Jin Khoja Tin Paiyan #2

My beloved Atman! The world is the expansion of energy, and the condensing of energy is what we call life. That which appears to us as matter, which even looks like stone, is also energy, Shakti. That which appears as life, which is felt as thought, which seems like consciousness, is likewise a transmutation of that same energy, that same Shakti. The whole universe—whether the waves of the ocean, the cypress trees, the grains of sand, the stars in the sky, or that which is within us—all this is the manifestation of a single power in endlessly infinite forms.

The vast life of energy Where do we begin and where do we end—it is hard to say. Where does our body end—it is hard to say. The body we take to be our boundary is not really our boundary. The sun is a hundred million miles away; if it were to grow cold, we would grow cold here and now. Which means that in our very being the sun is continuously present, a part of our body; the sun grows cold and we grow cold; the sun’s warmth is the warmth of our body. All around us stretches an ocean of air; from there prana becomes available to us. If it were not available, we would die this very moment. So the breath we are taking connects us within and connects us without. Where does our body end? If we search deeply, the whole universe is our body. Boundless, infinite is our body. And if we seek rightly, everywhere is the center of our life, and everywhere the expanse. But to perceive this and to experience it, we ourselves must become utterly alive energy, living energy.

The drop dissolved in the ocean By meditation I mean the freeing, in every way, of those currents within us that have become still and blocked. When you enter meditation, the energy hidden within you, the energy that is concealed, awakens with such force that its relationship with the energy outside is established. And the moment that connection with the outer powers is made, we become a small leaf trembling in infinite winds; our separate being is lost; we become one with the Vast. What is known when one becomes one with the Vast—man has tried much to say it, but it cannot be said. Kabir says: I went seeking. I searched and searched, and in the very seeking I myself was lost. And That was certainly found, but it was found only when I was lost. Therefore who can now tell what was found? How to tell? The first time Kabir had the realization, what he said he later changed. The first time he experienced it he said, It felt as though the drop had fallen into the ocean. His words: “Wandering and wondering, O friend, Kabir was lost. The drop merged in the ocean—how can it be found again?” Searching and searching, Kabir was lost; the drop fell into the ocean—how to bring it back?

The ocean merged in the drop But later he changed it. And the change is immensely valuable. Later he said, No, no—there was some mistake; the drop did not fall into the ocean, the ocean fell into the drop. And if a drop falls into the ocean, one could still, somehow, bring it back; but if the ocean itself falls into the drop, then it is a great difficulty. And if the drop falls into the ocean, the drop may be able to say something; but if the ocean falls into the drop, then it is very difficult to say anything at all. So later he said: “Wandering and wondering, O friend, Kabir was lost. The ocean merged in the drop—how can that be shown?” A mistake had been made the first time, to say that the drop had fallen into the ocean.

Meeting the ocean of energy And when we are reduced to a mere pulsation of energy, it is not that we fall into the ocean; when we remain only a quivering, living vibration, then the ocean of infinite energy falls into us. Surely after that it is difficult to say what happens. But this does not mean that what happens is unknown to us. Remember: there is not always harmony between saying and knowing. What we come to know, we cannot say. The capacity to know is boundless, and the capacity of words very limited. We cannot express great experiences; we cannot even express small ones. If I have a headache, even that I cannot truly say. And if there is the pain of love in my heart, even that I cannot say. But these are very small experiences. When Paramatma falls upon us, what happens then is utterly difficult to put into words. Yet we certainly do know it. But for that knowing we must become, in every way, a single pulsation of Shakti. Like a storm, a tempest—let us be nothing but a boiling spring of power. Let us vibrate so intensely—every hair of the body, every beat of the heart, every breath—filled with its thirst, its prayer, its waiting, so much so that we become only thirst, only waiting; our very being dissolves. In that very moment is the meeting. And that meeting does not happen somewhere outside. As I said last night, the meeting happens within. Centers are asleep within us. From the sleeping center the Shakti will arise and spread upward. A seed lies hidden. Then a flower blossoms. To connect the seed with the flower, the tree must grow a trunk, branches must spread. The flower was hidden in the seed itself; it does not come from outside. But for it to become manifest there must be a trunk to connect seed and flower. That trunk too will emerge from the seed; that flower too will emerge from the seed. Within us also the seed-energy, the seed-force, lies. It will rise. A trunk is needed. That trunk is available within us. What we outwardly know as the spine—very near it is the pathway of the journey from where the seed-energy will rise and reach the flower. That flower has been called by many names. Those who have known it say it is like a thousand-petaled lotus. As though a thousand-petaled lotus were to bloom—something like this flowers in our brain. But for that blooming the power must reach from below to above.

Courageously accepting the awakening of Shakti And when this Shakti begins to move upward, it is as if an earthquake has come; the whole personality begins to tremble. Do not stop that trembling; be cooperative with it. Ordinarily we want to stop it. Many come and say to me, I feel afraid—who knows what might happen! If you are afraid there will be no movement. There is no more irreligious attitude than fear. There is no sin greater than fear. Fear, perhaps, is the deepest of all. In keeping us down, it is the heaviest stone. And fears are strange—and petty. Someone says to me, I feel as though those sitting nearby will think, What is happening to him? The fear of neighbors can keep us from Paramatma. The polite and civilized man has altogether stopped laughing, altogether stopped crying; there is no impulse, no feeling into which he can dive wholly. He remains standing outside everything; like Trishanku, he hangs suspended. When we laugh, we laugh afraid; when we cry, we cry afraid. Men seem to have abandoned weeping altogether. They do not realize that weeping too is a dimension, a direction. We do not realize that one who cannot weep has suffered a basic loss in his personality; a certain part of his being has become crippled forever; and that part will hang upon him like a burden of stone. Whoever would enter the world of energy, who would journey in the Supreme Energy, must drop all fears. And simply, if the body trembles—let it tremble; if it falls—let it fall; if it begins to dance—let it dance.

The meditative process of inner transformation: the source of Yoga-vidya It may surprise you to know, but you must know it: all the yogasanas have been discovered only as spontaneous postures in meditative states. No one sat down and invented them by thinking. No one prepared them at a desk. In meditation the body assumed those postures, and then it was found that such postures exist. Then gradually the associations were discovered: when the mind goes into a certain state, the body goes into a certain stance. Then it occurred to us that if the body is taken into that stance, the mind will go into that state. We know that when inner weeping fills us, tears come to the eyes. If tears come to the eyes, inner weeping will be filled. These are two ends of the same phenomenon. When anger comes, our hand rises to strike someone’s head. When anger comes, fists clench; teeth clamp; eyes become red. And when love comes, fists do not clench, teeth do not clamp, eyes do not redden. When love comes, something else happens—if fists were clenched, they open; if teeth were tight, they relax; if the eye was inflamed, it grows calm. Love has its own order. In each state of meditation too, the body has its own order. Understand this: if you obstruct the body’s order, you will obstruct the order of consciousness within. If someone were to say to you, Be angry, but do not let your eyes turn red; be angry, but do not clench your fist; be angry, but do not clamp your teeth—you would fail to be angry; because without the body’s concomitant part, how will you be angry? If someone says, Only be angry, and let there be no effect on the body at all—you will not be able to be angry. If someone says, Only be in love, but let no nectar fall from your eyes, and let no waves of love run through your hands, and let your heart not beat differently, and let your breath not alter—only be in love, do not let anything appear in the body—you will say, Very difficult; it cannot be. So when in meditative states the body begins to bend in special ways, to turn and twist, if you stop it, you will cripple the inner state as well. That state will not be able to move forward. All the asanas were revealed in meditation; an immense expansion of mudras happened—of many kinds. You must have seen Buddha’s statues in many mudras. Those mudras too were born in certain specific states of mind. Then a whole science of mudras came to be. Then, even looking from the outside, it can be said—if you are not faking and you flow straight into meditation—by seeing the mudra that forms in your body, one can say from outside what is happening within. Do not stop that either.

The birth of dance in meditation In my understanding, dance too was born first in meditation. In my understanding, whatever is truly important in life has its original source connected with meditation. Meera did not go anywhere to learn dancing. And if people think Meera attained God by dancing, they think wrongly. Meera attained God—therefore she danced. The matter is exactly the other way. No one attains God by dancing. But one who attains God may dance. And when the ocean falls into the drop, if the drop does not begin to dance, what should it do? And when infinite treasure breaks upon a beggar’s door, if the beggar does not dance, what should he do?

Releasing the repressed personality through meditation But civilization has so shackled man that he cannot even dance. In my view, if the world is to become religious again, we will have to restore the naturalness of life. So it may happen that when the energy of meditation awakens within you, your whole being begins to dance; at that moment do not stop the body. Otherwise the process will halt there; something that was about to happen will not happen. But we are very frightened people. We say, If I begin to dance, my wife is sitting next to me, my son is sitting next to me—what will they think, that Father has started dancing! If I begin to dance, the husband is sitting nearby—what will he think, that my wife has gone mad! If these fears remain, there will be no movement in the inner journey. And along with the body’s mudras and asanas, much else also becomes manifest. A great thinker—who had gone to countless sannyasins, monks, ashrams—came to me about six months ago. He said, I understand everything, but nothing happens to me. I said to him, Perhaps you do not allow it to happen. He fell into thought. He said, This did not occur to me. Perhaps you are right. Once, in your meditation, I saw someone weeping, so I sat very carefully lest by mistake something like that should happen to me—otherwise what would people say! What has one to do with people? Who are these people who are after everyone? And people—when you die they will not come to save you; and people—when you are in sorrow they will not come to take your sorrow away; and people—when you wander in darkness they will not come to light a lamp. But when your lamp is about to be lit, then suddenly people will stop you. Who are these people? Who comes to stop you? You yourself turn your fear into “people”; you yourself spread your fear all around. He said to me, It may be so; I was frightened when I saw someone weeping and I sat tight lest something like that happen to me. I said to him, Go into solitude for a month; and let whatever happens, happen. He asked, What do you mean? I said, If you feel like abusing—abuse; if you feel like shouting—shout; if you feel like crying—cry; if you feel like dancing—dance; if you feel like running—run; if you feel like going mad—be mad for a month. He said, I will not be able to go. I asked, Why? He said, As you say it, I often fear that if I leave myself utterly as simply as you say, then madness will indeed manifest in me. So I said to him, If you keep suppressing, what difference does it make? If it manifests, it will pass away; if it remains suppressed, it will remain with you forever. We have all suppressed so much. We have neither wept, nor laughed, nor danced, nor played, nor run. We have suppressed everything; we have closed the doors within us from every side. And we have become the guards sitting at every door. Now, if we are to go to Paramatma, these doors must be opened. Then fear will arise, because whatever we have held back may come forth. If you have held back weeping, weeping will flow; if you have held back laughter, laughter will flow. Let it all flow; let it all be released. Here we have come precisely for this—into this solitude—so that there is no fear of “people.” And the cypress trees—do not be shy before them; they will say nothing to you; rather, they will be delighted. And the waves of the ocean will say nothing to you. They are not afraid of anyone. When they want to roar, they roar; when they want to sleep, they sleep. And the grains of sand beneath you will say nothing. Here, no one will say anything.

Cooperate with energy Let yourself go utterly, and allow whatever happens within you to happen—if there is dancing, dance; if there is shouting, shout; if there is running, run; if there is falling, fall—let go in every way. And when you let go in every way, suddenly you will find that some energy has begun to rise within you, circling like a vortex; some power has begun to awaken within; doors are breaking open on every side. Do not be afraid then. In that moment, wholly join that movement, that inner movement; become one with that Shakti that begins to whirl in circles within you. Then the happening can happen. The happening is very easy. But we are not ready to let go. And what small things stop us—on the day you arrive, you will look back and laugh at what stopped you! Had the things that stopped you been great, it would be understandable; but they are very small. If you wish to ask something, if you wish to talk a little, let us talk for a while—and then sit for meditation. Ask whatever you wish to ask. To live is the very purpose of life

Certainly! A friend asks: if everything in nature is purposeless, then why should we alone carry a purpose?

If you can drop all purposes, there can be no greater purpose than that. If you can be like nature, all is fulfilled. But man has become unnatural; therefore, to return—to come back to nature—he even has to make that a purpose. This is the misfortune. That is what I am saying: drop everything. But for now we are holding on so tightly that even dropping becomes a purpose for us. That too will have to be dropped. We have gripped so hard that even to let go we feel we must exert effort—although letting go requires no effort. What effort could there be in letting go!

It is true that nowhere is there any purpose. But why not? The reason is not that nature is “purposeless” in the usual sense; the reason is that what is has no purpose outside itself.

A flower blossoms. It has not blossomed for anyone; nor to be sold in some market; nor so a passerby may take in its fragrance; nor to win a gold medal, a Mahavir Chakra, a Padma Shri. The flower simply blossoms because blossoming is bliss; blossoming is its own purpose. So you could also say the flower blossoms without purpose. And only one who blossoms without purpose can blossom fully, because wherever there is a purpose inside, there will be some blockage. If a flower blossoms for someone—waiting for someone to pass—then if that person has not yet come along, the flower will remain closed; it will open when he arrives. But a flower that stays closed too long—perhaps even when the person arrives it may not be able to open, because the habit of not opening will have grown strong. No, the flower can blossom fully precisely because there is no purpose.

Exactly so should a person be. But the difficulty with man is that he is no longer natural; he has become unnatural. He has to return to naturalness. And that return then becomes a purpose.

So when I speak of purpose, it is in the same sense as when a thorn is lodged in the foot and you must remove it with another thorn. If someone comes and says, “There is no thorn in my foot—so why should I remove a thorn?” I will say to him, “There is no question of removing it; why have you even come to ask? If there is no thorn, there is nothing to talk about.” But if a thorn is stuck, then you will have to take it out with another thorn.

That friend may also say, “One thorn is already troubling me; and now you tell me to put another thorn into my foot!”

The first thorn is troubling you, yes—but a thorn has to be removed by another thorn. One thing, however, must be kept in mind: do not leave the second thorn stuck back in the wound—thinking, “This thorn has been so kind, it removed the other; let me keep this one in my foot.” That would be harmful. When the thorn is out, throw away both thorns.

When the unnatural life we have constructed becomes natural again, then throw away the unnatural—and also throw away even the notion of the “natural”; because when naturalness is complete, the very idea of being natural becomes a hindrance. Then whatever happens, happens.

No, I am not saying that one needs a purpose. I am compelled to speak of purpose only because you are clinging to purposes; you have thorns lodged in you, and now those thorns must be removed with thorns.

The Inert and the Conscious

A friend asks whether mind, intellect, chitta, and ego are separate—distinct entities—or one and the same; whether they are different from the soul or one with it; which of them is inert and which conscious; and what their specific location in the body is.

First, there are not two separate substances in existence called the inert and the conscious. What we call the inert is consciousness asleep; what we call the conscious is that same “inert” awakened. In truth there are not two separate existences—existence is one. Call that one God, the Divine, Brahman—any name will do. When that one is asleep it appears as matter; when awake it appears as consciousness.

So don’t move with the rigid division of inert and conscious; these are working terms, not two actual things. Science too has reached the conclusion that there is no such thing as matter as an independent stuff.

Matter and the Divine It is rather amusing that some fifty or sixty years ago Nietzsche declared, “God is dead.” And fifty years later science had to declare: whether or not God is dead, matter certainly is—matter, as such, is not. As science went deeper into matter it found that the deeper you go, matter disappears and only energy remains.

Split the atom and what remains—the subatomic—is only energy. With the explosion of the atom what survive—electrons, positrons, neutrons—are simply energy quanta. Even calling them “particles” is not quite right, because “particle” suggests matter. So a new word had to be coined—quanta. Quanta means something else: it is both—particle and wave—at once. It is hard to grasp how anything can be both particle and wave simultaneously, yet it behaves as both. At times it shows up as a particle, at times as a wave. Wave means energy; particle suggests matter—and it is both.

Science went deep and found only energy. Spirituality went deep and found only the Self. And the Self is energy. Very soon the synthesis will be unavoidable—the gap between science and religion will have to disappear. Once the supposed distance between matter and the Divine is shown to be false, how long can we preserve the distance between science and religion? If the inert and the conscious are not two, science and religion cannot remain two either; their division rested on that very split.

Existence is nondual In my vision, two does not exist; only one exists. Then the question “which is inert and which is conscious” does not arise. If you prefer the language of matter, say “all is matter.” If you prefer the language of consciousness, say “all is consciousness.” I prefer the language of consciousness. Why? Because one should choose the higher language—the one that opens greater possibility—not the lower, which closes it.

For example, we could say there are no trees, there are only seeds. It wouldn’t be false, because the tree is only the transformation of the seed. We could say: only seeds exist, trees don’t. But there is a danger—some seeds may say, “If there are only seeds, why become a tree?” They may remain seeds. Better to say: only trees are—no seeds. Then the seed’s possibility to become a tree opens.

I prefer the language of consciousness because what is asleep can awaken; it opens the door of possibility. The materialist and the spiritualist are alike in accepting oneness; they differ in where they place the emphasis. The materialist accepts the most primary, hence can get stuck before the ultimate; the spiritualist accepts the ultimate, and the first is included within it. I love the language of spirituality; therefore I say: all is consciousness—consciousness asleep appears as matter; consciousness awake is consciousness. Existence is consciousness.

The many faces of the mind: buddhi, chitta, ahamkar Next you ask whether mind, intellect, chitta, and ego are different. They are not different substances; they are many faces of the same mind.

It’s like asking: is the father different, the son different, the husband different? No—the person is one. But before some he is a father, before others a son, before others a husband; before some he is a friend, before others an enemy; to some he appears beautiful, to others not; to some he is master, to others servant. If we had never visited that house and someone told us, “Today I met the master,” another said, “Today I met the servant,” a third said, “I met the father,” and a fourth, “The husband was at home,” we might think many people live there—some master, some father, some husband. The person is one.

Our mind behaves in many ways. When it stiffens and declares, “I am everything; no one else is anything,” it appears as ego—ahamkar. That is one mode of the mind’s functioning. When the mind thinks—reasons—it is buddhi, intellect. When the mind neither thinks nor reasons but simply drifts in waves—undirected—then it is chitta. When the mind thinks with direction—like a scientist in the lab focused on “How to split the atom?”—that directed thinking is buddhi. When the mind is purposeless, aimless, just drifting—now dreaming, now imagining wealth, now becoming president—then it is chitta: mere waves, inconsistent, unconnected. When it flows along a definite channel, it is buddhi. These are modes of the same mind; the mind alone is.

Mind and soul: two modes of consciousness You ask whether mind, intellect, ego, chitta and the soul are separate or one. If a storm arises in the ocean, are the storm and the ocean one or different? When the ocean is agitated we say, “There is a storm.” When the soul is agitated we say, “There is mind.” When the mind is still we say, “There is soul.”

Mind is the disturbed state of the soul; the soul is the quiet state of the mind. Understand it so: when consciousness within us is agitated, scattered, storm-tossed, we call it mind. Therefore, as long as you are aware of the mind, you will not be aware of the soul. In meditation the mind disappears. Disappears—what does that mean? The waves rising on the surface of the soul subside; silence returns. Then you come to know: I am the soul. As long as there is agitation, you know only the mind. The disturbed mind shows itself in many ways—sometimes as ego, sometimes as intellect, sometimes as chitta—many faces of the same disturbance.

Soul and mind are not separate, nor are soul and body separate; the substance, the principle, is one—its forms are transformations. Knowing that one, all quarrel ends—neither with the body nor with the mind. Recognize the one just once and you see the same everywhere—Ravana and Rama alike. Then you won’t bow to Rama and burn Ravana. Either bow to both—or burn both—for the same is in both.

One essence, infinite expressions; one truth, myriad forms; one existence, many faces and gestures.

Truth is not speculation, it is experience But if you take this as philosophy, you will not understand; if you take it as experience, you can. I have explained it in words, but only when you yourself descend into that One will you know: Ah! What I took to be body—that too is you! What I took to be mind—that too is you! What I took to be soul—that too is you! In knowing, only the One remains—so utterly one that even the knower, the knowing, and the known are not separate. The knower and the known are one.

An Upanishadic rishi asks: Who is there that knows? Who is there that is known? Who saw there? Who was seen there? Who experienced? Who was experienced? There, not even two remain. Even the experiencer does not remain. All distances fall.

But thought cannot operate without creating distances. Thought will divide: this is body, this is mind, this is soul, this is God. Thought creates gaps. Why? Because thought cannot hold the whole at once; it is a tiny window. Through it we can only see fragments. Like a large house with a small hole: through the little hole you see a chair, then a table, then the owner, then a photo, then a clock. Through the small hole everything appears in pieces; the whole room never appears—because the hole is too small. Break down the wall and enter, and the whole room is seen at once.

Thought is a small hole through which we try to glimpse truth; thus truth appears fragmented. When thought is dropped and we enter thoughtlessness—meditation—the total is revealed. And the day the whole is seen, a great wonder dawns: Ah! It was always the One, appearing as the many! But this, only through experience.

Yes, please!

Meditation is timeless. This friend asks how many years it took me to enter meditation.

Entry into meditation happens in a single instant. Yes, outside the door one can wander for many lifetimes. But stepping through the door happens in one instant. Even “instant” isn’t right, because a moment is too big; it happens in the thousandth part of a moment. That too isn’t right, because even the thousandth part still belongs to time. In truth, meditation is entry into timelessness: time is no longer there, and the entry happens.

So if someone says, “It took me an hour to enter meditation,” he is wrong; if he says, “It took a year,” he is wrong—because when meditation happens, time is not. Yes, outside the temple of meditation you can keep circling for lifetimes. But that is not entry.

I too circled for many lifetimes—but that is not the entry. When the entry happened, it happened outside of time, without any time. That is why your question is difficult. If we count all the time spent wandering outside the temple, it is an endless account—innumerable births. Even that is hard to tell, because it is so long, beyond calculation. And if we consider only the entry itself, it cannot be stated in the language of time, because it occurs between two moments. One moment has gone, the next has not yet arrived, and in between, the event happens. Your clock says one o’clock, and then it says one-oh-one; in the gap left in between, that event occurs. It always happens in the gap, the interval—the empty space between two moments. And therefore it cannot be told how much time it took.

No time at all is involved; time cannot be involved, because through time you cannot enter the eternal. That which is beyond time cannot be reached by means of time.

So I understand your point. Outside the temple you can circle as much as you like—that is just going in circles. Imagine we draw a circle, with a center in the middle, and a man runs along the circumference. Let him run for countless lifetimes; he will still not reach the center. He may think, “If I run faster…”—then run faster. He may think, “I’ll bring an airplane”—bring it. Whatever he does, as long as he runs on the circumference, he will not arrive at the center. And wherever he is on the circumference, his distance from the center is the same.

Therefore, how far he ran is meaningless; wherever he stands, his distance from the center is exactly what it was before he started. He may run for infinite births. And if he wants to reach the center, he must stop running on the circumference; he must leave the circle; he must take a leap off the circle.

If then the man reaches the center, and you ask him, “How much of the circle did you travel to get here?”—what will he say? He will say, “I traveled a lot on the circle, but that did not bring me to the center. I walked a great deal, but I did not arrive through that.” You ask, “How many miles did you cover to arrive?” He will say, “No matter how many miles I walked, that did not take me there. I walked a lot, but arrival did not happen through that. When I did arrive, it was by leaping off the circle.” And there, miles have no meaning. Exactly so. The event does not happen in time. And time—we have wasted plenty of it. All of us have. The day it happens to you, you too will not be able to say how long it took. No—the question of delay simply does not arise. Someone asked Jesus, “In your heaven, how long will we be able to stay?” Jesus said, “You ask a very difficult question. There shall be time no longer.” You ask, “In your heaven, how long will we be able to stay?” It is a hard question, because there will be no time there. So how can any reckoning of duration be made? Time is a perception of the mind. Understand this: what we call time is tied to our suffering. In bliss there is no time. The more suffering you are in, the larger time becomes. A night when someone lies on a cot at home, dying—the night becomes very long. The clock will show the same hours, the calendar the same date, but for the one sitting by the bed, whose beloved is dying, the night grows so long, so long that it seems: will it ever pass or not? Will this night end or not? Will the sun ever rise? The night keeps stretching! And yet the clock keeps saying the same thing. To the watcher it even seems the clock is running slowly today, or has stopped! The calendar’s leaf is about to be torn off, dawn is beginning, and still it feels long, long...

Bertrand Russell has written somewhere: of all the sins I have committed, even if the strictest judge were to summon me—if the sins I did commit and even the ones I wanted to commit but could not were all added up—still I could not be sentenced to more than four or five years. Yet Jesus says one will have to suffer punishment in hell for eternity. That doesn’t look just, because even if you add the sins I committed and the ones I only thought of, the sternest court could give me four or five years, and Jesus’ court says one must rot in hell for eternity. That seems a bit excessive.

Russell has died; otherwise I would have told him: you did not understand—Jesus’ meaning did not occur to you. Jesus is saying that if one has to remain in hell even for a single instant, it will feel like eternity; the suffering there is so intense that it appears endless, as if it will never, ever end.

Suffering lengthens time; happiness shortens it. Hence we say: happiness is momentary. It is not necessary that happiness itself is momentary; our sense of happiness is momentary—he came and he was gone—because time shrinks. It is not that happiness is merely momentary; happiness, too, has lengths. But happiness always feels momentary because in happiness time becomes small. The beloved has scarcely arrived and it is already time to part; hardly came, and gone; here the flower scarcely bloomed and it has withered. The felt sense of happiness is momentary because in happiness time contracts. The clock still runs the same, the calendar gives the same report, but within us, in happiness, time becomes short.

In bliss, time is erased, not just shortened. In bliss, there simply is no time. When you are in bliss you will have no time. In truth, time and suffering are two names for the same thing. What we call time is another name for suffering. In psychological terms, time is suffering. And that is why we say: bliss is beyond time, time-transcending, beyond the temporal. That which is outside time cannot be reached by means of time.

Liberation is timeless. I too have wandered in circles—just as much as you have. And the curious thing is that our circling is so long that it’s very hard to say who has wandered less or more. Mahavira attained it twenty-five hundred years ago, Buddha attained it, Jesus two thousand years ago attained it, Shankara attained it a thousand years ago. But if someone says Shankara made a thousand years fewer rounds than we did, he is speaking wrongly, because the circuit is so infinite... For example, you were in Bombay and you came to Nargol—you traveled a hundred miles. But if you consider a star that is at an endless distance from us, then you have made no journey at all; you are where you were. It makes no difference that you came a hundred miles from Bombay. In relation to that star you have made no journey. Your distance from that star is still what it was when you were in Bombay. Wherever you move on the earth, your distance from that star remains the same, because that star is at such a distance that these little earthly shifts make no difference.

The journey of our births is so long that whether someone attained it twenty-five hundred years ago, five hundred years ago, five days ago, or five hours ago—it makes no difference. The day we reach that center we see: Ah! Buddha is just now arriving, Mahavira is just now entering, Jesus has just made his entry—and we too have arrived! But that is a bit hard to grasp, because the world we live in makes time very important. There, time seems very important. And so naturally our mind raises the question: how long?

Stop circling outside. But do not raise this question; do not talk of delay; stop circling. If you keep circling, delay will be inevitable; do not roam outside the temple—go within. But there is fear in going inside the temple—who knows what will happen! Outside the temple everything is familiar—friends are there, the beloved is there, wife, son, house, doorway, shop—outside the temple everything is ours. And there is one condition in the temple: entry is alone; two people cannot pass through the door at once. So you cannot enter with this whole lot—house, wife, children, wealth, safe, fame, position, prestige—you cannot take any of it in; all of it has to be left outside. That is why we say: all right, let us circle a little more outside for now. And so we keep circling outside, waiting for that moment when the door opens a little wider so that all of us can rush in together.

That door never opens wider; there is entry only one by one. You cannot enter even carrying your position, for then there would be two—you and your position. You cannot enter carrying your name either, for there would be two—you and your name. You cannot carry anything at all... There one must enter totally naked, utterly bare and alone. Therefore we go on roaming outside; we pitch our camp just outside the temple. We say: we are close to God—no great distance at all. But whether you are a yard outside the temple, a thousand yards, or a thousand miles—it makes no difference; if you are outside, you are outside. And when it comes to going within, in a thousandth part of a second—I am not putting it rightly—even without a second, entry can happen.

The attainment of knowing happens in no-thought.

Let this be the last question; if there are more, we’ll take them tonight. You ask whether knowledge remains only in the thought-free state and not in thought?

The attainment of knowledge happens in thoughtlessness. Once attained, it remains in every state. Then it stays even when thoughts are there. After that there is no way to lose it. But the attainment is in thoughtlessness. Expression can be through thought, but attainment is in thoughtlessness. If you want to find it, you must be without thought. Why thoughtless? Because the waves of thought don’t allow the mind to become a mirror.

Understand it like this. To take a photograph with a camera, in the moment of taking it you must ensure no unwanted light enters and the camera does not shake. But once the picture is taken, then shake it as much as you want, keep it in bright light—nothing changes. If the camera shakes at the moment of exposure, everything is spoiled. Once the picture is captured, the matter is finished; then you can dance with it in your hands—no difference.

Knowledge is captured in the state of consciousness where nothing moves within—everything is still, silent. Then the imprint of knowledge is taken. Once it is captured, then dance as much as you like, move as much as you like—nothing affects it. The attainment of knowledge is in thoughtlessness, and thereafter thought no longer obstructs. But if you think you will attain through thinking, it will never happen; thought will create great obstacles—during attainment it obstructs, after attainment it is utterly impotent. Then it has no power; it can do nothing.

It is a very interesting thing: silence is primary for attaining knowledge. After knowledge is attained, nothing is needed. But those are later matters; later matters should not be brought in first, otherwise harm is done.

The harm is this: we start thinking that since later it won’t make any difference, what is the harm if we do it now as well? Then damage happens. We’ll shake the camera, and everything will go wrong. A shaken camera also produces an image, but it isn’t a true image. Likewise, even in thought there is some indication of knowledge, but it isn’t accurate, because the mind keeps moving, trembling, and things get distorted.

If the moon has risen and there are waves on the sea, there will be a reflection; but a thousand fragments of the moon will scatter across the water. If someone has never seen the moon in the sky, by looking into the sea he won’t know what the moon is like. Broken into a thousand pieces and spread over the waves—its silver will scatter, but the moon’s image won’t be grasped. Once you have beheld the true image and know what the moon is like, then even in the broken reflections on the churning sea you recognize, “It is You.” But first you must see it. Once its form has come into your awareness, then you find it in every form. If the recognition has not happened once, you don’t find it anywhere. It meets you daily, but you don’t recognize it.

Let me tell a small incident, then we will sit for meditation.

A Hindu sannyasin stayed with Sai Baba for many days. He was a Hindu sannyasin, and Sai lived in a mosque. With people like Sai, nothing is fixed—were they Hindu or Muslim? When people asked, he would laugh. Now from laughter, what can you conclude? Only one thing is clear: the questioner is naive. The Hindu sannyasin could not bring himself to stay in a mosque, so he lived in a temple outside the village. He was devoted and loving—every day he cooked and brought food to Sai. He would feed Sai, then go back and eat himself. Sai said to him, “Why do you come from so far? I often pass by there; feed me there!” He said, “You pass by there? I’ve never seen you!” Sai said, “Look carefully; I often pass by your temple. Feed me there. Tomorrow I will come—don’t come here.”

The next day the sannyasin prepared food and waited. He kept watching and watching. They didn’t come! He got flustered; it was two o’clock. “This is a big problem—they will be hungry and I am also sitting hungry.” Then he ran with the plate. Reaching the mosque he said, “I kept waiting on the road; today you didn’t come.” Sai said, “I did come. I come every day, but you turned me away.” “When did I turn you away? Only a dog came.” Sai said, “That was me.” The sannyasin wept, deeply pained: “You came and I failed to recognize you! Tomorrow I will surely recognize you.”

Had he come again as a dog, the sannyasin would have recognized him. But the next day, a leper appeared on the path. The sannyasin said, “Keep your distance! Keep away! I am carrying food for Sai—stay away!” The leper even smiled. Again it was two o’clock; again he ran to the mosque: “You didn’t come today. I watched the road so much.” Sai said, “I came again. But there are so many ripples in your mind, how can I show up as the same form every day? It’s you who keep trembling. Today a leper came; you told him to keep away. I thought, this is the limit! I come and you drive me off; and then you come here and say I didn’t come.” The sannyasin began to cry, “I couldn’t recognize you.” Sai said, “You have not yet recognized me as me—how will you recognize me in other forms?”

Once we have a glimpse of Truth, then there is no untruth. Once we have peeped into the Divine, then nothing exists except the Divine. But that peeking is possible only when everything within is still and silent. Thereafter there is no issue: then thoughts are his, tendencies are his, desires are his—then all is his. But in the primary stage, to glimpse and recognize him, everything must halt.

Practice: Kundalini Awakening and Meditation

Now let us sit for meditation.

Move apart, sit at a distance so that if you need to lie down, you may. No talking. Quietly shift. Whoever needs to move, move. No conversation at all. Do not sit touching anyone; sit apart. There is plenty of space here, so don’t be miserly with space. If someone needlessly falls on you in the middle, things will be spoiled. Move far away—quickly sit down or lie down, as you wish. Close your eyes and do exactly as I say.

First Stage: Powerful, deep breathing Close your eyes and begin deep breathing. Inhale as deeply as you can and exhale as deeply as you can. Put all your energy into the inhalation and exhalation. Deep in-breath, deep out-breath. Let only breath remain. The deeper you breathe in and out, the greater the possibility that energy will awaken within. Deep in-breath, deep out-breath... deep in-breath, deep out-breath. For ten minutes, with your total energy, breathe deeply in and out.

Be only a mechanism that breathes—nothing more. Just breathing in and breathing out for ten minutes. Then I will give the second instruction. First, for ten minutes, total effort with the breath.

Breathe deeply in and deeply out. Put in your full energy. Become merely a bellows—breathing in, breathing out. Let every hair on the body begin to tremble. Deep in-breath, deep out-breath... deep in-breath, deep out-breath... Only the mechanism of breathing remains. Put all your energy, all your attention on the breath. Deep in-breath, deep out-breath. And watch within—the breath going in, the breath coming out. Breath in, breath out. Remain a witness—watching: the breath going in, the breath coming out. Keep your whole attention on the breath and pour all your energy into it.

Now I will be silent for ten minutes. You continue deep in-breaths and deep out-breaths, and attentively watch within: the breath coming, the breath going. Don’t worry about anyone else; mind only yourself. Total energy—no attention to others, no relation with others. Deep in-breath, deep out-breath. Keep watching within—the breath going in, the breath coming out. The breath will begin to be seen clearly: this breath went in, this breath went out. Put in your full energy so that from the reservoir of power I speak of, energy may begin to rise. It will feel as though the whole space is breathing. Deep in-breath, deep out-breath. Deeper, and deeper, and deeper. Let your whole personality tremble—like a storm—breathe deeply in and out. Deep in-breath, deep out-breath. Deep breath... deep breath...

(Various spontaneous bodily processes begin happening for practitioners, and many kinds of sounds come from their mouths. Some begin chanting Om—Om—Om.)

Deep in-breath, deep out-breath. Keep watching within—the breath came, the breath went; came, went. Full energy. Pour everything into this one thing: deep in-breath, deep out-breath. Watch within—the breath came, the breath went; the breath is coming, the breath is going. Don’t hold back at all—give it everything.

The deep vibrations of the breath will begin to awaken a certain power within. Deep in-breath, deep out-breath. Some sleeping flame within will awaken through deep breathing. Deep in-breath, deep out-breath... Become a mere mechanism: the breath going in, the breath going out. Total energy—total energy—total energy. Before we move to the second instruction, put in your full force. Take the deepest possible in-breaths and out-breaths. Let the whole body tremble, all your roots shake, the whole personality quake. Create a condition like a whirlwind. Let only breathing remain. Total energy. Before the next instruction, bring yourself to your peak.

(All around, many yogic processes are spontaneously occurring—mudras, bandhas, pranayamas, and postures. From many mouths strange sounds arise—prolonged Oms, etc. Osho continues to encourage.)

Greater force. Deep breath, deep breath, deep breath. Don’t save yourself—give your all. Not a bit of holding back. The sleeping electricity within needs deep in-breaths and out-breaths to awaken. Let every pore become alive. Let every hair vibrate. Full force—deep breath, deep breath, deep breath, deep breath. Put in all your energy. For two more minutes, total effort; then we enter the second instruction.

Let this whole atmosphere become charged. Breathe deeply in and out. The entire space will fill with waves of electricity. Deep in-breath, deep out-breath... deeper, deeper, deeper... deeper... deeper... deeper... deeper... deeper...

(Many kinds of sounds arise; people weep and cry out.)

Take the deepest possible breaths. Deep breath, deep breath, deep breath, deep breath. Now we will add the second instruction. For one minute, deep breathing—completely deep. Deeper... deeper... deeper... Do not pay attention to anyone else. Pour all your energy within—deeper, deeper, deeper... and add the second instruction.

Second Stage: Intense breathing with bodily catharsis The second instruction: let the body go totally—breathe deeply and let the body be. If crying comes, let it come. If tears flow, let them flow. If hands and feet begin to shake, let them shake. If the body begins to sway or whirl, let it whirl. If the body stands up and begins to dance, let it dance. Keep breathing deeply and let the body be. Whatever happens to the body, allow it—deep breath, deep breath, deep breath. For ten minutes, continue deep breathing and leave the body utterly loose—whatever mudras arise, let them; whatever postures happen, let them—if the body rolls, let it roll; if it dances, let it dance. Let the body go; remain only the witness. Do not hold the body back at all—deep breath, deep breath, deep breath—and leave the body completely. Whatever happens, allow it—do not stop the body even a little.

For ten minutes, deep breathing continues and the body is left utterly loose—allow whatever happens to the body. Take no embarrassment. Deep breath, deep breath, deep breath. If tears come, let them come. If sobbing arises, let it arise. Whatever happens, let it happen.

(All around, seekers dance, jump, shout, and make many kinds of sounds. From one person’s mouth a long siren-like sound begins. Osho continues to guide.)

Let the body go completely. The body will begin to sway by itself, to spin. As energy rises within, the body will shake, vibrate, sway. As power rises from within, the body will be stirred—let it be. Leave the body completely. Continue deep breathing and let the body go. Whatever happens in the body, allow it. Do not restrain it at all. Deep breath... deeper... deeper... deeper...

(People scream, shout, make many kinds of sounds; various movements occur in their bodies.)

Deep breath, deep breath, deep breath—and let the body go. Be careful that nowhere in the body is there a block. Whatever is to happen to the body, let it happen. This will create the pathway for energy to move upward. Let go. Leave the body loose; keep the breath deep—do not let the breath slacken. Let the breath go deep; leave the body relaxed. Whatever happens in the body, let it happen. If it sits, let it sit; if it falls, let it fall; if it stands, let it stand—whatever happens, allow it. Keep deep breathing.

(With many sounds, people are jumping and leaping rapidly.)

Deeper... and deeper... and deeper... and deeper... and deeper... and deeper... and deeper...

(Some people roar loudly; many bodily reactions continue.)

Don’t hold anything back; stake everything. Put your total energy on the line. See—are you saving something? We save so much. Put it all at stake. Deep breath, deep breath. Let the body go—whatever happens, allow it. Let go. If laughter comes, let it come. If crying comes, let it come. If sound arises, let it arise. Don’t worry about it, don’t suppress—just breathe deeply in and out.

(People scream, shout, dance, leap, roar and cry out.)

Let go. Energy is rising. Let the body go. Deep in-breath. Deep in-breath. Deep in-breath, and let the body be. As something awakens in the body, it will tremble, whirl, dance, weep, cry out—let it. Leave the body. Completely leave the body. Don’t keep any reserve. Leave the body utterly.

(From many seekers’ mouths animal sounds arise—crying, shouting, dancing; a dog’s bark, a lion’s roar; pounding hands and feet, writhing.)

Deep breath—deeper. Put your energy into the breath and let go—whatever happens to the body, let it happen. No embarrassment at all. Don’t restrain even a little. Don’t worry about others. Let the body go. When energy awakens, many things will happen—crying may come, the body will tremble, limbs will move, mudras will form, the body may stand. Let it happen—whatever happens, allow it. You are alone; there is no one else. Let go. Deep breath, deep breath, deep breath. For another minute or two, full effort. Before the third instruction, total effort—deep in-breath, deep in-breath, deep in-breath... and let the body go—whatever happens, let it happen. Leave the body—whatever happens, allow it. Do not stop even a little. See, some friends are holding back—don’t. Let go. Put in total energy and let go. Let go. If you need to cry, cry with your whole being; do not hold back. If sound wants to come, don’t suppress—let it come. If the body stands, don’t control it—let it stand. If it dances, let it dance. Only when you leave the body totally can the sleeping energy make its way. Let go. Deep breath, deep breath, deep breath, deep breath, deep breath—deeper, deeper, deeper, deeper, deeper...

(Some people roar intensely; many cry, scream, dance, etc.)

Total energy, total energy, total energy. Breath deep—deeper, deeper. Let the whole personality shake, let it move. Whatever happens, allow it. Let go. Greater force—greater force. Take deeper breaths. Take deeper breaths. Electricity will begin to run through the entire body—electricity will begin to run. Let go. For the last one minute, apply strong force so we may move into the third instruction—deep breath, deep breath, deep breath, deep breath—deeper, deeper, deeper. Put in total power so that there can be momentum in the third stage. Deeper breaths—more and more—deeper, deeper.

Third Stage: Ask—Who am I? Now add the third instruction! Deep breathing continues, the body’s movements continue. And the third instruction: inside, with your whole energy, begin asking, “Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” Ask within. Let every breath be filled with this one question: “Who am I? Who am I?” Let the breath move rapidly, and inside ask, “Who am I?” Let the body’s vibrations and movement continue, and within ask, “Who am I? Who am I?” Leave no gap between two “Who am I?” Put in your total energy: “Who am I? Who am I?” For ten minutes, give it everything—“Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” Apply full power. Let the life-force within be filled with one resonance: “Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” Ask with force. Let a hum arise in every breath within: “Who am I?” Keep deep breathing; allow whatever happens in the body. And ask, “Who am I? Who am I?” For ten minutes, total energy—then after ten minutes we will rest. Put in all your power—“Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?...”

(With many sounds, seekers respond intensely.)

Total energy. Don’t hold back at all. Ask loudly within: “Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” Raise a storm inside—“Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” Let the breath be deep, let the question be deep—“Who am I?” Whatever happens to the body, allow it. “Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” Let this whole atmosphere begin to ask; let each grain of sand ask; let this sky, these trees—let all ask, “Who am I? Who am I?” Let the whole space be filled with “Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?”

(All around, the sound of weeping; intense physical movement; many kinds of sounds.)

Put in total energy, then we will rest. The more energy you pour in, the deeper the entry into rest. The higher the storm rises, the deeper the descent into meditation. The fourth instruction will be meditation. You put in total energy—at the climax, give everything you can, so nothing remains to say, “I had some strength left.” “Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” Deep breath, deep breath. Ask within—“Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” Ask with full strength; even if it spills outward, don’t worry. Ask within—“Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” Total energy—total energy—total energy. Whatever happens to the body, allow it. If the body falls, let it fall. If crying comes, let it come. Total energy—“Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?”

(Many sounds of crying and shouting.)

Give it your all—don’t hold back at all. “Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” Full on—total energy—“Who am I? Who am I?” Don’t stop. Don’t stop. “Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” Pour in your whole power.

(Some people roar off and on; many sounds—crying, screaming, shouting, animal sounds emerge.)

“Who am I?” Total energy. Only five minutes remain—put in your full power. “Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” Let every pore of the body ask—“Who am I?” Let the heartbeat ask—“Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” Bring yourself to the full climax, to the very peak. Reach the ultimate limit. Become absolutely mad in asking—“Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” Go utterly mad in the inquiry. Put in all your energy. Total energy. Finally, all your strength—then we will rest. Total energy—“Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” Exhaust yourself—“Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” Raise a storm. Now only two minutes remain—total energy. “Who am I? Who am I?” Let whatever happens to the body happen. Pour in all your power. For two minutes, raise a tempest—“Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” One minute remains—full power; then rest. “Who am I? Who am I?” Let whatever happens to the body happen. Deep breath, deep breath, deep breath, deep breath, deep breath, deep breath, deep breath, deep breath.

(Many people shriek intensely—jumping, leaping, etc.)

“Who am I?... Who am I?...” The body trembles, the body dances—let it. “Who am I?... Who am I?...”

(The processes moving through seekers are at great intensity.)

To move to the fourth instruction, put in total energy. “Who am I?... Who am I?...” Apply your full power—full power. Until you give your all, we will not move to the fourth. “Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” Dive completely—“Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” Total energy—“Who am I?” Then we will go to the fourth. “Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?...”

(Many people roar and cry out.)

Total energy. Don’t let go. Don’t save even a little—total energy. Deep breath, deep breath, deep breath, deep breath, deep breath. “Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?”

Fourth Stage: Total rest—silent, empty, aware, quiet, waiting Now drop everything. Move to the fourth instruction—rest. Don’t ask, don’t breathe deeply—leave everything. For ten minutes, just lie there—as if dead; as if you are not. Drop everything. For ten minutes, just lie surrendered, in waiting for the beyond. Let go—don’t ask, don’t take deep breaths—just lie there. If you hear the roar of the ocean, keep listening. If the wind sounds in the trees, keep listening. If a bird makes noise, keep listening. For ten minutes—dead. You are not. Ten minutes—dead. You are not.

(The ocean roars. Birds’ calls. The rustle of wind. Here and there an occasional sob, a hiccup, a moan. Otherwise, silence. Seekers gradually become quiet and wordless. Someone takes two or four deep breaths and becomes still. Someone adjusts the body slightly, then moves into deep silence and stillness.)

Gently begin to open your eyes. If they do not open, place both hands over them. Those who have fallen and cannot get up, take a few deep breaths gently and then rise. No one should get up quickly. Don’t get up with a jerk. Rise very slowly. If still you cannot get up, lie a little longer. Then slowly sit up. Open your eyes. If you cannot get up, take a few deep breaths and then slowly rise.

Two small announcements. We will sit in silence from three to four in the afternoon. I will sit here. Please arrive five minutes before three. I will come precisely at three. Do not speak here at all—not a single word. Come and sit silently. I will sit silently here for one hour. During that time, if anyone feels to come to me, he may come and sit silently for two minutes and then go back to his place. Do not remain longer than two minutes, so others who wish to can also come. Sit silently for an hour, in waiting.

In the meantime, if you go anywhere—on the seashore or into solitude—wherever you are alone, sit and remain in meditation. Try to spend these three days in continuous meditation.

Our morning sitting is complete.