were present, but people understood Mahavira more because Mahavira did not speak beyond the fifth; he did not even speak of the sixth. For Mahavira had a scientific mind, and to him even the sixth seemed such that words begin to totter there, become dubious. Up to the fifth the word moves absolutely steady and a completely scientific reporting is possible; we can say: it is so, it is so. Because up to the fifth we find things that tally with our experience.

Imagine a man—there is a small island in a vast ocean; on that island only one kind of flower blooms. A small island, only one kind of flower; ten or fifty people live on that island. They have never gone outside. A passenger ship passes by and among them there is some intelligent man; he is brought onto the ship, he is brought to the other country.

Here he sees thousands of kinds of flowers. For him the meaning of “flower” was one flower only. “Flower” meant only the flower that grew on his island. For the first time the meaning of “flower” begins to expand. “Flower” did not mean only what it did before. He now finds that there are thousands of flowers. He sees the lotus, he sees the rose, he sees champa, he sees jasmine. Now he is in great difficulty: how will I go back and make people understand that “flower” does not mean just this one; flowers have names. On his island there will be no names; for where there is only one, there is no naming. There “flower” itself is the name. That suffices. There is no need to say “rose-flower,” no need to say “champa-flower.” Now he will say: how will I explain to them what champa is? They will say: a flower, right? And “flower” is very clear before them.

Now the man returns. He is in great difficulty.

Yet there is some device, because at least one flower exists on that island—there is at least a flower. He can say: this is a red one; there are flowers of white color too. This is the name given to it. This is a small flower; there is a very big flower too, it is called lotus. Still he will be able to communicate a little bit with the islanders, because there is one flower in their language. And he can make a little indication toward the other flowers as well.

But imagine that the man goes to the moon—the man does not go by ship to some other island but an astronaut takes him to the moon—where there are no flowers at all; where there are no plants; where the volume and pressure of air are different—and then he returns to his island, and the islanders ask: What did you see? What did you find on the moon? Then giving the news becomes even more difficult, because nothing tallies by which he could give the news; how to say what he saw there; he would find no words in their language.

Exactly such is the situation. Up to the fifth, within our language we find words; but those words are like the difference between a thousand flowers and one flower. From the sixth, language begins to go awry. From the sixth we reach such a place where even the difference between one and many is not—and difficulty begins.

Even so, with negation a little work can be managed; or with the notion of totality a little work can be managed. We can say: there is no limit there, it is limitless. We know limits; we do not know the limitless. So on the basis of limit we can say: there are no limits there, it is limitless there. Even then a slight notion will be formed, though not a firm one; we will suspect that we have understood, but we will not have understood.

Therefore great confusion arises. It seems to us that we have understood—“Rightly said, there are no limits there.” But what does it mean that there are no limits? All our experience is of limits. To understand it like this is as if the islanders say, “All right, we have understood; a flower, no?” Then the man will say, “No, no, do not take it as that flower; for that has nothing to do with it, we are speaking of something very different. That kind of flower does not exist there at all,” he will say. And they will say, “Then why are you calling it a flower when such a flower does not exist? Flower means this.”

We too suspect that we have understood; we say: God is infinite. We say we have understood. But our entire experience is of limit; in truth we have understood nothing. Merely by understanding the word “limit,” by prefixing “in-” we feel that limit will not be there and we have understood. But when you sit to conceive “Where will there be such a thing where there is no limit?” then you will be shaken. For however much you think, a limit will remain. You go on extending, go on extending; billions and trillions—numbers break down, miles and light-years end—wherever you stop, immediately a boundary will stand.

In our mind “infinite” can mean only this much: whose boundary is very far—at the most; so far that it does not come within our grasp; but it will be there. Missed—the point is not grasped.

Therefore things up to the sixth can be said; people will think they have understood—they will not have understood.

The seventh will not be understood even to the extent of thinking “we understood.” About the seventh there is no question at all. They will simply say: What absurd things are you talking! What are you saying?

Om—the symbol of the wordless, beyond-meaning truth
Therefore for the seventh we invented absurd words, which have no meaning. Like Om. It has no meaning. It has no meaning; it is a meaningless word. We used it for the seventh. When someone kept insisting—up to the sixth we spoke, and when he kept insisting—we said: Om. Therefore, after writing all the scriptures, at the end: Om shanti! Do you understand the meaning of Om shanti? The seventh: finished; beyond this there is no talk—the seventh, the end. They both carry the same meaning. Therefore at the end of every scripture we do not write “iti,” we write “Om shanti.” That Om is the indicator of the seventh: now have compassion, beyond this the conversation will not proceed; now be still.

So we found an absurd word, with no meaning. It must not have any meaning. If it has meaning, it becomes useless; because we have sought it for that world where all meanings cease; it is a non-meaning word. Therefore in any language of the world there is no word quite like it. Other usages exist—like “Amen.” But that means “peace.” Usages exist, but there is no word like Om. For example a Christian will pray and at the end say: Amen. He is saying: Enough, finished; peace thereafter; now no words. But there is no word like Om. It has no possible translation. We had chosen it as the symbol for the seventh.

Therefore it was carved in temples—to give news of the seventh, that you do not stop at the sixth. They inscribe Om and place Rama and Krishna standing within it. Om is much greater than them. Krishna peeps out of it, but Krishna is nothing; Om is much greater. Out of it everything peeps, and into it everything dissolves. Therefore we have never given anything greater value than Om. It is the holiest. Holiest in the sense that it is the ultimate; beyond it—beyond—where everything is lost, there it is.

So there is no question of reporting the seventh. Yes, a little news can be given in negation—this will not be, that will not be. But even that is meaningful only up to the sixth. In relation to the seventh, therefore many people remained silent. And those who spoke got into great trouble after speaking. And while speaking, again and again they had to say that this cannot be said; they had to keep repeating: we are certainly speaking, but this cannot be said. Then we ask them: This is very difficult; if it cannot be said, do not say it at all. Then they say: But it certainly is! And there is nothing like it which is more worthy of being spoken; yet there is also nothing like it which can come into speech. There is much that is speakable, much that is reportable; but that is only up to where some news can be given. Yet the difficulty is precisely this: there can be no news of it; it can be known, it cannot be said.

And therefore those who come from that side and stand among us like dumb men—who were very eloquent, who possessed great verbal power, who could say everything—when even they suddenly stand like dumb men, then their dumbness says something; their mute eyes say something.

As you ask, so Buddha had made it a rule that he would say: Do not even ask this; it is not for asking, it is for knowing. So he would say: This is avyakhya—it is not to be expounded; do not make me do a wrong thing.

Lao Tzu says: Do not ask me to write, because whatever I write will be wrong. What I have to write, I will not be able to write; and what I need not write, that I can write—but what is the point of that! So all his life he postponed—did not write, did not write, did not write. In the end the nation harassed him so much that he wrote a small book, but in it he wrote at the very beginning: The moment truth is said, it becomes untrue.

But this seventh—this talk of the seventh truth—is not the talk of all truths. Up to the sixth, by saying it does not become false. Up to the sixth, by saying it becomes somewhat doubtful; up to the fifth, by saying it becomes absolutely certain; at the seventh, by saying it becomes false. Where we ourselves come to an end, how will our speech and our language survive there! They too come to an end.

Om is not a word, it is a picture.

There are two reasons Om was chosen. First, the search was for a word that has no meaning, to which you cannot attach meaning; because if you do, it falls on this side of the fifth. A word was needed that, in one sense, is meaningless. Or say: beyond meaning. Both are the same.

All our words are meaningful. We coin words precisely so they bear meaning. If there is no meaning, what need is there for a word? We make words to speak, and the purpose of speaking is that I may convey something to you; when I speak, there should be a hint of meaning for you. When people returned from the seventh—or went to the seventh—they felt: whatever word we make, if it carries meaning, it will immediately fall before the fifth body. The dictionary will write out its meaning; people will read and think they have understood. But the seventh cannot have meaning. Call it meaningless; or call it beyond meaning—both point to the same.

So for that which is beyond meaning—where all meanings are lost—what sort of word to find? How to find it? And how to fashion it? In crafting the word, a great science was applied. It was created with immense imagination, with great vision and farsightedness; because it was to be created as a root, an original word to stand upon the primal foundation. How to find a word that has no meaning—and in such a way that, in a deeper sense, it also becomes the symbol of the fundamental ground?

The basic sounds of our language are three: A, U, M. The entire expanse of our words is the expansion of these three sounds. The root phonemes are three—A, U, M. Now A, U, and M in themselves have no meaning; meaning arises from their relations. When A becomes “ab,” it becomes meaningful; when M enters a word it becomes meaningful. As yet they are meaningless. A, U, M have no meaning. And these three are the roots. Our entire speech is the unfolding, the combinations, of these three.

So these three root sounds were taken—A, U, M—and, by joining them, Om was formed. Om could have been written, but writing it would again raise suspicion in someone that it must have a meaning; then it would become a word. Like “ab,” “aaj”—so too Om would become just another word, and people would extract a meaning: Om means that which is on the seventh. Therefore, to avoid making it a word, we created a picture of Om, so that even letters would not be used. A, U, M are there, but as sound—not as a word, not as letters.

So we made the pictorial form of Om, so that no one would go straight to the dictionary to ask: what does Om mean? Let that Om get etched in your eyes and itself become a question: what does it mean?

Whenever someone studies Sanskrit or comes from any corner of the world to read the ancient scriptures, this is the word that is hard to explain. All other words can be understood because they can be translated. The difficulty returns again and again: Om—what is it? What does it mean? And then they ask: why don’t you write it in letters? Write O-M! Why make a picture?

If you look closely at that picture, it too has three parts, and they symbolize A, U, and M. That picture is a great discovery; it is not ordinary. And it too was discovered in the fourth body—not by the physical body. In truth, when one enters the fourth body and becomes thought-free, then within, the sounds A, U, M begin to resonate, and their confluence becomes Om. When there is complete silence of thought, when all thoughts are lost, sounds remain—and the resonance of Om begins. That resonance was caught from the fourth body: where thoughts are lost and language disappears, what remains is the sound of Om.

The emergence of Om in thought-free consciousness
From this side, that sound was grasped. And, as I told you, every word has a pattern. When we use a word, a pattern begins to form within. So when within only the sound of Om remains, if the mind is concentrated on this sound—if the mind is totally one-pointed, which on the fourth is not difficult, and when this Om is heard it will happen—if in the fourth body the sound of Om keeps reverberating and one listens to it with concentration, then its image also begins to emerge.

In this way the seed mantras were discovered—this is how all the seed mantras were found. At each chakra there is a sound; when a seeker sits with concentrated mind upon that sound, the seed-syllable of that chakra comes within his grasp. And the seed-syllables were fashioned in this way. Om is the supreme seed; it is not the seed of any one chakra. It is the supreme seed, the symbol of the seventh—or of the beginningless, or of the infinite.

Om—universal truth
The word was thus discovered. And only when millions tallied it and gave their assent was it accepted. It was not accepted at once; not accepted casually because one person said so. When millions of seekers found the same thing again and again, and it became certain.

Therefore the word Om is not the property of any one religion or sect. Hence Buddhists use it without worry; Jains use it without worry. It is not the private property of the Hindus. The reason is: it was found by seekers—many seekers, going by many paths. In other lands too there are things which, in a sense, are its parts.

For example, if we trace the research of seekers in Arabic, Latin, Roman, an amusing fact appears: M will certainly be found; in some, A and M will be found; M is unavoidable. The reason is that it is such a subtle part that often the earlier portion escapes and the later part is heard. When the sound O—m begins within, the M is most easily grasped. The earlier portion is subdued by the tailing M. Even if you intone Om in a closed room, the M will drown out all—the A and the U will be suppressed and the M will become pervasive. Therefore many seekers felt: M is definite; in the earlier part there has been some omission—differences of hearing.

And so, everywhere in the world, wherever seekers have worked upon that body—like Ameen—there M is indispensable. Wherever seekers have worked, something of it has come within their grasp. But the more extensive the experiment—just as when a thousand scientists verify an experiment, its validity increases—

The collective discovery of hundreds of thousands—Om
—this land is fortunate in one sense: here we spent thousands of years in inner journeying. No other land has done it on such a vast scale, with so many people. With Buddha, ten thousand seekers sat. With Mahavira there were forty thousand monks and nuns. In a small Bihar, forty thousand people were experimenting together. Nowhere else in the world did this happen. Jesus was very alone. Muhammad’s precious time was wasted in fighting with the uncomprehending. Here a situation had arisen where there was no longer anything to fight about; that time was over—things had become clear here.

So Mahavira sits, and forty thousand people are practicing together. There was great facility for tallying: what is happening among forty thousand—what is happening on the fourth body, on the third, on the second. One may err, two may err, but forty thousand cannot all err! Forty thousand conducting different experiments—and then all that being pondered and grasped.

Hence this land discovered certain seed things that other lands could not, because there the seeker was always alone. Nowhere were seekers present on such a large scale. As today the West is engaged on a vast scale in scientific research, with thousands of scientists at work, in that way this land once set thousands of its most gifted people upon a single science. What they brought back is very meaningful.

And when those reports traveled—by the time they reached other lands—they changed much; changed greatly; much broke and fell away.

The cross as the remnant of the swastika, and its relation to Om
For example, the cross of Jesus is a remaining fragment of the swastika. But in so long a journey it broke so much. The swastika, since ancient times, was a symbol like Om. Om was the symbol of the seventh; the swastika, of the first. Therefore the swastika’s form is dynamic, moving. Its arms extend forward and give the sense of movement—of revolving. The meaning of samsara is that which revolves, that which is turning all the time.

So we adopted the swastika as the symbol of the first, and Om as the symbol of the last. Hence in Om there is absolutely no movement; it is utterly still—dead silent; everything has stopped there, there is no movement. In that figure there is no movement. In the swastika there is movement. That is the first, and that the last. Traveling, the swastika was cut down, and by the time it reached Christianity it remained a cross. In the time of Jesus—because there is a great likelihood that he came to Egypt and to India; he was at Nalanda and he was in Egypt—and he carried many reports. Among them the swastika was one. But the report became like that man who, having seen many flowers, went to a place where there was only one flower, and there he gave his report. It was cut; it remained a cross.

The crescent of Islam arising from Om (ॐ)
The upper part of Om reached Islam. That half-moon which they revere greatly is a broken piece of Om—the upper part; it was cut off in the journey. Words and symbols get badly cut in travel, and after thousands of years they become so worn that they look different. Then it becomes difficult to recognize that it is the same word; hard to grasp—how could this be the same! On the journey new sounds get attached, new words join, new people use it in new tongues—differences of every kind keep arising. And once severed from the original source, there remains no place from which to determine exactly what it was—where it came from, what happened.

The deep currents of the world’s spirituality are related to this land, because their original source arose here, and the reports began to spread from here. But the person carrying the reports had a different language. Those to whom he reported had no idea what he was conveying. Today a Christian, a priest, cannot imagine that what he wears at his neck is the broken remnant of the swastika—that it became the cross. A Muslim cannot imagine that the crescent he reveres so much is half of Om, a broken piece of Om.

Now, we will talk again tomorrow.