Kaivalya Upanishad #10

Let us first understand a few words.
‘Under the sway of Maya, man takes the body to be everything, and goes on doing all kinds of acts.’
Under the sway of Maya, he takes the body to be the whole of it.
Let us first understand the word ‘Maya’. Ordinarily people think Maya means that which is not. So in English they translate it as ‘illusion’. That translation is wrong.
Maya does not mean illusion. Maya means mesmerism, hypnosis. Maya means: the mind of man has such a capacity that whatsoever he believes, that very thing begins to stand before his mind. His belief itself becomes the reality. As he accepts, as he admits, so it begins to happen. Maya is a capacity of the human mind, and its vast expansion appears spread across the whole world. All human beings together create a collective hypnotic field, and that becomes the Maya of the world. If one man goes mad, then one man is mad. But if an entire group goes mad, what that group generates will drive the whole world mad.
Maya is the name of the mind’s capacity to be hypnotized. Hypnosis means: as we believe, so it starts to be.
Consider a few simple hints and it will become clear.
If you have ever seen a hypnotist—anyone skilled in hypnosis—if not, no problem; you can try a small experiment anywhere, even now. Here so many people are sitting: if all of us clench our fists and for five minutes keep thinking that these fists will not be able to open, these fists will not be able to open—think this for five minutes—then after five minutes if I say, Now open the fists with full force, at least thirty percent will not be able to open them. And the more they try, the more they will find it impossible. Their own fist! Right here thirty percent will fail to open. It could be more. But thirty percent will be so. And the more you try, the more you will find it slipping out of your control—the fist tightening even more. And the wonder is, the fist is yours. You have always opened it—what happened today?
Those five minutes of imagining that the fist will not open was the use of the capacity of hypnosis. The fist locked!
If we lay a person down on two chairs five feet apart—his head on one chair and a little of his feet on the other—and ask him to lie down, he will immediately fall because the waist will bend. It needs support. But lay the person first on the ground and hypnotize him, and tell him, Whatever happens, your waist will not bend. After five to seven minutes, lift him and place him on the chairs—he will lie across them like a wooden plank. Not only that—if someone sits astride on his waist, even then it will not bend. What happened to him? The capacity of hypnosis in the mind was engaged, and the body followed it.
Psychologists say that ninety out of a hundred events in our life happen through our auto-hypnosis. One man starts coughing, suddenly everyone begins to cough. One man gets up to go to urinate, and who knows how many stand up to go. You do not know—it is only hypnosis. It is only your capacity to hypnotize yourselves. Till now you were sitting, there was no cough. But someone coughs, and the thought of coughing arises in you. The very arising of the thought catches hypnosis. The moment you catch that suggestion, a scratch begins in your throat. Now you will cough—you cannot be saved. It is suggestion—it has worked like a mantra. The first man, by coughing, played the role of a mantra. Now you will follow it.
An epidemic spreads in a village. Have you ever considered? An infectious disease spreads and people suddenly fall ill. But doctors and nurses serve those very patients day and night and do not fall ill. If the disease is infectious, they should be the first to catch it. It is only hypnosis, because the doctor knows, I am a doctor—this hypnosis prevents the entry of the disease. He is so engrossed in serving the other that the spell of disease cannot work on him. Others keep falling ill.
Psychologists say the microbe plays a secondary role; the primary factor is the capacity of hypnosis. We become ill, we become healthy—even they go so far as to say that if in a country people live seventy years, then a national hypnosis sets in that beyond this one cannot live. Physiologists say there is no reason evident in the body why man should die so soon. He can live much longer. But if seventy is the national limit in people’s minds, then as you approach seventy you auto-hypnotize yourself—Now the time to die is drawing near. Now the time to be old is approaching. Now the time to die is at hand.
Gandhi had the thought that he would live a hundred and twenty-five years—he could have lived. No other power is involved. He had been thinking all his life, I will live one hundred and twenty-five years—this hypnosis would have worked. Had he not been assassinated, this hypnosis would have worked. And if we go deeper, even that Godse could kill him requires accepting a slight cooperation from Gandhi himself. For six months before his assassination he had dropped the thought of living one hundred and twenty-five years. For six months he had begun to say, Now let God take me away. Somewhere within, the mood to die had begun to settle.
Life is very mysterious. If I start installing the mood to die within, then—since we are all interconnected in this life—someone will become infected with the mood to kill me. And with the meeting of the two, the event happens. He alone will be held responsible.
It is said about Jesus that he was crucified and then resurrected. This is only a profound event of hypnosis. Jesus constantly carried the thought that if I am killed, God will resurrect me—because in the Jewish scriptures it is said: the prophet, the Christ, will be killed and will be resurrected. Jesus believed, I am that man the scriptures have envisioned. His disciples believed Jesus is that man. Hence he went to the cross with courage. He had no fear of crucifixion because he knew I shall be resurrected.
If we look at it from the side of psychology, it seems that when he was crucified, he only fell into a deep unconsciousness—but with the trust, the assurance, that I shall be resurrected. That fainting was hypnosis. That unconsciousness was self-hypnosis. Dying—I accept, he accepted. But behind that acceptance a deep mantra was at work: on the third day I shall be resurrected. He went into a deep coma, into unconsciousness. That unconsciousness was self-induced.
And when the enemies thought he had died, they placed his body in a nearby cave and left. After three days the cave was found empty. And many disciples of Jesus saw him in different places. After this Christianity has no record—what then happened to Jesus? If Jesus was resurrected, when did he die again? They have no record. It appears Jesus was resurrected, then he left Jerusalem—because there was no other possibility there except to be killed again. He came to India, lived in a small village near Srinagar and died there. That village to this day is called Bethlehem. And in that village even today there is a grave called the tomb of Jesus.
This death and resurrection happened through deep hypnosis. In truth, had Jesus really died, there would be no way to be resurrected. He had not died. He had slipped into a profound hypnotic trance, such a deep swoon that the breath is lost, the heartbeat ceases. Hypnosis has this capacity too—that if you wish, you can increase or decrease your pulse quite easily. Place your hand on your pulse and count, then think for five minutes that the pulse is rising, rising, rising—and after five minutes measure again; you will find it has increased. The key has come into your hand. Now if you wish, you can reduce it. With practice, one day you can come to the point where the pulse stops and you remain alive. Then you can experiment with the heart as well—practice slowing and increasing its beat, then keep reducing it until the heartbeat becomes zero. In six months your heart can stop beating and you will still be alive.
The body functions by obeying our mind—even now. It becomes ill by obeying us, it becomes healthy by obeying us. It grows old by obeying us. It lives, it dies—even then it has our deep assent and command. Old people die—the deep cause is that as one becomes old, one begins to desire death. Young people do not die—the fundamental reason is not youth; the fundamental reason is: the young do not want to die. It is less a bodily event and more a mental one.
Hindu scriptures have called hypnosis Maya. Whatever we are doing, whatever we are, whatever our state of consciousness is, all of it is our hypnosis. You are happy, you are unhappy—it is your hypnosis. But you do not even know it; hence change becomes very difficult. To change is very difficult. If you are unhappy and someone says, This is your hypnosis—that you are unhappy—you will not agree, because you cannot change. But if you experiment with hypnosis you will be amazed. Hypnotize a person and lay him down, give him a slice of onion and tell him it is an apple—he will eat it and say, It is an apple. Then put some dirt into his mouth and say, This is a sweet—and he will display the mood of sweetness on his face, savor it, be delighted and say, So sweet!
What is happening to him?
Nothing—what his mind accepts, the body begins to follow. Muslim fakirs, and others too, keep walking on fire. Sufi fakirs step into fire. It is only hypnosis. A deep conviction that the feet cannot burn—Allah is with me—then the feet cannot burn. Allah is doing nothing in it. Only this conviction—deep and total—that the feet cannot burn, and even embers cannot affect the feet; because for the embers to affect the feet, the cooperation of the mind is needed. Without the mind’s cooperation even they are not effective. So a man can pass through fire and the feet will not burn. And you think this is very difficult—then hypnotize anyone, put him to sleep, place an ordinary pebble in his hand and tell him it is a live coal—blisters will arise on his hand.
This capacity of the mind is what the aphorism calls Maya. And under the sway of this collective Maya people create the world—it is purely magical, pure wizardry. The world in which we live is our magic. We beat our chests, weep and wail—this sorrow, that joy, this pain, that pain—and it is our own magic, and the key is in our own hands.
The aphorism says: ‘Under the sway of Maya man takes the body to be everything.’
To take the body as all is our hypnosis. It is only our idea. And this idea can be attached to anything. It can be attached to any object. A woman—if she died yesterday, it would not trouble you. Today you marry her. What do you do by marrying—by taking seven rounds? It is only a process of hypnosis—that by taking seven rounds, by much pomp, band and music, priests and pundits, by gathering people—you are hypnotizing yourselves: Now she is becoming my wife. She is the same woman. If she had died yesterday, you would not have been saddened; if she dies today you beat your chest and weep. A great wonder! These seven rounds, these mantra-tantra, this crowd and clamor, band and bugle have performed a great miracle—you are beating your chest and crying! Only hypnosis has been created.
Therefore those who think all these rituals in marriage are unnecessary do not know—if this ritual is not there, the wife cannot be born. The ritual is indispensable; it is a part of hypnosis. Those countries that accepted the counsel of the clever—though the clever can sometimes say very foolish things—accepted their talk: What use? What is the point of seven rounds? What meaning the band and bugle, the fireworks, sitting on a horse, the special dress of the groom? If you want to marry, then marry—shake hands, exchange a garland, marriage done. But remember, that whole process was a process of hypnosis. Only under the influence of that hypnosis do you become husband, she becomes wife, a relationship is created between you. She begins to feel, You are mine—you feel, She is mine. If you drop the ritual, she remains a woman, you remain a man—and then divorce is inevitable.
The nations that dropped the ritual of marriage had to manufacture the ritual of divorce. It is inevitable—because we do not know the ways of the mind. The mind has its ways. And all the ways of the mind are ways of hypnosis. If you pass through that process, the mind will be hypnotized.
A boy is placed on a horse and taken through the village as the groom—such a chance will never come again in his life to ride a horse in that way. For the first time he feels, I am somebody. We call him groom-king. For a moment he too becomes a king, and walks with the majesty of a king. This peak he will never attain again. In this moment of ego, hypnosis is very easy.
Remember, a man without ego cannot be hypnotized. This ordinary man has suddenly become groom-king. His ego is strong—he is mounted on a horse. The whole village is beneath the horse, he is above. His ego has reached a peak. In this peak-moment whatever occurs, he is very delicate, very vulnerable—anything can enter him. Hypnosis will catch. He will never again be at this height. And therefore the hypnosis created at that height will last a lifetime. It cannot be left behind—it has become part of his ego.
Those who discovered these processes understood the Maya of the mind. And the so-called intelligent men of today know nothing of the mind’s Maya. They go on explaining sheer stupidity. They argue, yes—but their arguments are hollow. And behind them there is no understanding of the science of the human mind. And when they speak, it seems so right—What need is there to spend so much? We go on explaining—What need to spend so much! But if that expense is not made, hypnosis will not be born. Therefore the poor man spends beyond his means. The chance to spend beyond his means will not return. Spending beyond his means he softens the heart and fills with ego. In that moment, whatever enters within will stay. It has become part of his Maya. Now this woman is no longer a mere woman—she has become wife. No longer another—she has become mine. This ‘mine-ness’ has to be purchased. And our whole life moves like this. Only like this.
Even regarding our body, the notion we carry—that this is mine—is also hypnosis. From childhood it is taught—and we learn. Experience also seems to verify it. But psychologists say when a child is born he knows nothing—that this body is his. He knows nothing. He does not even know who is his mother, who his father—nothing. He learns all this through hypnosis. The mother is closest to him, feeds him, cares for him—slowly he begins to recognize her face. Even the face he recognizes later—the breast he recognizes first. For this reason a man remains, his whole life, unable to be free from a woman’s breasts.
Throughout life—our painters, poets, writers, great scholars—cannot be free from the breast. Because it is the first hypnosis of the other’s body. Hence the search for the breast continues. The quest goes on—in statue, in painting, in poetry—everywhere the breast keeps emerging. It is the first hypnosis in a man’s mind—sinks deep. The very utterance ‘woman’ casts the shadow of the breast. Later the child begins to recognize the face, then others, and slowly begins to feel himself separate among others. The mother’s hand begins to feel other, his own hand his own. Slowly a sense of separate individuality begins.
Some work is being done on animal psychology. Of sheep, we all suppose they move in a flock—and if one goes one way, the whole flock follows. If the leader goes in a direction, all will go—even if there is a ravine, even if life is at risk. Until now it was thought fear is the cause, but new research says sheep have no personal sense of the body. They have a communal mind—a collective psyche. The other sheep does not appear ‘other’ to a sheep. They live in a group-mind. Therefore if one sheep goes there, it means a part of me is going there—I am pulled along. A personal psyche does not arise in sheep.
Ants too have a group-mind, a collective mind. And a group-mind can be produced—it is a matter of hypnosis. A personal mind can be produced—it too is a matter of hypnosis. A collective mind can be produced—it too is a matter of hypnosis.
In Eastern lands there was a family-mind. If one member of the family died, the whole family was ready to die. In the West the family-mind has broken—and in the East it is breaking. If the father is being beaten, a Western son first thinks, Who is right?—this father who is being beaten, or the one beating him? Until that is clear, it is not right to take sides. In a way this is right—by being a father one does not become right. Perhaps he did something wrong and is rightly being beaten. But in the East this was not possible. Slowly it will become possible here too. There was a family-mind—so the question did not arise that the father is being beaten—I am being beaten. There was a collective feeling. Their bodies were somewhere interwoven in the same hypnosis. If that hypnosis breaks, a different situation will arise.
My body too is my hypnosis. Hence notice, there are great divisions within your body. The upper body feels more ‘mine’; the lower body feels less ‘mine’. Curious—one and the same body, and yet a man feels the lower body as not quite his, and the upper as his. Most of all the skull—most ‘mine’. If your hand is cut you do not feel you have died. But the skull—then you are gone! Even within the body there are divisions.
And the divisions can go so deep: in all cultures where sexuality has been suppressed, one does not feel the genitals to be one’s own part—hence one hides them, feels anxious, afraid—as if there were an enemy inside the body, not one’s own. In a small child we create this hypnosis: the moment the child touches his genitals, the whole house is ready to stop him—Don’t touch! The child himself is surprised, because he knows no difference yet between the hand and the genitals. But the whole house becomes alert and a mood of condemnation arises in all. The child becomes frightened: something is different—the rest of the body is fine, the genitals are not fine. Then this feeling thickens. If you inquire within, you will find you do not feel the genitals are part of your body.
Recently in America a toy company made dolls—you may not have noticed that all your toys are false—because they have no genitals. If your doll is a boy, he has no genitals; everything else is there. If a girl, the doll has no genitals; everything else is there. One company had the insight—great insight—and I think for the first time in five or six thousand years a toy-maker had this idea: this is false, inauthentic—so they made dolls with genitals. The case went up to the Supreme Court. Finally the American Supreme Court decided: genitals cannot be made in toys.
Astonishing! What kind of mind do we have! Why cannot they be made? The company fought hard—but no, they cannot be made. The company kept saying: If genitals are in the body, why should they not be in the toys? The toy should be authentic. But panic spread—seemed the intelligence of all America got stuck there—letters of protest, news, debates, symposia all over: This cannot be—culture will be destroyed. A man has genitals and culture is not destroyed—but if a toy has genitals, culture will be destroyed!
No—but there is a reason. There is a cause behind this stubbornness. Even the wise judges of the Supreme Court have a reason behind their decision: no one really accepts the genitals as one’s own part. If we could, we would cut them off. Those who could, did. In Russia there was a sect of Catholic Christians whose rule was: until one has cut off one’s genitals one cannot be religious. So they cut them off.
Four or five thousand years ago, all over the world there were groups that believed in cutting the genitals. Muslims even today perform circumcision; Jews circumcise—it is only symbolic of that trend. There was a time when one became religious by cutting off the genitals entirely—then it became difficult, people would not agree, so a little skin is cut and the symbolic practice continued. If circumcision has not been done one is not a Muslim. Without it one cannot enter heaven. It is a small symbol, but the fundamental base was the same.
But if such an attitude lodges in our brain, then divisions will arise in the body. There are divisions in our body—so deep there is no measure for it. With whatsoever part we keep our identification, with that we become identified. With what we drop identification, it drops. You will be surprised: when you cut hair you feel no pain—because in most societies hair and nails have not been considered part of the living body. They are dead parts. But hypnotize a man and tell him: hair too is a living part of your body, and whenever your hair is cut you will feel pain—he will feel pain. Then cut his hair and he will scream as if a finger were being cut.
Is it possible that through hypnosis I accept my hand as not mine, and then you cut it and I feel no pain? It is possible. If Jesus felt no pain while being crucified, the reason was the realization: This body I am not. If Mansoor’s hands and feet were cut and he kept laughing, the sole reason was his realization: This body I am not. If the feeling is: This body I am—then suffering will be there. So pain and pleasure are our perceptions, our hypnosis.
Try a small experiment.
If there is pain in your leg, sit and meditate: This leg is not mine. You will find the intensity of pain suddenly thins. It will not vanish at once—because you will not be able to hypnotize fully. But to the measure you can, in that measure the pain will subside. Do the reverse too. If the other’s leg aches and you hypnotize yourself: That body is also mine, that leg is also mine—the pain will begin. It can grow so much that the boil may appear on your leg too.
Much research is going on: when a child suffers, the mother also begins to feel pain—even if she is far away. The hypnosis with the child is so deep that however far he suffers, he is an extended part of the mother. This hypnosis is so deep that its distant transmissions—its telepathic messages—reach the mother.
Many experiments are being done on animals. Since animals have even simpler minds, experiments are easier. In Russia some experiments on rabbits: the mothers were taken deep beneath the sea in submarines—one or two thousand feet. The babies were kept ashore. The babies were killed there, while the mothers were examined below. The moment the babies died, that very moment the mother trembled—sad, disturbed. The mother has no information of what is happening to the babies—great distance—but hypnosis ties the relation. Hypnosis is relation itself.
Whosoever you are related to—those are your hypnotic extensions. And hypnosis can break in a moment. You could die for your son—but if today a letter falls into your hands saying this son is not born from you, all hypnosis will break. You will be ready to take his life. And if you take it, and are very pleased—and then you find out the letter was forged—you will beat your chest and lament, What have I done! This whole play is related neither to son nor to father—it is all related to hypnosis. Wherever we spread our hypnosis, there the kingdom of pleasure and pain begins.
‘Under the sway of Maya, man takes the body to be everything and goes on doing all kinds of acts.’
Then he must do whatsoever the body dictates. Then he is no longer the master. The body becomes the master and the man the follower. What the body says, he does. Even knowing it is harmful, he still does it. He knows, This alcohol I am drinking is poison—yet that knowing is of no use. Because the body says—Drink. The chemistry of the body has gotten hooked on alcohol.
One who drinks develops chemical changes in the body. You will be amazed: each and every cell becomes addicted. Each cell! And each cell demands on time—Give alcohol! Therefore when the drunkard leaves it, he writhes, is tormented, suffers. All resolves lie fallen—because the body says: Give, else we will die—life is impossible. He must follow the body. For the deep conviction stands: this body is what I am. Then whatsoever the body compels, man goes on doing.
What the body compels is stated in this aphorism—
‘The same man, under the sway of sense-urge and intoxication, enjoys strange pleasures and feels satisfied in the waking state.’
Strange pleasures—said for two reasons. One, if your hypnosis drops about that very thing, you will be shocked—what gave you satisfaction will not only fail to satisfy, it will evoke repulsion, disgust, even loathing.
So it happened with Buddha.
Buddha’s father gathered the most beautiful women for him—here the mistake happened. Otherwise Buddha might not have become a sannyasi. Had he not received even a single woman, perhaps a birth or two more would be needed—because what is not obtained keeps its charm. What is obtained loses it. Even if more beautiful women existed in the kingdom, unavailable to Buddha, he might have thought, These women did not give joy, perhaps those will—and would have continued the chase. But the most beautiful in the kingdom were assembled around him by his father—on an astrologer’s advice!
The astrologer had said, This son will either be a world emperor or a sannyasi. Up to here he spoke rightly—he was speaking his science, mathematics. The father asked, How to prevent the latter? The astrologer used his intelligence—probably he had a taste for women. He said, Place good women around him, build palaces, gather all comforts—then why would he renounce? A man becomes a renunciate because of suffering—this is not obtained, that is not obtained. The astrologer must have been poor—astrologers are usually poor. He must have thought, If I had all this, why would I renounce? He knew astrology perhaps, but he knew nothing of the human soul.
The father arranged everything—and that became the cause of renunciation. All was available—and the most beautiful. But slowly a disquiet began to arise. When all is available, disenchantment becomes easy. Boredom catches hold. Even the most beautiful face—how long can it remain beautiful? So long as it is not attained. Once attained—then what? Soon its beauty is lost. If we understand rightly—beauty is a fruit of distance. Therefore the truly beautiful person always keeps a distance in mind. Otherwise beauty is lost in no time. Keep a gap—an un-crossable line.
One night Buddha woke. Sleep was not coming. He pondered—Having gained all this, is anything gained? What will be, what will not be? He saw—the girls who had been dancing around him at bedtime had fallen asleep scattered on the floor. He looked at their faces—someone’s saliva drooling, someone’s mouth open—snoring sounds, someone’s eyes crusted, someone muttering, clothes disheveled, sweat trickling from a body—very repulsive. Going to each, he saw—behind beauty this too is hidden. Very repulsive. That very night he fled.
Whatever we keep enjoying—if we look very closely, from very near—unease arises, boredom arises, the desire to escape: What are we doing!
So one reason the rishi says ‘strange’ is this—He is saying: it is very strange that in things where nothing exists within, man still enjoys them and even feels satisfied. He enjoys and he feels satisfied. To him it appears strange. It will appear so. Anyone who awakens in regard to enjoyment will find our whole enjoyment very strange. Just as you find it strange when a child plays with a toy—its leg breaks and he cries; the toy is not on his bed and he cannot sleep—you find it strange, mad—What has the toy to do with anything?—but only because you are no longer a child.
To this rishi it appears strange because he is no longer a child as you are. He has risen above. A different maturity has come. Now it seems to him: How strange the enjoyments people are absorbed in! And not only enjoying—they even feel deeply satisfied.
‘Under this same Maya, under this same hypnosis, man, driven by sense-urge and intoxication, enjoys strange pleasures and feels satisfied in the waking state.’
Man has three states—waking, dream, deep sleep. Awake, he keeps feeling satisfied—builds a big house, falls in love with someone, gratifies some bodily urge, eats, wears fine clothes—and he appears satisfied. As if all is going well. Nothing is going well! Wear as fine clothes as you like, load the body with diamonds and jewels—what will happen? What meaning is there? Even if your whole body is loaded with diamonds—what then? What will you get? Strange—strange indeed—and yet man seems satisfied. One man keeps filling his safe, the hoard increases, and he is very satisfied. He counts daily and feels satisfied. What will happen? What will he get?
Another sits in a high seat and thinks—Now I have everything. He stakes his life upon it—runs and runs to sit in high office. One day he sits. But what happens? Which secret of life comes into his hands? What eternity is gained? Will he cross beyond life and death? Will he rise above pleasure and pain? Will peace descend? What will happen through all this?
But man is strange. He goes on enjoying. He goes on running. He never gets leisure to reflect. One enjoyment not finished, another starts tugging. One desire not fulfilled, another wakes up. Desires keep us running. And what do we do throughout our waking day—from morning to night? We run after these desires—never even looking to see whether those in whom desires are fulfilled—what have they got? Are those whom we want to become—happy? Are they joyous?
No—their misery is just as much. And they too are running after some further beyond. And in every man—wherever he stands—the distance to his desire is equal. If you have a thousand rupees, you desire ten thousand. If ten, then a lakh. But the gap between you and your desire is always equal. That gap never reduces. With one rupee you desire ten, with ten you desire a hundred, with a hundred a thousand, with a thousand ten thousand—the arithmetic stretches proportionally.
Strange man! When he had one, he thought—If I get ten, all will be well. When ten are got, he completely forgets that nothing has become well—and that earlier he had thought, With ten all will be well. Nothing became well. He forgets. Now he thinks—If I get a hundred, all will be well. The same arithmetic. Then a hundred are got, and he finds—Without a thousand it will not do. But he never looks back: I had thought ten would do, then a hundred would do—they happened. Now if I get a thousand—will it do? No, he will not think. The same mind that standing at one asked for ten, standing at a thousand will ask for ten thousand—the same mind, the same ratio—no difference. And man goes on.
Therefore the rishi says: strange! Man, in the waking state, enjoys pleasures—that is strange enough; but stranger still—he is not satisfied at all, and yet he experiences satisfaction. Ask anyone—no one is satisfied—yet he moves about with a face as if all is well. Ask someone, How are you? He says, All is well. And nothing is well. He never asks himself—What am I saying? What is well? Nothing is well. But with a false face man goes on moving.
Teachers go on instructing students with a face as if they have found; fathers instruct sons with a face as if they have found; the old instruct the young with a face as if they have found—as if they are satisfied. No one says, I have not become satisfied—because it would hurt the ego. It would seem—All life I ran, struggled so much—and now to say I am still not satisfied? Then I am a downright fool.
Within they know they are unsatisfied—outside they go on showing, All is well. This ‘all is well’ is a deep deception. If all the people of this earth, even once, in a single voice, honestly, authentically declare—We are not satisfied—the deceptions of this earth will break. Because behind this one deception, many others must be erected.
Ask someone, God—is there? He will not say, I do not know. Either he will say, There is—or, There is not. In both cases he knows. It is hard to find a person who says, No—I do not know. I have no idea. Because to say so will expose the inner unsatisfaction. To say so will break the inner ego.
Ask anyone—and you will feel that what he says, what his face conveys—the real state is not so. Come close—within two or four days he will begin to weep his sorrow. Even two or four days are far—travel with someone for two or three hours and he will begin to cry his pain. Earlier, when you met, his face was different. Slowly the happiness—the plaster of deception—falls away. Then the moods of sadness, suffering, pain begin to appear.
Therefore meeting strangers gives pleasure—the total reason is only this: for a little while both succeed in deceiving one another. With the familiar there is no pleasure, for they immediately display all their troubles. You too display—and they too—so the sorrow doubles. With the unfamiliar at least for a while faces remain composed—and it pleases. Hence strangers appear good; the familiar appear worse, because as they arrive all gloom, all sadness—now they need not say, All is well—they begin to recount what is not well.
What we enjoy in the waking state are strange pleasures, and we also produce the deception of satisfaction. That too is astonishing. And this deception spreads into so many dimensions there is no account of it. Ask a child—he is not happy. Ask an old man—he says, When I was a child I was very happy. Not a single child says, I am happy. The same children, tomorrow as old men, will say—When I was a child I was very happy—childhood was great bliss. This is deception. This old man is trying to console himself: if not today, at least it was there once. Children are in a hurry to grow up—because childhood is not blissful. Ask the children. Do not ask the old—they will deceive you. They have deceived themselves that childhood was bliss.
In fact the mind has a rule—whatever is painful, we drop from memory, because it hurts the ego. Whatever is pleasant, we retain. Painful memories slip away.
Psychologists have reached a strange conclusion—Freud especially—that if we ask anyone, What is your earliest memory?—one can hardly go back beyond four or five years. He will say, When I was four, my earliest memory is from then. But he was there even earlier—why is there no memory?
Freud says the first three or four years are so painful that the mind chooses not to remember. It forgets. It wipes them out. Leaves no space for them. Hence our memory up to five is blank. But it is not blank. If you hypnotize and put him under, he begins to tell—even events in the mother’s womb—if the mother fell while the child was in the womb, it comes back; if the mother was ill the child within also suffered—memories form. But only under hypnosis do they surface. Otherwise they are shut. You remember nothing.
You say, Before five I remember nothing. The reason is: those memories are traumatic—very painful. The child was so helpless, so dependent, so needy—if he wanted milk he had to cry and scream—if someone gave, good; if no one gave, what then? He wants more milk and the mother moves away—he has no means. Mosquitoes bite him—he cannot say anything. He lies there. He is not sleepy—he is forced to sleep; he wants to wake and is forced; he does not want to wake and is forced to wake; he does not want to eat and is forced to eat; he wants to eat and no one is ready to give. His condition was extremely pitiable—full of suffering. He has forgotten it completely—because it is not pleasant to the ego.
We slowly drop what is painful, we retain what is pleasant. Not only retain—we magnify the pleasant. If it was small, we make it a thousandfold. Then the old man says, Childhood was paradise. No child ever says so—no child ever will. But the old says so.
Why?
Because we want to place satisfaction somewhere—if not here, then there. In childhood, in youth—we want to put it somewhere. But that there was ‘somewhere’ satisfaction—we do not want to drop this illusion. Because if this illusion drops, a revolution will happen in life. One who knows, I have never known satisfaction—only then can he become religious. I have never known satisfaction; all satisfactions were my deceptions—I believed; never did I know any true fulfillment; no moment came that I can call a moment of satisfaction—one who knows this… It is painful to know—because it will seem, I am a beggar and I have wasted life. The ego shatters. But without that shattering, no one becomes religious.
For the waking state the rishi says—by enjoying strange pleasures one believes one is satisfied. But man’s mind does not stop here. In dreams too he continues to enjoy. And the fun is—if we cannot agree with the first statement, at least we will agree to this much: the pleasures of dreams are not real. Yet when they come, we enjoy them delightfully—delightfully.
You know dreams. Whatsoever you cannot enjoy while awake, you enjoy in dreams. You cannot live in a great palace—you build one in dreams. And in dreams there is no trouble—no money needed—because in dreams your mind can use its Maya fully—reality does not hinder.
Understand.
In the waking too you use Maya, but reality obstructs. You want to believe all around is gold—but there are stones everywhere—they obstruct. They say, How will you believe? The mind wants to believe. One whom we call mad is one who has denied reality so much that now even while awake he uses his Maya completely. Madness means nothing else. It only means that what we do in dreams, he is able to do while awake. If he wants to meet his friend, he need not go anywhere—he sits here and talks to him in the empty air. We say the man has gone mad. He has not gone mad—he is using the full power of his Maya. You use a little less. You too talk with your friend—but you do not believe he is present; you close your eyes and see him within, then talk to him.
Lie on a chair, close your eyes—you will see, your Maya has begun—conversations begin. And it is not that sometimes we do not even project outside—walking on the road, someone waving a hand, moving lips, saying something—talking to someone who is not there. Between us and the mad there is only a difference of degree.
In dreams we are completely mad; in the day we walk carefully. The madman is a little braver—he stretches his dream into wakefulness. Hence the madman seems very happy. Now understand this rightly—the madman seems very happy because now happiness is purely his hypnotic affair.
I know friends who are periodically mad—six months mad, six months okay. The strange thing is—when they are mad, they are perfectly healthy and very joyous. When they are okay, they fall ill and become very miserable. What is the matter? What is the matter?
In truth, when they are mad they deny reality so completely that reality cannot obstruct them. They are under the wish-fulfilling tree—whatever they wish is fulfilled. The world cannot prevent it—because now they fulfill it from dreams. They do not need real fulfillment. They become happy.
Rightly understood, in this so-called world, those who appear happy—are so because of degrees of madness. If rightly understood, it means: those who appear happy while enjoying these strange pleasures—appear so due to their measure of insanity. A truly intelligent man will become immediately sad here—because he will at once see this is utter stupidity. What is happening has no substance. But the mad will run.
Have you seen a politician—when he reaches the throne—how happy he seems? He stands on the peak of madness. But he has happiness—he appears happy. Deep studies show: as long as politicians are in power they neither fall ill nor die—they remain fresh and healthy. The moment they lose power, they soon die—fall sick.
Not all are politicians—understand otherwise. A retired man dies early—becomes sad, miserable.
Understand a tehsildar—he is the king in the village. The whole village salutes him. He comes to the office, people stand; at home the wife respects him, the children respect him—He is a tehsildar! The whole village respects him. His whole world respects him. Wherever he goes, it is immediately clear who is coming. Then he retires. He passes the same street—no one salutes. Those who had saluted before avoid him—lest they have to salute a useless man. A spent cartridge—what to do with him? He comes home—children do not look at him; the wife does not care—he is no longer a tehsildar. His crease is gone. The cloth looks as if someone slept in it all night. Who cares for him now? He becomes utterly sad. He finds—There is no one to acknowledge me. Within he begins to break—the hypnosis collapses—death approaches.
Psychologists say—upon retirement a man’s lifespan is cut by ten years. He could have lived ten more—but they are lost. Because now he sees no use for himself—nowhere is his ego gratified—no happiness anywhere—he becomes utterly sad, irritable, peevish. The inner reason: the pleasure he drew from hypnosis no longer receives the support of reality.
But I know a tehsildar who, on retiring, went mad—meaning, he still considers himself tehsildar. He sometimes enters the office with the swagger of a tehsildar, and he does not care whether you stand or not—if you do not salute, he still replies. He is very happy—and it seems he will live—his ten years cannot be cut. He does not care—he remains a tehsildar in his own view. He has not retired—from his side.
I know a headmaster—he still goes to the school. He even sits for a while on the headmaster’s chair—then peacefully returns. He is very delighted. It does not occur to him that he has retired—his mind is unhinged.
I say this so it becomes clear to you that your pleasures are born of imagination—they are parts of your madness. An intelligent man will not see even a bit of pleasure where you see it.
But the great fun is—we see the intelligent as mad. His mind is spoiled!—we say. So much fun we are having, in the cinema how delighted we are—his mind is spoiled. What joy do you have there? On the screen there is nothing but shadow and light. But I know such simpletons: if a woman is dancing and her skirt flies up, they bend from their chair to peek below—and attain great joy. Great joy!
I have heard—when films began in London—there was a film where a naked woman is bathing at a pond. She removes all her clothes and jumps in. Just then a train passes—chuk-chuk-chuk—and the pond falls on that side of the track. The men who had bought tickets for the first show booked tickets for the next day. The manager said: You have seen the film. One said: The matter is this—this train does not come at exactly the same time every day! Someday it will be late! It came exactly at the time. It was brought exactly so—that the nude image would not become wholly naked. The beauty was just removing her clothes, about to leap—splash!—and the train passed. They said: Do trains come at the same time every day? Someday it will be late.
This is man—this is the man hidden within you. Do not laugh at the other—otherwise again you will be hypnotizing yourself. Do not think this is someone else’s story. It is your story. If you think I am speaking of another, you are deceiving yourself.
Man seeks satisfaction in dreams and keeps getting satisfied. In the morning the dream breaks; a little pain arises—but at night the dream gives much pleasure. And from dreams too he gets satisfaction. You do not know—much research goes on about dreams. It has been found that those who see pleasant dreams rise fresher in the morning. Those who see distressing dreams rise sad and troubled. A pleasant dream is not only a dream—it gives freshness in the morning; you rise delighted—life tastes juicy, there is thrill, a song on the lips. If the previous night you saw a pleasant dream, the quality of your waking changes. If you saw a nightmare—you were beaten badly, lost an election, some calamity—then you rise dull. Do not feel like getting up—do not feel like leaving the bed.
Much scientific research goes on. A scientist, Slater, has even said—if we wish to keep man healthy, we must find a way to create pleasant dreams. Can we create pleasant dreams? Much work is going on. Dreams can be induced from outside. A man is sleeping—if you place a wet cloth on his feet for a while and then wake him, he will report a dream—he was wading through a river. You created the dream. Bring a heater near his feet and warm them—wake him, he will say—he was walking in a desert. You induced it. If this much is possible, then sooner or later we will devise some mechanism to install in every room so that all night a man sees pleasant dreams. Then in the morning he will be fresher, more full of life—so-called life—more drowned in deception, more hypnotized—going fast to the office, humming a tune.
The rishi says: ‘In the world imagined by Maya, that same man, in the dream state, enjoys the body’s pleasures and pains.’
There too he keeps enjoying the same madness he enjoys while awake. Our dream is the appendix of our waking—it is its part. Whatsoever remains incomplete, we complete. Not only that—when the third state comes—deep sleep—when even dreams vanish, nothing remains, in deep sleep when the entire machinery of Maya ceases, consciousness itself is lost, overcome by tamas, the man swoons—then too in the morning he says, I had such deep sleep—great bliss. He searches for happiness in waking, in dreams—and when nothing remains, not even dreams—then too he rises saying, Such deep sleep came—great pleasure.
But in all three states, happiness is hypnosis. Happiness is imagination. Where imagination breaks, there is sorrow. Sorrow is the non-fulfillment of imagined happiness. Therefore one who desires happiness keeps receiving sorrow. Sorrow is failure—the unfulfillment of expectation.
Dreams can also give sorrow. Waking can also give sorrow. Only deep sleep does not give sorrow—because there no knower remains—everything sleeps. So if we understand rightly—in all three states we live by assuming—Life is such, such, such; we project it; we manufacture life. But what life truly is—we have no idea.
The rishi has discussed these three hypnotic states because one who is to enter meditation will have to break this hypnosis. Meditation is the opposite process—de-hypnosis.
Now let us prepare for meditation.