Maha Geeta #27

This is a very precious sutra. Try to understand each single word rightly.
'Karma done and undone...'

Man is not bound only by what he does; he is bound also by what he wants to do. Whether it was done or not does not make much difference; if the doing was desired, the bondage is created. Whether you stole or not — if you did, it becomes a crime; but even if you did not, the sin has already happened.
This is the difference between sin and crime. If you think it, the sin is done. No one can catch you. No court, no law can declare you a criminal — you can sit at home and keep thinking: to commit dacoity, to steal, to murder — who has not thought such thoughts!
Society has no jurisdiction over thought, until thought becomes an act. Therefore do not fall into the delusion that there is no sin in thinking; for once you have thought it, before the Divine you have become a sinner. You thought — that is enough; you have fallen. A wave of thought arose, even if it did not become an act, it makes no difference; impurity has already entered within you.
If you do it, it becomes a crime; if you do not do it but only think it, it becomes a sin. And from crime there are ways to escape; because from law, court, police — arrangements can be devised to evade, they have been devised. As many laws as are made, that many ways to bypass them also arise. After all, that is exactly the work of lawyers.
The word 'vakil' (advocate) belongs to the Sufis — and has been badly distorted. Originally 'wakil' meant: the one who will be your witness before God that you are true. Muhammad is a Wakil. He will testify before God: yes, this man is true. But then what a strange fall befell the word 'lawyer'! Now, whether you are false or true, whoever can testify and muster evidence that you are true; in fact, the more false you are and yet he can pile up proofs that you are true — that much greater a lawyer he is. If you are true and the lawyer proves you true, what value is there in his lawyering? Who would call him a lawyer? In our world we call him a lawyer who makes the false appear true, and the true appear false.
It was a Sufi word — wakil — and its meaning was: the Guru will be your wakil. He will give testimony before God: listen to my witness, this man is true. Jesus said to his disciples: 'Do not be afraid, in the final hour I will stand as your witness. Trust my testimony.' That is the original wakalat.
But ordinarily a 'lawyer' now means someone who tells you: do not worry; you sinned, you lied, you stole — no need to fret, there is a way to escape in the law. Man could never discover such a law for which he would not also find an escape. Man himself frames the laws; he will also find a way around them.
From crime you can escape — and often the big criminals do escape, the small ones are caught. Those who have no one to protect them, they get trapped. Those who have money, influence, property to save them, they escape. Big criminals are not caught. Big criminals become generals, they become politicians. Big criminals become men of history. The small criminals rot in the prisons.
But where thought is concerned, no one can save you. If the thought arises, you are fallen already. If it were such that you think now and after many births you fall, then in-between we could devise some arrangement, offer a bribe. There is no such arrangement. The moment the thought arises, you fall.
Have you not seen — when you think anger within, for you the anger has already happened! You boil within it. You burn, you are scorched. Whether you expressed anger outwardly or not is another matter. Within, blisters have formed, wounds have happened. That happens in the very mood of anger itself. In anger itself is the result of anger.
Therefore there is no trick to cheat the Divine. He has not kept the result far from the cause. Put your hand into fire — it is not that in this birth you put your hand and in the next birth you will burn; the moment the hand goes, it is burnt.
Here too man has invented devices. People say: if you do it now, you will pay in the next birth. What a pleasing idea! They are saying: commit the sin now, the fruit will come in the next life; at least for now there is this convenience! Who has gone to see the next birth! And by then we shall do some merit in-between, find some way to escape; we will perform worship, prayer, rituals; hire a priest, a pundit; build a temple, give charity, build a dharmashala — something will be done! For now nothing happens!
The pundits have explained to you that religion is on credit. This cannot be. Religion is as scientific as science. If science is cash, religion cannot be on loan. If you put your hand in fire you burn now. If you become angry you burn now. If you think ill, the ill is done.
By thought a man sins; and when he carries the sin into action, it becomes a crime. From crime there are ways to escape; but if you have entertained a bad thought, the event has already happened; now there is no facility to avoid it; what had to happen has happened.
Ashtavakra says: 'When have the done and the undone karmas — and the dualities, the wrestle of pleasure and pain — ever been quieted in anyone!'
He is saying something unique. He says: do not get into the business of quieting them, otherwise you will become even more unquiet. When have these ever been quieted in anyone!
Have you seen anyone whose pleasure and pain have fallen utterly silent? Mahavira too died of dysentery. Buddha died because poisoned food spread through his body — he died due to the poison. Jesus died hanging on a cross. Socrates drank hemlock and died. Raman had cancer; Ramakrishna had cancer. When have pleasure and pain ever been stilled! Pleasure and pain will keep moving — and so will thought!
From done and undone deeds there is absolutely no escape. How will you escape? You may say: we will sit absolutely still and do nothing — this is what the old-style sannyasi says: I shall sit and do nothing. But sitting is a karma. A thousand things will happen while you sit. If you sit, will you not breathe? If you breathe, ask a scientist — he says in a single breath millions of microorganisms die. There is killing, there is violence. Tie as many mouth-cloths as you wish, become a Jain Terapanthi muni, bind the cloth — it will make no difference. They will die dashing against your cloth. You will open your mouth, you will speak to explain to your listeners? That warm air coming out of your mouth will kill them. You will eat food, you will drink water; you will do something as long as life is — action will remain. And with every action something or other is happening. In every action some violence does occur. Life cannot be non-violent in an absolute sense. Run away, renounce everything — wherever you go, something will have to be done. Will you not at least beg?
Action will continue; it is an indispensable limb of life. Only when life becomes a zero does action become a zero. And when you do something, some thoughts will also go on. Now the sannyasi is sitting; he feels hunger — will the thought not arise: I am hungry? Even Mahavira must have had the thought that hunger has arisen, else why would he go for alms? Thought is natural; it will arise: now hunger is there. If a live coal lies on the path and even if Mahavira is coming, he will pass around it; the thought will arise in him too: there is a burning ember, do not place the foot upon it, the foot will be burnt. If you throw a stone towards Mahavira his eyelids will blink. At least that much thought will be there, that much wave will arise: a stone is coming, the eye may be hurt, blink!
Thought will arise — because thought too is a concomitant of life. As long as breath moves, thought will arise. What does this mean then? Does it mean there is no way for a man to be at peace? No, there is a way. Pointing to that very way Ashtavakra says: first understand which ways do not work. Running away will not work. Escaping from karma will not work. Fighting with thought will not work.
Kritakrite cha dvandvani kada shantani kasya va.
Tell me, Janaka: whose thoughts have ever become quiet, and when? Whose dualities, whose pains, have ever gone quiet?
Where there is life, there is duality. If you will be awake by day, you will sleep at night — the duality begins, the double processes arise. You will labor, then you will rest. If there is pleasure, behind it pain will come — just as night comes behind day. Behind night again day is approaching. Behind every pleasure is pain; behind every pain is pleasure — the chain is bound. If you draw the breath in, you will also release it, will you not? Otherwise you will not be able to draw it in again. If you release breath outward, it will go inward; if you draw inward, it will go out — duality will continue.
The whole movement of this life is dialectical. A man walks on two feet. Everything needs two to move. A bird flies with two wings. Flying needs two. Cut off one wing, the bird will fall. Cut off one leg, the man will fall.
Life moves by duality. The one who becomes non-dual falls that very instant. That is why you do not see God anywhere. Whatever is seen will be circled by duality. Where duality goes, the visible goes too; there the person becomes invisible. Life is the visibility of that which is invisible.
Therefore Ashtavakra says: when have the done and the undone, the dualities, ever been quiet! Do not get into this entanglement of quieting them.
People come to me. They say: there is much anger in the mind — how do we quiet it? I say to them: do not get into that hassle. Who has ever quieted anger? You be a witness — what is, is — and merely by witnessing it begins to quiet. But this peace is of a wholly different order.
It does not mean that waves will not arise; waves will arise, but you will become distant from them. Waves will arise, but your identification with them will break. You will not think: these waves are mine. Hunger will happen — you will not think: I am hungry; you will understand: the body is hungry. A thorn will prick your foot and you will understand: the body has pain. Thought will arise — in you too and in Mahavira too. In you it arises: ah, I am in pain! In Mahavira it arises: ah, a thorn has entered the body! When you die the thought arises in you: I have died! When Raman dies the thought arises in him: the body's days are over. Death will be — it is bound to birth — a duality.
'Thus, knowing this for certain, in this world become indifferent, become unbound by vows, and devoted to renunciation.'
Each word is like a Kohinoor!
'Knowing thus for certain...'
Evam jnatveha...
— knowing thus!
What does 'knowing for certain' mean? Not by hearing; not borrowed from another's knowing — rather by observing life. By seeing life in such a way that duality cannot stop here; how can thought end here? On the ocean's surface the waves will go on. There are so many gusts of wind — the sun will rise, clouds will gather, winds will blow, tempests will come — on the surface all will go on. Only this much can happen: do not remain on the surface; slide, slide down to your center.
Within each is a place where no wave reaches. Do not try to stop the wave; just slide to where waves do not reach. You sit outside; it is morning, winter days, the sun feels tender and sweet; after a while the sun grows hot, climbs higher, you begin to perspire — now what do you do? Do you sprinkle water on the sun to cool it down a little? You quietly slide into your house's shade, you move under a roof.
If some man brings a tub to cool the sun, you will call him mad. You will say: 'Fool! Who has ever cooled the sun!' That is what Ashtavakra is saying: when the sun becomes too hot, slide into your roof, and if hotter, move into the innermost room, and if hotter still, go down into the underground chambers where no sunray ever reaches. Keep sliding inward!
Within each is a place where no wave ever reaches; that is your center; that is your nature. In that depth lies your true being.
'Knowing thus for certain — evam jnatveha — knowing thus...'
But if I say it, it will not be so. If Ashtavakra says it, even then it will not be so. The Vedas and the Koran have been saying it — nothing happens. Until you know it; until it becomes your own realization...
Knowledge is not obtained free and not on loan — it comes through life’s bitter and sweet experiences; it comes by living; it comes by enduring the pain and the tapas of living.
'Knowing thus for certain, a man becomes udasin in this world.'
The word 'udasin' is very dear. 'Asin' you understand — to sit; 'asana'. 'Udasin' means: seated in oneself; settled within one's depth; sliding within to where no outer wave penetrates.
Eugen Herrigel has written a sweet incident about his Zen master. Herrigel was in Japan and for three years learned archery from a Zen master. Archery is a medium for teaching meditation. Three years had completed and Herrigel barely passed — for Western intelligence understands technique, it is technological; but to understand anything deeper it is greatly hampered.
The Zen master would say: shoot the arrow, but shoot as though you have not shot it. Now this is most difficult. Herrigel was a master archer. His targets were one hundred percent accurate. But the master said: no, as yet there is no Zen in it; there is no meditation in it.
Herrigel said: my shots are perfectly on target — what more do you require?
This is Western logic — if every shot is correct, one hundred percent, what more can be wrong? But the Zen master said: I am not concerned whether your shot is right; the question is whether you are right. Even if the shot misses, it will do. Who cares for the target? Take care that you do not miss.
It was very difficult. He said: shoot in such a way that you are not the doer; you are only the witness... Let the Divine shoot, let the energy of the cosmos shoot; but you do not shoot.
This is very difficult. Herrigel will say: if I do not shoot, then why should I even place the arrow on the string? If I place it, I place it. If I draw the string, I draw it — who else is there to draw? And when I aim, I aim — who else is there to see?
Three years passed and the master said to him: enough now, it will not come to you. This thing will not happen, you should go back.
On the last day he dropped the effort... He thought: it is not going to happen; either this is some kind of madness. He went to say farewell to the master. The master was teaching the other disciples. In these three years Herrigel had seen the master shoot many times, but he had not seen what he now suddenly saw. He had not seen it because he was filled with his own craving: how to learn it? How to and how to? There was great inner tension. Today the business of learning was over. He had come to bid goodbye — to make a last salutation. Whatever else, this master had worked hard with him for three years. He sat on a bench, the master was teaching others. When the master would be free, Herrigel would seek his pardon and take leave. Sitting empty, for the first time he saw: ah, the master lifts the bow — but as though he has not lifted it. No tension in the lifting. He sets the arrow, but as if indifferent. Raises his hand, draws it — but as though purposeless; empty; within no desire that it should be so; as though someone else is getting it done!
Do you see the difference? When you go to meet your beloved, your pace is of one kind; when you carry another’s message — someone gives you a letter to deliver to his beloved — you slip it unconcerned into your pocket; what is it to you! You go and deliver it; but there is no pace, no urgency, no fever that there is when you go to your own beloved; you are only a messenger.
The postman comes — you have won a lakh of rupees in a lottery — he arrives just the same as if he were handing you a two-anna envelope. You are shocked: what kind of madman! A lakh has come to me and you come just the same as always — the same long face, the same bicycle! But what is it to him? A messenger is a messenger.
Herrigel saw that the master was right, and he had been missing. He stood up — and was a little amazed, for he felt: I have not stood up; something has stood up! He went to the master, took the bow and arrow from his hand, set it, loosed the shot — and the master was overjoyed, he embraced him. He said: it has happened! Today 'that' shot. Today you were indifferent. In three years what could not happen, happened in the last moment.
In his happiness he invited the master to dine. The master came, and as they sat in a seven-story building to eat, suddenly an earthquake came. In Japan earthquakes are common. All ran, the whole building shook. Herrigel himself ran. In running he forgot even where the master was. There was a jam on the stairs, as he had invited some twenty-five to thirty people. He looked back — the master sat there with eyes closed; where he had been sitting, he still sat. This so charmed Herrigel — the master's serenity, the happening of the quake, death standing at the door, the building might fall any moment, a seven-story building trembling from its roots — and the master sits so unperturbed as though nothing is happening! He forgot to run. Such a spell he felt in the master's presence! Such a depth as he had never known! He came and sat beside the master; he was trembling, yet he thought: when a guest is seated in the house and the host runs away, it is unbecoming — so I too will sit; whatever happens to him will happen to me. The quake came and went; it stayed for a moment. The master opened his eyes and, at the very point where their conversation had been broken by the quake and people's running, he began again.
Herrigel said: leave that, I remember nothing now of what we were speaking; that matter has gone — I want to know something else. What happened with this earthquake? We all ran, you did not run?
The master said: did you not see, I too ran. You ran outward, I ran inward. Your running was full of foolishness, for where you were going there too was the earthquake. Fools, where were you going? If on the seventh floor there is an earthquake, is there none on the sixth? None on the fifth? None on the fourth? Is there none on the first? Even if you somehow get outside the house, there is an earthquake on the street too. You were running within the earthquake. There is no sense in your running. I slid to a place where no earthquake ever comes — I slid within. This sliding inward is 'udasin' — seated in oneself.
The earthquake can reach the body, at most it can reach the mind; beyond that it has no passage. There is no way for an earthquake to reach your Atman. For their modes of being are so different that there can be no meeting. An earthquake comes — surely there will be effect on the body, because the body is made of this earth, of the very ground in which the quake comes. Their waves are one. They are fashioned of the same metal, the same substance. If the whole earth trembles, your body not trembling cannot be; it will tremble.
That is what Ashtavakra is saying: poor fool, who has ever been utterly quieted? Who has ever gone beyond pleasure and pain? To a certain limit all will tremble. An earthquake comes — will it come only to your body and not to Mahavira's? If Mahavira is there his body will break too. Body is dust, and the rules of dust will work. And when the earthquake comes and the body is shaken, the mind will also be disturbed; because the mind is the slave of the body; because the mind is the servant of the body; because the mind is the body's device to protect itself, its security.
When hunger arises, the mind says 'hungry' — because the body is dumb, mute; it has enlisted a speaking helper. When thirst arises, the mind says 'thirsty'; the body cannot speak.
As you may have heard, a blind man and a lame man became friends — both were beggars, supporting each other. The blind could not see, the lame could not walk. The blind could walk, the lame could see — their friendship bore fruit. The blind would carry the lame on his shoulders and both would beg. Alone both were helpless; together they became very capable.
In the body an event happens, in the mind an inscription occurs. The mind and the body are conjoined. Psychologists even say: do not talk as if there are two things, mind and body — it is one 'mindbody'. One event — with an outside face and an inside face. In contemporary psychology instead of 'body' and 'mind' they speak of 'psychosomatic' — one unit.
Therefore what happens in the body, its waves reach the mind. The truth is: it need not happen in the body for the waves to reach; sometimes they reach before the body is touched. Someone is approaching you with a knife to stab — the body has not yet been hit, but the mind receives the news in advance.
The work of the mind is precisely to give the news in advance: beware, this man is coming to stab you. When you are asleep and someone comes to stab, the mind sleeps; the body is present; but the body is blind, it sees nothing. Someone may come and stab, and there will be no warning. When you are awake the mind is alert. The mind is like the radar in an airplane. The radar sees two hundred miles ahead, because the speed of the plane is so great — faster than sound — that if it does not see far the accident will happen. One second can traverse two hundred miles. If an object comes in front and only then you see, you are finished; there is no time between seeing and saving. The radar sees two hundred, six hundred, a thousand miles — clouds, lightning, rain — what is there.
Mind is a radar. It sees: who is coming to stab? It sees: this tree is falling — move away! It sees: there are thorns on the path — avoid them. But it is the servant of the body, devoted to the body's service. It is the refined energy of the body.
Hence when the body trembles, the mind will tremble. Sometimes the body has not yet trembled and the mind trembles — if someone says: an earthquake is going to come; the body senses nothing, but the mind is shaken by the possibility.
In Peking, people camped outside in tents for many days — only by the possibility that an earthquake might come! The mind trembled, was afraid.
Here if someone shouts 'Fire! Fire!' many among you will run. Even if there is no fire you will run; where is the facility to investigate in that moment? The mind hears 'fire' and runs.
If someone only says 'lemon' and instantly saliva begins to flow in your mouth! The lemon has not yet entered the body, but the lemon-word — and inside saliva starts to flow! The mind is preparing: the lemon is near. The word has come, then the reality must be coming too.
The Zen master said to Herrigel: you ran, but your running was futile — you were running within the earthquake. I too ran, though you did not see it; I ran inward. Instantly I severed my identification with body and mind: an earthquake can happen to these; friendship with them is not wise just now. Instantly I separated myself. The body kept trembling, the mind kept trembling — I sat inside and watched. If the quake had grown, the body would die, the mind break and scatter; nothing of me was going to happen. Nainam chhindanti shastrani — no weapon can cut it; nainam dahati pavakah — fire cannot burn it.
'When have the done and the undone karmas, and the dualities, ever been quieted! Knowing thus for certain, in this world become udasin, become nirveda; be without vows and devoted to renunciation.'
You have heard the word 'udasin'. But perhaps you have never understood its exact meaning. People think 'udasin' is related to 'udas' — depressed. They think: those who have become depressed with life are udasin. 'Udas' has nothing to do with 'udasin'. One who is depressed with life cannot be udasin. To be depressed only means your intelligence has not awakened; otherwise there is nothing here to be depressed about. There is nothing here to be elated about either. There is nothing to gain or to lose here. Neither gain nor loss. If gain were possible you would be elated; if loss came you would be depressed; but here there is neither gain nor loss.
Therefore 'udasin' has no meaning derived from 'udas'. Whatever linguists may say, I have no use for it. I speak to you of the science of the self, not of grammar. Udasin means: seated within — ud-asin — seated in one's own interior. Becoming a witness there; and all the world, outer and inner, seen as mere spectacle, a play.
The one who knows rightly — Ashtavakra says — becomes udasin. He then no longer says: I must become quiet. He says: neither can I be quiet nor unquiet; I am the seer. This business of quiet and unquiet arises from identification with mind. He does not say: I must be happy; because to be happy and to be unhappy go together. Two wings are needed to fly. You want to fly with a single wing of happiness — you are craving the impossible; it cannot succeed. The more you seek to be happy, the more unhappy you will be. He who has known says: now neither to be happy nor to be unhappy; neither quiet nor unquiet.
People come to me. They say, we want to learn meditation, because we want to become peaceful. They do not even know the meaning of meditation. Meditation means: that inner state where there is neither peace nor unrest. Only there is true peace — where even 'peace' is not. Because as long as 'peace' is there, the possibility of unrest remains.
You must have seen sometimes at home: someone gets interested in meditation and sits quiet. If a child laughs out loud, he becomes disturbed. What kind of peace is this? Or you sit in a meditation hall, meditating, and your wife drops a cup — and precisely at such a moment she will — and you flare up: my meditation disturbed; the neighbor put on the radio and you are disturbed; the neighbor is very irreligious, a sinner, will go to hell, he ruined my meditation!
That which is corrupted is not meditation. That by which you are shaken is not meditation. If cups breaking, radios playing, a child's laughter scatter it, it is not. You were somehow holding yourself together, but that 'holding together' was only control, not a deep experience. You were near the surface, perhaps dipped the head, but were very close to the surface. A little shock from outside and you are disarrayed.
Meditation is neither peace nor unrest. Meditation is the witnessing-state of consciousness in which you see peace arise and you do not become attached; in which you see unrest arise and you are not agitated. You say: this is the sport of the mind, it will continue; these are waves of the ocean, they will keep moving — what have I to do with them! You sit apart, udasin, and keep watching.
Evam jnatveha nirvedad bhava...!
'Nirveda' has exactly the meaning of 'udasin'. Understand it.
Nirveda means: a condition in which no wave of emotion remains related to you. 'Veda' means a wave of feeling; 'veda' also means a wave of knowing. That is why we call our scriptures 'Veda'. That is why we call suffering 'vedana' — a wave of feeling, pain surrounds you. Nirveda means: where neither the wave of knowing remains nor the wave of feeling. For the wave of knowing arises in the head and the wave of feeling arises in the heart — and when you stand beyond both; where neither feeling arises nor knowing arises; where it does not seem that I am to know something, nor that I am to feel something — when, beyond knowledge and feeling, you remain only a witness; where there is no identification with any wave. These two waves are within you; when you become the third — that is nirveda. That is the meaning of udasin. He who has attained nirveda has become udasin.
'Knowing thus for certain, become udasin in the world, unvowed (avratī) and devoted to renunciation.'
A very precious thing now comes — 'avratī'! You will be surprised, because you say: 'vratī' — one should be vowed! We say: such and such a man is a great renunciate and vowed! When we want to honor someone greatly we say: great renunciate, vowed! But Ashtavakra says: avratī.
Ashtavakra is certainly a wondrous revolutionary. He says: one who takes vows will be deceived. Because a vow is force. A vow means stubbornness, insistence. 'Avratī' means: one who has no insistence; who has no agenda; who does not say: it must be thus.
Understand: a man is a thief. He goes to a temple and takes a vow that he will not steal. What will happen within him? The man is a thief. Vows do not stop stealing. If it were so, all would take vows and become saints. He has taken a vow in a temple, that I will not steal. He bows at a saint's feet and says: bless me that my vow be fulfilled, that I will not steal. He declares before the community that I will not steal now. What is he doing? He is setting his ego against his theft. He is saying now before the group, before a thousand people; if he steals again he will have to swallow his spit. People will say: ah, you fell!
And when someone takes a vow, society puts garlands on him, takes out processions, prints photos in newspapers, the saints bless him, saints become witnesses, from all sides society rains flowers of praise. A vowed man gets such praise that his ego becomes strong. Now a hindrance arises before him: if he goes to steal he will need the courage to lose so much ego.
As much as you honor the vowed man, that much his ego grows. And now he sets this ego to fight his old habit. That is the entirety of a vow. There is nothing else in it.
Now think: he escapes stealing and gets trapped in ego — this is no liberation; theft was better than this. Theft was not so bad. This is to escape a well and fall into a ditch. And even theft will not be destroyed, it will smolder within; above, the flag of the ego will flutter, within theft will smolder. And inside, a constant conflict, a 24-hour battle will go on.
Now suppose he finds a lakh of rupees lying by the roadside — great difficulty! What to do? Now should he save the money or save the ego? One hand will reach to pick it up, the other will restrain it: what are you doing! This is what society calls 'conscience'. Conscience is a deep device of society. It gives you a certain kind of ego which you call conscience. From childhood you are told: you are very noble, born in a great house; Hindu, Muslim, Christian! Keep in mind your honor, your family, your lineage, your clan, your religion, your nation! Remember who you are! You are no ordinary person. You are Hindu, or Muslim, or Christian! The rest are ordinary.
When Mulla began to die, people heard his prayer to God: O Lord, I have stolen many times — this is true; and many times I fell from my vow of non-stealing. I have looked at others' women with bad eyes — this is true; I am an adulterer. And it is not only that I did big thefts; I stole even the neighbors' chickens. And I am false everywhere, a liar. Lying has become my habit; truth never came to my lips. I am wicked. At the smallest matter I quarrel easily, I hit easily. Not only that, I even murdered one man. And murderous thoughts have often arisen in my mind. All this is true; but I will say one thing: I never lost my religion!
Now this is amusing! What is this religion? I never lost my 'deen' — remained always a Muslim! I never became a Christian or a Hindu — remained always a Muslim! I never lost my religion! Remember this: I may have done countless bad deeds, but I never lost my religion!
People are saving their 'religion'. Religion too becomes part of ego: caste, prestige, respectability...
And think a little: you have sworn not to steal — and the mind of the thief is there and the ego is there; now there will be conflict between the two; a war will arise within you, a Mahabharata will rage within. In a rush of enthusiasm you heard a saint's discourse, he frightened you that if lust remains you will rot in hell. He drew clear and colored pictures, three-dimensional, that there are flames of fire, and cauldrons of oil boiling, and you will be thrown into those cauldrons; you will not even die and you will be fried and boiled, and worms will bore through your flesh, and still you will not die and you will be full of holes. He painted such pictures that you were terrified. In that emotional panic you stood and said: I take the vow of brahmacharya.
Now dead! By the time you return home and quiet down, that agitation settles, you move away from the temple air, you will remember: what have I done? A noose around my neck! Became a vowed man! And people clapped. People always clap when someone is turning into a fool. Beware of people's clapping.
There was a rare fakir: Mahatma Bhagwandin. He would sometimes stay with me. I was young, but he had great affection for me. When he passed through my village he would surely stay. He had one trait: if while he spoke someone clapped, he would be very annoyed. He would stand up at once: now I will not speak — why did you clap? I asked him: people are clapping and you get so angry? He said: people clap only when a man says something foolish. I must have made a mistake. First, these fools cannot understand truth; only when I say something wrong will they understand — then they clap. The moment they clap, I immediately know I have erred.
He was right. As people are, so it seems. People clap for what suits them. When you clap for someone's vow of celibacy, what do you mean? You are saying: we too want to take it, but not yet. You are brave, good; you step ahead, good. You are becoming a martyr, good — go. Our blessings are with you.
But these same people who clapped will now keep watch. They will see: are you sitting in a cinema after taking a vow of celibacy? Sitting in a hotel, what are you doing? In a club, what are you doing? With whose wife are you walking?
One of my sannyasins — a young man — took sannyas. Some days later he came and said: give my wife sannyas too. I asked: what is the matter? He said: I am poor; now when I go with my wife in these ochre clothes people stop me: whose wife are you taking away, swami? People may not be religious themselves, but they remain eager to make others religious! 'Whose wife are you taking?' They create fuss. Give her sannyas too.
I gave her sannyas. After eight days he came again: my son too... Because people say: Baba-ji, whose child are you kidnapping? Ochre is dangerous, because people's expectations are there.
People will clap, garland you — do not forget the noose hidden in their garland. They put their hand upon your neck, now they will say: where are you going? What are you doing? How do you sit? With whom do you speak? How long do you sleep? Do you rise at Brahmamuhurta? They will keep watch everywhere. They will take revenge for their clapping. And you are dead — you are in misery; because if lust could vanish by oath, such an easy thing, the whole world would be free of lust. Now this vow will pull one way and lust another, and between the two you will be crushed. Between two millstones your thorough repair will be done! Again and again you will fall into desire and again and again you will haul yourself out and again and again fall. Whatever self-respect you had will be destroyed. You will find: there is no one as sinful as I.
People go to temples and return with only one understanding: no one is as sinful as we are.
Ashtavakra says: 'Avratī! Tyagaparayan!'
I say the same to you. Let your understanding be your only vow; there is no need of any other vow. If the thing is understood, that is enough. For this no social approval, no honor is required. If you understand, if brahmacharya begins to have flavor for you — very good; now what need of vow? A vow only reveals that taste has not come, only a greed has arisen. A greed for brahmacharya arises — so a vow.
If you had really understood, you would never swear: I swear I will always add two and two as four. You know two and two are four — what is there to vow? And if you go to a temple or mosque and swear: O Master, bless me, from now on I will always add two and two as four — it is clear you are deranged. And whoever blesses you is further gone than you. Your mind is broken. You suspect you will add two and two as five. To fight that suspicion you are making prior arrangements. You know your inner state that when I add, two and two will become five. 'No-no, swear, arrange in advance!' Then within you, you know two and two will become five, therefore take a vow and create a block so two and two will be four. But this is not knowledge; this is greed.
The greedy man becomes vowed; the man of understanding is avratī. This does not mean there is no revolution in his life — only in his life does revolution happen! Have there been revolutions because of vows? If revolution could happen by vow, it would mean by imposing from the outside, by forceful insistence, the soul would change — that cannot be. By vows you can become a soldier, not a sannyasin. By vows you might train, create a habit in a particular manner, but the sunrise will not happen in your life. Sunrise happens to the avratī.
Avratī means only this: do what is seen by you — but why announce it? Why seek anyone's approval? If you truly see, it will begin to manifest as conduct on its own. Understanding necessarily transforms into conduct. It has never been otherwise and cannot be otherwise. So why the vow?
Someone comes and asks: give me the vow of celibacy. I say: do not do this madness. I cannot partake in your madness. If brahmacharya begins to have flavor for you — flow in that direction, but no vow! Someone says: make me swear that I will meditate daily, never miss. I do not make you swear; I do not participate in any sin. If you understand, you will meditate. And if meditation begins to have flavor, that very flavor will become your discipline. Today you will do it; tomorrow you may miss; the next day you will feel: something slipped, something was lost, the day went in a haze. Then the following day you will again meditate. By doing and doing you will know that when you meditate a brightness is born, a purity, a cleanliness! By doing you will realize that you remain fresh, as though newly bathed! In the midst of 24 hours of all life's entanglements you remain unentangled. Disturbances are there, they go on; work, business, the hurly-burly — but inside some link remains to the inner self. And there all is quiet; no hurly-burly, no business, no disturbance. By doing you will find that if a day comes when there is no time — either skip food or meditate — you will meditate. But not because of a vow. Due to a vow it would be a deception.
I used to go often to Rajasthan. On the way I had to change trains, waiting two or three hours. At dusk I would see some Muslim friends spread their cloth on the platform and offer namaz. I would stroll around the platform. Those who were praying kept looking back again and again to see whether the train had arrived!
Once a maulvi was traveling in my compartment. We had become acquainted. At that station too he spread his cloth and began his namaz, but kept turning his head. I went behind him and turned his head firmly in one direction. He could not speak, being in prayer, though greatly annoyed.
When he finished he was very angry: why did you turn my head? I said: either turn it this way, because you cannot remember God and the train together. If you wish to remember the train, drop this nonsense — who is forcing you? I am not! If you wish to remember God, then forget this train at least for half an hour; it will depart — at most what will happen? God remained in your hand and the train left — what is lost? Nothing — another train comes.
If in the remembrance of God you cannot forget even this much... I told him a Sufi story. A Sufi was offering namaz and a woman came running, bumping him, stepping on his cloth. He was very annoyed, but being in prayer could not speak. He hurried to finish so he could scold her: what ill-mannered woman — do you not even know how to behave when someone prays? You pushed me, stepped on my cloth?
She said: forgive me, I do not remember at all. I was going to meet my lover. I do not even remember where you were sitting, who was praying, who was not praying. Forgive me. My lover was coming after years; I was going to receive him outside the village. Forgive! But let me ask you one thing: I was going to my lover — one who is momentary; you were going to your Beloved — did you not notice that my foot stepped on your cloth and that I pushed you? You were meeting God? Then my prayer is better than yours. Granted that I am trapped in someone's body — and this attachment is not good — but at least it is. And you are attached to God — but where is that attachment?
They say the Sufi's life was transformed by this. He said: now I will pray only when there is love; otherwise what is the use?
Not by vow — by understanding. Not by vow — by love. Not by vow, not by rules, not by any outer discipline — by inner feeling!
'Be avratī and devoted to renunciation!'
A great contradiction, a great paradox. He says: do not take vows — but let your understanding itself become renunciation; that is all. Let renunciation not have to be brought in, let it trail behind understanding like a shadow.
Evam jnatveha nirvedad bhava tyagaparo 'vrati.
Remember it. This too is the sutra of my sannyas.
Avratī tyagapara bhava.
Become a renunciate — not by swearing to renunciation. Become a renunciate — not by deciding with insistence that one must be a renunciate. Become a renunciate — not because renunciates receive honor, respect, prestige. Become a renunciate — avrat, without any greed, without any rule, without any insistence, in a spirit of non-insistence. Become a renunciate — through understanding. When rubbish is seen as rubbish, it falls. Do not vow to drop rubbish. Make the effort to see it as rubbish. Knowing is renunciation. Only those who are awake and see can drop.
'O beloved, seeing the worldly doings, the arising and the passing away — only some fortunate one has had the longing for life, the lust to enjoy, and the desire to know, fall silent.'
Only some blessed one! Seeing rightly the worldly conduct!
Observe rightly what is going on in life! Do not go hunting in scriptures. In scriptures you will find rules and from scripture vows will arise. Seek in life — there understanding happens and understanding requires no vow. Understanding is sufficient. It needs no support from vows. A vow is a blind man's stick; and understanding is the eye of one who can see. A seeing man needs no stick. A vow is a crutch for the lame. He who has no understanding needs a vow; he walks with crutches. But one whose organs are healthy does not need a crutch. He walks on his own legs. Vows are borrowed; understanding is one's own.
Kasyapi tata dhanyasya lokacheshtavalokanat.
Jiviteccha bubhuksha cha bubhutsopashamam gatah.
O dear, by rightly observing worldly ways — lokacheshta avalokanat — by waking up and seeing what goes on in life.
One is being born, another is dying — add the account! Add this up: whoever is born dies. One is poor and miserable — he is unhappy. Look at the rich — wealth is there, everything is there — and he is unhappy. It seems here no one can become happy. The unsuccessful weeps, the successful weeps. The ugly weeps, the beautiful weeps. The sick weeps, the healthy weeps. Here it is as if only lamentation, a clamor of wailing.
'By rightly observing life, only some blessed one has let the longing to live, the lust to enjoy, and the desire to know, fall silent.'
He speaks of three: the longing to live — jiviteccha! If you look at life, can you still desire to live? What is there in life that is worthy of desire? People do not look at life carefully; they begin desiring the next world. Then vows arise. If you look carefully at this world, the longing to live is dissolved, it remains no more. And he whose longing to live is no more, his is the beyond. He whose longing to live is not, his is the ultimate life.
Understand the difference — very subtle. He who has seen the futility of this life, he does not desire any kind of life. His longing dissolves just by seeing.
I have heard, a young monk was passing through a village. He had become a monk in childhood. Father died, mother died, no one to raise him. An old sannyasi raised him in the village; then the old sannyasi went to the Himalayas and the child went with him. He grew up in the Himalayas. When the old sannyasi died he was returning to the world. He was young, healthy. He entered his first village and saw a wedding procession going! He had never seen one. Bands were playing. A youth was sitting on a horse, elders walking behind. He asked: what is this? Someone said: a wedding. He asked: a wedding — what is that?
Someone took him aside: do you know nothing? The one on the horse is the groom; he will be married to a girl.
He asked: and then what?
Someone took him aside and explained further: the marriage will happen; they will enjoy each other; then they will have a child.
The wedding procession passed. The monk, as night fell, slept on the parapet of a well outside the village — it was summer. He dreamt that he was seated on a horse, bands were playing, the procession moved; the marriage happened; he was lying with his wife; and the wife said: move a little, give me some space. He moved a little — and fell into the well. The whole village gathered. Their surprise grew because lying in the well he was laughing heartily. They asked: why are you laughing? He said: how can I not laugh! Take me out and I will tell you my story.
They pulled him out. They asked: why are you laughing? To fall in a well is death — and you laugh? He said: it became laughable. A dream-woman made me fall into a well; what would real women be doing to people!
He said: saved! The experience of the dream awakened me. Now no more weddings, no more riding horses. Enough experience. A false dream-woman pushed me so easily that while sleeping I fell in a well; I have slept on wells all my life and never fallen. This woman said, move a bit... What would real women be doing!
If there is understanding, even a dream can awaken. If there is no understanding, even a whole life passes and you do not add it up.
Lokacheshta avalokanat...
The observation of worldly movements!
Kasyadhanyasya api...
Only some blessed one observes life’s movements. Most go to scriptures to seek what is raining all around; what is present all around, they hunt in words; what is present every moment and can be caught from anywhere, for that they get into fruitless arguments and doctrines and debates.
Kasyadhanyasya api...
Therefore Ashtavakra says: some blessed one by rightly observing life...
Jiviteccha bubhuksha cha bubhutsopashamam gatah.
Becomes free of three — the desire to live, the lust to enjoy, and the desire to know.
You will be surprised: even the desire to know — that I should know more and more, become a pundit, a great pundit, know everything in the world — that too is bondage. Desire alone is bondage. And there are only three desires. Either a man is filled with the desire to live — he earns wealth, seeks status and prestige. Or filled with the lust to enjoy — he drinks, visits prostitutes, runs around seeking enjoyment. Or a third type seeks knowledge — studies scriptures, sharpens reasoning, refines doctrines, remains in debates. These are the three ordinary kinds.
The fourth is the blessed one whose has no longing; who wants neither to enjoy, nor to know, nor to live; who says: seen it all — there is nothing in it.
'All this is impermanent, stained by the threefold miseries, void of essence, condemnable, to be abandoned — having known thus for certain, he attains peace.'
These three runnings bring only the three miseries.
Anityam sarvam evedam tapatraya-dushitam.
Asaram ninditam heyam iti nishchitya shamyati.
This all is impermanent, essenceless — such knowing! By observation — remember! Not from scripture, not borrowed — by observation. By the experience of your own eye. Adhi-daivika, adhi-bhautika, adhyatmika — the three kinds of suffering: bodily, mental, spiritual. This is all that is available in the world; nothing else is attained. Suffering and only suffering; finally only ashes come into your hands; nothing else.
Asaram ninditam heyam iti nishchitya shamyati.
Knowing thus that all is vain, condemnable, essenceless, peace becomes available.
Iti nishchitya shamyati...
The moment this certainty happens — that this world is essenceless — peace blossoms.
'What time is there, what state, in which a man has no dualities, no pleasure and pain? Disregarding them and being content with what comes, a man attains perfection.'
There is no such time, as people imagine, as the Puranas say, that once there was. Jain scriptures say: there was a time 'sukshma-sukshma' when there was only happiness; then came 'sukshma-dukshma', a mixture of happiness and pain; then 'dukshma-dukshma', only suffering. Or the Hindus say: there was Satya Yuga when only bliss was, a Ram-rajya. But these are mind's imaginations.
Two types of fantasists have created two views of the world. The first say: in the past there was heaven — all ancient religions say so. The second, the new madness in the world — communism — says: in the future there will be heaven. But know this: heaven never was. Not even in the time of Rama was there Ram-rajya. If there had been, there would have been no place for the Ramayana. If only happiness were, there would be no news. From where would the Ram-story be woven? Who would kidnap Sita? Even Rama had to suffer fourteen years of exile. All kinds of conflicts and politics. His stepmother deceived him. His father proved lustful and greedy. At the wrong advice of his young wife — but she was young — he sent his dearest son out into the jungle. And you say Ram-rajya?
Even when Rama brought Sita back from Lanka, the first words he spoke were not very good. He said: do not think I waged this war for you; it was for prestige and family. Then at a mere remark of a washerman to his wife: what do you think of me? I am not Rama! A washerman was angry when his wife spent a night outside and he said: I am no Rama — you think I will accept you after you have stayed in Ravana's house! Because of this small matter, even after the fire-ordeal, Sita was thrown into the forest. There must have been more politics than Ram-rajya. If it had been so, he would have gone to the forest with Sita. If it was all about propriety, then he could have taken Sita and gone himself too.
But stories say there was Ram-rajya. There were poor, destitute, suffering and oppressed — all kinds of people. All kinds of disturbances, all kinds of deceits, all kinds of cunning politics. When was there only happiness? People got tired of that imagined past; they invented new utopias. The new myth-makers are Marx, Engels, Lenin, Mao. They created new Puranas: it will be in the future.
One thing is certain: no one says 'now' — because if you say now, who will believe? Suffering is what is visible. Only suffering is visible. Either say: once there was; or: it will be. With 'once' there is no decisive way; 'future' is even more cunning — you cannot disprove it. Therefore communism is more cunning. It says: it will be; the golden age is coming. Sacrifice yourself for it and it will come.
Ashtavakra says: 'What time, what state is there in which man had no dualities, no pleasure and pain?'
Do not wait for any time, do not wait for any condition. A revolution in consciousness is needed. How will it happen?
'By disregarding them, and being content with what comes, a man attains perfection.'
Yatha praptavarti siddhim!
With what is attained! With what has come! The one who lives in what is given attains liberation.
Dwell in what is. Do not desire more. It has never been otherwise and never will be. It has always been so. The story is the same forever. Ages change; man does not. Things change; consciousness does not. In all time it has been like this. The same happenings, entanglements, disturbances — more or less — but the same.
'Who attains perfection?'
Ashtavakra says: the one who, as things are, as they come, as is present — yatha praptavarti — who accepts what is.
Then no running is born. No striving, no ambition, no craving. Contentment arises that what is, is right. What is cannot be otherwise; it has never been otherwise; it will never be otherwise — therefore do not desire otherwise.
'By disregarding them and by contentment in what is given, a man attains perfection.'
'Among seers, ascetics, yogis there are many opinions. Seeing this, who — having turned away in indifference — does not become quiet?'
This too is very important.
Nana matam maharshinām...
The great seers have many doctrines; philosophers have big theories. If you get entangled in them, there is no shore; you will keep wandering. Ascetics have many doctrines; yogis have many doctrines. There is a glut of doctrines. Life is one; there are many views to explain it. Whoever you will listen to will seem right. Whoever you will read will seem right. Certainly, more talented than you have invented them — seers have invented them. They have filled them with great power of logic. You will be impressed. But when you hear the other, the other will seem right. And the third will seem right... Thus you will be neither here nor there. You will become a beggar at every door.
Ashtavakra says: seeing that there are many doctrines, the intelligent man drops doctrines; he does not get into the hassle of doctrines. Seeing that there are many scriptures — which is correct? The Koran or the Bible? The Vedas or the Dhammapada? Which is true? Which is false? An intelligent man does not fall into this trouble. Those who do, never get out of it. There is no end to it. From one tangle another emerges. Answer one question, and ten more arise from the answer. It goes on. An endless chain. No one ever gets out of it.
Nana matam maharshinām sadhunam yoginam tatha.
Drishtva nirvedam apannah ko na shamyati manavah.
'Having seen that there is no essence in this dispute — that it will lead nowhere...'
Drishtva nirvedam apannah ko na shamyati manavah.
'... who is there who, understanding just this much, does not become quiet?'
If peace is to be found, avoid doctrines. If peace is to be found, avoid ideologies. If peace is to be found, avoid being Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Jain, Buddhist. If peace is to be found, search within yourself; do not get lost in doctrines.
Nana matam maharshinām...
And all are great seers — that is the trouble! If one were bad and the other good, we would follow the good and leave the bad. The trouble is deep: both are good. Whom to hold, whom to drop? Listen to Jesus or to Muhammad? Or to Mahavira? All are wondrous beings! Each one's presence has immense magnetism. When they speak there is a hypnotic flavor in their words. But do not get entangled.
Seeing that this web of doctrine and philosophy has continued and never ended...
Not a single question has been answered by philosophy; not a single foundation for life has been found by argument. And logic is double-tongued. With logic you can prove this and that. Logic is like a courtesan. Logic has no fidelity. I knew a great lawyer, Hari Singh Gour — he founded Sagar University. A famous lawyer worldwide. In the Privy Council he was arguing a case for a Maharaja. Whoever he stood for would win — that was certain. Therefore he did not worry much. Slowly his reputation grew that whoever he supported would win; the opponents were dispirited. His store of knowledge was vast. He had much work; confusion too. He had offices in Delhi, Peking, London — running between all three. He was busy all night at a party, slept late, did not look at the file. In the morning he went to court without reading it and, standing, forgot which side he was on — and began arguing for the opposition.
For an hour he argued for the other side. A great hush — what is happening! The magistrate was uneasy, the opposing lawyer uneasy — what is this? Even their client, a Maharaja, was sweating: when our own lawyer says this, what remains? We are finished.
Finally his secretary dared and whispered: what are you doing? You have killed your client. Now winning is difficult.
He said: what do you mean? Am I speaking for the other side? Do not worry! He straightened his tie and said to the magistrate: Sir, I have just now put forward the arguments which my opposing counsel will present; now I begin their refutation.
And he began refuting, and won. With great ease he won; for the opponent had nothing left to say — whatever he would say, and even better than he could say, had already been said; and now it was refuted.
Logic has no loyalty. It stands with whoever holds it. With a little intelligence logic dances around you. By it you can prove God and you can disprove God; prove the soul, and disprove it.
Ashtavakra says: the intelligent person does not have faith in logic, he abandons it. Seeing that ascetics, yogis, great seers have many doctrines — one thing is clear: truth cannot be in doctrines, otherwise there would not be many. Truth is beyond doctrine. Truth cannot be in arguments — otherwise logic would have one conclusion. Truth is beyond logic.
Seeing thus, dispassion arises towards doctrines. And the one who attains this dispassion surely attains peace.
'He who, by indifference (nirveda), by equanimity (samata), and by insight (yukti), knows the true nature of consciousness and ferries himself across the world — is he not the Guru?'
This is an important sutra. Ashtavakra is saying the Guru is hidden within you. If by dispassion, equanimity and insight you come to know the true nature of consciousness, then your Guru is found.
Kritva murtiparijnanam chaitanyasya na kim guruh?
Is this not the Guru? By equanimity, by indifference, by insight, to know your own conscious nature — is this not the Guru? Is this knowing not sufficient?
Nirveda-samata-yuktya yastarayati samsriteh.
Even the outer Guru whom you accept... Janaka has accepted Ashtavakra. He has brought Ashtavakra to his palace and said: Master, teach me what is knowledge? What is liberation? What is the Sat-Chit-Ananda Divine? Teach me.
The Guru's last kindness is to show that what I have shown you can only happen within you. The Guru's final grace is to free the disciple from the Guru himself. This is the last work. The one who does not do this is not a true Guru. The Guru who entangles the disciple and keeps him entangled in himself is not a Guru, for he is exploiting the disciple; he wants you to remain a disciple.
But the real Guru as soon as your period of discipleship is complete and awakening has begun — will say: now there is no need to look at me; look within. Close your eyes. I was a mirror. You needed me until your own eyes were not clear. Now you will see with your own eyes. What I showed you is what you can see yourself. You needed me because you were unconscious. Now there is no need of me.
'He who, by indifference, equanimity and insight, knows the true nature of consciousness and ferries himself across the world — is he not the Guru?'
He alone is the Guru! The Guru is within. The outer Guru is only a symbol. What must happen within you has happened in someone else — that is all. But the ultimate happening happens within you.
Take the indication from the outer Guru, but do not let the outer Guru become your chain. Beware lest the outer Guru become your prison.
Zarathustra has a precious saying. When he prepared to leave his disciples, to dissolve into his final Samadhi, he said: 'Now the last sutra: beware of Zarathustra! The last sutra: beware of Zarathustra.' Saying this he went into the mountains. 'Beware of Zarathustra!' He explained everything; finally he explained: now be careful of me — lest you become attached to me! Lest your clinging settle upon me! Then the miss has happened.
In the mirror your face is seen. Do not think your face is in the mirror; otherwise you will go mad — you will carry the mirror around, fearing your face will be left at home.
Mulla Nasruddin went to a rich man's house to ask for a donation for a mosque. As rich men are, peeking from the window he saw Mulla coming and thought: he has come to ask for money. He told his guard to inform that he had gone out. Mulla also had seen him. The guard said: you have come at the wrong time, the master has gone out.
Mulla said: no harm, we will come again. When your master returns, give him a free piece of advice from me: when he goes out, he should not leave his head at home. This can be dangerous someday.
If you think your face is in the mirror, then you will carry the mirror; otherwise the face will be left at home and you will go without a face.
The Guru is a mirror; he lets you recognize your own face. But once recognition begins, ultimately you must seek within.
That is the Guru who introduces you to your own inner Guru. That is the Guru who awakens the sleeping Guru within you. The Guru is hidden within. The outer Guru is only the echo of your inner Guru.
'When you see the modifications of the elements — the body, the senses, etc. — as merely the elements, exactly as they are, then and there you will be free of bondage and established in your own nature.'
Pashya bhuta-vikaras tvam bhuta-matran yatharthatah.
— When you see each thing just as it is.
Tatkshanad bandha-nirmuktah
— that very instant you are freed from bondage,
Svarupastho bhavishyasi
— and you are established in your own nature. You will reach that inner center where no wave ever reaches.
'When you see the modifications of the elements — body, senses, etc. — exactly as they are...'
When you see the body as the body. Now we see: my body, I the body; my mind, I the mind. We see things in ways they are not; we see otherwise. We see otherwise because our capacity to see is dim, smoky; we see something as something else.
Ashtavakra says: just see each as it is. Body is body. Mind is mind. And I am beyond both — the one who sees both and recognizes both.
Have you noticed? When anger comes into the mind, someone within you also sees that anger is coming. Try to recognize that inner seer a little — who sees that anger is coming? When anger comes, someone sees it arising. You see poison spread in the body, feelings of violence rise. Who sees? Someone insults you — an insult happens; within, someone sees: I feel insulted. Who sees that insult has happened?
You are listening to me. I am speaking here, you listen there — behind this speaking and hearing is your witness, watching that you are listening. Sometimes your witness says: you heard, and yet you did not hear — you missed!
You read a page of a book, complete it; suddenly you realize: ah, I kept reading, yet I missed! Who remembers this? Besides reading, someone stands behind you — an ultimate judge — who says: read again, you missed. This ultimate within you is your nature.
'When you see each just as it is, then and there you are free of bondage and established in your own nature.'
'Vasana alone is the world. Therefore, drop vasana.'
Not the world! Vasana is the world — therefore drop vasana.
'By abandoning vasana, the world is abandoned. Now remain wherever you wish.'
These are revolutionary words! Now remain wherever you wish! If you wish to remain in the world, remain in the world; in the marketplace, remain in the marketplace. Wherever you wish, remain. Only let your witnessing remain crystal-clear; nothing else is needed.
Vasana eva samsara iti sarva vimunca tah.
Tat-tyago vasana-tyagat sthitir adya yatha tatha.
As you are, then you are; wherever you are, it is perfectly right and beautiful. There is nothing to be done. Only one thing is to be known: I am merely the witness! Aho chin-matram!
Vasana eva samsarah...
Understand this difference. People tell you: leave desires and the world will be left. People tell you: drop vasanas and the world will drop. There are not many vasanas; there is Vasana — one tendency: to become something, to get something. Call it by any names. Someone wants money, someone wants status, someone wants moksha — vasana is one. Vasana means: as I am, I am not content; I should become something else, then I will be content. Vasana means: with what is, I am displeased; what is not, that should be. When you become content with what is, and do not demand what is not — vasana goes.
Vasana eva samsarah!
And vasana itself is the world!
Some say: leave the world and then vasana will go. Wrong. By leaving the world nothing happens. You will run to the jungle; vasana will stick to you like a shadow. Sit in a temple and vasana will chase you; a world will be formed right there. Wherever you are, there will be vasana. Where there is vasana, there the world is created. It makes no difference.
Vasana eva samsarah...
Vasana is the world; therefore let vasana drop!
Iti jnatva...
— He who knows thus,
Tah sarva vimunca...
— he is free of all. All has dropped for him. Recognize this truth — that vasana is the world — and in this recognition all drops.
Vasana-tyagat tat-tyagah...
— when vasana goes, the world goes.
Adya yatha tatha sthiti.
— Then, Janaka, wherever you wish, remain. Wherever you wish, stay.
Take this sutra to heart. It means: then wherever you find yourself, that is right. Whatever is happening is right. If you find yourself in a palace, the palace is right; if in a forest, the forest is right.
A fakir was a friend of an emperor. The emperor was so impressed that one day he said: Master, I cannot bear to see you sitting beneath a tree in sun and shade, in heat; come to the palace!
He had thought that when he invited him, the fakir would say: 'No, no — a palace and I? I have left the world!' If the fakir had said that the emperor would have been delighted; his respect would have increased. But the fakir must have been like me. He stood up and said: where is the horse? The emperor was a little embarrassed: what kind of renunciate! But he could not say anything now — he himself had invited him. He brought the horse, reluctantly. The fakir mounted it: let us go.
He brought him to the palace, but the fun was gone, for the fun was to have a great renunciate as Guru. What kind of renunciate is this! But he could say nothing, having invited him. He placed him in the finest room, the best part of the palace. He stayed there. As he had been sitting under the tree, he sat in the beautiful palace.
After some days the emperor's restlessness grew. He said: this is strange. After six months he said: Master, a question keeps arising.
The fakir said: why so late? The question arose the day I said: bring the horse!
The emperor was startled: you knew?
'How could I not? Your face changed at once. That very moment my relationship with you broke — when I linked myself with a horse. I ceased to be a renunciate for you in that moment. Tell me, why did you wait six months? Why bear the trouble? I know you have been uneasy. What is it?'
He said: only this — now there is no difference between us. Now you are just like me — you live in the palace, with comforts, servants, good food and drink. The difference was when you sat under the tree — you were a fakir, a renunciate, a mahatma; I was a king, a enjoyer. Now what is the difference?
The fakir said: if you wish to know the difference, come outside the village.
The king said: fine.
They went outside. The fakir said: a little farther.
It was noon. The emperor said: now tell me, tell me anywhere; half the forest is crossed.
He said: a little further. When the sun sets, I will explain.
The sun began to set. The emperor said: now... now speak!
He said: I have only this to say: I am not going back now. Will you go or walk on?
The emperor said: how can I go with you? There is the palace, wife, children, the whole arrangement... How can I go?
The fakir said: but I am going. Do you understand the difference?
The emperor fell at his feet: do not leave me, I have made a great mistake.
He said: I am ready to mount the horse again; but you will again be troubled. Bring the horse — where is it?
When Ashtavakra speaks, he points to this: now live wherever you wish.
Adya yatha tatha sthitih.
Then whatever happens, as it happens — it is right, accepted. Tathata! The one who lives in tathata, the Buddhists called him Tathagata.
One of Buddha's names is Tathagata — the one who comes like the wind and goes like the wind; no distinction between east and west, north and south. Whether the wind blows in the desert or in an oasis — no difference. One who came thus and went thus! Tathagata! To whom all is accepted.
Adya yatha tatha sthitih.
Take this sutra as a mahavakya. Meditate upon it again and again. Slowly let it be enthroned in your innermost. Let it become the lamp burning in your temple — much grace will flower, many blessings will shower!
You can become that fortunate one of whom Ashtavakra speaks: kasyadhanyasya api! Some blessed one! You can be that blessed one. For you I have opened this very door.
Hari Om Tat Sat!