Jin Khoja Tin Paiyan #18

Leave this—take it up later; otherwise your own will not be fulfilled.

Concerning the bodies of woman and man: in a woman the first body is feminine, but her second body is masculine. In a man it is exactly the reverse. Then again, the third body in a woman is feminine and the fourth masculine; in a man the third is masculine, the fourth feminine. I have said before that a woman’s body is a half-body, and a man’s body is a half-body; only together do they make a whole.

This union is possible in two directions. If the man’s first body meets the woman’s first body outside himself, a unit is formed—a single circuit. That unit serves nature’s purpose of procreation and birth. If a man or a woman can turn inward, union happens with the inner man or the inner woman, and a different journey begins—one that moves toward the divine. The union of outer bodies moves toward nature; the union of inner bodies moves toward the divine.

When the man’s first body meets, within himself, the feminine in his own etheric body, a unit is formed; when the woman’s first body meets the masculine principle of her own etheric body, a unit is formed. This unit is extraordinary, because union with someone outside oneself can only be momentary. The pleasure lasts but a moment, and then the sorrow of separation is very long. Out of that sorrow arises the longing to meet again—again only for a moment—followed again by a long sorrow.

So the outer union can only happen for a moment, whereas the inner union becomes abiding—once it happens, it does not break again. Until inner union happens, there is sorrow. The moment it happens, an undercurrent of joy begins to flow. That joy is of the same flavor as what flashes for an instant in outer intercourse—but so fleeting that it comes and is gone before you can even recognize it. Very often there is no real experience of it at all, because it happens with such speed that there is hardly any awareness of it.

Meditation: the process of self-delight
From the yogic standpoint, if the inner union becomes possible, the outward sexual tendency dissolves at once; the desire that fueled it is fulfilled. The maithuna images carved on temple walls point toward inner maithuna—inner coitus.

Inner maithuna is a meditative process. That is why an apparent opposition arose between outer and inner maithuna. Whoever enters inner maithuna will see all their outer sexual links snapping. It is worth noting: when a woman’s first body unites with her second, the unit that forms is altogether feminine—an integral woman; when a man’s first body unites with his second, the unit that forms is altogether masculine—an integral man. For the first absorbs the second; the first assimilates the second; the second is subsumed into the first.

But now “woman” and “man” are being used in a very different sense—not in the sense in which we see woman and man outside. Outwardly the man is incomplete, hence perpetually unsatisfied; outwardly the woman is incomplete, hence perpetually unsatisfied.

If we look into biological evolution we discover that in the primary organisms of the world, the bodies of female and male are not separate. Take the amoeba, a primary organism: both are present together—male and female. Half of it is male, half female. Hence it is very difficult to find a discontented amoeba—it knows no discontent, no restlessness. Therefore it has not evolved; it remains an amoeba. In the earliest links of biological evolution the body is one, and both halves are contained within the one body.

Through self-delight, full womanhood and full manhood are attained
When the woman’s first body unites with the second, a new kind of woman is born—a complete woman. And we have no real sense of what the complete woman is, because all the women we know are incomplete; we also have no sense of a complete man, because the men we know are incomplete—half and half. As soon as this unit is complete, a supreme contentment enters—discontent thins out and departs.

For such an integral man or woman, forming relationships outwardly becomes difficult, because outside there are only incomplete men and incomplete women with whom resonance is hard to find. But if a complete man, within whom the first two bodies have united, meets a complete woman, within whom the first two bodies have united, a relationship is possible.

The tantric experiment of outer union between a complete man and a complete woman
Tantra devised experiments for this. Hence tantra landed in much trouble, and earned a bad name—because we could not understand what they were doing. Naturally we could not; it lay outside our understanding. If, in tantric context, a man and a woman whose inner first two bodies have become one, make love, for us it is merely sex—we cannot imagine what else is happening.

But something very different is happening, and it is profoundly helpful for the seeker. It has precious meanings. The outer meeting of a complete man and a complete woman inaugurates a new kind of union, a new journey. One journey has, in a way, come to a plateau—the incomplete man and incomplete woman have become complete; a standstill is reached; there are no further longings as before.

When a complete man and a complete woman meet in this sense, for the first time they taste what bliss a complete meeting outside can carry. And naturally the thought arises: if such a complete union could happen within, there would be a rain of immeasurable bliss! For earlier, half a man had enjoyed half a woman. Then, by uniting with the inner half-woman, he found a vast joy. When a complete man enjoys a complete woman, it becomes perfectly logical for him to think: if within me too I could find a complete woman… And in search of that complete inner woman, the union of the third and fourth bodies takes place.

No emission of energy in their intercourse
In a man the third body is again masculine and the fourth feminine; in a woman the third is feminine and the fourth masculine. Tantra took great care that one did not stop at the completion of the first unit—for there are many kinds of completions. Incompleteness rarely halts us; certain completions do—they look final from the standpoint of what lay behind, but remain incomplete from the standpoint of what lies ahead. Because the lesser incompleteness has vanished and one has no inkling of a greater wholeness, a stagnation is possible. Hence tantra evolved many processes—astonishing processes that we can scarcely grasp at first.

For example, if a complete man and a complete woman make love, there is no dissipation of energy; it cannot happen, because both are complete circuits unto themselves. No energy is going to spill. And yet, for the first time there is the experience of bliss without energy-loss.

The curious thing is: whenever bliss is experienced through energy-spill, sorrow is inevitable afterward—frustration, melancholy, pain, anguish will follow. The pleasure vanishes in a moment, but the energy that has been lost may take twenty-four, forty-eight hours, even longer, to replenish; during that period the mind remains unhappy in the sense of lack.

If intercourse can happen without energy-loss—tantra worked in this direction in astonishing and daring ways. Their whole web of processes is intricate; that web snapped, and the entire science gradually became esoteric. It became difficult to speak of it openly, because moral conventions created obstacles, and our well-meaning ignoramuses—who know nothing yet are capable of pronouncing on everything—made it hard for many precious things to survive. They had to be dismissed, or they went underground, continued secretly, their streams no longer visible on the surface of life.

Proximity increases both partners’ power
This possibility of the intercourse of a complete man and a complete woman is of a very different order. There is no energy-spill; rather a new phenomenon occurs, which can only be hinted at.

Whenever an incomplete woman and an incomplete man meet, both are weakened; afterward, both have less energy than before they met. In the meeting of a complete man and a complete woman the reverse happens: after they meet, both have more energy than before. Their own powers, dormant within, are awakened and activated by the nearness of the other. Previously too it was their own energy that spilled in the other’s presence; now it is their own energy that is stirred and revealed in the other’s presence. From this, a hint is received: can there be, within, a meeting of the complete man and the complete woman? For the first inner meeting was between an incomplete man and an incomplete woman.

Inner maithuna of the third and fourth bodies brings freedom from duality
Work begins on the second unit—the third and fourth bodies. When the third and fourth meet: in a man the third is masculine and the fourth feminine; in a woman the third is feminine and the fourth masculine. With their union, within the man only the masculine remains—the third body becomes primary; within the woman only the feminine remains. And these two complete femininities then merge into one, for there is no boundary left along which to separate them. Separation required that in-between there be a masculine layer in the woman, or a feminine layer in the man—those created the distance. As the woman formed by the first and second bodies and the woman formed by the third and fourth meet, they become one. In this double step an even fuller femininity arises—beyond which no further femininity is possible. This is a total feminine state—the complete woman. For her there remains no longing even to meet the complete other.

Even in the first completion there was a relish in meeting the other complete, and power was awakened by that meeting; now even that ends. Now, even if God were to meet her, meeting would have no such meaning—nor for the man. In the man too the two masculines merge and become complete. With all four bodies integrated, the man remains man, the woman remains woman. Beyond this there is no man-woman from the fifth body onward.

Therefore, after the fourth body the event that occurs will be the same in essence for both, but their understanding of it will differ. The man will still be aggressive; the woman will still be surrendering. Having found her fourth body completely, the woman can surrender totally—now there will not be a fraction of an inch withheld. This let-go, this surrender, carries her into the further journey—the fifth body—where the woman is no longer woman. For to be a woman, even a little holding back was necessary.

In truth, our very sense of “I am” rests on holding back a little. If we could drop ourselves totally, we would instantly become that which we have never been. Our being is our guarding ourselves all the time. If a woman could, even for an ordinary man, drop herself totally, a crystallization would occur within her; she would cross the fourth body.

The esoteric meaning of the word Sati
Many times women have crossed the fourth body in the love of an ordinary man. Those whom we call sati—this is the esoteric meaning. It does not mean their eyes do not rise toward another man; it means they no longer have a “woman” in them to look at another. Sati does not mean “she does not look at another man”; sati means “there is no woman left in her who could look.”

If, even in the love of an ordinary man, a woman so completely surrenders, she does not need this whole journey—the four bodies gather and she stands at the threshold of the fifth.

For this reason those who knew said, “The husband is God.” They did not mean that the husband is to be made into a God; they meant that for them the door to the fifth opened through the husband. There is no mistake in their saying; it is entirely right. What the seeker attains with great effort, they attained through love alone; in the love of one person they arrived there.

The radiant power of a complete woman like Sita
Take Sita. We count her among those who can be called sati. Sita’s surrender is unique—complete, a total surrender. Even though Ravana abducted her, he could not touch her. In truth, Ravana is an incomplete man and Sita a complete woman. The radiance of a complete woman is such that an incomplete man cannot touch her; he cannot even look steadily into her eyes.

He can only look at an incomplete woman. And when a man touches a woman, it is not only the man who is responsible; the woman’s incompleteness is inevitably a participant. If someone gives a shove to a woman on the street, the one who shoves is only half responsible; the woman who invites the shove is equally responsible. She invites it, gives a silent invitation. Because she is passive, her attack is not visible; because the man is active, his attack is visible. We see that he shoved; we do not see that someone invited the shove.

Ravana could not even lift his eyes to Sita. And for Sita, Ravana had no meaning. But when Rama had won her back, he wished to test her—an ordeal by fire. Sita did not refuse even that. Had she refused she would have lost the status of sati. She could have said, “You too were alone; why should only I be tested? Let us both pass through the fire. If I was alone with another man, you too were alone; I do not know which women may have been with you. Let us both be tested!”

But the question did not arise in Sita’s mind; she passed through the fire. If even once she had raised a question, she would have lost the stature of sati—her surrender would not have been complete; she would have kept an inch of distance. Had she asked even once and then entered the fire, she would have burned; she could not have been saved. But her surrender was complete; for Sita there was no other man.

We find it miraculous that she passed through fire and was not burned. But anyone who is inwardly integrated—even an ordinary person in a certain inner state—can walk on fire and not be burned. In hypnosis, if an ordinary man is told, “You will not burn on fire,” he can walk through fire and not be burned.

The secret of passing through fire unscathed
Even a simple fakir can pass through fire in a particular inner mood—when his inner circle is whole. Doubt breaks the circle. If even once the thought arises, “What if I burn?”, the inner circle is broken—then he will burn. If the circle remains unbroken, two fakirs may be leaping through fire and you stand watching; seeing them unharmed you think, “If they don’t burn, why should I?” If you jump, you too won’t burn. A whole line, a crowd may pass through fire and not burn. Why? Whoever harbors even a slight doubt will not step in; he will remain outside thinking, “Who knows, I may burn.” But whoever truly sees that none are burning will pass—fire will not touch him.

If our inner circle is whole, even fire cannot enter us.

So there is no difficulty in Sita remaining untouched by fire. Even when, after the fire-ordeal, Rama abandoned her, she did not say, “My test is done, I have been proved true, and still I am being abandoned!” No. On her part the surrender is complete. Hence there is no question of abandonment, no question at all.

Transcending the four bodies through total surrender
If a complete woman becomes complete in the love of even one person, she leaps across four steps of sadhana. For a man, this possibility is difficult—because he does not have a surrendering mind. Curiously, aggression too can be complete, but for aggression to become complete many factors are involved; you alone are not enough. But for surrender to become complete, you alone are responsible; such other factors do not arise. If I must surrender to someone, I can do so without asking him. But if I must attack someone, then in the final outcome I am not alone; the other is also involved.

Therefore, when I spoke of shaktipat, it may have seemed that the woman has a certain lack, a difficulty. But there are compensations in life. That lack is fulfilled by her power to surrender. A man, however much he loves, does not manage to be total—because he is aggressive, not surrendering. And aggression becomes complete only if someone surrenders completely; otherwise it cannot.

So when a woman’s four bodies integrate into a single unit, she can surrender on the fifth very easily. In this fourth stage, when she has crossed the double steps and is complete, no power in the world can stop her, and for her none but the divine remains. Indeed, while still within the four bodies, the one she loved had already become divine for her. Now, whatever is, is divine.

There is a very sweet incident in the life of Mira. She went to Vrindavan. The chief priest of the great temple there would not see women; hence women were forbidden to enter. But Mira, tinkling her hand-cymbals, went straight in. People stopped her: “Women are not allowed inside; the priest does not look at women.” Mira said, “How strange! I had thought there is only one man in the world—Krishna! Who is the second man? I must see him. He may fear to look at me, but I wish to see him—who is this second man? Is there another man?”

They informed the priest that a woman had entered and said she wanted to see “the other man,” for she sees only one man—Krishna. The priest came running and fell at Mira’s feet. He said, “For one for whom only one man remains, to call her ‘woman’ is meaningless. I touch your feet. I had taken myself to be a man by looking at ordinary women, but for a woman like you my being a man has no meaning.”

Surrender becomes bhakti and aggression becomes yoga
If a man reaches the fourth body he becomes a complete man—having crossed the double steps. From that day there is no woman for him; the word “woman” loses meaning. He is now only aggression-energy. As the woman, crossing the fourth, is only surrender-energy—she is shakti that can surrender; the man is shakti that can attack. Only energies remain; the names “woman” and “man” drop away.

The man’s aggression develops into the yogic processes; the woman’s surrender develops into the ways of bhakti. Surrender becomes devotion; aggression becomes yoga. But it is one and the same thing; there is no real difference now. Whether the drop falls into the ocean or the ocean falls into the drop, the ultimate is the same. The man’s drop will leap and fall into the ocean. The woman’s drop will become a womb and call the entire ocean into herself; she will surrender and the whole ocean will pour into her. Even now she will be negative—receptivity complete. She will remain the womb and take in the ocean of energy. The man even now cannot become womb; he remains seed—he will leap and drown in the ocean.

From the fifth body the man–woman distinction ends
Very deep tendencies of personality pursue us up to this: to the very edge of the fourth body. The world of the fifth is different; then only the soul remains—and the soul has no gender. After that, there is no difference in the journey. Up to the fourth there is a difference, and the difference is just this: whether the drop falls into the ocean or the ocean falls into the drop. The final result is the same. But up to the last limit of the fourth body, the difference remains. If a woman tries to leap, she will be in difficulty; if a man tries to surrender, he will be in difficulty. Many women get into trouble trying to leap; many men get into trouble trying to surrender. Beware of that mistake.

An electrical ring between woman and man in prolonged intercourse

Yes. As I said, woman is a half, man is a half; both are energies, both are electrical; woman is the negative pole, man the positive pole. And wherever negative and positive currents of electricity form a circuit, a halo of light comes into being. That halo can be invisible; it can sometimes be seen; it may be visible to some, not to others. But the circuit forms. Yet the union of man and woman is usually so momentary that the circuit hardly forms before it breaks.

That is why there are methods and disciplines to prolong intercourse. If lovemaking goes beyond half an hour, the ring, that electrical circuit, the halo of light, can be seen surrounding man and woman. Photographs of it have been taken. Some tribal communities still enter into such prolonged intercourse—and thus their circuits form.

With rising tensions, the shortening of the duration of intercourse
Ordinarily, in “civilized” society it is very difficult to find such a circuit, because the more tense the mind, the more momentary the intercourse. In fact, the more tense the mind, the quicker the ejaculation; the more burdened with tension, the more rapid the release. A tense mind is not seeking lovemaking, it is seeking relief. In the West, sex has been reduced to little more than a sneeze—a tension that is thrown off; a weight on the head that is discharged. When energy drops you feel limp. Relaxation is one thing, limpness is another. Relaxation, rest, means: the energy is within and you are at ease. Limpness means: the energy has been flung out and now you are collapsed; since there is no energy you go limp, and you mistake it for rest.

So as tension has increased in the West, sex has become a mere release, an escape from pressure, a discharge from an inner compulsion. Hence there are Western thinkers who are unwilling to grant sex any more value than a sneeze. The nose itches, you sneeze, the head feels lighter—that is all the value they will concede. And they are not wrong, because what they are doing is exactly that; it has no higher value. In the East too, people are slowly agreeing with them, because the East is also becoming tension-ridden. Somewhere far away, in some cave in the mountains, you may find a person not yet gripped by tension, untouched by “civilization,” living among trees and leaves and peaks—there the circuit still forms in intercourse. Or, through tantric processes, anyone can learn to create the circuit.

Long lovemaking and long-lasting fulfillment
The experiences of that circuit are quite wondrous; for only when the circuit forms do you know in the true sense that you have become one. You do not know that woman and man have become one until the circuit forms. As soon as it does, the two in union are no longer two; they become a single flow of one energy, one force. Something seems to go and come and circle; the two persons dissolve. In the measure that this circuit forms, in that very measure the craving for sex diminishes and moves farther away. It may happen that if the circuit once forms, no desire remains for a year—because an event of fulfillment has taken place.

Understand it like this: a man eats and vomits; eats and vomits—there will be no satisfaction! Eating does not give satisfaction; digestion does. We usually think eating satisfies; it does not—satisfaction comes through digestion.

Sex too has two forms: one is merely eating, the other is digestion. What we ordinarily call sex is just eating and throwing up; nothing gets digested. If digestion happens, its fulfillment is long and deep. And that “digestion” happens only when this electrical circuit is formed. It is merely an indicator that the mental modifications of both have merged into each other; the two are no longer two. The bodies are still two, but the current flowing within has become one and leaps to circulate between them.

For the householder, deep sexual fulfillment is sexual freedom
This state gives very deep contentment. In this sense I spoke. It has great utility for yoga, great utility for the seeker. If a seeker can have such a union available, his need for sex becomes very small. And for as many days as the need for sex is absent, his inner journey becomes that much easier. Once the inner journey begins and lovemaking with the inner woman starts, then the outer woman becomes pointless and the outer man becomes pointless. For the householder, this is what brahmacharya (celibacy) can mean.

Do you follow? For the householder, brahmacharya can mean that his lovemaking is so fulfilling that a span of years opens in which the moments of celibacy appear. And once even a single such span opens and the inner journey begins, the outer need dissolves. I am speaking of the householder.

For the sannyasin, attainment of inner union through meditation
For the renunciate who has not accepted the householder’s life, brahmacharya means inward turning; it means inner intercourse. He must directly find the methods of inner union. Otherwise he will only appear to abstain from outer women; his mind will go on running. And the energy that would have been spent in meeting a woman outside is spent even more in the struggle to meet and to resist.

So the sannyasin’s path is a little different. The difference is simply this: for the householder, meeting the outer woman is primary and meeting the inner woman is secondary; for the renunciate, meeting the inner woman is primary—there is no first stage with the outer. Therefore making everyone a sannyasin is the height of unawareness. Truly initiating someone into sannyas should mean we look within him and understand whether his first step lies in the capacity and readiness to meet his own inner opposite. Only then can the initiation into brahmacharya be given; otherwise we will create madness, no benefit. But people go on handing out initiations—someone is the guru of a thousand sannyasins, someone of two thousand. They have no idea what they are doing! Is the person they are initiating capable of inner union? They don’t even know that there is such a thing as inner union.

So whenever I meet a sannyasin, his deepest problem is sex. Householders come to me with many other problems too, but I do not meet a sannyasin whose problem is something else; his problem is sex. The householder has a thousand problems, of which sex is one; the sannyasin has only one. Thus his entire mind remains fixated on this single point.

The gurus are telling him ways to avoid outer women, but they have no way to meet the inner woman. Therefore the outer woman cannot really be avoided; one can only pretend. Avoidance is very difficult. Sexual energy is electrical; it needs a channel. If it turns inward, it will be restrained from flowing out; if it doesn’t go inward, it will go outward. No worry if the woman is in imagination—imaginary woman will also do; the energy will flow out in fantasy, it cannot go in. Exactly the same applies to women.

Inner union is simpler for a virgin woman
Yet there is a slight difference here between man and woman. Often it happens that sex becomes much more of a problem for a sadhu than for a sadhvi. I know many sadhvis; for them sex does not become such a problem. The reason is that a woman’s sex is passive. If it is once awakened, it becomes a problem; if it is never awakened, she may not even know there is a problem. Even in sex, a woman needs initiation. If once a man leads a woman into sex, thereafter powerful energies begin to rise in her. But if she is not led, she can remain a maiden all her life. She has great facility for remaining virginal, because her nature is passive. She is not aggressive; her mind waits, and goes on waiting.

Therefore I hold that giving initiation to a married woman is dangerous, unless she is taught how to meet the inner man. A virgin girl can take initiation; she is in a better position than a virgin boy. Until she receives initiation—sexual initiation—she can go on waiting; she is not aggressive. And if no outer assault comes, then gradually her inner man begins to meet her outer woman, because her second body is masculine, aggressive. So inner union is much simpler for a woman than for a man.

You understand what I mean, don’t you?
Her second, masculine body is aggressive. Therefore, if a woman does not meet a man outwardly—does not meet, does not meet—and she has no idea of going into sex through a man, then her inner man will begin to “attack” her; her etheric body will begin to impel her, and her face will turn inward—she will become absorbed in inner union.

For a man, inner union is a bit more difficult, because his aggressive body is the first, while his second body is feminine. The second body cannot call him by attacking; only when he moves can the second body receive him.

These are the differences. And if they are kept in mind, our entire approach to these matters should be different.

If the electrical circuit can arise in lovemaking, it is a great aid for the householder. And the same circuit will arise when your inner union happens. What surrounds the ordinary person during such lovemaking—the electrical energy—will surround the one who is related to the inner body twenty-four hours a day. Thus with each of your bodies, your halo will keep growing.

The Buddha: a mass of energy
This is why it can happen that for some five hundred years after Buddha’s death no image of Buddha was made; instead the bodhi tree was worshipped. There was no image, only the tree. Even when they built temples, they placed a tree there—carved in stone—or carved a tree on stone, and the seat beneath where Buddha would sit was left empty. Archaeologists and historians are puzzled: why no image of Buddha, why a tree? And why after five hundred years were images made? And why was the space beneath the tree left empty?

This is a great secret, and archaeologists and historians will never discover it, because it has nothing to do with history or archaeology. Those who had looked at Buddha with full attention said that when you look intently, Buddha disappears; only the tree remains, only the electrical energy remains. If you look with total attention, Buddha departs; only the energy remains, the person is gone. As if I am seated here, and if you looked intently only the chair would be seen and I would be gone.

So those who looked at Buddha with full attention said: Buddha was not seen; only the tree was seen. Those who did not look intently said: Buddha was seen. The authentic testimony is of those who looked with full attention. For five hundred years their word was honored. For five hundred years it was accepted: Buddha was never seen; when we looked with attention, he was not there; the place was empty—only the tree remained.

But this could continue only so long as the people of attention remained. Those without attention admitted, “We never looked like that; to us he was visible.” When that first group dwindled, it became difficult to keep only the tree—people insisted Buddha should be beneath it. Then after five hundred years his images were made.

It is very marvelous! Those who looked at Jesus with full attention did not see Jesus; those who looked at Mahavira with full attention did not see Mahavira; those who looked at Krishna with full attention did not see Krishna. If such beings are looked at with total attention, only electrical energy is seen; no person is seen.

With each two bodies, this energy grows greater. After the fourth body it becomes complete. On the fifth body there is only energy. On the sixth, it is no longer seen as separate; it is joined with the moon and stars and sky—with all. On the seventh, even energy is not seen; first matter disappears, then energy disappears—first substance goes, then force goes.

In this sense, it is worth contemplating.

Complete attainment of thoughtlessness is in the fifth body.

In truth, all thinking is a relating with the other. The thinking before the fourth body is an unconscious relating—with the other. On the fifth body, thought is a conscious relating, but still with the other. After all, why is thought needed? Thought is needed because one has to relate to the other. Up to the fourth there is unconscious relating; on the fifth there is wakeful relating; on the sixth there is no one left to relate to—no related ones remain. You have become cosmic; you and I are one. So no question remains now; there is no place left where thought can stand.

In the sixth body only knowledge remains
Therefore the sixth is the Brahman body; there is no thought there. In Brahman there is no thought. So, to be precise, we can say: in Brahman there is knowing. In fact, thought—as it is up to the fourth body, an unconscious thought—is deep ignorance, because it shows that we need thought to fight ignorance. On the fifth body, within there is knowing, but about what is outside, other than us, there is still ignorance; it still appears as “other.” Hence on the fifth body there is still need to think. In the sixth body there is neither outside nor inside—no in-out, no I–thou, no this–that. No distance remains where thought is needed; now what is, is. Therefore in the sixth body there is knowing, not thought.

The seventh body is beyond knowledge
In the seventh there is not even knowledge; because the one who knew is no more, and that which could be known is no more. So in the seventh there is not even knowledge. Not ignorance—beyond knowledge is the seventh state. One could even call it ignorance, if one wished. Hence it often happens that the supremely wise and the supremely ignorant sometimes seem exactly alike. Many times the behavior of the supremely wise and the supremely ignorant will look very similar. Thus between a small child and an old one who has attained wisdom there will be great similarity; not in essence, but on the surface they begin to look alike. Sometimes the supreme saint’s behavior will become just like a child’s; sometimes in a child’s behavior you will see a glimpse of supreme saintliness. And sometimes the supremely wise will seem supremely ignorant—just like Jadabharata. He will appear as if none could be more ignorant than this! Because that one is beyond knowledge and this one is below knowledge. One has gone ahead of knowledge; one is still standing short of it. The similarity is that both are outside knowledge—both stand outside knowledge; that much is the sameness.

The three types of samadhi

In truth, there are many kinds of samadhi. One samadhi happens between the fourth and the fifth bodies. And remember, samadhi always occurs between two bodies; it is a twilight. Samadhi is never the event of a single body—it's an event between two bodies; it is the dusk. If someone asks, “Is dusk an event of the day or of the night?” we would say: dusk is neither of the day nor of the night; it is the happening between day and night.

In the same way, one samadhi—the first—happens between the fourth and the fifth bodies. From the samadhi that happens between the fourth and the fifth, self-realization (atma-jnana) becomes available. Another samadhi happens between the fifth and the sixth bodies. From the samadhi between the fifth and the sixth, God-realization (brahma-jnana) becomes available. Another samadhi occurs between the sixth and the seventh. From what happens between the sixth and the seventh, nirvana becomes available. So, ordinarily there are three samadhis. And these three samadhis all occur between bodies.

A mental glimpse of samadhi in the fourth body
One should also understand a false samadhi—something that is not samadhi, yet occurs in the fourth body and appears like samadhi. What in Japan is called Zen satori is such a samadhi. It is not, in truth, samadhi.

Sometimes a painter experiences it, or a sculptor, or a musician—he becomes utterly absorbed and tastes great joy. But these are events of the fourth, the psychic body. If in the fourth body the mind becomes completely absorbed and dissolved in anything—a sunrise, a strain of music, a dance, the blossoming of a flower—if the mind is utterly absorbed, then a false samadhi, a pseudo-samadhi, is experienced. Such a pseudo-samadhi can be produced by hypnosis. Such a pseudo-samadhi can happen through false shaktipat. Such a pseudo-samadhi can be induced by alcohol, by ganja, by charas, by mescaline, by marijuana, by LSD.

So, if you think of it this way, there are four kinds of samadhi. The three authentic samadhis have a gradation among them. And there is a fourth, false samadhi, which looks exactly like samadhi but is only the idea of samadhi, not the event itself—and it can deceive. It has deceived many.

And in which body do they happen? Only the false samadhi happens in the fourth body. The false samadhi is not a twilight; it occurs within a body—within the fourth. The other three samadhis happen outside the bodies, in the transition, when you are moving from one body to the next. Samadhi is a door, a passage.

Between the fourth and the fifth there is a samadhi from which self-realization is attained. One can stop at the first samadhi. The first itself is a very great thing—ordinarily people stop at the false samadhi of the fourth, because it is very easy; it costs little, requires no effort; it can arise almost by itself. They stop there. The first authentic samadhi—the journey from the fourth to the fifth—is very difficult. The second becomes even more difficult—the journey from the soul to the Supreme, from atman to Brahman. And the third is the most difficult of all. For it the words found are all hard—Vajra-bhed! It is the most arduous—the journey from being to non-being, a leap from life into death, a sinking from existence into non-existence. These are the three samadhis.

Similarities between Kundalini energy and the serpent.

The serpent is a very apt symbol for Kundalini—perhaps the best there is. That is why, not only for Kundalini, the serpent as a symbol has traveled far and wide; there is hardly a corner of the world where at some time the serpent has not entered the religion of that place. The serpent has many qualities that harmonize with Kundalini.

First, the moment you think of a serpent you think of slithering. And the first experience of Kundalini is the feeling that something has slithered—just as a snake slides.

Second, when you think of a serpent you remember it has no legs, yet it moves; it has no visible means of locomotion, no feet, and still it moves. Kundalini too has no feet, no instrument—sheer energy—and yet it travels.

Third, when a serpent is resting it sits coiled. When Kundalini is in repose—when our body’s energy has not awakened—it too sits coiled. In fact, if something very long has to sit in a small space, it can only sit by coiling; there is no other way. If it coils, something very long fits into a very small place. And when a great power sits on a tiny point, it can only sit coiled. Then when the serpent rises, its coils open one by one; similarly, as the serpent of Kundalini begins to rise, its coils seem to open one by one.

Sometimes, in play, the serpent catches its own tail. That symbol—the snake holding its tail—is precious. Many have intuited its value. It is precious because when Kundalini is fully awakened, it becomes circular within; it begins forming a circle—its hood grasps its own tail; the snake becomes a circle. Now the symbol can be either the mouth holding the tail or the tail touching the mouth. If the symbol has been made from the perspective of a masculine approach to sadhana, the mouth will grip the tail—aggressive. If from a feminine approach, the tail will appear to touch the mouth—a surrendered tail; the mouth has not gripped it. This is the only difference the symbols will show; nothing else changes.

The full expansion of Kundalini in the sahasrar
The serpent’s hood is also meaningful. The tail is thin, but the hood is large. When Kundalini is fully awakened, it reaches the sahasrar and spreads like a hood. Many flowers bloom in it; it takes a great expansion, while the tail remains small.

When a serpent sometimes stands erect, it is astonishing: it stands entirely upon its tail. That is a miracle. The serpent has no bones; it is a boneless creature, and yet it can stand on its tail. When a boneless, crawling creature—a serpent—stands fully on its tail, it stands purely on energy, on sheer resolve. It has no solid material means to stand—only the power of energy, only the power of intent. There is no very material force in its standing—you understand my point?

So when our Kundalini stands fully awakened, it has no material support—an utterly immaterial force. Hence the serpent became the fitting symbol.

There were other meaningful reasons too. In one sense the serpent is very innocent, very guileless. That is why Bhole Shankar wears him on his head. He is utterly innocent; he does not, of his own accord, go to trouble anyone. But if provoked, he can prove dangerous. So this understanding pertains to Kundalini as well: Kundalini is a very innocent energy; she does not trouble you on her own. But if you stir her wrongly, you can be in danger—grave danger. To meddle wrongly is perilous—this caution is also implied.

Keeping all this in mind the symbol was chosen—no better symbol than the serpent was found. And all over the world the serpent is also a symbol of wisdom, of prajna. Jesus said: Be wise (shrewd) as serpents and innocent as doves. The serpent is a very intelligent creature—very alert, aware, swift, dynamic; these are its qualities. Kundalini is like that too. The highest peak of intelligence is touched through it—equally quick, dynamic, and powerful.

Modern symbols of Kundalini—electricity and the rocket
In the old days, when this symbol for Kundalini was discovered, perhaps none better than the serpent could be found. Even now, none is better; but in the future, other symbols may arise—like the rocket. One day a futuristic imagination may grasp Kundalini as a rocket; its journey is like that—from one space to another, from one planet to another, with layers of void in between. That could become a symbol. An age coins its symbols. That symbol was found when human beings and animals lived very close. In those days we derived our symbols from animals, because that was our field of knowing. The serpent was then the nearest symbol to our eyes.

Electricity—we could not have said that then. Today, when I speak, I can speak of Kundalini in terms of electricity. Five thousand years ago one could not speak of Kundalini in terms of electricity, for there was no symbol for electricity. But the serpent has an electrical quality too. It feels difficult to us now because most of us have no experience of serpents. This is our difficulty: we have no experience of the serpent. Of Kundalini, of course, we have none; but even of the serpent we have very little. For us, the serpent is like a myth.

In the modern age—unfamiliar with the serpent, and with Kundalini too
Recently, a survey in London found seven hundred thousand children who have never seen a cow. If children who have not seen a cow—how likely is it they have seen a serpent? Their thinking, their imagining, their symbols will be very different.

The serpent has moved out of our world; it is no longer much a part of it. Once it was our close neighbor—twenty-four hours with us, in satsang. Then man saw all its agility, its intelligence, its speed; its simplicity; its danger—he saw it all. There are incidents where a serpent has saved a child—an innocent child lying there, and a serpent spreads its hood over him and protects him. It is that guileless. And there are incidents where it strikes even the most dangerous man once and ends him. Both possibilities are in it.

So when human beings lived very close to the serpent, they recognized it. At that time the talk of Kundalini also arose, and the two harmonized. It became a very ancient symbol. All symbols are meaningful; because they were created over thousands of years, there is a deep consonance behind them. But now it will break; for long the serpent symbol will not continue. For long we will not be able to call Kundalini “serpent power,” because where is the poor serpent now! Where does it have that potency now! It is no longer seen on the paths of life; it is not our neighbor; it does not live near us. We have no relationship left with it. Therefore this question arises; earlier it could never have arisen, because the serpent was the sole symbol.

Transformation in the physical structure

Yes, it has a meaning—it does. It has a meaning. And it is just as it is said; but the symbol is not the meaning.

In fact, when kundalini awakens, great transformations occur in the body—great transformations. Whenever a new energy awakens in the body, the entire old composition of the body changes. It must change.

For example, our body engages in many behaviors we do not know about—unconscious, unknown. Take a miser. Miserliness belongs to the mind, yet his body too will become miserly. The body will begin to deposit elements for future needs—hoarding without reason—so much that the hoarding itself becomes a burden.

Now, if a person is very fearful, the body will stockpile the elements through which fear can be produced. Otherwise, if the element of fear were not at hand and you had to be afraid, what would the body do? You would demand of it—“I need to be afraid!”—and if the body has no fear-glands, no juice of fear, what will it do? So it hoards. A fearful person’s body gathers the glands for fear, accumulates fear. And the one who sweats when afraid will have very strong sweat glands and keeps a lot of sweat in reserve—because any time, ten times a day, it may be needed.

So our body keeps collecting much that aligns with our consciousness. When our consciousness changes, the body will change. And when our consciousness shifts and kundalini awakens, there will be a total transformation. In that transformation, much will alter. Your flesh may lessen, your blood may lessen—but only to the extent that is sufficient for you. The body will be thoroughly transformed. Only that which is absolutely essential will remain; all else will burn to ashes—only then will you become light, only then ready to fly. That will be the difference.

Therefore their idea is right. Hence a seeker needs a special kind of diet, a special kind of life-regimen; all that is necessary—otherwise he may get into serious difficulty.

In the fire of kundalini, all the rubbish is burnt to ashes.

Then, when kundalini awakens, a great heat will arise within you; because it is an electric force, a heat-intense energy. As I told you, the serpent is a symbol; in some places fire itself has been taken as the symbol of kundalini. That too is a good symbol. It will burn within you like fire and rise upward like flames. Much of you will be burned in it. So an extreme dryness can arise within from the awakening of kundalini. Therefore the personality needs softness, an unctuousness; there must be some reservoirs of rasa, of inner “juice.”

Take an angry person: if his kundalini awakens, he will be in trouble—he is already dry and rough, and if a fire is lit within, it will be difficult. A loving person is unctuous; within him there is the smoothness of rasa. If kundalini awakens, there will be no difficulty.

Keeping all this in mind, that statement has been made. But it has been said in a very crude way. The old style was crude; the way of saying was not very developed. Yet it is right to say that flesh will burn, blood will burn, marrow will burn—because you are going to change through and through; you are going to become a different person. Your entire system, your whole composition, is about to change. Therefore, in a seeker’s preparation, this too must be kept very much in mind.

Now we will talk again tomorrow.