Kaivalya Upanishad #4

Begin this sutra by understanding the meaning of a few words.
The first word is: Vedanta. Vedanta has always been taken to mean: those Upanishads in which the Vedas come to completion; the Upanishads where the Vedas find their peak — those Upanishads are Vedanta. But that meaning is neither very deep nor truly right.
Vedanta means... Veda means: knowing... where all knowing comes to an end, where all knowledge is exhausted. Where even knowing is let go — only being remains. The precise meaning of Vedanta is: where not even the unrest of knowing remains. Where only being remains.
Knowing too is a tension. You are standing by a tree and you know a flower; then knowing is a tension. Knowing too is a restlessness. In knowing, you will get tired. You will grow bored of knowing as well. In a little while you will want to be rid of knowing too. Because knowing is an activity, an effort. And in knowing you are related to the other — that is what knowing means. The relationship that is set up between the knower and the known, the bridge that is built between knower and known — that is called knowing. This knowing too is the final unrest, the last tension. Where even this knowing drops and only being remains — where not even a ripple of knowing arises in that being, where nothing is known, where there is no desire to know — only in that moment of supreme rest is Vedanta attained.
Vedanta means: the place where knowledge comes to an end. Where one is free even of knowledge. Knowledge too, in its depths, is a bondage.
Let us understand this by a few approaches, and the idea will come alive.
We have other dualities, easier to understand. As I said to you yesterday: drop sorrow, drop happiness too — only then do we enter into ourselves. And I said to you: until happiness drops, sorrow cannot be dropped. This we can understand. Now bring precisely this to another duality. Drop ignorance, drop knowledge too — only then the supreme experience begins. And until knowledge drops, ignorance will not drop either. Happiness and sorrow are a duality. Knowledge and ignorance too are a duality. There have been the wise in the world who said: let ignorance drop. But only on this soil have there been the supremely wise who said: let knowledge drop as well.
Vedanta means: where even knowledge is let go. Not that something remains yet to be known; ignorance drops of course, but the sense that I know something also drops.
Now understand this in yet another way.
Ignorance means: something I do not know. If ignorance disappears, a situation will arise in which I could say: I know everything. Ignorance was related to the other. Something was unknown, hence there was ignorance. Ignorance does not construct the ego. Because if I do not know, how will ego be constructed? Knowledge constructs the ego. If I know, the “I” is strengthened. Ignorance is related to objects; knowledge to the ego. So when I say: I know — the “I” is strengthened. The emphasis falls on the “I.” And when I say: I do not know, I am only saying that some thing is unknown, unfamiliar — I do not know. Ego is not strengthened by ignorance.
In ignorance there are mistakes. In ignorance there are foolishnesses — many, many foolishnesses, many, many mistakes. In knowledge there is only one mistake, only one foolishness — that is the ego. In ignorance many illnesses besiege; in knowledge one illness besieges — the ego. But remember, the sum of all illnesses still comes short before ego.
So the method is: remove ego by means of knowledge — but then do not sit clinging to knowledge. If a thorn gets embedded in my foot, it has to be taken out with another thorn. But remember, the second thorn too is a thorn. And if you think — which would be quite logical — that this thorn has helped so much in removing the first thorn, let me not consider it a thorn — then you will fall into error. It could remove the first thorn precisely because it too is a thorn. And the likelihood is that it is a stronger thorn than the first and hence could remove it. If you think: it has shown such kindness in freeing me from the first thorn, so let me keep this thorn in the very wound where the first thorn was — that will indeed be logical: it helped so much in time, and now to discard it does not feel good — then you may be freed of the thorn only to be pierced by a bigger one. And if this logic fixes itself in your mind, you will never again be free of thorns.
There was not so much pain in ignorance! Ignorance pricked, it made a wound — the pain was there. Now the wound this second thorn will make, and the pain will continue. Throw this thorn away — with thanks! Offer thanks surely; it has served; but throw it away. It is a thorn too. Remove ignorance with knowledge, but do not sit keeping hold of knowledge — this is the implied meaning of Vedanta. Throw away knowledge too. Knowledge is useful only until the thorn of ignorance has been removed. Once it is out, knowledge is useless.
A man is ill. Medicine is needed only so long as he is ill. To understand correctly, man does not need medicine — the illness needs medicine. Man does not swallow medicine — the illness swallows medicine. So as soon as the illness ends, the medicine becomes pointless.
You do not need knowledge; it is merely a medicine to cut the disease of ignorance. But many are such sick people that the illness drops and they clutch the medicine. And remember, it is easier to free one from illness; to free one from medicine is far more difficult. If medicine is clutched, to loosen it becomes very hard. Because medicine does not appear an enemy, it appears a friend. The illness appears an enemy; it is not hard to be rid of that. The illness that begins to appear a friend — to be free of that will be very difficult. One can save oneself from an enemy; to be saved from a friend is very hard. And knowledge is precisely such an enemy that appears like a friend. Because it removes, breaks the enemy of ignorance.
Vedanta means: be alert toward knowledge too; do not cling to it. When ignorance drops, a man becomes a jnani. And when knowledge too drops, then a man becomes one of experience. Ashwalayana was a jnani. A Maharshi — but not a knower by experience. He had grasped knowledge in place of ignorance. He was as deprived of experience as an ignorant man is deprived. That is why he had to come asking of a Master.
So what the Master is saying — first he says: “Ultimately only those are entitled to attain the Supreme Reality who know the assured meaning of the science contained in Vedanta.”
So first let us understand “Vedanta.” Freedom from knowledge.
Second, let us understand: “the assured meaning of the science contained in Vedanta.”
Until one attains to experience, all meanings remain unsure. Know however much you may, knowing does not take you beyond uncertainty. In fact, the truth is: the more you know, the more uncertainty increases. This is the difficulty of pandits — they know so much that certainty is lost. The ignorant are very certain.
Hence in the world the ignorant create more mischief than the learned can. For the ignorant seems so sure within that he will throw his whole life into anything. The illness of the ignorant is that he can throw his all into anything — he is sure. His assuredness is utterly illusory; it is born of not knowing.
The jnani becomes utterly unsure. Whatever he sets out to do, a thousand alternatives appear to him. In each word a thousand shades of meaning begin to glimmer. In each sutra, thousands upon thousands of directions begin to unfold. Where to go, how to go, what to choose — going itself comes to a halt; he stands still. The ignorant are swift in going. They will go anywhere — because they do not see much. A single path appears; even a slight glimpse is enough to take them. But the jnani becomes unable to move. He stands still. Because he says: until the meaning is determined...!
Buddha has said: An erudite scholar was struck by an arrow. Buddha passed by and said: I will pull out this arrow. The scholar said: first it must be clarified — who shot the arrow? Why did he shoot? Is the shooter a friend or an enemy? What is the purpose? If I die will that be bad, or if I survive will that be bad? Is my survival assuredly beneficial, or my dying? Until this is decided how can we pull the arrow? And is this arrow poison-tipped or not? Is this fate or accident? Is it my destiny or merely a mishap? Let all this be clarified, then pull the arrow.
Buddha said: This may perhaps never be clarified. One thing is clear — in clarifying it you will be gone, you will die. But the scholar said: to do anything without being assured is not proper either.
The ignorant rush swiftly even in darkness. The jnani — even if light appears — sees it in so many forms that he stands still; he cannot move.
Therefore, let us understand the second meaning — assured, assuredness.
There is a certainty of ignorance, and uncertainty of knowledge. Then there is yet another certainty — of experience. And when the experienced one is assured, then in one sense he becomes assured again the way an ignorant man is assured.
Vivekananda goes to Ramakrishna — Ramakrishna is utterly assured. Vivekananda asks: Is there God? Ramakrishna says: Why this useless talk? Do you want to meet him? This answer could not be found with a learned man. Vivekananda had gone to learned men too — to Maharshi Devendranath as well. He was a Maharshi, a sage — just like Ashwalayana.
Vivekananda went to Devendranath and asked the same: Is there God? But the manner of asking was such that the learned one got frightened. Vivekananda caught his coat-collar, shook him and asked: Is there God? Devendranath hesitated. He said: sit down. Sit down gently. Then I will tell you. But Vivekananda said: your hesitation has said everything. You hesitated; your answer is coming out of a hesitation. You too do not know. You may know much about Him — you have not known Him.
The very same was asked of Ramakrishna. But Ramakrishna!... Ramakrishna created the reverse situation. He said: do not indulge in this idle chatter! If you want to meet, say so! This was another question in answer to a question — and it made Vivekananda hesitate. Vivekananda said: I had not come prepared for this. I had only come to ask. Give me a little time to think whether I want to meet or not.
Whenever you go to one who has experienced, his assuredness is profound. If we understand his profundity correctly, we will have to say — in his profundity there is no opposing tone at all.
I have heard: there was a Zen mystic, Bokuju. An atheist came to meet him. The atheist said: I do not believe in God. Bokuju’s disciples thought that now Bokuju would convince him that God is. But Bokuju said: then do not believe. The atheist said: will you not explain to me? Bokuju said: if your not believing created even the slightest hindrance to His being, I would explain. Do not believe! But the atheist was insistent and wanted to draw Bokuju into a debate. He said: No, I will not go away so easily. Either you say He is — and then prove it. And if you do not prove it, then say He is not. Only then can I go.
Bokuju said: there is no difficulty in this. I say: God is not. The atheist was a bit shaken. You say He is not? Bokuju — you say He is not! Bokuju said: Even with my saying so, not the slightest difference has occurred in His being. And I am so assured about Him that I can even deny Him. I am so assured of His being that I do not fear to deny Him either. He is. It makes no difference what Bokuju says. My words are useless. Whether I say yes or no — His being is unaffected. And I am so assured. I am not a frightened theist who fears that if I say “He is not” something might be lost. Even if the whole world says “He is not,” even if God Himself were to stand before me and say “I am not,” I could still laugh and brush it aside. He is.
This assuredness does not come from knowledge. From knowledge comes uncertainty. In ignorance there is certainty — but it is the certainty of darkness. Because we know nothing, we appear certain. That certainty is of no use; it is a danger. It is dangerous — the certainty of the blind, who can take a wall to be a door. Not because a door is seen — because nothing at all is seen. So he will take anything to be a door; he must hold something to be so. For him, believing is his knowing. The blind too has to walk; and if he must walk, he must take some wall to be a door. He will bump his head; tomorrow he will take some other wall to be a door — and remain assured; otherwise his feet cannot lift.
The jnani stands still, hesitates. Many doors begin to be seen. Which door is the right one? Which path is proper? By which sadhana should I move? Which way should I choose? In this whole choosing and thinking so much energy is spent that nothing remains to walk with. And this deciding is extremely difficult. It is as difficult as someone saying: I must learn to swim, but until I learn how to swim how can I enter the water? And he is right — because if he enters without learning, there is danger. So first let me learn to swim, then I will enter the water.
His talk is consistent — but he will now never enter the water. Because to learn to swim also, one has to enter the water. In truth, whoever wants to learn to swim must gather the courage to enter the water without knowing how to swim. Only then can he learn to swim.
The jnani stands on the shore and begins to think: of paths, of doors, of doctrines and theories — which to choose? Which boat will take me across? Going across does not remain so important; the boats begin to appear more important — will some boat drown me? Might the boat take me astray? Might the direction turn false? The boatman I am choosing — will he be able to take me across? The jnani becomes bewildered. The ignorant is blind; the jnani is bewildered. The ignorant plunges into any madness; even if the path appears before the jnani, in his thinking he slips.
So “assured meaning” means: apart from experience the assured meaning of Vedanta will not be revealed. So those who want to know — to experience, not to merely know — who want to recognize, to make a direct recognition, of that meaning hidden in Vedanta — they must move by experience.
And remember: even if one goes by a wrong path, courageously, with awareness, with understanding — then even upon the wrong path, the doors of experience open. Rather than standing still, it is better even to walk the wrong path. Because the man who stands reaches nowhere — neither the right nor even the wrong. And even if someone goes wrong, this knowing, this recognizing — this journey becomes an experience, it brings maturity. Something grows within. At least it becomes certain that this kind of wrong path this man will not take again. This too is not little. And we learn to move toward the right only by making mistakes. There is no other way.
To err is not bad; to repeat the same error is bad. To err is not bad at all. The man who thinks erring is bad will not be able to do anything. And those who reach the right are precisely those who, with indomitable courage, dare to err.
But this does not mean one should keep doing the same error again and again. The one who repeats the same mistake will also reach nowhere. One needs the courage to make a new mistake every day. That is the mark of a seeker. When a mistake is understood, you have something in your hand. Something fine, subtle, has come into your hand. You have moved forward; you are no longer the same. The one who committed the mistake — you are no longer that man. You have become different.
To know the false as false becomes the recognition of the true. To see an error as an error becomes the beginning of the journey toward the right.
Vedanta lays emphasis on experience — not merely on information. Information gives you knowledge, and the man freezes and loses the capacity to move. The capacity to move should be like that of the ignorant, and the profundity of knowing like that of the jnani. If the jnani’s knowing and the ignorant man’s courage are joined, experience is born. The jnani’s awareness and the ignorant man’s courage — if these unite, then experience begins. But this is difficult. As long as one is ignorant, there is great courage. When one becomes learned, awareness does arise — but courage is lost. When the eyes arrive, the legs become lame; and when the legs are fine, the eyes are not.
We all have heard the story from the Panchatantra: a blind man and a lame one — a forest caught fire, escape became difficult. That story is not a children’s tale; it is a Vedanta tale. We teach it to children; it should be taught to the old. That story says: every person is in such a condition that either he is blind — he cannot see, and the forest is on fire! — or he is lame — he can see, but cannot run; and the forest is on fire! And unless a relationship arises between this blind man and the lame one, he will burn in this forest; he cannot get out. He will burn for lives upon lives.
This blind man and this lame one are inner events within us. The ignorant is blind; the learned is lame. And somehow the lame one must be hoisted onto the shoulders — because he can see. And somehow the blind must consent to move — because he can walk. The day the ignorant man’s legs and the learned man’s eyes meet, the journey of experience begins. And from experience, assuredness arises.
Countless people come to me. Someone’s affliction is blindness; someone’s affliction is lameness. And once in a while it is easier to persuade the blind, but very hard to persuade the lame — because they suffer the delusion that they can see. They suffer the delusion that they can see. And they have forgotten that their legs for walking have totally broken. They obtained this seeing at the cost of walking. So they are able to see, but all the energy of the legs has moved into the eyes. Now the legs do not move. Of what use is seeing then? Hence the ignorant is not as miserable — miserable he will be, for he is ignorant — but the learned becomes very miserable. Because now he can see, and yet he cannot walk.
There are such people who say: we know what is right, but we cannot do it. We know what is auspicious, but it does not come into action. We know what should be — that alone does not happen. And we know what should not be — that is what we do every day. This agony will only increase. The suffering, the torment of the learned, will deepen. The lake is visible, the thirst is felt — and yet the feet do not move.
The blind too has suffering — but it is not the suffering of being stuck in one place. He cannot see where the lake is. He feels the thirst; there is strength in his legs; he runs — he collides, he falls, he suffers. His suffering is from collisions, wanderings, falls, from being bruised. The suffering of the learned is: the lake is visible; the thirst is felt; it seems that just now thirst and the lake will meet — but the feet do not move.
Somehow you must unite the blind man within and the lame man within. Courage is blind. Hence the more foolish one is, the more courageous. Therefore, wherever we need courage, we must make people foolish. In the military we need that a man be courageous — so we have to make him foolish, by every effort; intelligence must not be born in him. Because if a soldier has intelligence, then danger arises. He will stand still. Before firing a gun he will ask: should I fire or not? America is falling into this error. It is educating its soldiers too much. It will be defeated in places — because an educated soldier can never win against an uneducated soldier.
This is a very unique phenomenon of the world — it has always happened in history that educated nations are defeated by uneducated ones. In India this has happened a thousand times. The cause of India’s greatest defeats was that our soldier was more educated, and those barbarians who were attacking were utterly uneducated. They had more courage. These had more intelligence. These were totally lame. They could not stand against them.
Whenever a civilization reaches a height, it nears defeat. Because any lower civilization will wipe it out — for it has more foolish soldiers. In foolishness there is an indomitable courage. In understanding, hesitation arises. And only when these two meet does the assured meaning of Vedanta open.
Third — let us understand the meaning of this word “Sannyas,” then we will take the sutra.
“Those who know the assured meaning of the science contained in Vedanta, and purify the antahkaran through Sannyas and the practice of Yoga — only they ultimately attain that Brahman; only they are entitled to reach Him.”
“Sannyas and Yoga...”
Here, by Sannyas and Yoga is meant the negative and the positive aspects of a single process. The word Sannyas is negative. It means: right renunciation. To drop. The word “Yoga” is positive. It means: practice, attainment. Sannyas means: dropping the false. And Yoga means: attaining the true. Sannyas means: drop that which is useless. And Yoga means: seek that which is meaningful. Sannyas and Yoga are two parts of one process.
As when a man is ill and the physician says: take this medicine and do this exercise. Then the medicine is Sannyas and the exercise is Yoga. The medicine will cut the illness; it cannot give health. Medicine is negative. It will cut the illness, remove the disease. Exercise is positive — it will give birth to health. And these two are parts of one process. Perhaps exercise alone will not be effective. If the illness is seated, it may happen that the exercise becomes an exercise of the illness and the illness grows stronger. Or the exercise weakens the body and the illness gains more power. The medicine alone will not be enough either, for medicine only cuts the illness — it does not give birth to positive health. Positive health will arise from living effort. Health has to be created by oneself. Medicine will only remove that which was obstructing the arising of health.
Sannyas is like medicine. And Yoga is like exercise. Drop what is wrong; and engage in doing what is right. Only then will the antahkaran be purified.
Usually, those engaged in Yoga think — Yoga is sufficient; there is no need for Sannyas. And the same mishap occurs from the other side: those who have become sannyasins think — Sannyas is enough; what need of Yoga remains? Everything wrong has been left; the world has been renounced; everything has been dropped — what is there now to attain? As if renunciation alone were sufficient! Renunciation is only to empty the place where the false was sitting. From that throne we have removed the false — but now the true must be invited too. The king who owns it must be called, invited, to that throne. Without Yoga this will not happen.
Many times this mishap has happened in our land too, and outside this land as well. Those religions which emphasized Sannyas lost Yoga gradually. For example, Jainism. Mahavira is a great yogi, but because the maximum emphasis in Jainism remained on renunciation, today the Jain monk is utterly unfamiliar with Yoga. The Jain monk has no relationship with Yoga at all. With Yoga, with meditation, with positive practice, his connections are cut; for it was thought that renunciation is enough. I eat nothing wrong, I sleep not in the wrong way, I do not speak the wrong, I do nothing wrong — having dropped the wrong altogether, a delusion arises in the mind that the right has been achieved. By dropping the wrong, the right does not happen. By dropping the wrong, only the possibility of the right arises. The right too has to be given birth. The right has to be born through positive effort.
Or as happened with Hinduism. Great emphasis was laid on Yoga — so the Hindu sadhu practices Yoga, practices asana, does everything — but his renunciation has become utterly feeble. Therefore, if you place a Jain muni and a Hindu sadhu side by side, the sharpness of renunciation of the Jain muni will stand out — in the Hindu sadhu’s renunciation nothing will be visible; nothing will be visible. But with the Hindu sadhu you will see the arrangements of Yoga; with the Jain monk you will not see any arrangement of Yoga. Both are crippled again. If these two are not together, they will be crippled.
From the proper process of negation and affirmation, experience is born. To attain the Supreme, negation and affirmation are two legs. Neither with the right leg alone will one walk, nor with the left — one must walk with both.
Walking is a very subtle action — and very delightful.
It should be understood a little.
If you are asked whether you walk with the left leg or with the right — then no one can walk with only the right leg, nor with only the left. The whole process of walking is this: when my left foot is placed on the earth, then my right foot can be lifted. Only because the left foot is resting on the ground can the right foot leave the ground. And when the right foot settles on the ground, then the left foot can leave the earth. One foot is at rest; one foot is moving. The foot at rest is the support for the foot that moves. The moving foot is an invitation ahead for the foot at rest. Between these two, that event occurs which we call motion, walking.
Negation and affirmation are two legs for the seeker. If the leg of affirmation is not placed firmly on the earth, and the leg of negation keeps flailing in the sky, there will be no movement. However much Sannyas there may be, without Yoga there will be no movement. And however much Yoga there may be, without Sannyas there will be no movement. Finding a harmony between Sannyas and Yoga becomes experience.
“Having purified the antahkaran through Sannyas and yogic practice, they become entitled to enter Brahmaloka.”
The purification of the antahkaran — the inner being becoming wholly pure — is itself entry into Brahmaloka. That which is hidden within us — the day it comes to its utterly pure form, into its own swabhava, into its swadharma — it becomes exactly what it is.
Understand this last word too.
What does impure mean? We say: water and milk were mixed, so the milk became impure. This is delightful. If the water was absolutely pure and the milk absolutely pure, then why did the two together become impure? They should have become doubly pure. The water was absolutely pure, the milk was absolutely pure — the two were mixed, and we say: they became impure. What became impure — the water or the milk? And why? If both were pure, the two pure together should have become doubly pure — supremely pure. But they became impure.
So what does impure mean? Impure means only this — that which is not the nature of water entered the water; that which is not the nature of milk entered the milk. The milk being pure means only this: that there was only the nature of milk in milk — then it was pure. And water being pure means: only the nature of water was in water — then it was pure.
Pure has only one meaning: that which is alien is not present. My own nature — let exactly that remain; no alien be present in it.
So what does it mean for the antahkaran to become pure? It does not mean that if a man does not steal his inner being is pure; that a man is not dishonest so his inner being is pure; that he does not touch money so his inner being is pure. No. For the antahkaran to be pure means: within a man now, other than his own innermost Atman, nothing else enters. Within him, he alone remains. Now nothing enters within him. Not theft, nor non-theft enters. Not violence, nor non-violence enters. Not ignorance, nor knowledge enters. Even nectar does not enter within — poison, of course, does not enter. No, nothing enters. Within, I remain exactly what I am. Other than that, nothing remains within me — then I am pure. This purity itself becomes Brahmajnana. For this purity nothing more remains to be done.
Religion is to attain to one's own swabhava. To become as it is my inner destiny to be — that is religion.
Therefore Krishna has laid great emphasis on Swadharma. But people think perhaps Swadharma means: if someone is a Hindu, let him remain Hindu; if someone is a Muslim, let him remain Muslim. These religions have nothing to do with Swadharma. Swadharma only means: whatever is within, whatever is the dharma of the Self, whatever is my swabhava — let me not deviate from it; let me abide in it.
Therefore Krishna has said: even to perish in one’s own dharma is right. To be unsuccessful in one’s own dharma is proper, rather than entering another’s dharma. But “another’s dharma” does not mean that the man of the temple should not enter the mosque, that the reader of the Quran should not enter the Gita. “Another’s dharma” means: other than me, all are “others.”
If Krishna can make this understood correctly — which is very difficult, because understanding does not depend only on the explainer; it depends half on the one who understands — if Krishna can make it understood, and Arjuna can understand it rightly, then Arjuna should sever all relation with Krishna to attain Swadharma. He should even forget Krishna. If Arjuna understands rightly, then at the end of the Gita he should say to Krishna: I have understood you completely, all my doubts are destroyed — now forgive me, I forget you. I shall not ask you now. Now I set about seeking that which is Swadharma.
In China there was a fakir, Hui Hai. When he went to his Master, the Master refused to become a guru. The more the Master refused, the more Hui Hai folded his hands, the more he beat his head at the door — but the Master said: No, I will not become your guru. If you want you may become my disciple — for becoming a disciple depends on you; how can I prevent that? But to become a guru depends on me — I will not become that. Because my entire teaching is only this — that entering one’s own Swadharma is the only way. So if I become your guru, I may pull you out of your Swadharma. You become a disciple — that is your work, you know that. And the day even your being a disciple dissolves, know then that you have understood me in full.
He would not agree, so Hui Hai remained only a disciple with him, without a guru. The guru would not agree to be a guru. Years later — the guru has died, a long time has passed — years later Hui Hai is celebrating a festival. That festival is like Guru Purnima in China. It is celebrated in the memory of the guru. People ask Hui Hai: you are celebrating — but who was your guru? You have never said. Tell us the name at least — in whose memory are you celebrating? Hui Hai says: He was a guru who taught me everything but refused to become my guru. And today I can say: if he had become my guru, I could not have learned what he wanted to teach me.
By not becoming a guru, he fulfilled the work of a guru — therefore I celebrate his memory. By not becoming a guru he fulfilled the work of being my guru — therefore I celebrate! He established me in myself. He prevented me, from all sides, from going outside myself. And there was a powerful fascination in me — had he accepted me, I would have given myself completely at his feet. And my entire stream would have turned outward. He cut that thread too. I had been freed from wife, from father, from brothers, from friends, from the world — one more outlet remained for me to go out — the guru — he freed me even from that. He was my guru because he established me in myself.
To be purified means: in the purity of the Self not even a trace of “other” should remain present — only the “Self” remain; only the “Self” remain — a single tone remain, mine alone — then Brahmajnana is attained.
Now I will read the whole sutra. In the end —
“Ultimately only those yogis are entitled to attain the Supreme Truth who come to know the assured meaning of the science hidden in Vedanta, purify the antahkaran through Sannyas and yogic practice, and ceaselessly strive to enter Brahman.”
Enough for today.
Now let us prepare for meditation.
This much for today’s morning talk. Now we will go for meditation. You have to do it so totally that nothing is left behind. No energy untouched — every energy must be brought to it, totally.
Spread out — far from each other. Tie blindfolds over the eyes. No one should do the experiment with open eyes. If you have no bandage, then too keep the eyes closed — one.
Second, do not run away from your place. Do not leave your place; on your own place dance, jump, rejoice — whatsoever has to be done.
Third, whatever is to be done is to be done by you — do not even touch another’s body. Do not push another’s body. Do your own experiment in your own place.
Get ready. Spread out a little. Do not crowd too much in one place, otherwise pushing and jostling happens. Spread out a little.
Create a space around you... feel that you can move easily... If someone feels like going naked, one can go. If anyone wants to be naked — to set aside clothes — one can set them aside. If you feel that by setting aside clothes you can express yourself more freely, you may remove them. Friends who have come just to watch, kindly stand quietly or sit quietly. Do not converse in between.
Good, tie the blindfolds. Now close your eyes... close your eyes and start the first step... deep, fast breathing... hammering by breathing. Strong breathing... let there be only breathing... stronger... stronger... stronger... put your whole power into the breath.
Seven minutes... stronger... stronger... three minutes are left... put your total strength in. Three minutes more to first step... bring your total energy to it... just breathing... fast breathing... breathing... breathing... use breathing as a hammering inside... fast... fast...
Two minutes... stronger... for one minute put your entire strength in — for one minute just go mad in breathing... breathing... stronger... then we shall enter the second stage...
Now enter the second step... enter the second stage...
Nine minutes... one minute more... with total strength — go mad... one minute... go mad completely...
Enter the third stage... dance... Hoo... Hoo... Hoo... Hoo... Hoo... Hoo... Hoo... Hoo... Hoo...
Five minutes... stronger... stronger... Hoo-Hoo... Hoo-Hoo... Hoo-Hoo... stronger... stronger... four minutes more... put your total strength in... strike... strike... Hoo-Hoo... three minutes...
One minute more... go completely mad... Hoo-Hoo... just go mad... stronger... stronger... stronger — put your whole strength in... stronger... Hoo-Hoo... Hoo-Hoo-Hoo...
Enough — now enter the fourth stage... become silent... enter the fourth stage... enter the silent stage... become silent... enter the fourth stage... become silent... become silent... sit down... lie down... fall as a corpse... become silent... stop all movement... let go... become silent... all has dissolved... silence... no sound, no movement... do not use the energy in any way... do not use the energy at all... become silent... the energy has awakened — let it work within — do not use it... do not use it in the body at all...
Place your right hand on the forehead and rub gently... at the place of the third eye, between the two brows — gently... rub slowly... and within, much will happen at that center... suddenly as if some door opens and only light spreads... no sound, no thing... let the work happen within... just rub... only light...
Now stop rubbing... all around, only light... become one with it... only light... drown in the ocean of light... sink... lose yourself, dissolve... light... light... and the density of light itself becomes the beginning of bliss... the moment you become one with light, fountains of bliss begin to burst... every hair, the heartbeat, each breath is filled with bliss... experience bliss, experience... all around is bliss... outside-inside there is bliss... drowned in bliss... all around is bliss... outside-inside there is bliss... drowned in bliss... become one...
Two minutes... bliss... bliss... bliss... every hair has filled with bliss... bliss... bliss... bliss... the density of bliss itself becomes the presence of the Paramatman... only by going deep into bliss does the experience of the Lord begin... He is present all around — here and now... experience... become one with bliss and His presence begins... experience the Paramatman present — all around, here and now... experience the Paramatman present — all around, only He is... outside-inside only He is... experience the Lord present — all around He alone surrounds... we have drowned in His very ocean and become one...
Now again place the palm of the right hand on the forehead and rub gently... suddenly a revolution happens within — the energy enters the higher planes... now raise both hands toward the sky and open the eyes and gaze into the sky... look into the sky, spread both hands... for the embrace of the sky... and let the sky look within — and whatever feeling arises in the heart, for two minutes you may express it... do not hesitate... let go... whatever feeling arises, let it be expressed... two minutes...
Now fold both hands and place your head at the feet of the Paramatman — and let a single feeling remain in the heart: the Lord’s grace is infinite, the Lord’s grace is infinite, the Lord’s grace is infinite.
Now return from the meditation... return...
The morning meditation is complete.