Maha Geeta #29

Ashtavakra said:
'Abandon desire, the enemy in disguise; abandon wealth, teeming with calamity; and abandon religion too, which is the hidden cause of both. Hold everything in indifference.'

Ordinarily, all have said: leave wealth and desire. Ashtavakra says: 'Leave religion as well...' This needs to be understood rightly.

Religion’s ultimate revolution happens only when even religion is left behind. The ultimate aim of religion is to be free of religion too. Irreligion means: that which is wrong, not to be done. Religion means: that which is auspicious, that which ought to be done. Irreligion means: sin. Religion means: merit. Ashtavakra says, freedom from sin is necessary, and freedom from merit too. Because fundamentally sin and merit are not two, they are two faces of the same coin. And the one bound by merit will remain bound by sin as well. To do merit, you will also have to do sin. Without sin, merit cannot be done.

If you wish to give in charity, you will first accumulate wealth, won’t you! In accumulating wealth there will be sin, in giving charity there will be merit. But without accumulating wealth, how will you give?

It is mentioned that one disciple of Lao Tzu became a judge. A case came before him: a man was caught stealing. He had broken into the mansion of the wealthiest merchant of the town. He was caught red-handed, so there was no complication. Lao Tzu’s disciple, the judge, sentenced the thief to six months and the rich merchant to twelve. The merchant laughed. He said: Have you ever heard such justice? What madness is this?

The matter reached the emperor: This is the limit! My house is robbed and I am punished! But that judge told the emperor: Had he not hoarded so much, no theft would occur. Theft is number two; hoarding is number one. Therefore I give six months to the thief and a year to this man.

The emperor also felt the point, but rules cannot run like this. He said: There is strength in your argument, but such a thing has never happened. And on this basis, I too would be guilty. Submit your resignation. Whatever the truth of your view, it is not practical.

In the name of practicality, man hides many things. Truth fails to shine forth because we hide it behind the screen of what is workable.

In human history there is only this one incident where both the thief was punished and the one who was robbed was punished. And there is a great secret in it. Theft is possible only when someone hoards wealth.

So, to practice charity you must first accumulate wealth. Only then can you renounce.

You see it: if some poor man, some beggar, announces, 'I renounce everything,' people will laugh. They will say, 'What do you have? What is there to renounce?'

When a Mahavira, a Buddha renounces, his declaration resounds for centuries. In the Jain scriptures there is much exaggerated description of how much Mahavira renounced—how many elephants, how many horses, how many chariots, how much gold, how many coins—exaggerated. It could not have been so. Mahavira was the son of a petty king; that king did not have the status of a true king, but of a large landlord. In today’s terms, his realm was not bigger than a tehsil; he had the status of a tehsildar. The amount of wealth that the scriptures list could not have been in Mahavira’s home. But why did the scriptures exaggerate? Because the authors wanted to show Mahavira as a great renunciate. And there is only one measure for renunciation: wealth.

Strange, is it not: here pleasure is measured by wealth, and here renunciation too is measured by wealth! If you grant someone prestige, it is because of wealth; and if you ever grant prestige to a renunciant, that too is because of wealth. Wealth appears to be the ultimate standard with us; we have no other measure. If a beggar leaves, what has he left?

Perhaps that is why the twenty-four Tirthankaras of the Jains are all princes. Was there no poor man who renounced in those times? But all twenty-four are princes: Tirthankaras. Buddha too is a king; Krishna, Rama—Hindu Avatars—are kings. Think a little. The prestige of wealth is so great that even renunciation is measured by it. They were respectable as kings; when they renounced the kingdom, they became even more respectable.

But was it respect for renunciation? It was respect for wealth alone. If a beggar stands up to renounce, you will laugh. You will say: What was there with you to give up? You did not even have a loincloth; you were naked already, why proclaim becoming a Digambara now?

So, for renunciation too, wealth is required. And for merit, sin will be needed. Therefore those who understand the arrangement of life will say: religion must be left too; merit must be left too. Both together must be dropped.

Try to understand this sutra:

विहाय वैरिणं काममर्थं चानर्थसंकुलम्‌।
धर्ममप्येतयोर्हेतुं सर्वत्रानादरं कुरु।।

Desire is the enemy. Why do all the scriptures of the world call desire the enemy? What is the reason? With one voice—Hindus, Jains, Buddhists, Christians—say that desire is the enemy. Why? Let us try to see.

The power of desire, the energy of sex, is so immense that to be outside its net is most difficult—almost impossible. Psychologists hold that one cannot go beyond it. And their view is worth understanding. For your birth itself has happened in sex. The first pulsation of your life was your mother and father’s sexual desire. From that wave you came, by that wave you were formed. Every fiber of you is filled with sex. Your first cell was the union of two sex-cells. From that you arose. Those sex-cells then multiplied. Now you have millions of cells in the body, but each cell is a sex-chamber.

And do not think that the woman is only outside you. When you were born, half of you came from the mother, half from the father. Within you both woman and man are present. The proportion differs, but both are there.

Hindus hold the vision of Ardhanarishwara. You may have seen images of Shiva—half male, half female. This vision is precious. You too are Ardhanarishwara; each person is—otherwise there is no way to be. Half of you is your mother, half your father; their meeting made you. In a man the father’s part is greater, in a woman the mother’s part is greater—this is only a difference of proportion. Hence, sometimes it happens that a person’s sexuality changes, the gender changes.

Just now in South India a young woman became a young man. For twenty-two years she was a woman, suddenly she became a man. In the West many such events have occurred. And now physiologists say it will be in our hands. If people wish, they can change their gender. A man bored of being a man can become a woman; a woman bored of being a woman can become a man. It is only a matter of altering a few hormones, changing the proportion.

Understand it this way: if you are a man, then about sixty percent are male germs, forty percent are female. Change the ratio and you will be a woman.

Birth has happened out of sex; your life stands on the union of two opposite sexual energies. Therefore it is almost impossible—according to psychologists, absolutely impossible—to go beyond sexual desire! The scriptures too say this. In the Atma-Purana is a wondrous statement:

कामेन विजितो ब्रह्मा, कामेन विजितो हरः।
कामेन विजितो विष्णुः शक्रः कामेन निर्जितः।।

Sex conquered Brahma; sex defeated Shankara; sex defeated Vishnu—who has ever won over sex? All are defeated by sex.

The power of sex is tremendous. And the more mighty a force is, the greater the struggle to go beyond it. Hence they say: desire is the enemy. If in this world you must choose someone to combat, if you have the courage to take on an adversary, the flavor of being a warrior—then do not choose a petty enemy. Remember: the bigger the enemy you choose, the greater will be your victory. Even if you defeat a small one—what is the worth?

They say—in Aesop’s fable—that a donkey challenged a lion: If you have courage, come to the field and let there be a straightforward fight. The lion quietly went away. A jackal heard this and walked up to the lion: O emperor, what is the matter? You did not accept even a donkey’s challenge!

The lion said: Are you mad? If I accept his challenge, first of all the rumor will spread that the lion fought a donkey. Bad name! Never happened—there is no tradition in our line to fight donkeys. As for fighting, with a donkey... I can end him, why fight? If the donkey loses, there is no disgrace to him. If we win, there is no honor. People will say: What did he win? A donkey! And if by some lapse the donkey wins—donkeys are unreliable—then we are finished forever. So I walked quietly away. It is not wise to tangle with a donkey.

If you grapple with the small, even a victory is small. And if perchance you lose—you lost to something small! Choose your enemy carefully. Any friend will do; the enemy, choose with care. Choose a big enemy—because the challenge, the struggle, will give you the opportunity for your own growth.

Those who fight outer things—even if they win—only win things. Be it Alexander, Tamerlane, Nadir Shah, Napoleon—expand their empire over the whole world, still it is only expansion over objects.

Therefore this land honored those who conquered themselves. Even those who conquered all others were not honored so; honor was given to those who conquered themselves. And there is only one way to conquer oneself: to transcend sex-energy. To go beyond the energy of sex. To be beyond sex-energy means: to be free of your birth; free of your life; free of your death.

Sex-energy gave you birth; the effervescence of sex-energy is your youth, your life. When sex-energy grows weary and begins to wane—that will be your death. The entire story of your life, from first to last, is the story of sex. If you remain confined within sex, you will never live like a master—you will live like a slave.

If you wish to be master of yourself, and if you must accept a challenge, accept the challenge hidden within yourself. Therefore the scriptures call sex the enemy. It is not mere condemnation; there is respect hidden in it. They say: if you must enmity, let it be with sex. Because कामेन विजितो ब्रह्मा! Even Brahma was defeated by sex. कामेन विजितो हरः—even Mahadeva was defeated by sex.

So if anyone is worthy to fight, it is sex. In conquering that by which the gods themselves were defeated, the hidden flower within man will bloom. In conquering that by which all have been defeated, for the first time within you the empire of the Divine will be established.

India is the only country where we have bowed the gods at the feet of awakened ones. When Siddhartha attained Buddhahood, the story says Brahma, Vishnu, Mahesh came to offer their worship at his feet. When Mahavira attained supreme knowledge, the gods showered flowers. But why would gods shower flowers at a human’s feet? Because this man has gone beyond the limit which even the gods have not crossed. Indra is still entangled with apsaras. Even in heaven the same commerce of sex runs that runs on earth—only more orderly; more tasteful; more beautiful bodies, longer lives, all facilities for enjoyment.

The arrangement we have imagined for the gods in heaven, science is trying to bring for man on earth.

I have heard: a man died and reached heaven. He was surprised to see some people in chains. In heaven—in chains! He asked the gatekeeper: This frightens me. If in hell they are chained, it is understandable. But in heaven too?

The gatekeeper laughed: These are Americans. Since they came, they have been insisting: Send us back to America; that was better than this.

Science is trying to drag heaven to earth; but even if science brings heaven to earth, nothing changes. However much facility you gather for your sex-desire, there will be no fulfillment. Because the very nature of sex-desire is unfulfillment. What is obtained becomes tasteless; the relish remains only in what is not obtained. Understand this nature of sex—this is its bondage, this is its enmity.

What is obtained becomes futile. The woman you wanted—you got; the man you desired—you got; immediately you begin to desire another.

Byron was an English poet. He had relations with many women—handsome, talented—and none lasted more than a month or two. But one woman forced him to marry. She said: If you do not marry, I will not allow even my hand to be touched. And he became mad to hold her close. Finally he agreed to marry. When the marriage was done and Byron was coming down the church steps holding the hand of his newly wedded wife, he stopped and said to her: Strange! I was mad for you, I have not slept for months, and now for a moment your hand is in my hand, but I have forgotten all about you. That woman passing there on the road—my mind has gone after her.

The marriage had not happened, and the divorce had already begun!

What is obtained, our relish is lost in it. You wanted to build a house; until it was built, dreams, plans—then the house was built. One day you stand there exhausted: nothing was gained! Now you begin to think of another house.

This is the characteristic of desire: it will never allow you to be fulfilled. There is no way to fulfillment there. The burning fire of unfulfillment is the very nature of desire.

'Abandon desire, the enemy in guise; and abandon wealth, filled with misfortune...'

Hindus have spoken of four Purusharthas: Artha, Kama, Dharma, Moksha. Kama is the ordinary man’s desire; Artha is the means to fulfill it. We long for wealth because we have desires that cannot be fulfilled without wealth. If there is wealth, a beautiful woman is possible; the poor man gets the leftovers. If there is wealth, what you want comes within reach; if poor, keep wanting—nothing happens. Wealth helps desire become reality.

Hence a strange thing: you will find no one more unfulfilled than the wealthy. The poor have hope; the rich have their hopes die. The poor hope—today or tomorrow wealth will be in hand, then we will do what needs to be done—and he runs after wealth. The rich has wealth; he has all facility to do—but doing seems meaningless. Therefore the rich inevitably becomes restless, unfulfilled.

You will not see a poor man going mad; you will see rich men going mad. In rich countries madness increases. In poor countries the psychologist is not yet there, the psychoanalyst is not yet there. Perhaps one or two in Bombay, one or two in Poona—but in this land of hundreds of millions you will hardly find analysts; there is no need. In New York, they proliferate; their numbers approach those of physicians. Likely, before this century ends, the number of mind-doctors will exceed body-doctors. For the body all facilities are increasing in the West—and as bodily facilities increase, the mind goes mad.

In my view, if a poor man becomes religious, it is a miracle. And if a rich man is not religious, that too is a miracle. If a poor man is religious, it is exceptional—for he has not yet been liberated from the mind; he has not even known the torment of the mind; his hope has not yet broken. If a poor man becomes religious, it is an exception. If a rich man is religious, it is natural—so it should be. The rich must become religious, for the hope that something can be had in this world has ended. He has everything—an Andrew Carnegie, a Rockefeller—they can buy whatever can be bought, in whatever quantity; their capacity exceeds what can be bought. What now?

So if a religious man is rich, it is ordinary—so it should be; if he is poor, it is extraordinary. And if a rich man is not religious, that is extraordinary; it should not be. Only two meanings are possible: either he is foolish, stupid—or he is not yet truly rich. If truly rich, and intelligence is present, there is no way but to be religious. For a poor man to be religious, a rare brilliance is required; for a rich man to avoid becoming religious, a rare stupidity is required.

When India was rich, it was religious. In the times of Buddha and Mahavira, India’s golden age. At the peak of the world, a golden bird! The whole world looked to India—as if all wealth was gathered here. In those times we touched the summits of religion we could never touch again; it all became a dream.

A poor man may look religious—but he cannot truly be. For his trust still rests in Artha; he is still caught in desire. His small needs are not yet met; religion is life’s final, great need. They say: 'On an empty stomach no hymn is sung, O Gopala!' How can the hungry worship? Even in his worship there will be the shadow of hunger. He will ask for bread, not for God. When small needs are fulfilled, when all means for the body-mind’s run are present, suddenly one sees: there is nothing here worth attaining. Then the search begins for That which is.

The journey of religion begins only when the journeys of Artha and Kama are seen as futile.

So there are two journeys in this world: one is Artha and Kama. Artha is means; Kama is end. The other journey is Dharma and Moksha. Dharma is means; Moksha is end. Ordinarily it is understood: he who wants Moksha should earn Dharma—just as he who wants to fulfill desire should earn wealth. Without wealth how will you fulfill desire? He who is caught by Kama should earn Artha. And for the one who finds this futile, who now wants freedom and the taste of supreme liberation—he should earn Dharma. This is the ordinary arrangement of religion.

Ashtavakra says something revolutionary: one who truly wants Moksha must be free of Dharma too. Why? Because Moksha cannot be made into a desire. Moksha’s nature is such that you cannot desire it. Whatever you desire ceases to be Moksha. If desire stands behind, whatever you desire becomes the world. Moksha has no means. Dharma is not a means to Moksha.

This is our arithmetic. We say: to fulfill sexual desire, earn wealth; to attain Moksha, earn Dharma. People earn Dharma as they earn money. They fill the vault with merit as with coins. They keep ledgers and balances, and they keep accounts of merit as well. They will open their book before God: these many merits we did; now the reward.

The ordinary man’s logic is: everything in life is a bargain, a business.

Ashtavakra says: Moksha is no bargain, no business; it will not come by your doing. It is grace. It will not come by your wanting. You miss because of your wanting. Moksha is already given—but wanting blinds you. Your desire has blinded you. Drop desire, drop wanting. Remain a little while without desire—and suddenly you will find the rays of Moksha descending within!

So Moksha is not an end to be achieved by means—Moksha is your swabhava. Moksha is. We live already in Moksha.

I have heard: a fish had, from childhood, heard talk of the ocean, the great ocean. In the scriptures of fish there were also talks of the great ocean. The wise among fish also talked of the ocean. The fish grew up and became anxious: Where is the ocean? When a fish is born in the ocean itself, how will it find the ocean? Growing up in the ocean, how will it find the ocean? It began asking: Where is the ocean? People said: We have heard from the wise, heard the discourse; none has seen it. Some blessed fish—some Buddha, some Mahavira, some Krishna, some Rama—might know; the rest of us common fish only hear and believe that somewhere there is an ocean.

She remained in great anxiety; life became disturbed. She was very thoughtful. She would even remain hungry and thirsty, thinking: How to reach the ocean? How will that unique event happen? The lure of the ocean entered her mind. She began to dry up, to weaken.

Then a visiting fish came from a neighboring river. Seeing her state, she said: Fool! What you are seeking surrounds you on all sides—we are within it. No need to die hungry, no need to meditate, no need to chant—the ocean is. Without it we could not be at all.

As that fish was awakened, so Ashtavakra—such a Satguru—says to us: We are already in Moksha. The Divine surrounds us on all sides! In That is our birth, in That our life, in That our dissolution. But the Divine is so near, hence unseen. Were it far, we might see. Our eyes are made to see the distant; what is near, we miss. What is closest, we forget. And none is nearer than the Divine. For a fish there is at least the possibility that if you place it upon the sand it will gasp and know how it feels to be without the sea. For us even that is not possible—we cannot go outside the Divine.

Ashtavakra’s proclamation is: Do not worry about religion. Nothing needs to be done to attain God; He is already attained. Moksha is not somewhere in the future—Moksha is here and now. Moksha is the name of the state free of desire.

Vairiṇam kāmam...

Desire is the enemy, because it will not let you be fulfilled. What else is an enemy but that which keeps you unfulfilled? Understand the meaning of enemy. A friend is one who gives fulfillment, rest, whose presence brings ease and peace. With whom only thorns are found, whose friendship brings nothing but wounds; who promises flowers, but in the end only thorns come to hand—that is the enemy.

Vairiṇam kāmam, anartha-saṅkulam artham!

And Ashtavakra says: That which you call Artha, wealth, is misfortune. What you call economics is the scripture of calamity. The mischief in the world is because of wealth. Therefore some thinkers have gone so far as to say: As long as money exists, there can be no peace.

You have read the story of the ninety-nine circle—it is the story of calamity. Simple and straight—it lays bare the human mind.

An emperor had a servant, a barber, who massaged him and shaved him. The emperor was perplexed: he was always cheerful, joyous, carefree. He received one rupee a day. On one rupee he ate and drank well, fed friends; it must have been cheaper times. At night, when he slept, not a coin remained; he slept unburdened. In the morning he got another rupee for massaging. He was very happy—so happy that the emperor envied him. The emperor was not so happy. How could he be? Mountains of worry and care were on his head. The emperor asked the barber: What is the secret of your joy? He said: I know nothing; I am no wise man. As you are amazed seeing me happy, I am amazed seeing your sorrow. I have nothing and am happy; you have everything and you are not! You throw me into greater wonder. I am happy because happiness is natural—and what else is there to be?

The emperor asked the minister: We must find the secret. This barber is so happy that envy burns my heart; better that I had become a barber. Why get entangled by being an emperor? At night I cannot sleep; in the day no rest; worries piling up. Solve one problem and ten are born. I should have been a barber.

The minister said: Do not worry. I will set your barber right.

The minister was adept at arithmetic. He put ninety-nine rupees in a pouch and threw it into the barber’s house at night. In the morning the barber counted ninety-nine and became anxious: If I get one more rupee today—I will fast today—then a hundred will be complete!

Trouble began. He had never thought to save; he had no means to save. One rupee sufficed for his needs. He never worried about tomorrow; 'tomorrow' never cast a shadow. For the first time 'tomorrow' arose. He had ninety-nine—how long to make a hundred? Only one day’s hardship. The next day he fasted. But when he came to massage the emperor, the former carefreeness was gone; he was sad, preoccupied, some calculation running within. The emperor asked: You seem anxious today. What is the matter?

He said: Nothing, sir, all is well.

But the fragrance was gone. 'All is well'—said as everyone says, formally. Earlier, all was well. Today it was only a formality.

The emperor said: I will not accept this. You seem unhappy. Did you sleep well?

He said: Since you ask, how can I lie to you? I did not sleep. But all will be well; it is only a matter of a day. Do not be concerned.

But his anxiety grew. When a hundred was complete, he thought: Now slowly let me collect; someday it will be two hundred. One step at a time. Within fifteen days he became listless; his joy vanished. The emperor said: Now tell the truth—what is the matter? Has my minister done something?

The barber started and said: What do you mean? Your minister...? Ah, now I understand. Suddenly a pouch was found in my house—ninety-nine rupees. From that day I am in trouble. The ninety-nine circle!

At the root of all calamity somewhere lies Artha. Today there is sufficient wealth in the world that all could be comfortable. But the frenzy to possess, the intoxication of ownership, is such that it becomes impossible. The world could be so prosperous that no one need be unhappy, no one need lack food, clothing, medicine, shelter—but it cannot happen. Because some are mad—obsessed. Their only passion is to heap wealth. This is an obsession, a deranged state. How many murders, how many wars—all for Artha! How much politics—all for Artha.

Tolstoy wrote: There will be no peace in the world as long as the coin circulates. Perhaps there will never be a world without coins—that too would create hindrances; we cannot even imagine a life without money. So the anarchists like Tolstoy may not be heard—and I also do not think they should be. But man can be freed from the madness for coins.

Notice: the man running after money—look closely and you will find one sure thing—there will be no love in his life. A miser cannot be a lover; impossible. And a lover cannot be a miser. It seems the more love, the less the madness for money; the less love, the greater the obsession. Money is a substitute for love. If the heart is empty of love, it must be filled with something. That inner emptiness creates fear: I am empty, let me fill with something.

Psychologists say: the first significant event in a child’s life is the mother’s breast. From the mother’s breast two things flow together into the child—love and milk. If the mother loves the child, he does not fuss to drink more milk. In fact, if the mother loves, she has to coax him to drink; he is not much concerned. He is so filled with love that the desire to be filled with milk does not arise. If the child doubts the mother’s love—she is stepmother, a nurse, or the mother is indifferent; she had not wanted the child, the birth-control pill failed—there is a kind of disdain—then the child quickly understands; he will drink much milk, for there is no assurance that milk will be available later. The anxiety of tomorrow grasps him; he clings to the breast. The more he drinks, the more the mother pushes him away: Enough! The more she says: Enough, the more fear of the future arises: Let me collect, let me store as much milk as possible!

You will see poor children with big bellies; rich children will not have big bellies. The poor child’s body is thin, the belly is big. It is proof that the child is scared: Will there be bread tomorrow? Who knows. This fear spreads over the whole life.

Money means bread. Money means milk. Money means confidence in tomorrow. Money means security of tomorrow.

A man keeps a bank balance, buys insurance—he is arranging for tomorrow. He is saying: No worry for tomorrow. Old age, sickness—no worry; money is there, all is secure. He says: Even if love is not there, never mind; money must be there. What will you do with love—eat it, drink it? Then he says: If there is money, love can be bought aplenty. One obsessed with money thinks everything can be bought.

No, the important things of life cannot be bought. In truth, whatever is truly important cannot be bought—not love, not prayer, not God. Whatever is trivial and futile—that alone can be bought. Money itself is trivial; trivial can purchase only the trivial.

So the man accumulates. He says: Love later; today, accumulate money. Tomorrow we will be free, then we will love, sing, play the veena, rest—today, let me earn! We say: Leave tomorrow aside; today let us earn for tomorrow. Tomorrow will come like today. And you will do the same—earn for tomorrow, earn for tomorrow. One day death comes—and tomorrow never comes. A heap of wealth stands outside, and you become a naked beggar. The pile grows outside; inside you grow poorer, wounds deepen. Slowly you forget how to love.

Wealth, Artha, is misfortune. Recognize this. I am not telling you to run away from money. I am only telling you: wake up. Money has its use. I am no anarchist, nor anti-money. Money has external utility. But do not try to fill yourself with money; it cannot be done. Attempting the impossible, you will ruin your life—it becomes misfortune.

From money some things are obtained—indeed there is value to those things—but no fulfillment is obtained.

Jesus said: Man cannot live by bread alone. Another sentence can be added: Man cannot live without bread either. That too is true. Bread is needed, but bread is not sufficient; something more than bread is needed. The day you think money is sufficient, that day calamity begins. As long as you understand that money has a use within a limit and you remain alert within the limit—there is no harm. Then you use money; money does not use you. You remain master; money does not become master. In brief: when Artha becomes your master, misfortune begins. When you remain master of Artha—then it is Artha; otherwise it is anartha.

वैरिणम्‌ कामम्‌ अनर्थसंकुलम्‌ अर्थम्‌, एतयोः
हेतुम्‌ धर्मम्‌ अपि विहाय सर्वत्र अनादरं कुरु।

And among all these—this sutra is revolutionary—at the root of Artha and Kama, their cause is Dharma. You will be startled. For you have always heard that Dharma is the boat that will ferry us across. Ashtavakra says: Dharma is the causal form of both; Dharma is the cause of this whole trouble. Why?

The meaning of Dharma is: to attain Moksha. The meaning of Dharma is: to do something to attain Moksha. This is the root cause of trouble. 'To do' for fulfillment—then from this arise Artha and Kama as well. The proclamation of Moksha is: nothing is to be done; you were born free. This very moment, here and now, Moksha is your swabhava. Only a proclamation of yours is needed. The moment you declare—showers of bliss begin. Try to understand.

Ordinarily we divide into two—means and end. The end is in the future; the means is now. In relation to Moksha or the Divine, the matter is reversed. Moksha is now, here. No means is needed—only awakening is needed. Just open your eyes—the sun is up. There is no night anywhere; you have kept your eyelids closed and it seems dark.

No means is needed—for means would mean: prepare today, then you get tomorrow. Again the same race begins. Earn today and tomorrow you will be rich. Seek the woman today and tomorrow you will get her. Again in the name of God the same race.

No—God is today! The world is tomorrow; God is today. The world is always running; God is always the destination. The world is the road; God is the goal. The goal is present—you need not go anywhere. You are surrounded by it. It is within you and without you.

'Hold everything in indifference.' Treat Artha, Kama, and Dharma with indifference. Let all means be disesteemed in your heart.

All three are means. When these three are disesteemed, what remains is Moksha.

'Friend, see friends, fields, wealth, house, wife, brothers and such possessions as dreams and magic—things that last three or five days only.'

In this world whatever we cling to, whatever we think will give us happiness—Ashtavakra says—it is seen and destroyed, vanishing before our eyes—dreamlike! When present it seems true; when lost, what a surprise!

You have seen this nature of dream. Every night you see; every morning you awake and find it false. Yet the next night you enter the same falsity. In the dream you never doubt. I have never seen an atheist in a dream; in dreams, all are believers. Doubt does not arise in dream; skepticism does not arise; delusion does not arise. In dream there is perfect faith—strange!

If in a dream a horse comes running and, coming close, turns into your wife or husband, even then your mind does not say: How can this be? You accept it. Not even a shred of doubt. Anything can happen. You fly in the sky and never doubt: How can I fly? You become vast and fill the sky, or you become tiny, smaller than an ant, invisible—and still no doubt. In the morning you laugh: What insane things I saw! In dream, the dream is true.

'Friend, see friends, fields, wealth, house, wife, brothers and such wealth as dreams and magic—things that last three to five days.'

In India there is a definition of truth: that which abides in all three times; tri-kala-abadhita; that which cannot be negated ever; that which was before, is now, and will be—eternal—that alone is truth. That which was not yesterday, is today, and will not be tomorrow—India calls it untrue.

Take this definition to heart. Truth is that which remains unbroken, as it is. Why? That which was not yesterday, is today, and will not be tomorrow—this means 'being' can occur between two 'nots.' There was a time when you were not; there will be a time when you will not be. Two 'nots'—and between them what you call life. This is dreamlike—whether seventy years or seven hundred, it makes no difference. Length makes no difference. That which is always...

त्रिकालाबाध्यत्वे सत्यत्वम्‌।

'That which is unbroken in all three times—that is truth.'

Indian psychology speaks of four states of consciousness. Three are states; the fourth is your nature. Waking, dream, deep sleep—three states; and the witness, turiya—the fourth—is your nature. In waking you see one world. When you sleep and dream, the waking world becomes false. You lie beside your wife—but when you sleep, the wife is false. You do not remember: she is my wife. When you sleep, your children, your house, rich or poor, respected or not, saint or sinner—all gone. Waking was a dream. A new dream begins—waking is lost.

In the morning when the dream breaks—a new dream begins. What you saw in dream is now lost. In deep sleep, when even dreams are gone—then what you knew in waking is gone; what you knew in dream is gone. In deep sleep both are negated. And those who attain the fourth—the pure state where supreme awakening remains—then it is known that all three are negated. Dream, deep sleep, waking—all negated; something else comes into experience: Brahman and only Brahman. No world is seen; no other is seen. Only one’s own spread is known. No 'I' remains, no 'you' remains.

So India says: what is known in the witness-state alone is truth; it is never negated again. This world we have mistaken for truth—Indian insight defines the world: gacchatīti jagat—'that which is going'—the world. That which is gone is world; that which stands on the brink of going is world. World means the unsteady, the not-stable; like a river’s current flowing away; where everything is change and nothing is eternal. Where there is change, there is untruth. Where the changeless is seen, where the eternal is glimpsed—there is truth. Gacchatīti jagat—ever moving! As clouds of smoke form and dissolve in the sky, shapes arise and scatter—nothing stands for even a moment—that is the world. Someone falls, someone rises; someone wins, someone loses. He who loses today may win tomorrow; he who wins today may lose tomorrow. Nothing is fixed; everything keeps changing. Ocean waves! He who seeks truth in the midst of all this change dies empty-handed.

In this ceaseless change, do you ever remember that there is something that has not changed? That changeless we call the Atman. By day you are awake—the world—one thing; inside you sits that which sees the world—another thing. By night you dream—still two things remain: the dream and you. Then deep sleep—still two: you and deep sleep. Deep sleep becomes dream, dream becomes deep sleep; from dream you awake—world appears, then world is lost; but one thing remains eternal—your witness, the seer, inner seeing.

Even after deep sleep, a man says: I slept deeply, blissfully! Ask him: If you were completely asleep, who knew? Who is reporting? There must have been someone inside who saw: deep sleep, blissful sleep. Someone witnessed it—that is you. All else changes—the witness does not.

You were a child, then young, then old; once healthy, now decrepit—a ruin. Yet within you one thing remains intact—unchanging—the seer, the witness. One day it saw the body of a child; one day it saw youth; one day it saw old age; one day it saw decrepitude.

If you can notice this unbroken thread of witnessing within you—countless events have happened upon it, but it remains as it is. All has come and gone before it; all play has occurred before it. It remains beyond, untouched, pure. This presence alone is truth.

'Wherever there is thirst, there know the world to be. Take shelter in ripe renunciation and be free of thirst.'

यत्र यत्र भवेत्तृष्णा संसार विद्धि तत्र वै।
प्रौढवैराग्यमाश्रित्य वीततृष्णः सुखी भव।।

Ripe renunciation! Raw renunciation is dangerous. Ripe renunciation! What is the difference? One kind is the renunciation you take up after hearing others. In some satsang, there is talk of renunciation, of its incomparable experiences—your greed is stirred. Someone sings praises of the bliss of renunciation, someone describes the ecstasy of Samadhi—and a desire arises: I too should have such bliss, such joy, such a state. If from such greed renunciation arises—it is raw. It will not last; it will put you in danger. You are unripe, plucked too soon. When a raw fruit is plucked, the tree is pained, the fruit is pained.

The ripe fruit, when it falls, no one knows when—it slips silently. No wound remains on the tree, no pain to the fruit—it slips away.

Ripe renunciation, mature renunciation—this phrase is precious—means: a renunciation born of experiencing the futility of life. Renunciation that arises by hearing its praises, from greed for its joys, is raw sannyas—avoid it; it has no value; it will endanger you. It will not let you experience the world fully nor reach Samadhi; you will hang in between like Trishanku. Mature renunciation—knowing the world precisely by your own experience.

Buddha says: the world is suffering. Ashtavakra says: desire is the enemy. Mahavira says: in Artha there is only misfortune. But they say so—you have not known. Do not jump by hearing them; do not become a follower, or there will be danger. You have not yet your own eyes—you will fall into a ditch. Understand their words and test them on the touchstone of life. Do not become a follower; learn from experience. They say it—likely they are right; there is no need to believe. There is no need to disbelieve either, but there is need to experiment. Bring what they say into life and see. Watch your desire. If your conclusion too is the same—your observation finds Buddha and Ashtavakra right—then let the decisive authority be your experience, not their statement. Let Buddha be a witness; the original conclusion must be yours. Then the renunciation that will blossom within you will be ripe.

'Wherever there is thirst, there is the world.'

If there is thirst even for Moksha, that too is the world. Therefore even religion, he says, must be dropped.

'Take shelter in ripe renunciation and be desireless.'

प्रौढवैराग्यमाश्रित्य वीततृष्णः सुखी भव।

Be available to bliss now. But first, let renunciation ripen.

यत्र यत्र तृष्णा भवेत तत्र संसारम्‌ विधि वै।

Wherever there is desire, there is the world. Understand: desire is the world. Therefore leaving the world will achieve nothing. Leaving desire will achieve everything. The world is constructed by desire. If you run away from the world, there is no gain. If desire remains, a new world will be built. Wherever you go, you carry the blueprint—you will raise it again. You will not escape; its seed is within you.

Desire is the seed; the world is the tree. Burn the seed; do not fight the tree.

...तत्र संसारम्‌ विद्धि वै।
प्रौढ वैराग्यम्‌ आश्रित्य वीततृष्णः सुखी भव।।

Attain maturity.

Therefore, do not flee raw. Do not flee without experience. Do not be an escapist. Stand in the depth of life, in its density, and know it in all ways... Only by descending into the depths of desire will you be free of desire. Only by diving into the depths of wealth’s chase will you know: nothing is obtained. Only by living in ambition will you know: it only scorches, it burns; it is fever, delirium. Only by entering politics will you know: politics is disease, derangement, madness.

Let life ripen you by experience. And when your experience says so, renunciation will happen by itself—like a ripe fruit falling.

'Only thirst is bondage, and its extinction is called Moksha. By being unattached amidst becoming, again and again there is the attainment and contentment of the Self.'

तृष्णामात्रात्मको बंधस्तन्नाशो मोक्ष उच्यते।
भवासंसक्तिमात्रेण प्राप्तितुष्टिर्मुहुर्मुहुः।।

This sutra is worth deep reflection.

'Only thirst is bondage!'

As long as you want anything, know that you will be bound. Even if you want God, you will be bound.

Yesterday Guna sent a note: I can never leave you; do not try to free me. For me you are everything; I need no God, no Moksha.

Whether you need or not—and even if you ask for something inappropriate—I cannot be a collaborator in the inappropriate. However harsh it may seem, I will strive to free you from me. Otherwise I become your enemy. This is desire taking a new form. You are freed from husband and wife—and now bound to the Guru; a new net, a new chain.

A true Guru is he who frees you from the ultimate chain—who frees you from himself. It sounds difficult—because love arises. It seems harsh; but if I follow your desire, you will never reach anywhere. Then I become your follower. Even if you find it harsh, I will do what must be done. Even if I say: Do not worry, I will never free you—do not trust me. I only say so that you do not run away before I can free you. I will hold you, soothe you: No harm, whom to free? I will be with you forever. But beneath, I will keep cutting the roots. One day suddenly you will find: freedom has happened. Freedom from me too is needed!

The Satguru is one who frees you from yourself as well. Otherwise all worldly desires get attached to the Guru; you become infatuated with the Guru; then you worry about him; and how infatuation blinds—indescribable.

I used to go to Punjab and stay at a home. One morning I saw the Guru Granth Sahib—the book—enshrined; in front of it a twig for brushing teeth and a pot of water. I asked: What is this? They said: The toothbrush for the Guru Granth Sahib!

Is there a limit to madness? A toothbrush would have been fine for Nanak. You are brushing the book’s teeth?

Devotees do such things. They decorate idols, offer food, make them sit, bathe them, put them to sleep—who knows what all!

When will you be free of toys? Childishness. Children care for their dolls—bathe them, change clothes, feed them, put them to sleep—you call them childish. And you do the same with Lord Rama. But you call it devotion. However lofty it seems, it will never set you free—you will remain bound.

To leave the world is difficult; to leave religion is even more difficult. To leave worldly relationships is hard; to leave religious relationships is harder—because they are so sweet!

The Guru–disciple relationship is so sweet: there is no bitterness, only rasa. Husband and wife tire of each other; father and son quarrel—friction— but Guru and disciple? So sweet. No quarreling, no conflict, no thorns—only rasa. The disciple comes in his highest form; the Guru is in his highest. When you come to the Guru, the best within you begins to manifest. Hence the meeting is of the best with the best. You do not come with your dirty face; you bathe, freshen, choose an auspicious hour, your heart filled with worship—you bring your purest form. The Guru’s best meets your best; the union is supremely sweet. Then a bondage is born. Then arises the desire: Let this remain, let this go on forever—this dream never break!

But this dream too must break. Even if the disciple does not want to, the Guru must break it. The disciple may make this foolish wish— the Guru cannot nourish it.

'Only thirst is bondage, and its extinction is called Moksha.'

तृष्णामात्रात्मकः बंधः तन्नाशः मोक्षः उच्यते।

'Where thirst falls, there is Moksha.'

'And by being unattached amidst the whole becoming, again and again comes the attainment and the contentment of the Self.'

भवासंसक्तिमात्रेण मुहुः मुहुः प्राप्तितुष्टिः।

As glimpses come of thirst falling—even a little—immediately Moksha shines! It will happen again and again—मुहुः मुहुः—again and again, attainment and contentment! At first, for moments, desire will slip aside—but in that very duration the sky opens and the sun appears. As if eyes kept closed are opened a little, then shut again by old habit; opened a little again, shut again; slowly you get used to opening; then the eyes open fully—and never close. At first, it will be again and again.

'By simple non-attachment amidst becoming, again and again the Self is attained and contentment arises.'

Again and again; repeatedly; and the rasa deepens again and again, because the eye opens again and again more fully.

As truth begins to be seen, the relationship with untruth begins to break. As soon as the insubstantial is seen as insubstantial, the fist opens; as soon as the substantial is seen as substantial, there is an effortless tendency to house it in the heart.

'You are one pure consciousness; the world is inert and unreal; even avidya is unreal—what more do you desire to know?'

Ashtavakra says: There is nothing more to be known. There are three things here: the Self, the world, and between the two, a false bridge—avidya, maya, ignorance. Within is something—the pure consciousness; without is the spread of inertia; and between them a bridge. If the bridge is of avidya, you are entangled. If the bridge is of thirst, you are in bondage. If the bridge is of asking, of begging—you remain a beggar. You will never know your own wealth. If it is seen that avidya, maya, dream, stupor are futile and you begin to awaken—the bridge breaks. There remains the inert world there, and here remains the conscious Self. There is nothing more to know.

'You are one, pure, conscious.'

त्वमेकश्चेतनः शुद्धो जडं विश्वमसत्तथा।
अविद्यापि न किंचित्सा का बुभुत्सा तथापि ते।।

Tvam ekaḥ—You are one; śuddhaḥ—pure; cetanaḥ—consciousness. Viśvaṃ jaḍaṃ ca asat—this world is inert, dreamlike. Tathā sā avidyā api na kiñcit—and as the world is unreal, so too the relations we have formed with it cannot be true.

How can true relations be formed with the untrue? At night you dream that Kohinoor is before you—Pakistan, India may fight over it, but in your dream it is before you. Seeing the Kohinoor, the mind says: Let me take it, keep it, hide it! But the Kohinoor is false, a dream. The feelings that arise—let me take it, guard it, hide it—how can they be true when their object is untrue?

Ashtavakra says: avidyā api na kiñcit—the relations built in ignorance are also insubstantial. Tathāpi te kā bubhutsā—then what more do you desire to know? Knowledge is complete. This much is to be known. Iti jñānam!

The world is the running—gacchatīti jagat—full of change, waves; the Self is eternal, waveless, unattached. The relations between the two are all false—of ignorance. Someone says: my son; someone: my wife; someone: my house.

I have heard: a rich man’s house caught fire. It blazed; he beat his chest and wept. A crowd gathered. A man came and said: You weep for nothing. I know for sure your son sold this house yesterday evening. Hearing this, the rich man became instantly happy: Truly? I didn’t know; my son did not inform me; he is in another town.

But the house was still burning; flames were higher; yet his tears dried; he was cheerful. Then the son returned and said: Are you standing here? Talks had begun to sell it, but the deal is not done. He began to weep again, beating his chest. Now it is my house again! The house is the same—and burning. But for a moment the relation of 'mine' was gone. For that bit of time the relation was severed—my—everything else was the same. The man was the same, the house burning the same. He was not a Buddha. He remained what he was; the house burned; only one relation vanished—'mine.' With that losing, sorrow was gone; when the relation returned, sorrow returned.

Reflect a little. Your sorrow is born of your relations with the unreal made by you. Your joy is born when the relations with the unreal drop.

'Your kingdoms, sons and daughters, body and pleasures have perished birth after birth, even though you were attached to them.'

Ashtavakra says: Look back. What you have today you have had many times. Such kingdoms many times. Such wives, such sons, many times. Great wealth many times. And each time you were attached. But by your attachment nothing stopped—things came and went. Do attachments stop dreams?

राज्यं सुताः कलत्राणि शरीराणि सुखानि च।
संसक्तस्यापि नष्टानि तव जन्मनि जन्मनि।।

For countless births, Janaka, you have been among such things. Each time you clung, made 'mine'—and each time they fell away. Death came and cut them all.

'Artha, Kama and even good works—you have done much; yet in this forest called the world your mind has not found rest.'

Listen: Artha, Kama, and even meritorious deeds—you have done much! Charity too—you have done much, and still nothing.

The Upanishads tell the story of Yayati: when he came to die at a hundred, death came; he panicked and said: This is too early. I am only a hundred; I have not yet enjoyed.

He had a hundred sons, hundreds of queens. He said to his sons: Do this much for your old father—let one of you die.

In those ancient stories, rules were not so strict; death too was compassionate. Death said: Fine, he is old; let me spare him—but someone must go. Who will agree? The elder sons did not agree—some were seventy, some eighty. They too had seen life, had experience—yet the relish had not left. The youngest stood up: Take me. He was only fifteen or sixteen. Death said: Foolish boy, you have ninety-nine older brothers; if one of them went, it would be understandable; they are eighty—almost as old as your father. They will not go. Your father is a hundred; he himself should go! He prefers to send a son. Why do you go?

The son said: Seeing that even at a hundred my father has attained nothing, even if I live a hundred, what will I get? Seeing my brothers at eighty, seventy, sixty have attained nothing—what is the point in remaining? I am ready.

He must have been wondrous. Death took him. The father lived a hundred years more—his son’s life added to him.

They say this happened many times—ten times. Each time death came and each time Yayati said: Not yet; I have not yet enjoyed. Each time a son was sent. When he became a thousand, death came again; finally Yayati felt shame and said: Forgive me. Now I understand that even if I live a million years, nothing will happen. It does not depend on time. Desire cannot be filled—it is duṣpūra—impossible to fill.

Ashtavakra tells Janaka: Artha, Kama—you have done all that—and even good deeds, much merit—and from them too, nothing.

'Even these have not brought peace to the mind in the forest of the world.'

Neither bad deeds bring rest nor good deeds bring rest. Not by karma is rest attained—by akarma. Karma means motion continues, running continues, bustle continues. Akarma means you sit, become quiet, enter repose, affix a full stop. Only the witness remains; the doer is not.

अर्थेन कामेन सुकृतेन कर्मणा अपि अलम्‌!

Enough! You have done enough.

तथा अपि संसार कांतारे मनः न विश्रांतम्‌ अभूत।

Still in this jungle, this tumult called the world, your mind has not known even a moment’s rest. Now awaken—awake from doing!

'How many births have you not done work with body, mind and speech—painful and full of toil? Now cease.'

Now rest! What Zen calls zazen. Zazen means: just sitting and seeing—uparama—cessation. This is the ultimate definition of meditation.

Meditation is not an act you do. Meditation has nothing to do with your doing. Meditation means: witnessing. Silently seeing what is going on—without attachment, without resistance, without any bias—neither this side nor that. Impartial, dispassionate—just silently seeing.

कृतं न कति जन्मानि कायेन मनसा गिरा।
दुःखमायासदं कर्म तदद्याप्युपरम्यताम्‌।।

तत् अद्यापि उपरम्यताम्‌—Now cease!

People are entangled in irreligion; somehow they get free of irreligion and get entangled in religion—but entanglement does not go. People do sin; somehow they leave sin and get entangled in merit—but entanglement remains. They must do something. If they were abusing and you somehow persuade them not to, they say: Then we will chant, we will sing—still they will keep up the nuisance.

You have seen people put up loudspeakers and do 'akhand kirtan'—unbroken noise. The whole neighborhood cannot sleep. Children have exams—who cares? They are doing religious work! What kind of religious people are these? They do not even ask anyone. No one can stop them—because it is a religious act. If someone blares nonsense all night, the police will take him away; but if it is kirtan or Satyanarayan story, even the police cannot. There is freedom of religion. But the man remains the same; he trusts in clamour.

People come to me and say: You say just sit silently and meditate. But we need some support, some crutch—give us Ram-naam, some mantra, whisper in our ear—something—so that we can do. If I give 'Ram Ram,' they are ready to chant—but the babble continues. Earlier they babbled a thousand things; now they have put all babble aside and begun to babble Ram Ram. But they are not ready to be silent; only to do. Seeing is difficult; witnessing is difficult.

Witnessing is meditation. Sit; let the mind move. Who are you to obstruct? Who asked you? It did not begin by asking you—why should it end by asking you? Who are you? On the road cars move, rickshaws run, horns blow; in the sky planes fly, birds sing; children cry, dogs bark—within you too there is traffic: let it flow. You sit! Dispassionate—that is the meaning of upeksha, of zazen: just sit. Establish the seat within, be seated—see! Whatever moves—let it.

If a bad thought comes, do not call it bad. If you call it bad you are shaken. If you say 'bad,' you wish it had not come; it came—you are disturbed. If a good thought comes, do not pat yourself: Wonderful! A good thought came. The moment you say so, you are uprooted, your steadiness is lost. If kundalini rises, do not be agitated: It has begun, I am soon to be a siddha. If lights appear, do not be disturbed. These are all mind’s games. The mind plays big games; far-off scenes appear.

An old lady of eighty came to me and said: I am having a great experience. What experience? When I sit, forests appear that I have never seen. I asked: Even if you see them, what will you do? They are forests after all. She became annoyed: What kind of person are you? Any saint I tell says: Very good! Great experience!

Spirituality is not experience. As long as there is experience, it is not spirituality. Experience means you are still the experiencer, the enjoyer. Not outer enjoyment—inner enjoyment—yet enjoyment continues. Someone’s kundalini is rising; someone feels a tickle in the spine—and he has read in the scriptures that it will be so; he sits in expectation—let it tickle. If you expect, it will. You will imagine it, you will believe—and it will happen. Then you will be elated. If you are elated, you have missed again; meditation is missed.

Whatever happens, just see. Do not budge from the witness. Say: Right or wrong, whatever, I will keep seeing. I will not decide, not choose. I will not divide into good and bad.

In the beginning it is difficult—habit of many births to judge.

Jesus said famously: Judge not—do not judge; do not be a judge. Do not say good or bad; just see. You will be amazed—if you keep seeing, slowly the crowd thins; fewer thoughts come, fewer experiences pass. Sometimes it will happen: the road of the mind lies empty. One thought passed, the other has not come—between them a space, an interval— in that very interval what Ashtavakra calls भवासंसक्तिमात्रेण मुहुः मुहुः प्राप्ति तुष्टि—again and again the attainment and contentment—happens. The Divine is found; supreme contentment is found. That contentment is not of 'a great experience happened'—hence the ego is pleased. No—it is the contentment of emptiness, of Samadhi; not of experience—beyond experience. It is the fourth state, turiya; it is supreme cessation, rest.

'Now cease!'

तत् अद्यापि उपरम्यताम्‌!

This is what I say to you: Now cease! Now rest! Now sit and see. Now be a witness. You have been a doer; you have been an enjoyer; good deeds and bad—you have done much. Now be a witness. What you could not get as doer or enjoyer—will shower like grace in witnessing. In witnessing the Divine is found. In witnessing truth is found—because the witness is truth.

Hari Om Tat Sat!