Jin Khoja Tin Paiyan #19

Originally, what became available was meditation. But from the experience of meditation it was noticed that the body starts taking many shapes. In truth, whenever the mind is in a certain state, the body takes a form suited to it. For example, when you are in love, your face and manner become of a certain kind; when you are angry, they become of another kind. When you are angry your teeth clench, your fists tighten, the body gets ready to fight or to flee. In the same way, when you are in forgiveness, the fist never tightens; the hand opens. If forgiveness is present in a person, he cannot remain with a clenched fist as in anger. Just as a clenched fist is a preparation to attack, so opening the fist and keeping the hand open signals freedom from attack—it gives the other person fearlessness; clenching gives fear.

The body adopts a stance because its very function is to get immediately ready for whatever state the mind is in. The body is a follower; it follows behind.

In ordinary situations we know what a person will do in anger, what he will do in love, what he will do in reverence. But about deeper states we know nothing. When those deeper states arise in the inner consciousness, much also happens in the body. Mudras appear that are very indicative; they bring news from within. Asanas also form; they signal that a change is underway.

In fact, asanas form during the preparation of inner states, and mudras form when the inner states are announcing themselves. When an inner change is moving, the body has to find adjustments suitable to that new change.

Now, if the kundalini is awakening within, in order to give it passage the body will take on all kinds of twists and shapes. So that the kundalini may find its way inside, the spine will bend in many ways. When the kundalini is awakening, the head will also assume special positions. The body will have to take postures it has never taken before.

Consider: when we are awake the body stands or sits; when we sleep it doesn’t remain standing or sitting—we have to lie down. Imagine a person born not knowing how to sleep; he would never lie down. If sleep comes to him for the first time at the age of thirty, he will lie down for the first time, because his inner state is changing and he is going into sleep. He will be amazed: “Lying down has never happened till now—why am I lying down today for the first time!” Until now he sat, walked, stood, did everything, only he never lay down.

For the inner state of sleep to arise, lying down is a great support, because lying down makes it easy for the mind to enter a certain arrangement. Even in lying down there are differences from person to person; they are not the same, because people’s inner constitutions differ. For example, a person living in the wild does not use a pillow, but a civilized person cannot sleep without one. The person in the wild thinks so little that the flow of blood toward his head is very small. And for sleep it is necessary that the flow of blood toward the head decrease. If the flow is high, sleep will not come, because the nerves in the head will not relax; they will not go into rest; blood will keep coursing through them. Therefore you keep stacking pillows. As a person becomes educated, cultured, the pillows increase, because the neck must be raised so that blood does not flow into the head. A person in the wild can sleep without any of this.

Our bodily positions are arranged in accord with our inner states. So asanas begin to form because of the awakening of your inner energy and its movement in different ways. The different chakras also take the body into different asanas. And mudras appear when an inner state begins to form—then the gestures of your hands, your face, your eyelids, all change.

This happens in meditation. But from this the opposite thought naturally arose: if we do these actions deliberately, will meditation happen? This needs some understanding.

Postures do not necessarily change the mind.
These actions occur in meditation, but they are still not compulsory. It is not that every seeker will go through the same actions. One condition has to be kept in mind: each seeker’s situation is different—and the condition of each seeker’s mind and body is also different. So it is not that the same thing will happen to all.

For example, if in some seeker’s mind the circulation of blood in the brain is very low, and for the awakening of kundalini his body needs more blood flow to the head, he will at once go into a headstand—unknowingly. But not everyone will, because the blood situation and its proportion in everyone’s head differ; everyone’s need is different. So the body will begin to respond according to each seeker’s condition, and those conditions are not the same for all.

One consequence is this: if someone does an asana from the outside, we have no way of knowing whether it is needed for him or not. Sometimes it may help; sometimes it may harm. If it is not needed, it will be harmful; if it is needed, it will be beneficial. But it will be a path in the dark—one difficulty. There is a second difficulty: when something happens outside along with what is happening inside, then the energy moves outward from within; but when we do something only on the outside, it may remain nothing but acting.

As I said, when we are angry, fists clench. But by clenching the fists, anger does not arise. We can clench the fists and purely act while no anger arises within. Still, if one wants to bring anger, clenching the fists can prove supportive. It cannot be said that anger will necessarily be produced within. But if one had to choose between not clenching and clenching, the possibility of anger arising increases with clenching, as against an open hand. So a little help of this kind may be obtained.

In the same way, when a person has come into a peaceful state, the peaceful mudras of his hands will appear; but if another person keeps making peaceful mudras, it is not that the mind will necessarily become peaceful. Yes, still the mind will be helped toward peace, because the body will announce its readiness: “We are prepared—if the mind wants to change, it may.” But even so, with only the body’s readiness, the mind will not change. The reason is that the mind leads and the body always follows. Therefore, when the mind changes, of course the body changes; but by changing the body only, at most the possibility of a change in mind is created—the change itself does not happen.

Begin the journey from within.
Hence there is the danger of a misunderstanding: someone may go on doing asanas, may only learn mudras, and think the work is complete. This has happened; for thousands of years it has happened that some people keep doing only asanas and mudras and believe they are practicing yoga. Slowly, in the popular idea of yoga, meditation dropped out. If you tell someone there is yoga practice going on somewhere, the thought that comes is: asanas, pranayama, etc., must be happening there.

Therefore I certainly say: if a seeker’s need is understood, some bodily positions can be made supportive for him, but they do not have any inevitable result. And that is why I am in favor of always beginning the work from within, not from the outside. It should begin from within.

Then, if it begins within, it can be understood. Suppose a seeker is sitting in meditation and I feel that his crying wants to burst forth, but he is holding it back. I can see that if he cries for ten minutes, a movement will happen—a catharsis, a cleansing. But he is restraining himself so that the crying does not come out. If we tell this seeker, “Now don’t hold back—cry from your side; cry,” then for two minutes he will cry as if acting, but from the third minute his crying will become right and authentic, because crying wanted to pour out from within and he was preventing it. His act of crying will not bring crying; it will break the suppression, and what was flowing within will flow out.

Similarly, a seeker may be in a state to dance but is standing stiffly. If we say to him, “Dance,” then in the initial phase he will begin as acting, because the dance has not yet emerged. He will start dancing, but the dance is preparing to erupt from within, and he has started to dance—these two will immediately meet. But if there is no trace of dance within and we say, “Dance,” he will go on dancing, but nothing will happen inside.

Therefore a thousand things have to be kept in mind. Whatever I say carries many conditions. If you keep those conditions in mind, the point can be understood. And if you do not want to keep all that in mind, the simplest is this: begin the journey from within; and whatever happens on the outside, don’t stop it. That is enough—begin from within; do not fight with whatever happens outside, and everything will happen by itself.

While standing, it is always easier to keep aware in meditation.

There is a great difference. As I just said, every posture of the body is connected, deep down, with every state of the mind; they run parallel. If you tell someone to be alert while lying down, it will be difficult; tell him to be alert while standing, it will be easier. If you tell him to fall asleep while standing, it will be difficult; tell him to fall asleep while lying down, it will be easier.

So this experiment has two processes. Half of it is hypnotic, where there is the danger of sleep. The methodology uses hypnosis. Hypnosis is generally used for inducing sleep or unconsciousness, so there is a fear that the seeker may doze off, drift into a trance. Remaining standing helps to break that danger a little—the likelihood of falling asleep is reduced. The other half is witnessing—awakening, awareness. In the lying posture, keeping awareness at the outset is difficult, though ultimately it becomes easier; standing, it is always easier to remain alert.

So, standing one can remain alert, can remain a witness; and second, the initial hypnotic process is less likely to take you into sleep.

Intensity in reactions
And a few more points. When you are standing, whatever movements need to happen in the body can happen freely. Lying down they cannot be that free; sitting, half the body cannot act at all. Suppose the legs want to dance and you are sitting—the legs cannot dance. And you won’t even know, because the legs don’t have a clear language to tell you, “We want to dance now.” The signals are very subtle, and we miss them. If you are standing, the legs will begin to lift and you will get the message that they want to dance. If you are sitting, this message will not reach you.

In fact, the very method of meditating while sitting was devised to prevent these movements from happening in the body. Hence, before meditation one had to practice asanas like siddhasana, padmasana, sukhasana, in which the body cannot sway. The energy that is awakened in the body has the potential to make many things happen—you may dance, sing, weep, jump, run. Such states have always been thought of as mad. Someone running, dancing, crying, screaming—these have been seen as the states of a madman. If the seeker does it, he too will look mad. So, to not appear mad in society, he first undertakes rigorous practice of sukhasana, siddhasana or padmasana, so that there is no fear of the slightest movement. The posture of padmasana or siddhasana is such that your legs are locked; your base-area on the ground increases, and above it your volume tapers. You become like a temple—wide at the base, like a pyramid—and narrow at the top. The possibility of movement becomes minimal.

The maximum possibility of movement is when you are standing, because below, nothing has settled like a rooted base. The cross-legged posture creates a root below. A large portion of your body’s mass is placed in the earth’s gravity; it holds you. Your hands are also placed in such a way that the chance of their moving is reduced. The spine is to be kept straight and still. First one has to practice this posture enough; only after it is mastered should one enter meditation.

Easier catharsis through the gross body
In my view, the truth is the opposite. To me there is no fundamental difference between a madman and us. We are all suppressed madmen; ours is suppressed insanity. Or say, we are mad in a somewhat normal way—average mad. We fit well with other madmen. Those within us whose madness gets a little ahead run into trouble. But madness is in all of us. And our madness too seeks its own outlet.

When you are in anger, in a sense you are in a momentary madness. At that time you do things you would never do in awareness. You abuse, you throw stones, you can break things, jump off a roof—anything. If a madman did it, we would understand; but when an ordinary person does it in anger, we say, “He was angry.” But it was the same person. If these things were not inside him, they could not come out; they are within. We are just holding them down.

My understanding is that, before meditation, all this must be released. The more it is released, the lighter your consciousness will become. Therefore, what took years in the old methods where you sat in siddhasana can be completed in months by this process; what took lifetimes can happen in days. Because even in that approach, expulsion had to happen—only, the movements had to be done with the physical body locked, through the etheric body.

That is another matter. They still had to be done—you had to cry if crying was inside, if laughter was inside it had to come out, if dancing was inside that too had to come out, and if there was a desire to scream, that too should be released. But if you had trained the physical body deeply and could keep it still for hours, then the release could be done through the etheric body—through your other body. Then no one would see it, only you would. You would have secured yourself from society. Outwardly no one would know that you are dancing, though within you are dancing—just as you dance in a dream. Within you would dance, weep, laugh, but your physical body would give no sign; it would sit like a block, without any vibration showing.

The danger of suppressing the physical body
My own conviction is that it is pointless to take so much trouble for such a simple thing, and there is no purpose in making someone practice postures for years and only then taking him into meditation. There are other possibilities—and dangers. If the physical body becomes too dominant a center, a person may so suppress the body that even in the etheric body no vibrations can occur; he may just sit there like a log. In that state no deep inner process happens—only the outer practice of sitting. And there is also the danger that since none of these movements can take place, all of them remain suppressed and accumulated, and he can go mad at any time.

The old-style seeker has often been seen going mad; delirium would set in. Even if a madman does the process I am suggesting, within a month or two he will be out of his madness. An ordinary person can never go mad in this process, because we are not trying to suppress madness—we are trying to bring it out. The old disciplines have driven thousands into madness. We gave it good names—we called it frenzy, rapturous frenzy, ecstasy. We said: the man became God-intoxicated, became an auliya, this and that. But he had gone mad—he had suppressed something so badly that it went beyond his control.

In this process, the first step is catharsis
This process has a twofold work. The first is catharsis, the first is expulsion—the rubbish that is stuffed inside you must be thrown out. First become light, so light that all possibility of madness inside you becomes feeble; only then go on the inner journey.

So in this process, where apparent madness is seen, it is in fact a deep process of freedom from madness. I prefer that whatever is within us come out—its burden, its tension, its anxiety should drop.

And it is a very interesting thing: when madness descends on you, you are not its master; but the madness that you evoke voluntarily—you are always its master. Once you come to know the mastery of madness, that kind of madness which masters you can never descend upon you.

Now a man is, out of his own joy, dancing, singing, screaming, crying, laughing—doing everything a madman does; but there is one difference: with the madman these events happen to him, whereas here he is doing them; without his cooperation nothing is happening. If he wants, in a second, “Enough,” everything stops. Now that kind of madness can never descend on him, because he has lived madness, seen it, become acquainted with it. It has become voluntary. Even being mad has come within his volition. What our civilization has taught us makes madness non-voluntary, outside our will; so when it comes, we can do nothing.

For the coming civilization, madness must be released through meditation
Therefore I consider this process very valuable for the coming civilization, because the whole civilization ahead is moving toward madness day by day. Every person needs a way to release it—and there is no other way. If he releases it for an hour in meditation, people gradually accept it; they know he is meditating. If he releases it on the street, the police will catch him. If he releases it in anger, relationships get spoiled and ugly. He releases it by quarreling with someone—he does release it; if he doesn’t, he’ll get into trouble. He will keep finding tricks to release it—sometimes by drinking, sometimes by going and doing the twist. But why invite that much trouble? Why that much nuisance?

The twist and other dances are not accidental. The human body wants to move from within, but we have no place left for movement. So we make arrangements. And with arrangements, other entanglements arise. Instead, release it without arrangements. Meditation is the release without arrangements. We make no arrangements—we simply let it out, acknowledging it is inside and should come out.

If we could teach every child this catharsis along with education, the number of mad people in the world could be drastically reduced—the very occurrence of madness could be ended. But it is increasing day by day; and the more civilization increases, the more it will increase, because civilization keeps teaching: “Repress!” Civilization allows neither loud laughter nor loud crying, neither dancing nor shouting; it suppresses from all sides. What needs to happen within you is held back and held back—and then it erupts; and when it erupts, it goes beyond your control.

So catharsis is the first part—it has to be let out. Therefore I am in favor of the body being standing; then even the slightest movement of the body will be noticed and you will be able to move; you will be totally free. I am also in favor that when the seeker does this experiment in his room, he keep the door closed—not only stand, but be naked, so even clothes do not restrain him; in every way he is free to move. The slightest stirring, and there should be no obstruction anywhere in his personality that holds him back. Then movement into meditation will happen very quickly. What hatha yoga and other yogas did in lifetimes, in years, can be done through this meditative experiment in days.

The need for intense practice
Now, yogas that take years or lifetimes cannot survive in the world. People do not have even days and hours. We need a process that feels immediately fruitful—that if a person commits to seven days, in seven days he can know that much has happened, that he has become a different man. If it is to be known in seven lifetimes, no one will attempt it now. The old claims were of lifetimes: “Do it this life, the fruits will come in the next.” They were patient people of long waiting; they practiced in this life in anticipation of the next. Now you will not find such people. If the fruit does not come today, there is no readiness to wait even till tomorrow.

Nor is there any certainty about tomorrow. Since the day the atom bomb fell on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, tomorrow has ended. In America, hundreds of thousands of boys and girls are not willing to go to college. They say, “By the time we finish studying, will the world still exist? There is no guarantee of tomorrow! So don’t waste our time. Let us live the days we have.”

From high school, boys and girls are dropping out; they say they will not even go to university, because to graduate takes six years—will the world last six years? Now the son asks the father, “Is there a guarantee of six years for the world?” So, they say, why not use these six years, the little that are in our lives?

Where tomorrow has become so uncertain, to talk of lifetimes is meaningless; no one is ready to listen. That is why I say: let the experiment be today and the result be today. If someone is willing to give me one hour today, then today—right after that very hour—he should have a sense of result; only then will he give me an hour tomorrow. Otherwise there is no guarantee of tomorrow’s hour. The needs of the age have changed. In the bullock-cart world, everything moved slowly; so did sadhana. In the jet age, sadhana too cannot move slowly; it must be intense, dynamic, speedy.

Come in the morning, at the time of sadhana; we will talk then.
To receive the flow of energy, one must bow.

There is meaning—there is much meaning. As I have said, when we are filled with anger we feel like hitting someone. When we are very angry we even feel like putting our foot on the other’s head. Because placing the foot is quite awkward, people throw a shoe instead. To set your foot on the head of a six-foot-tall man is difficult; so, symbolically, they take off the shoe and hit his head with it. But no one asks in this world: What is the meaning of hitting someone’s head with a shoe? Everywhere! It's a universal fact that in anger one feels like putting a foot on another’s head. And once, when humans lived more primitively, there were no shoes—then they would actually put the foot on the head.

Exactly opposite states exist in the mind. In anger, one feels like putting a foot on someone’s head; in reverence, one feels like placing one’s head at someone’s feet. The meanings are just as real as in the first case. There are moments when you want to bow down completely before someone; and those are the moments when you sense a flow of energy moving from the other toward you. In truth, whenever you want to receive a current, you have to bend. Even to draw water from a river you must bend. Bending is essential for receiving any flow. All flows, in fact, move downward. So if, near such a person, you feel that something is flowing—sometimes you do feel it—then the lower your head bows in that moment, the more meaningful it becomes.

Energy flows from the pointed parts of the body
The energy that flows from the body flows from those parts that are pointed—like the fingers of the hands or the toes of the feet. Energy does not radiate from everywhere. The body’s bioelectric energy, the shaktipat that can happen through the body, any transmission of force, occurs through the fingers or toes—not from the whole body. It is from the pointed parts that power and energy flow. So the one who wants to receive energy will place his head at the toes; and the one who wants to give energy will place the fingers of his hand upon the other’s head.

These were profound occult matters, a deep science.
Naturally, many people imitate them. Thousands will put their head on someone’s feet with no purpose; thousands will place a hand on another’s head with no purpose. Then a very deep principle slowly becomes merely formal. And when for long it remains formal, rebellion begins. Someone will say, “What nonsense! What can happen by placing your head on someone’s feet? What can happen by placing a hand on the head?”
In ninety-nine out of a hundred instances it is nonsense now. It has become so. But in one out of a hundred it is still meaningful—and there was a time when it was meaningful in a hundred out of a hundred instances, because then it was a spontaneous act. It was not that you felt obliged, by custom, to touch someone’s feet. No—if in a certain moment you could not hold back and had to fall at the feet, then don’t hold back, fall! And it was not that to bless someone you must place your hand on his head anyway. It was only to be done in the moment when your hand grew heavy, ready to shower, willing to let something flow—and the other was ready to receive. Only then was it to be done.

But all things gradually become symbols. And when they become symbols, they turn meaningless. And when they become meaningless, words against them arise—and those words have great appeal. Because the science behind what has become meaningless is already lost. Yet the practice itself was deeply significant.

To receive energy, being empty and open is essential
And, as I said earlier, that was in relation to living beings: someone placing his head at the feet of a Mahavira, a Buddha, a Jesus—and experiencing an extraordinary bliss, an inner shower. No one outside will see it; it is entirely inward. What he has known is his affair. If others ask him for proof, he will have none.

This is the difficulty with all occult phenomena: the individual has the experience, but has no proof to offer the collective. Hence it begins to appear as if it must be blind belief. The person says, “I cannot explain what happens, but something does happen.” The one to whom it has not happened says, “How can I believe? It hasn’t happened to me. You are deluded.” And it may happen that the one who is skeptical also goes and places his head at the feet of Jesus—and it does not happen to him. He returns and says, “You are wrong! I, too, placed my head at those feet.” This is like two pitchers: one with an open mouth bends into the water and returns saying, “I bent and was filled.” Another, with a closed mouth, says, “Let me try as well.” He too bends into the water, dives deeply, and comes back empty—then declares, “I bent, I dived—nothing fills! You speak falsely.”

The event is twofold. It is not enough that energy flows from someone; your opening—your inner openness—is equally essential. Many times, the other’s energy is less important than your openness. If you are utterly open, then even when the other person has no power of his own, higher forces can flow through him to you. This is why—remarkably—those who themselves do not have the power may still serve as a medium if someone surrenders with a fully open heart; the energy is not coming from them—they are merely used as a channel. They themselves may not even know it—yet it can happen.

The secret of covering the head
Another point: the practice of covering the head when entering a gurdwara, temple, or sacred space. Many fakirs have also practiced meditation with the head covered. It has a use. When energy awakens within you, there is the possibility of a very heavy pressure on the head. If you have bound it, the energy is less likely to dissipate; it is more likely to be reabsorbed.

So binding the head proved useful—very useful. If you meditate with a cloth tied around your head, you will immediately feel the difference: what would have taken you fifteen days will take five. When your energy reaches the head, there is a likelihood of radiation, of scattering. If it can be held so as to form a circuit, the experience becomes deeper and more intense.

But now it is merely formal: entering a temple or gurdwara with head covered has become purely a formality. Its meaning is mostly lost. Yet there is meaning in it.

And if a person can receive energy at the feet of a living being, and a living person’s hand can transmit energy as blessing—what can happen when one bows at a temple, altar, tomb, or image? There too, there is much; a few things are worth understanding.

Temples and tombs—ways of relating to disembodied presences
First, many of these images were once created through a very scientific arrangement. Suppose I am about to die and there are ten people who love me, who have found and seen something in me. At the time of dying they ask, “If we wish to remember you afterward, how should we do it?”
A symbol can be agreed upon between me and them, one that will serve after my body drops. It could be anything—an image, a stone, a tree, a platform; my samadhi, a tomb, a piece of my clothing, my sandals—anything. But it must be mutually agreed between us. It is a pact. It cannot be decided unilaterally; it needs my witness, my consent, my signature—my promise: “If you remember me with this object before you, then even in a non-physical state I will become present.” Such a promise bears fruit—it truly does.

Hence there are temples that are living, and temples that are dead. Dead temples are those created unilaterally, with no assurance from the other side. Our hearts may be devoted, we may build a temple of Buddha on our own—that temple will be dead, for there is no assurance from the other side. There are living temples as well—where there is assurance from the other side, a word given by that person.

A promise kept after a buddha’s death
In Tibet—though that place has since fallen into difficulty—there was a spot where Buddha’s promise has been fulfilled continuously for twenty-five hundred years. There is a small council of five hundred lamas. When one lama dies, only with great difficulty does another gain entry; their number cannot exceed five hundred, nor be less. Only when one dies does a place become vacant. And when one dies and another is to be admitted, it must be with the unanimous consent of all the rest—even a single dissent prevents admission. This council gathers on Buddha Purnima on a particular mountain. At the appointed time—which is part of the pact—Buddha’s voice begins to be heard.

But this will not happen on just any mountain, nor before just anyone; it happens in exact accord with the agreement. It is like this: you go to sleep in the evening, having made a firm resolve to wake at exactly five in the morning. Then you need no clock or alarm—you will suddenly find your sleep breaks at five. And this matter is so astonishing that you can verify it against your clock—at such times, the clock may be wrong, you will not be. If your resolve is firm, you will wake at five.

If you resolve firmly that in such-and-such year, on such-and-such day, you will die, no power in the world can prevent you—you will depart at that moment. Even after death, if the sphere of your resolve is very intense, you can fulfill your promises. Jesus’ appearance after death was such a promise fulfilled. It was a promise kept for those to whom it was given. That is why Christianity has had such difficulty around it—was he seen, was he not? Did he resurrect? It was a promise fulfilled for those to whom it was made.

Thus there are places that became tirthas—pilgrimage sites—where a living promise had been fulfilled for thousands of years. Later people forgot the promise and the living connection and the pact; only the notion of going there remained. They kept going—and still go.

There are promises of Muhammad, of Shankara, of Krishna, of Buddha and Mahavira. These promises are bound to particular places, particular times and auspicious moments, through which connection can still be made. At such places you must bow your head, and there you must surrender yourself wholly—only then will you be able to relate.

So there is use in these things. But every useful thing eventually turns into a formality, then into a tradition, then dies and becomes futile. Then everything has to be broken—so that new promises can be made again, new tirthas arise, new images and new temples be created. All the old has to be discarded because it has died, and we no longer know what long process once worked behind it.

There was a yogi in the South. An English traveler came to him and said, “I am returning and will not come to India again. If I wish to have your darshan, what should I do?” The yogi gave him a photograph and said, “Whenever you sit in darkness behind a closed door and gaze at this picture for five minutes without blinking, I will be present.”

The poor man could scarcely wait to reach home. He had only one thing in mind—how to test it. He did not really believe it could happen. But it did. The man was a scientific doctor; he was thrown into great difficulty—because it happened. It was a promise that could be fulfilled astrally, via the subtle body. There is no difficulty in this—a living person can fulfill it; a dead one can too.

The occult secret of images and tombs
Therefore pictures became important; images became important. They became important because they fulfilled promises. There is a whole science to making images. You cannot make them just any which way. There is a complete discipline about how they should be.

For instance, look at the statues of the twenty-four Jaina tirthankaras—you will be puzzled. There is no difference among them; they are identical. Only their emblems differ: Mahavira has one emblem, Parshva another, Nemi another. If you erase the emblems on the base, the statues are exactly the same. You cannot tell which is Mahavira, which is Parshva, which is Nemi—there is no way to tell.

Surely, these twenty-four persons did not all look alike—that is impossible. But the form of the first tirthankara’s image was adopted by all the rest as the shared symbol of the pact. Why make different images? One image worked; it did the work—through that very image we too will work. It was like a seal that functioned. I used it; you used it; a third used it. Devotees, however, longed for some small distinction for their beloved—so only the emblem was differentiated. One has a lion, another something else—only that was changed; the image remained one. All twenty-four are identical in form; only the emblem differs. And that emblem is also part of the pact—the response available through an image with a given emblem will be of the person associated with that emblem. The emblem will do its work.

Muhammad left no gross symbol
Just as the cross is the emblem of Jesus—and it works. Muhammad forbade, “Do not make my image.” Do not make my image! By Muhammad’s time, so many images had been made that he offered an altogether different kind of symbol to his friends: “Do not make my image; I will relate to you without an image, in the imageless.” This too was a deep experiment—and a very courageous one. But ordinary people found it very difficult to relate to Muhammad in that way.

So after Muhammad, thousands of tombs and shrines of fakirs were built. Because people did not understand how to relate directly to Muhammad, they made graves of others and related to them; they built mausoleums. And the veneration of shrines and tombs spread among Muslims more than anywhere in the world. The simple reason was: they lacked a tangible handle by which to relate directly to Muhammad; they could not form a form—so they immediately created another form, and began to relate through that.

This entire process is scientific. If you understand it as a science, it yields wondrous benefits; if you take it as mere superstition, it is very self-destructive.

The mystery of consecrating an image (prana-pratishtha)

Yes, it has great significance. In fact, this is precisely what prana-pratishtha means. It means that we are making a new image, but in accordance with an old covenant. And there should be indications as to whether that old covenant has been fulfilled or not. From our side we repeat the entire old arrangement. We will no longer regard that image as dead; from now on we will regard it as living. From our side we will make all the provisions that are to be made for a living image. And now there should be symbolic signs to show whether that prana-pratishtha has been accepted or not. That is the second part, which has slipped from our awareness. If those signs are not received, then we may have performed the ritual, but prana-pratishtha has not happened. Evidence is needed. Signs were sought for precisely this—only if they appeared could it be understood that the image had become active.

The idol as a receiving point
Understand it like this: you install a new radio in your home. First the radio itself must be in order, its entire mechanism functioning properly. You bring it home, connect it to the electricity. Even then you find it does not catch stations—then prana-pratishtha has not happened; it is not alive yet, it is still dead. You will have to have it checked; bring another radio or get it repaired.

An idol too is a kind of receiving point through which a deceased person—having made a certain vow—fulfills it. But you place the image; whether he is fulfilling it or not—if you do not know, and you have no means to know—then you cannot tell whether the image is alive or dead.

So prana-pratishtha has two parts. One part the priest completes—how many mantras to recite, how many threads to tie, what to offer, how much yajna-havan, how much fire—he does it all. This is incomplete and only the first part. The second part—which can be done only by one who has attained to the fifth body, not before—is that he can say, “Yes, the image has become alive.” That does not happen. Therefore most of our temples are dead temples, not living ones. And new temples are all built dead; a new temple is never alive.

Somnath’s temple was dead
If a temple is living, its destruction is in no way possible, because it is not an ordinary phenomenon. And if it is destroyed, it only means that what you had believed to be living was not living. Like Somnath’s temple, which was destroyed. The story of Somnath’s destruction is very remarkable and very telling for the whole science of temples. There were five hundred priests at the temple. The priests believed the temple was alive; therefore the image could not be destroyed. The priests had always done their work. It was one-sided work, because there was no one to report back whether the image was living or dead. So when great kings and Rajput chieftains sent word that they would come to defend the temple, that Ghaznavi was coming, the priests naturally replied that there was no need for them to come—because how could you protect the very image that protects everyone? The chieftains apologized.

But a mistake was made. The mistake was that the image was not alive. The priests remained in the hope that it was living, and to even think of protecting a living image is wrong. Behind it, they felt, is a power far vaster than us—how could we think of saving it? But Mahmud of Ghazni came, struck with a mace, and the image broke into four pieces. Even then it did not occur to them that the image was dead. Even then—still—it did not occur to them that the image was dead, therefore it could be broken.

No, a living temple’s bricks cannot fall. If it is alive, nothing can be harmed.

The deeper science of a living temple
But most often temples are not living. And for a temple to be living there are great difficulties. A living temple is a tremendous miracle and part of a very deep science—of which there are neither many who know, nor many who can accomplish it. And so many obstacles have arisen, because such a vast class of priests and shopkeepers stands behind the temples that, if someone who knows appears, he cannot gain entry. It has become very difficult. And it has become a business in which it is in the priest’s interest that the temple be dead. A living temple is not in the priest’s interest. He wants a dead god inside, whom he can lock and key and run his affairs. If greater, vaster forces are connected with that temple, the priest will find it hard to survive there; it will be difficult for him to live there. Therefore priests have created many dead temples and keep making them every day. Temples can be built every day; that is no difficulty. But truly living temples are becoming fewer and fewer.

So much effort has been made to save living temples, but the web of priests around every temple, every religion, is so vast that it is very difficult to save them. And so in the end this is what always happens—hence so many temples are built; otherwise there would be no need to build so many. If the temples and tirthas built in Mahavira’s time, in the age of the Upanishads, had remained alive, there would have been no need for Mahavira to create separate ones. But they died. And around those dead temples and priests there was a net, breaking through which to enter was impossible. Therefore there was no option but to create new ones. Today Mahavira’s temple too has died; it too has the same kind of net around it.

When conditions are not fulfilled, the covenant breaks
So many religions would not have arisen if the living element could be preserved. But it does not survive. All kinds of disturbance gather around it, and those disturbances gradually break all possibilities. And when the possibility breaks on one side, the covenant breaks on the other. That covenant is one that was made. We have to keep it. If we keep it, it is kept from the other side; if not, it departs, and the matter is finished.

For example, I might say to you, “Whenever you remember me, I will be present.” But if you stop remembering altogether, or throw my picture into a garbage heap and forget it, how long will that covenant last? It has been broken on your side; there is then no need for me to keep it on mine. Such covenants have been breaking.

But prana-pratishtha does have meaning. And the second part of prana-pratishtha is the important one: the touchstone and verification of whether it has happened or not. That verification too can be completed.

No; such things as water have nothing to do with it. Water keeps dripping even without the idol’s consecration; and even if you place an idol there, it can still drip. There is no great difficulty in that; it’s no big issue. These are all false proofs on the basis of which we assume consecration has happened. These are all false proofs on the basis of which we assume consecration has happened. Dripping water and such have nothing to do with it. Even where absolutely no water falls, there are living temples; they can be there too.
Initiation is not given—it happens.

A few things about initiation will be useful. First: initiation is not given; it cannot be given. Initiation happens; it is a happening. Someone stays near Mahavira. Sometimes it takes years for initiation to happen. Because Mahavira says—wait, stay close, walk, get up, sit, live this way, enter meditation this way, rise this way, sit this way, live thus. There is a moment when the person becomes ready, and then Mahavira remains only a medium. In fact, even calling him a medium may not be accurate; at the deepest he is only a witness—a witness, a bystander—before whom initiation happens.

Initiation always happens from the Divine
Initiation is always from the Divine. It happens in the presence of Mahavira. But of course, to the one in whom it happens, it is Mahavira who is visible; the Divine is not visible. He sees Mahavira before him, and in Mahavira’s presence it happens to him. Naturally he feels grateful to Mahavira. That is appropriate. But Mahavira does not accept his gratitude, because he could accept it only if he believed, “I have given the initiation.”

Therefore there are two kinds of initiation. One is that which happens—which is what I call initiation—where you become related to the Divine, your life-journey changes. You are other. You are no longer what you were. Your whole being is transformed; something new is seen, something new happens within you, a new ray enters you—everything in you is different. This is the initiation in which the one we call the master stands only as a witness. And he can only say this much: yes, initiation has happened; because he sees the whole, while you see only half. You can see what is happening to you; he can also see That by which it is happening. Therefore you cannot be a conclusive witness as to whether the event has happened or not; you can only say that much transformation has occurred.

But has initiation happened or not? Have I been accepted or not? The meaning of initiation is: “Have I been accepted?” Have I been chosen? Have I been received by that Divine? Can I now take it that I am His? From my side I have let go, but from His side—have I also been taken, or not?

You cannot know this immediately. You will sense some differences, but are these differences enough, or not? That other person, whom we have called the master, can know this much; both happenings are visible to him.

The master—only a witness
True initiation is neither given nor taken; it happens from the Divine. You are only the recipient. And the one you call the master is only a witness.

The second initiation, which we may call false initiation, is given and taken. In it God is not present at all; only the guru and the disciple are there—the guru gives and the disciple receives—but the third, the real, is absent. Where only two are present—guru and disciple—there initiation will be false. Where three are present—guru, disciple, and That by which initiation happens—there everything changes.

So this whole procedure of “giving initiation” is inappropriate. Not only inappropriate—dangerous, fatal; because under the illusion of that initiation, the real initiation may never happen. You will go on living in the belief that initiation has occurred.

A monk came to me. He was initiated by someone; he said, “I am the initiate of such-and-such guru, and I have come to you to learn meditation.” I asked, “Then why did you take initiation? And if meditation has not come in initiation, what did you get in initiation? You got robes! You got a name! And if you still have to search for meditation, how did initiation happen?” Because the truth is that only after meditation can initiation be; after initiation, seeking meditation has no meaning. It is like a man saying, “I am healthy,” and roaming the doors of doctors saying he needs medicine. Initiation is the recognition that comes after meditation; it is the sanction that you have been accepted, acknowledged, that word of you has reached the Divine, that you have gained entry into that dimension—initiation is just this recognition.

True initiation must be revived
Such initiation has been lost. And I want such initiation to be revived—where the guru is not the giver, the disciple is not the taker; where the guru is a witness, the disciple a recipient, and the giver is the Divine.

And this can happen. And it should happen. If I stand as a witness in someone’s initiation, I do not become his guru; then his guru is the Divine. If he feels grateful, that is his affair. But to beg for favor is meaningless; even for me to “accept” you has no meaning.

“Gurudom” has arisen by giving a new shape to initiation. Ears are being blown into! Mantras are being given! Anybody is initiating anybody. It is not even certain that he himself is initiated. It is not certain that he, too, has been accepted by the Divine. He too is “initiated” in the same way—someone blew into his ear, and he is blowing into someone else’s! And that second one will start blowing into a third tomorrow!

False initiation is a spiritual crime
Man manages to create falsity and deception in everything. And the more mysterious a thing is, the more possible the fraud—because there is nothing there to hold in the hand and show. I want to try this experiment too: ten or twenty people are getting ready—they should take initiation from the Divine. The rest who are present should be witnesses. They should simply be able to say, to attest whether the acceptance has reached “above” or not. That is the function. You too will have the experience, but you may not recognize it immediately. That realm is so unfamiliar—how will you recognize that it has happened? Only that much attestation has value. Therefore the supreme guru is the Divine. If the middleman-gurus step aside, it becomes easier.

But the middleman-gurus plant their feet very firmly—because the ego gets great pleasure in making and showing oneself to be God. Around this ego many kinds of initiations are given. They have no value. In spiritual terms, all that is a criminal act. And if someday we were to punish spiritual criminals, they should be punished—because it means keeping a person in the delusion that he has been initiated. And then he begins to strut about, “I am initiated—I have received initiation, I have received the mantra, this has happened, that has happened”—he goes on believing all this. And therefore what was to happen to him—what he would have sought—he stops seeking.

The real meaning of Buddhism’s Three Refuges
With Buddha, no one was initiated at once; sometimes it took years. He would tell the person: wait, stay for now, do this much, and this, and this—and keep postponing him. The day that moment arrived, that day he himself would say, “Now you stand up and be initiated.”

But the initiation had three parts. When it happened—Buddha’s initiation had three parts. The one being initiated took three kinds of refuge—three types of surrender.

Buddham Sharanam Gachchhami
He would say, “I go to the refuge of the Buddha.” And note this well: going to the refuge of the Buddha did not mean going to the refuge of Gautama Buddha; it meant—going to the refuge of the awakened one. It never meant the refuge of Gautama as a person.

Someone once asked Buddha, “You are sitting right in front, and a man comes and says—Buddham Sharanam Gachchhami. And you hear it!”

Buddha said, “He is not going to my refuge; he is going to the refuge of the awakened. I am merely a pretext. In my place there have been other buddhas, and there will be others; I am only a peg. He is going to the refuge of the awakened—who am I to obstruct? If he were to say he is going to my refuge, I would stop him; he says, ‘the Buddha’s refuge.’”

So three times he goes to the refuge of the awakened. He is surrendering himself before the awakened.

Sangham Sharanam Gachchhami
Then the second refuge—more wondrous. It is: Sangham Sharanam Gachchhami. He goes three times to the refuge of the Sangha. What is Sangha? Generally even those who follow Buddha think it means Buddha’s order. No, that is not the meaning. Sangha means the community of the awakened. There is not only one awakened, one Buddha. Many buddhas have awakened; many will awaken—there is one community of all of them, one collectivity. To take refuge in “Buddha’s Sangha” would be the sectarian understanding: “I now take refuge in this denomination.” No—when the first formula has already made it clear—Buddha says he is not going to my refuge but to the refuge of the awakened—then the second becomes even clearer: he goes to the refuge of the community of the awakened. First he surrenders to the person who is present before him—this is tangible; it is easier to relate. Then he surrenders to that great brotherhood, that vast Sangha of those who have awakened at some time (of whom he knows nothing), who will awaken in the future (of whom he also knows nothing), who might be awakened somewhere even now (of whom he knows nothing). He surrenders to them too: I go to your refuge. One step subtler.

Dhammam Sharanam Gachchhami
The third refuge is: Dhammam Sharanam Gachchhami. The third time he says: I go to the refuge of the Dhamma. First, the awakened buddha. Second, the awakened community. And third, the ultimate state of awakening—the Dhamma, the intrinsic law, where neither person remains nor community remains—only the Law, the Dharma remains. I go to the refuge of that Law.

When he completes these three refuges—and this was not mere recitation—when these are fulfilled, and Buddha sees that the three refuges are complete in him, then the man is initiated; and Buddha is only a witness. Therefore even after initiation Buddha tells him: do not believe what I say just because I am a buddha; do not believe it because a great person has said it; do not believe it because many believe the one who said it; do not believe it because the scriptures say so. No—believe only what your own intelligence affirms, from now on.

He does not become a guru. Therefore Buddha’s last message at the time of death is: Appo Deepo Bhava! When asked for a final message, he gives this: become your own lamp; do not follow anyone; be a light unto yourself. Appo Deepo Bhava! Become your own light—this is my last, my final message.

Beware of gurus who bind you through initiation
Such a person does not become a guru; he is a witness. Jesus has said this many times: on the day of judgment I will be your witness. At the final judgment I will say, yes—this man yearned to awaken; this man yearned to surrender to God. This is symbolic, but Christ is saying: I am the witness; I am not your guru.

There is no guru as an authority. Therefore, of any initiation in which a person becomes your guru, beware. And that initiation in which the Divine comes into an immediate and direct relationship—that initiation is unique.

And keep in mind: in this second kind of initiation there is no need to run away from home; no need to become Hindu, Muslim, or Christian; no need to bind yourself to anyone. You can remain exactly as you are, where you are, in your full freedom—only within you the transformation will begin. But in that first false initiation, you will be bound—to a religion (Hindu, Muslim, Christian), to a sect, a path, a belief, a dogmatism; some person, some guru will grab you; they will murder your freedom. Any initiation that does not bring freedom is not initiation. That which brings supreme freedom—that alone is initiation.

The secret of Buddha’s rebirth

Yes, this is a bit difficult, so I left it yesterday, because it would have taken a long explanation. Still, let us understand it in brief.

After the seventh body there is no return. Once the seventh body is attained there is no coming back; it is the point of no return. From there one cannot return. But the other statement I made is also true: Buddha says, “I will come once more, in the body of Maitreya; I will return once more under the name Maitreya.” Now both statements will look contradictory to you, because I say that after the seventh body one cannot return, and yet there is Buddha’s word that he will return—and he did attain the seventh body and merge into the Great Nirvana. Then how would it be possible?

There is another route. In fact, before entering the seventh body… you will have to understand a small point. When we die, the physical body falls, but none of the other bodies falls. At death only the physical body drops; the remaining six bodies continue with us. When someone attains the fifth body, the lower four bodies fall away and three bodies remain—the fifth, sixth, and seventh. In the state of the fifth body, if one so wishes—if one so wishes in the state of the fifth body—one can make such a resolve that one’s second, third, and fourth bodies remain. And if this resolve is made deep—and for one like Buddha there is no difficulty in making it deep—then he can leave his second, third, and fourth bodies behind forever. Those bodies will continue to roam in space like clusters of energy.

The second is the etheric—the feeling/emotional body—so Buddha’s feelings, the emotions he accumulated through innumerable births, are the property of this body. All their subtle waves are contained in it. Then the astral body, the subtle body: in this subtle body remain the samskaras of all the subtlest karmic attainments of Buddha’s life. And the fourth, the manas body—the mental body: all of Buddha’s mental attainments! And whatever is attained beyond the mind still has to be expressed through the mind. Even if someone realizes something from the fifth or the seventh body, whenever he speaks he must use the fourth body; the vehicle for expression is the fourth body.

So whatever others heard of Buddha’s speech is very little; most of Buddha’s speech was heard by Buddha’s own fourth body. Whatever Buddha thought, lived, saw, understood—everything is stored in the fourth body.

Ordinarily these three bodies are destroyed—when a person enters the fifth body, the lower three bodies are destroyed; when a person enters the seventh, the remaining six bodies are destroyed—everything is destroyed. But a person in the fifth body, if he wishes, can leave the complex, the constellation of these three bodies suspended in space. They will remain in space, traveling, just as now we are building stations in space; they will continue their journey. And they will manifest in a person named Maitreya.

Parakaya-pravesh of the subtle bodies
So whenever a person is born in a state fit for it—one in whom Buddha’s three bodies can enter—these three bodies will wait until then and will enter that person. The moment they enter, that person’s stature will become exactly like Buddha’s; because all of Buddha’s experiences, all his feelings, the entire arrangement of his karma-field is there.

Suppose I could leave my body in this house, preserved and safe…

For example, a man in America died—three, four years ago—and he left a trust of millions of dollars, with instructions that his body be preserved until science has reached the point of being able to reanimate it. Hundreds of thousands are being spent on his body. It must be kept exactly as it was at the moment of death. Not the slightest deterioration should occur—until then. There is hope that by the end of this century the possibility of reanimating a body will emerge. So for thirty to forty years his body has to be kept as it was when he died. This is a scientific procedure. And if by the end of the century we can reanimate a body, that body will be reanimated.

Certainly, a different soul will occupy that body; the same soul cannot be available. But the body will remain: the same eyes, the same gait, the same complexion, the same features; the habits of that body will remain with it. In one sense it will represent that man—by means of the body.

And if that man had been centered only in the physical body—as he must have been, otherwise he would not have had such a craving to preserve it—if he was only the physical body and knew nothing of the other bodies, then any other soul will be able to act perfectly through it; it will become almost the same. Scientists will even claim that it is the same man, there is no difference. All of that man’s memories, which are stored in the physical brain, will be reawakened. He will recognize photographs—“This is my mother’s photo; this is my son’s.” All those people will be dead by then, but he will recognize the photos. He will identify his village—“Here is the village where I was born; here is where I died. These people were alive when I died.” But the soul will be different; only the memory-content in the brain will be the same.

Transplanting memory
Scientists now say that very soon we will be able to transplant memory. It will become possible. It does not seem difficult. If I die, I have my own memory—and a very great wealth is lost to the world, because with my death all my memory is lost. If the entire tape of my memory, my whole mechanism, could be saved at my death—just as we now save the eye; till recently eyes could not be transplanted, now they can—tomorrow someone will be able to see through my eye; it is no longer true that only I will ever see through it. And it is no longer true that only I will love through my heart; tomorrow someone else will love through my heart. Even in matters of the heart, one cannot make too many promises now that “my heart will always be yours”—because this heart may be inside someone else, promising someone else. There is no difficulty left in that.

In just the same way, tomorrow memory too will be transplanted. It is subtle, very delicate; hence it is taking time, and will take time. But if I die tomorrow, just as today I can donate my eyes to an eye bank, I could donate my memory to a memory bank. I could say, “Before I die, save all my memory and transplant it into a small child.” The child to whom my memory is given will not have to learn many of the things I had to learn; he will grow up already knowing them. They will become part of his memory; he will absorb them. He will know that much already. And then it will become very tricky, because my memories will become his memories. In many matters he will answer exactly as I would have, and in many matters he will show recognitions exactly like mine, because his brain has my brain’s content.

Do you follow what I mean?

Buddha experimented in another direction—others too have experimented in it—not scientific but occult: in it the second, third, and fourth bodies are preserved. Buddha himself dissolved; the soul, the consciousness that lived within those bodies, was lost into the seventh body. But before dissolving he made an arrangement that these three bodies would not die; he imparted to them a momentum of resolve.

Suppose I throw a stone with great force—so great that it can travel fifty miles. I may die, but that will not cause the stone to fall. The force I gave it will carry it those fifty miles. The stone cannot say, “The man who gave me the force is dead, so how can I move now?” The force that was given to that stone to travel fifty miles—it will travel fifty miles. Now my living or dying has nothing to do with it; my force has been imparted to the stone; it will do its work.

Do you see what I mean?

The failed experiment of Buddha’s descent into Krishnamurti
The force Buddha imparted to those three bodies to keep living—that force will keep them alive. And he also indicated the time for how long… that is, the time is near when Maitreya should take birth. The same experiment was tried with Krishnamurti: preparations were made so those three bodies could be given to him. Krishnamurti had a younger brother, Nityananda. The experiment was first tried on him, but Nityananda died. He died in the midst of this very experiment, because it was a most unusual experiment, and assimilating it is not at all easy. The attempt was to separate Nityananda’s own three bodies and have Maitreya’s three bodies enter. Nityananda died. Then the same attempt was made with Krishnamurti: to remove his three bodies and replace them. That too could not happen. Then it was tried on one or two others—on George Arundale as well. Because some people had some understanding of this matter—Helena Blavatsky, perhaps the most deeply insightful woman of this century regarding the occult; after her, Annie Besant had great understanding, and Leadbeater too. These people had an understanding very few in this century possessed.

Their great effort was prompted by the fact that the time for the momentum given to the three bodies was running out. If Maitreya did not take birth, those bodies could scatter. The force with which they had been thrown would be spent, and someone should be made ready to assimilate those three bodies. Whoever assimilated all three would, in a certain sense, be the rebirth of Buddha—in a certain sense! Do you understand me? Buddha’s soul would not return; this person’s soul, taking on Buddha’s bodies, would begin to do Buddha’s work—completely engaged in Buddha’s work.

Therefore not just anyone can be in that position. Whoever it would be would have to be a consciousness very near to Buddha’s; only then could he assimilate those three bodies. Otherwise he would die. The whole affair failed for this very reason—there is great difficulty in it. And yet, even now, efforts continue. Even now some small esoteric circles are trying to see that some child receives those three bodies. But now there is not so much wide publicity; publicity caused harm.

There was a real possibility with Krishnamurti that perhaps those three bodies would enter him. He had that much preparedness. But there was such widespread publicity. It was done with good intention: that when Buddha comes again he can be recognized; and also to arouse the memories of those who had been alive in Buddha’s time, so that they could recognize whether this is the same person or not. With this in mind the publicity was done. But it proved fatal. It created a reaction in Krishnamurti’s mind. He is a reserved, touch-me-not kind of personality; it became difficult for him to be brought center-stage. Had the experiment been done quietly, in some secluded place, and no one told until the event had happened, perhaps it might have succeeded. It did not. The opportunity was missed. Krishnamurti refused to give up his own bodies, and so there was no room for the other bodies. Hence the event could not occur. And thus a great failure befell occult science in this century. A larger experiment has never been attempted—except in Tibet. In Tibet they have been conducting such experiments for a long time, and many souls have worked again through other bodies.

So have you understood my point now? There is no contradiction in it. And if anywhere in my words you see a contradiction, understand that there will not be one. Yes, the matter may proceed by another route, and thus it may look contradictory.