Maha Geeta #3

First sutra:
‘Ashtavakra said, You are the one witness of all and forever truly free. Your bondage is this alone: that you abandon yourself and see the witness as other.’
This sutra is supremely precious. Understand each word of it well!
‘You are the one witness of all. Eko drashta’si sarvasya! And forever, truly free.’
Ordinarily we get a sense of our own life through the eyes of others. We use other people’s eyes like a mirror. Thus we forget the witness and become the seen. It seems natural, too.
A small child is born. He has no clue of himself yet. He will peer into the eyes of others to see who he is.
One’s own face does not show by itself; a mirror must be found. When you see yourself in a mirror you have become the seen; you are no longer the seer. How much self-knowledge do you really have? Only as much as the mirror says.
Mother says, My son is handsome — so the son takes himself to be handsome. Teachers at school say, You are intelligent — so the person thinks himself intelligent. Someone insults you, someone condemns you, and the tone of condemnation sinks within. That is why our sense of ourselves feels so misleading — because it is made of many voices, woven out of opposing voices. Someone said, You are beautiful; and someone said, You, beautiful? Look at your face in the mirror! Both voices went in; conflict was born. Someone said, You are very intelligent; and someone said, I’ve never seen a fool like you — both voices went in, joined inside. Great restlessness arose, great conflict arose.
Therefore you can never be certain who you are. What a crowd you have gathered — opinions piled up! You’ve peered into so many mirrors, and each mirror gave a different report! Mirrors don’t report about you; mirrors report about themselves.
You have seen those mirrors in which you become tall; mirrors in which you become fat. Mirrors in which you appear very beautiful. Mirrors in which you become very ugly — become an Ashtavakra.
The glimpse you get in the mirror is not yours — it belongs to the mirror’s own nature. Contradictory statements keep accumulating. This collection of contradictions you begin to take as I am! Hence you tremble continually, you remain afraid.
How great is the fear of public opinion! Lest people think ill of me. Lest they understand me to be stupid! Lest they think I am unrighteous! Let not people think so — because through people we have fabricated our very soul.
Gurdjieff used to say to his disciples: If you want to know the soul, you will have to leave people. He was right. For centuries the true Masters have said this. If you want to know yourself, you must stop looking into the eyes of others.
In my view, many seekers, explorers of truth, left society — not because truth is impossible to attain within society, but because within society it is very difficult to know your exact image. Here people keep giving you news of who you are. Whether you ask or not, glimmers come from every side about who you are. And bit by bit you start living for these reflections.
I have heard: a politician died. His wife had died two years earlier. As soon as the politician died, his wife welcomed him at the gate of the other world. But the politician said, I will not enter yet. Let me just accompany my bier to Rajghat.
The wife said: What’s the point now? There lies the body, only dust.
He said: Not dust; let me at least see how many people come to bid farewell!
The politician and his wife also went along with the bier — invisible to everyone else, but they could see the bier. A huge crowd! Journalists, photographers. Flags lowered. Flowers arranged. The bier on a military truck. Great honor being given. Guns to the front and behind. Soldiers marching. The politician was overwhelmed.
The wife asked, Why so delighted?
He said, If I had known that so many people would come when I died, I would have died long ago. Why did we wait so long? We lived only so that the crowd would come when we die!
People live for the crowd — people die for the crowd.
What others say has become so valuable that you don’t even inquire who you are. You clip and collect others’ clippings and compose your picture. That picture remains very shaky, because people’s minds keep changing. And not only do minds change, the reasons in people change too.
Someone comes and tells you, You are a great holy man — he has some reason, he flattered you. Who really considers you a saint? No one considers anyone a saint except himself in this world.
Think of yourself: besides yourself, whom do you take to be a saint? At times one has to say it. There are needs, there is life, obstacles — you have to call the false true; you have to call the wicked virtuous; you have to praise the ugly as if beautiful, sing their hymns, flatter them. That is why flattery is so valuable.
Why do people fall into the trap of flattery? Tell even a fool, You are supremely intelligent, and he doesn’t deny it, because he knows nothing of himself; whatever you say is what he hears; what you say is what he becomes.
So their reasons keep changing. Someone says, You are beautiful; someone says, You are ugly. Someone says, You are good; someone says, You are bad — it all keeps accumulating. And on the basis of these contrary opinions you construct your soul. You are riding a bullock cart with bulls yoked on all sides — going in all directions at once. Your skeleton is loosening. You only get dragged; you reach nowhere — cannot reach!
Today’s first sutra: ‘You are the one witness of all. And you are forever truly free.’
A person is not the seen, but the seer.
There are three kinds of people in the world: those who have become the seen — they are in the deepest darkness; second, those who have become spectators — they are a little better than the first, but not much; third, those who have become witnesses. It is necessary to understand all three distinctly.
When you become the seen, you turn into an object — you have lost the soul. That is why it is hard to find soul in a politician; hard to find soul in an actor. He has become a spectacle. He lives precisely to become the seen. His entire effort is: How shall I appear good to people, appear beautiful, appear superior? The effort is not to be superior, but to seem superior. How to look superior!
So the one who is becoming the seen turns hypocrite. He puts on masks above; he arranges all on the surface — inside he rots.
Then there are those who have become spectators. They are the vast majority. Naturally, for the first type, the second type is needed; otherwise how will anyone become the seen? Someone becomes a leader, then he finds a clapping crowd. A great matching occurs between the two. If there is a leader, followers are needed. If someone is dancing, spectators are needed. If someone is singing, listeners are needed.
So some labor to become the seen, and many are left being spectators. The spectators are a huge crowd.
Psychologists in the West are very worried, because people have remained only spectators. They go to watch movies, they turn on the radio, they sit in front of the television for hours! In America the average person watches television about six hours a day. There’s a football match — they go watch. Wrestling — they go watch. Cricket — they go watch. Olympics — they go watch. They are left only as onlookers. Standing by the roadside like spectators. The procession of life is passing by, you are watching.
Some have joined the procession — that is a tougher trade; there is great competition there. To enter the procession is a little hard. It needs much struggle and aggression. But spectators are also needed for the procession. They stand at the edges and watch. If they were not there, the procession too would be dismissed.
Think a little: if no followers walk behind, what will happen to the leaders! Alone — ‘Let our flag fly high’ — they will look like utter fools! Like madmen! People on the roadside are needed, the crowd is needed. Then even madness appears okay.
Think a little: if no one comes to watch and a cricket match continues — the very life of the match is gone! The life is not in the match; it is in the millions who gather to watch.
And man is strange! He will even go to watch horse races. This whole Koregaon Park is a colony of those who go to watch horses race. It is astonishing: if you race a man, no horse comes to watch! Horses run, men go to watch. Worse than horses we have become.
Watching, watching, life passes by. Spectators...!
You do not love; love runs on the screen, you watch it. You do not dance; someone dances, you watch. You do not hum a song; someone hums, you listen. If your life becomes impotent, if its living energy drains away, what is surprising? There is no movement in your life, no flow of energy. You sit like a corpse. Your only job is to go on watching; someone keeps showing, you keep watching.
These two make up the major numbers in the world. And both are bound to each other.
Psychologists say every disease has two facets. There are people whom psychologists call masochists — self-tormenters. They torture themselves. And there is another class whom psychologists call sadists — other-tormenters. They torture others. Both are needed for each other. When both meet, a grand drama happens.
Psychologists say: if the husband is one who torments others and the wife is one who torments herself, there cannot be a better pair. The wife enjoys tormenting herself; the husband enjoys tormenting another — a match made in heaven: one blind, one leprous! They fit, perfectly fit!
Every illness has two sides. The seen and the spectator are two sides of the same disease. Women generally like to become the seen; men generally like to become the spectator. In psychologists’ language, they call women exhibitionists — show-people. Their whole juice is in becoming an exhibition.
Mulla Nasruddin was killing flies. Too many flies, so his wife said, Get rid of them. He was near the mirror killing flies and said, There’s a pair, two females sitting here. The wife said, Outrageous! How did you tell which are males and which females?
He said, They’ve been sitting at the mirror for an hour — must be females. What business do males have at the mirror?
Women cannot drop the mirror. If a mirror is found, it pulls like a magnet. The whole life passes before a mirror — in clothes, adornments, cosmetics, ornament! And astonishingly, after so much decking up they get angry if someone jostles them! And if no one jostles, they are sad too — because all this decking up was precisely to invite a jostle; otherwise, what was the point? Women do not adorn for the husband. Before the husband they sit like a Bhairavi. Because there the pushing and shoving has ended. But when going out, they prepare greatly. There they will find spectators; there they must become the seen.
As for man, psychologists call him a voyeur. His whole gaze is in looking. His whole relish is in seeing.
Women do not relish seeing; they relish showing. Hence the pair of man and woman settles. Two faces of the disease sit together. And both these states are pathological.
Ashtavakra says: the nature of man is that of the witness. Neither become the seen, nor the spectator.
Now never make this mistake again... Many times I have seen people make this mistake — they believe that by becoming a spectator they have become a witness. In these two words there is a very fundamental difference. In a dictionary there may be no difference — there spectator and witness may have one meaning. But in the lexicon of life there is a great difference.
Spectator means: your gaze is on the other. Witness means: your gaze is on yourself. When the gaze rests on the seer, there is the witness. And when the gaze is on the seen, there is the spectator. A revolutionary distinction, a basic distinction! When your eyes get stuck on the object and you forget yourself, you are a spectator. When from your awareness all objects depart; only you remain; only pure wakefulness remains; only sheer alertness remains — then the witness.
You become a spectator when you are utterly forgetful — you have forgotten yourself, your attention is fixed there. You are sitting in a cinema hall: for three hours you forget yourself — not even a memory remains of who you are. Sorrows, joys, worries — all are forgotten. That is why crowds gather there. Life is full of sorrow, worry, trouble — there must be some device for forgetting! People become totally one-pointed. Their attention is riveted only on the film. They watch... on the screen there is nothing — mere shadows flicker; but people are utterly one-pointed. Illness is forgotten, worry is forgotten, old age is forgotten, even death if it comes is forgotten — but you have not become a witness sitting in the cinema; you have become a spectator; you have simply forgotten yourself. The very memory of this energy of seeing within is lost; only the object is there, you are stuck on it, drowned in it in every way.
To be a spectator is a kind of self-forgetfulness. To be a witness means: all objects have departed, the screen is empty; no film runs there now; no thought remains, no word remains; the screen has become utterly void — blank and white! Nothing remains to be seen; only the seer remains. And now, dive into the seer — the witness!
Humanity is divided into the seen and the spectator. Only rarely is there someone who is a witness — an Ashtavakra, a Krishna, a Mahavira, a Buddha. Only sometimes someone awakens and becomes a witness.
‘You are the one witness of all.’
And the beauty of this sutra is: the moment you are a witness, you know — the witness in existence is only one, not many. Objects are many, spectators are many. The very existence of multiplicity lies between the seen and the spectator. It is a web of falsehood. The witness is one.
Consider it thus: the full moon has risen. In rivers and ponds, in lakes and reservoirs, in the ocean, in streams — reflections appear everywhere. If you roam the earth and take account of all the reflections, you will find crores upon crores — but the moon is one; reflections are many. The witness is one; the seen are many; the spectators are many. They are only reflections, shadows.
So as soon as a person is free of the seen and the spectator — neither remains the desire to show so that someone see you, nor the desire to see; the web of seeing and showing drops. When that taste is gone, that is vairagya. Then no desire remains that someone see you and say: You are beautiful, virtuous, a saint, a sadhu. If even such a desire remains within that people should consider you a sadhu, you are still in the old net. If even this much craving remains that people should take you as a saintly person, you are still in the old net; the world has not yet dropped. The world has taken a new form, a new manner; but the journey is the same, the continuity the same.
What will you do by seeing? You have seen enough — what did you gain? What will you do by showing? Who is here by showing whom something is gained?
Dropping both, leaving the duality, when one dives into the witness, one finds that the One alone is. This full moon is one alone. It appeared different in lakes, ponds, reservoirs, oceans because there were different mirrors.
I have heard: there was a royal palace. The emperor had built the palace entirely of mirrors. Inside, only mirrors. It was a glass-palace. One night, by mistake, the emperor’s own dog got shut inside. You can imagine the dog’s condition. The same is man’s condition. He looked all around — dogs and only dogs! In every mirror a dog. He panicked. He barked.
When a man is afraid, he wants to frighten the other. Perhaps if the other gets frightened his own fear might lessen.
He barked, but naturally there were only mirrors; dogs in mirrors barked back. The sound returned to him — it was his own echo. The whole night he barked and ran and fought with mirrors, became bloodied. There was no one there — he was alone. In the morning he was found dead. Blood was splattered all over the palace. His story is the story of man.
There is no other here. There is no otherness here. What is, is non-dual. There is One. But until you catch hold of that One within, the idea won’t arise.
‘You are the one witness of all, and forever truly free.’
Ashtavakra says: truly free. Do not take this as imagination.
Man is very strange! He thinks the world is true and these truths are imaginations. He takes suffering to be true; if a ray of happiness descends he thinks it must be a dream, a deception.
People come to me and say: Great bliss seems to be descending; we suspect it might be an illusion! Having lived in misery for so many lives, all trust is lost that bliss can be. Bliss begins to feel impossible. The habit of weeping has become so ingrained, of misery so deep, the acquaintance with thorns so intimate that if a flower is seen, trust does not arise; seems it must be a dream, a sky-flower; it cannot be.
Therefore Ashtavakra says: truly free! The person is not bound. Bondage is impossible — because only Paramatma is; only the One is. There is nothing to bind, nor anyone to be bound.
‘You are forever truly free!’
Hence people like Ashtavakra say: this very instant you can be liberated — because you already are. There is no obstruction to liberation. Bondage has never occurred; bondage is only assumed.
‘Your bondage is this alone: that you abandon yourself and see the witness as other.’
Eko drashta’si sarvasya muktaprayo’si sarvada.
Ayam eva hi te bandho drashtaram pashyasi’itaram.
There is only this one bondage — that leaving yourself you see the witness as other. And there is only this one freedom — that you know yourself as the witness. So begin this experiment a little.
Look... You are sitting near a tree; the tree is visible; then slowly, slowly, while looking at the tree, begin to look at that which is looking at the tree. It is a small shift. Ordinarily the arrow of consciousness goes toward the tree. Let this arrow move both ways. Let it bear fruit in both directions — look at the tree, and along with it make the effort to see that which is seeing. Do not forget the seer. Catch hold of the seer. Again and again you will forget — it is an old habit; a habit of lifetimes. You will forget, but again and again catch the seer. As the seer begins to come into your grasp, sometimes only for a moment — but even for a moment you will find an extraordinary peace arising! A benediction has showered!! A ray of grace has descended!!! Even for a single instant if it happens, for that one instant you will taste the bliss of liberation. And that taste will change the flavor and current of your life. Words will not change the current of your life; scriptures will not change it — experience will change it, taste will change it!
You are listening to me here — it can be heard in two ways. While listening, if your attention remains only on what I am saying and you forget yourself, then you are not the witness, not a listener, not a shravaka. Your attention is stuck on me — then you have become a spectator. One becomes a spectator not only through the eyes; through the ears too one becomes a spectator. Whenever attention gets stuck on the object, you have become a spectator.
While listening, listen to me; and along with it, also keep seeing, keep catching, keep feeling — that which is listening. Surely you are listening, I am speaking: let the gaze not remain only on the speaker; also catch hold of the listener; take notice of him in between. Gradually you will find that the very moment you caught the listener, in that very moment you truly heard me; the rest was futile. When you listen while holding the listener, then what I am saying is exactly what you will hear. And if you do not catch hold of the listener, who knows what all you will hear — things that neither I said nor Ashtavakra. Then your mind will weave many webs.
You are unconscious! In unconsciousness how will you understand words of awareness? These are words of wakefulness. These words belong to another world. If you hear them in sleep, you will weave your dreams around them. You will spoil their color. You will paint them. You will interpret them in your own way. In your interpretation, these marvelous utterances will become dead. In your hands you will get Ashtavakra’s corpse; you will miss the living Ashtavakra. Because to catch the living Ashtavakra you must catch hold of your witness — there the living Ashtavakra resides.
Take this into account.
Listening to me, while listening, also begin to listen to the one who is listening. Let the arrow be double: toward me, and also toward you. If I am forgotten — no harm; but you must not be forgotten. And a moment comes when neither you remain, nor I remain. A moment of supreme silence comes when the two are not — only the One remains; you are the one speaking, you are the one listening; you are the one seeing, you are the one seen. For that moment Ashtavakra is pointing — that One is the witness, and forever truly free!
Bondage is like a dream.
Tonight you will sleep in Poona, but in sleep you might be in Calcutta, in Delhi, in Kathmandu — anywhere. In the morning upon waking you will again find yourself in Poona. If in the dream you had gone to Kathmandu, to return you won’t need to fly, nor take a train, nor walk back. No journey at all is needed. When the eyes open in the morning you will find you are in Poona. You will find you never went anywhere. You went in a dream. Is going in a dream any going at all?
‘Your bondage is this alone: that you abandon yourself and see the witness as other.’
There is only one bondage: we have no awareness of ourselves, no awareness of our witness.
This is one meaning of the sutra. There is another as well — take that into account too.
Ordinarily, those who have written on Ashtavakra have taken the second meaning. So it is necessary to understand that too. That second meaning is also right. Both meanings are right together.
‘Your bondage is this alone: that you abandon yourself and see the witness as other.’
You are listening to me, and you think: the ear is listening. You are seeing me, and you think: the eye is seeing. What can the eye see? If you take the eye as the seer, a mistake has happened. The one who sees is behind the eye. The one who hears is behind the ear. Touch my hand with yours and you think: your hand has touched mine. The mistake is happening. The one who touches is hidden within the hand — what can the hand touch? Tomorrow you will die and the corpse will remain; people may hold the hand, nothing will touch. The corpse will lie with its eyes open — everything will be present and nothing will be seen. The corpse will lie there; there will be music, bands playing, sound striking the ear, resonance arising — yet nothing will be heard. The one to whom it was heard, to whom it was seen, who felt the touch, who tasted — has gone.
The senses do not bring experience; behind the senses someone is hidden...
So the second meaning of this sutra is: know yourself alone to be the witness — do not take the body to be it; do not take the eyes, the ears, the senses to be it. Know the inner consciousness alone as the witness.
‘I am the doer’ — stung by this ego-serpent, black as night, drink the nectar of the trust ‘I am not the doer’ — and be blissful.
‘Aham karta iti — I am the doer, by this ego-serpent, extremely black, you have been bitten...’
Our belief is everything. We live in the dream of belief. Whatever we take ourselves to be — that we become. It is a matter of deep contemplation. This is the essence of the East’s experience. Whatever we accept ourselves to be, that we become.
If you have ever seen a hypnotist’s experiment, you will be startled. If he hypnotizes a man and tells him: You are a woman — then says, Get up and walk, that man begins to walk like a woman. It is very difficult to walk like a woman. A particular bodily structure is needed. To walk like a woman there must be the empty space of the womb in the belly, otherwise one cannot walk like a woman. Or with much practice one might. But a hypnotist puts someone under, in unconsciousness, and says, Get up, you are a woman, not a man, walk! — he begins to walk like a woman.
He places an onion in his hand and says, This is an apple, have breakfast — the man eats the onion for breakfast. Ask him the taste and he says, Very delicious! He does not even realize it is an onion. He doesn’t smell it either.
Hypnotists have observed — now it is a scientific fact, many experiments have been done — that under hypnosis, if you put a common pebble in the hand and say, It is a burning coal, he flings it away, screams that he is burnt! If it ended there, fine — but a blister even forms on the hand!
You have heard of people who walk on fire — that too is a deep state of hypnosis. If you accept with deep faith that you will not be burnt, even fire does not burn. It is a matter of believing. If even a little doubt remains, trouble will arise — you will be burnt.
Many times it has happened that some people, merely out of bravado, have tried, thinking, If so many are walking, I will too — but a worm of doubt was inside, they were burnt.
At Oxford University experiments were done. Buddhist monks from Sri Lanka were invited — to walk. Every Buddha Purnima they walk on fire in remembrance of Buddha. That is perfectly apt. In remembrance of Buddha one should walk on fire — because the entire remembrance of Buddha is that you are not the body. If we are not the body, how will fire burn us?
Krishna has said in the Gita: Fire cannot burn you, weapons cannot pierce you. Nainam chhindanti shastrani, nainam dahati pavakah. Fire does not burn you; weapons cannot cleave you.
So on Buddha Purnima in Sri Lanka, Buddhist monks walk on fire. They were invited. They walked in Oxford too. While they were walking in Oxford, one bhikkhu was burnt. About twenty monks walked; one was burnt. It was investigated — what happened? That monk had come only to see England. He had no trust that he could walk. His intention was something else. He had come only to travel and see England. His desire was merely to sightsee. And he thought, If these nineteen do not burn, why would I burn! But a worm of doubt was inside — he was burnt.
That very night, another event occurred: a professor at Oxford, who had neither seen nor heard of such a thing, was simply sitting and watching; seeing it, such trust arose in him that he got up and began to walk — and he walked. He was neither a Buddhist nor religious. He knew nothing of it. Just seeing so many walking, such a feeling arose, the faith became so dense, that he got up in a deep joyful mood and began dancing on the fire! The monks were startled, because the monks thought Buddha Bhagwan was saving them. This man was no Buddhist, he was English, and not religious either. He never went to church, so Christ would not take care of him. He had nothing to do with Buddha. He had no master. Only trust!
What we accept in deep faith — that happens.
‘I am the doer — stung by this ego-serpent, black as night, you suffer needlessly. Drink the nectar of the trust, I am not the doer — and be blissful.’
Keep this statement in mind. Again and again Ashtavakra says: Be blissful. He says, The thing can happen this very instant.
Aham karta iti — I am the doer: such is our belief. According to that belief our ego is formed. Doer means asmita. I am the doer — out of that our ego is manufactured. Therefore, the greater the doer, the greater the ego. If you haven’t done anything special, what ego will you carry? If you built a big house, your ego becomes that big. If you crafted a great empire, the boundary of your ego becomes of that size.
That is why madmen set out to conquer the world. They don’t really go to conquer the world! Who ever conquered the world? People come and go — who can conquer the world! But they set out to conquer it — to declare that their ego is so vast it will make the whole world small, surround it, define its boundary; I alone will become the definition of the entire cosmos! Alexander and Napoleon and Timur and Nadir and all the madmen go to encircle the world. This urge to encircle the world is the urge of the ego.
Have you seen someone? He became a minister or a chief minister — watch his gait then! And then watch him when he is no longer in office! What a wretched condition he falls into after stepping down! The man is the same, but the power is gone. That poison of ego that gave him motion, intoxication — the swagger in the walk, head held high, spine straight — all that is lost. What happened? A moment earlier he seemed so powerful; a moment later, so powerless!
Politicians do not live long after stepping down. So long as they are winning, they remain powerful; as soon as they start losing, the power slips away.
Psychologists say people die quickly after retirement. There is a difference of ten years — not a little but significant. One who could have lived to eighty — when he retires at sixty, he dies at seventy. He could have lived to eighty — there was no other cause to die; but a cause appeared: when you were a collector, a commissioner, a police-inspector — or even a constable, or even a schoolmaster... A schoolmaster too has his swagger. He has his own kingdom. Over thirty or forty boys he maintains his authority. He keeps them pressed down. There he is the emperor.
They say when Aurangzeb imprisoned his father, his father said, I do not feel at home here. Do one thing — send thirty or forty little boys and I will open a madrasa.
They say Aurangzeb replied: Father has fallen into prison, but the old imperial haughtiness won’t go. So he will now hold sway over thirty or forty boys. He made arrangements.
Even a small schoolmaster is a king in the world of thirty or forty boys. Even the greatest king does not have so much power! He says, Stand — they stand; Sit — they sit. Everything is in his hands. Whether a schoolmaster, or a collector, deputy collector, minister — as soon as one retires, the power is lost; now no one greets him on the road. Now he seems to have no relevance anywhere; he feels futile, as if thrown on the garbage heap, or in a junkyard. Now he is needed nowhere; wherever he goes, people tolerate him; but by their manner it is clear they feel, Please go now, forgive us — why have you come here? The very people who flattered him now dodge him. The very people who massaged his feet are no longer seen. Suddenly the balloon of his ego shrinks; as if it burst, the air leaks, punctured — it shrivels. Life seems to have no meaning. The desire to die arises. He begins to think, I may as well die now — what is the point?
People die early after retirement. Because the entire strength of their life was in their empires. Even a head clerk who bullied five or ten clerks — it doesn’t matter who you are: be a peon, even a peon has his swagger! Go to an office; look at the peon sitting on his stool outside — see his swagger! He says, Wait!
Mulla Nasruddin was a constable. He caught a lady driving too fast. Quickly he took out his notebook and began to write. The lady said, Listen! Don’t do useless paperwork. The mayor knows me. But he kept writing. The lady said, Do you hear — the chief minister also knows me! He wrote on. Finally the lady played her last card: Do you hear? Indira Gandhi also knows me!
Mulla said, Stop the nonsense! Does Mulla Nasruddin know you?
The lady said, Who is Mulla Nasruddin? What do you mean?
He said, My name is Mulla Nasruddin. If I know you, something can happen; else even if God knows you, this report will be written, this case will proceed.
Everyone has their swagger! A constable too has his swagger; his own little world, his own kingdom. Get caught in it and he will torment you.
The ego lives on the boundary of what you can do. So observe: an egoist finds it very hard to say Yes.
Observe within yourself. I am not giving you a yardstick to measure others; analyze yourself. Saying No gives a special pleasure — because in saying No, a sense of power arises. The son asks his mother, May I go out and play? She says, No! No! There is no harm at all in playing outside. If the son does not play outside, where will he play? And the mother knows he will go anyway; he will make a racket, she too will display her power. Powers will clash. A little politics will ensue. He will shout, bang utensils; then she will say, All right, go, play outside! But when she says, Go, play outside — then it is fine; then he goes by her permission!
Mulla Nasruddin’s son was making a lot of mischief. Mulla kept saying to him, Sit quietly! Listen — obey me, sit quietly! But he didn’t listen. What son listens! Finally, flaring up, Mulla said, Very well — now do as much mischief as you like. Now let me see how you disobey my command! My order now is: do as much mischief as you like. Now let’s see how you violate my command!
No comes quickly — it sits ready on the tongue.
Watch carefully. In ninety out of a hundred cases where there was absolutely no need to say No, you still say No. You do not miss chances to say No. If a chance to say No comes, you pounce on it. Saying Yes feels like great helplessness. Saying Yes feels very pitiable. Saying Yes means: you have no power.
Therefore those who are very egoistic become atheists. Atheist means: they have uttered the ultimate No. They have said, Even God is not — leave the rest aside.
Atheist means he has given the final, ultimate denial. Theist means: he has given the ultimate acceptance — he has said Yes to God. Saying Yes to God means: I am no more. Saying No to God means: only I am — above me there is no one, beyond me there is no one, there is no one to limit me.
Our doership feeds our ego. Hence keep Ashtavakra’s sutra in mind: ‘I am the doer — aham karta iti — by this ego-serpent, black as night, you have been bitten and you suffer uselessly, tormented.’
This suffering does not come from outside. The misery we endure is self-made. The bigger the ego, the more the pain. Ego is a wound. Even a slight wind-breeze gives pain.
To make a non-egoistic person miserable is impossible. To make an egoistic person happy is impossible. The egoist has decided not to be happy — because happiness comes with a Yes-attitude, with acceptance. Happiness comes by knowing what I am: a drop in the ocean! A drop of the ocean! The ocean alone is — what is my being?
The more dense the realization of one’s non-being becomes, the more heaps of joy begin to shower upon one. He who melts is filled. He who displays stiffness, disappears.
‘...I am not the doer — drink the nectar of this trust and be blissful.’
Ashtavakra calls this feeling — ‘I am not the doer’ — nectar. ‘Aham na karta iti’ — this alone is the nectar.
Understand one more meaning: only the ego dies; you never die. Therefore the ego is death, poison. The day you know there is no ego — only Paramatma within; merely His expansion, His ray, His drop — then there is no death for you; then you are amrit, deathless.
With Paramatma you are amrit; with yourself you are mortal. With yourself you are alone, opposed to the world, opposed to existence — you are engaged in an impossible war in which defeat is certain. With Paramatma, all is with you — there defeat is impossible, victory certain. Take everyone along. Where it can happen by cooperation, why choose conflict? Where by bending you can unite, why try to snatch by fighting? Where through simplicity and humility it is attained, why create needless uproar, useless disturbance?
‘Drink the nectar of the trust, I am not the doer — and be blissful.’
Janaka has asked: How can we be happy? How does happiness happen? How is liberation attained?
Ashtavakra prescribes no method. He is not saying, “Practice like this.” He says, “See like this.” Let your vision be so—enough! It is all a disturbance of vision. If you are miserable, a wrong way of seeing is the basis. If you want happiness, set the vision right...

“Drink the nectar called trust and be happy.”
In this, the meaning of trust is worth understanding. Distrust means: you do not take yourself to be one with the Whole. From that, doubt arises. If you know yourself to be one with the Whole, how can there be distrust? Wherever existence leads, that is auspicious. We did not come by our own will, nor will we go by our own will. We have no idea of birth—why were we born? We have no idea of death—why will we die? No one asked us, before we were born, “Do you want to be born?” and no one will ask before we die, “Do you want to die?” Everything is happening here. Who asks us? Why bring ourselves needlessly in between?

From where life has emerged, into that we will dissolve. And in the giver of life—how can there be distrust? In the source from which this beautiful life has arisen—how can there be distrust? The place from which these flowers have blossomed, these lotuses, these moon and stars, these humans, animals, birds; where there is so much song, so much music, so much love—why distrust that?

Trust means: we do not regard ourselves as alien or foreign; we know ourselves one with this existence. The moment this oneness is proclaimed, a rain of joy begins in life.

“Drink this nectar of trust and be happy.”
Vishvāsāmritam pītvā sukhī bhava.
Be happy now! Pītvā sukhī bhava! This very moment, be happy!

“Burn the forest of ignorance with the fire of the conviction, ‘I am pure awareness,’ and, freed from sorrow, be happy.”
Cross sorrow now!

By knowing a small thing, suffering dissolves: that I am pure awareness; I am only the witness; I am only the seer.

Ego is the one disease.

I have heard: at a poets’ gathering in Delhi, Mulla Nasruddin also took part. When the meet ended and the organizer began distributing honorariums, he was not satisfied. He did not get as much as he imagined. He got very angry. He said, “Do you know who I am? I am the Kalidasa of Poona!” The organizers were seasoned people. They said, “Fine—but tell us, from which neighborhood of Poona are you Kalidasa?”

In every neighborhood there are Kalidasas, in every neighborhood Tagores! Everyone thinks his talent is unique, unparalleled!

There is a saying in Arabia: whenever God makes a person, he whispers in his ear, “Never have I made anyone better than you.” And he says this to everyone! The joke is very deep. Everyone lives with the idea in his heart: no one better than me has ever been made; I am the supreme masterpiece. If someone doesn’t accept it, that is his lack of understanding. I am the supreme creation!

A man living in such conceit suffers greatly. Because of this conceit he makes great expectations which can never be fulfilled. His expectations are endless; life is very short. Whoever binds expectations will be miserable.

There is another art of living this life—expectationless; asking for nothing; filled with gratitude for whatever comes; in a mood of thankfulness. That is the theist’s way.

What you have received is so much! But only if you look!

I have heard: a man went to die. On the bank of a river where he went to end his life, a Sufi fakir sat. He asked, “What are you doing?” He was about to jump. He said, “Don’t stop me now—enough is enough! There is nothing in life—it is all useless. What I wanted, I didn’t get. What I didn’t want, that is what I got. God is against me. Why should I accept this life?”

The fakir said, “Do one thing—wait for one day, then you can die. What’s the hurry? You say you have nothing?”

He said, “Nothing at all! If I had anything, why would I come to die?”

The fakir said, “Come with me. The king of this village is my friend.”

He took him. He whispered something in the king’s ear. The king said, “I’ll give one hundred thousand rupees.” The man only heard that; he did not hear what the fakir had said. The fakir returned and said in his ear, “The king is ready to buy both your eyes for one hundred thousand rupees. Will you sell?”

He said, “What do you mean? Eyes—and sell them? For a hundred thousand! I wouldn’t give them even for a million!”

The fakir went back to the king. He said, “All right, he’ll give one million ten thousand.” The man said, “Leave it! I’m not doing this business. Why would I sell my eyes?”

The fakir said, “Will you sell your ears? Your nose? The king is ready to buy anything, for whatever price you ask.”

He said, “No, I won’t do this business. Why would I sell?”

The fakir said, “Just look—you aren’t willing to sell your eyes even for eleven hundred thousand, and last night you were going to die saying, ‘I have nothing!’”

What you have, you do not see. Consider these eyes—what a miracle! Eyes are made of skin, an organ of the skin—and yet they see; how transparent! The impossible has happened. These ears hear music, birdsong, the murmur of winds, the roar of the ocean! These ears are made only of skin and bone—look at this miracle!

You are—this itself is such a great miracle; what greater miracle can you imagine? In this body of bone, flesh, and marrow, the lamp of consciousness is lit. Just value this lamp of awareness!

No—yet you have no vision for this. You say, “I should have got a hundred-rupee job; I got ninety—I will die, I will commit suicide!” “I should have been a minister; I became only a deputy minister—I won’t live!” “I wanted a big house; I got a small one—there’s no point living.” “I went bankrupt; my bank account is empty—what is there to live for?” “I wanted a certain woman and didn’t get her; I wanted a certain man and didn’t get him—now I will die!”

The more you demand, the more suffering there will be in your life. The more you see how much has come without your asking! The extraordinary has rained upon you—without cause! What did you earn, on account of which you received life? What is your achievement on the basis of which you dance in the rays of the sun, converse with moon and stars? What is the reason? What is your strength—what proof of it—by which the winds touch you and you hum and rejoice, by which meditation becomes possible? What have you done for it? Everything here has been given to you—as grace! Yet you are troubled; you go on complaining; you remain sad. Surely the disease of ego is eating you up. That is what has gripped all.

I have heard: all the members of a family worked in films. Once the head of the family went to their family doctor and said, “Doctor, my son has a contagious disease—scarlet fever. And he thinks he kissed the maid.”

“Don’t worry,” the doctor advised, “in youth, blood runs hot.”

“You didn’t understand, Doctor,” the man said, getting a bit restless, “the truth is, after that I too have kissed that girl.”

“Then the matter looks a bit serious,” the doctor admitted.

“What serious—Doctor! After that, I have also kissed my wife twice.”

Hearing this, the doctor leapt from his chair and shouted, “Then we’re finished! Then I, too, must have caught that damned disease!”

He had kissed his wife. That is how disease spreads!

Ego is a contagious disease.

When a child is born there is no ego—utterly egoless, innocent; an open book, no writing on it; an empty book. Then, gradually, letters are written. Ego is constructed little by little. Mother, father, family, society, school, university—each makes the ego stronger. The whole process of our education, conditioning, civilization and culture—produces one disease: it gives birth to ego. That ego clings like a ghost our whole life.

If you want the exact meaning of religion: what society, culture, civilization give you as a disease—religion is the medicine for that disease, nothing else. Religion is against society, against civilization, against culture. Religion is rebellion. Religion is revolution.

The sum and substance of religion’s revolution is this: what others have put upon you, how to teach you to drop it. Don’t carry it—that is your pain, your hell. Other than ego there is no burden in life. Other than ego there is no chain, no bondage.

“I am pure awareness—by the fire of such a conviction, burn the forest of ignorance; be free of sorrow and happy.”

Ego means: to link your consciousness to something other than itself.

A man says, “I am intelligent.” He has linked his ego with intelligence—his consciousness has become impure.

If someone mixes water into milk, we say the milk is adulterated. But what if the mixer says, “I added absolutely pure water”? Even then you will say, “It is impure.” Whether you add pure water or impure—what does it matter? Water was mixed! It makes no difference that the water was pure; the milk is impure. And look closely: not only is the milk impure; the water too has become impure. Separately, both milk and water were pure; together, both are adulterated.

When the opposite, the alien, is mixed—trouble begins. As soon as consciousness is mixed with what is other than itself—you say, “I am intelligent.” Intelligence is a mechanism; use it. Don’t become “an intelligent person.” That is intelligence—to not become “an intelligent person.” The moment you say, “I am intelligent,” the trouble begins. Milk has mixed with water. However pure your intelligence may be, it won’t help. You say, “I am virtuous”—milk has mixed with water. However pure your character may be, it won’t help. The vicious and the virtuous both have egos.

I have heard an old story. In the Tsar’s time, in Russia, three prisoners were jailed in Siberia. They always argued over who was the greater criminal; who had been in prison longer. This happens in jail. People exaggerate there too. It’s not only you who brag about your bank balance and, when guests arrive, borrow furniture from neighbors and spread carpets. It’s not only you who fool others; it’s not only you who, seeing others, start chanting “Hare Rama, Hare Rama” loudly so that if someone comes, the prayer becomes long and the bells ring hard; if no one comes, you finish quickly. When guests are home, you go to the temple to impress them with your religiosity. Prisoners do similarly in jail.

The three prisoners argued. One day the first said, “When I came to jail, when I was thrown into Siberia, motorcars did not run.”

The second said, “What is that? When I was thrown in, even bullock carts didn’t run.”

The third said, “Bullock carts? What are bullock carts?”

They were trying to prove who had been there since the most ancient time. There too is ego.

I have heard: in one prison a new offender arrived. In the cell where he was sent, an old “don” was already installed. The don asked, “How long will you be here?” He said, “Some twenty years’ sentence.” The don said, “You stay near the door! You’ll have to leave soon. Lay your bedding by the door.”

Even the criminal has ego. Man stuffs his ego with the bad, and with the good! But in both situations consciousness is adulterated.

Ashtavakra says, “I am pure awareness.” I am neither intelligent nor virtuous nor unvirtuous; neither beautiful nor ugly; neither young nor old; neither fair nor dark; neither Hindu nor Muslim; neither Brahmin nor Shudra—I have no identification with anything. I am the one who sees all this.

Like when you light a lamp in your house—the lamp’s light falls on the table, on the chair, on the wall, on the clock, on the furniture, the cupboard, the carpet, the floor, the roof—on everything. You sit—the light falls on you too. But the flame is not the wall, nor the roof, nor the floor, nor the table, nor the chair. All are illumined in that light; but the light is separate.

Pure consciousness is your light, your awareness. That awareness falls on your intellect, on your body, on your actions; but you are none of these.

As long as you know yourself by attaching to something, ego will arise. Ego is: the identification of consciousness with some other thing. The moment you drop all identification—when you say, “I am only pure awareness; I am pure knowing”—you begin to return home; the moment of liberation draws near.

Ashtavakra says, “With the conviction that I am pure awareness...”
Aham ekā viśuddha bodhaḥ iti.
“...with the fire of such certainty...”
This certainty will not come just from hearing. Not by an intellectual understanding. You have understood this many times, then forgotten again. Certainty will come through experience, by a little experiment. With realization, certainty is born. And with certainty, revolution happens.

“...burn the forest of ignorance and, free of sorrow, attain happiness; be happy.”

“In which this imagined world appears like a snake in a rope—know yourself as that bliss, the supreme bliss of awareness. Therefore roam about happily.”

Here there is no cause for sorrow. You are unnecessarily crushed under a dream of suffering.

Have you had a nightmare? A man sleeps with his hands on his chest; from their weight it feels in the night that a ghost has sat on his chest! It is his own hands; their weight becomes delusion in sleep. Or he has placed his pillow on his chest; it feels a mountain has fallen! He screams, cries. Even the scream won’t come. He wants to move his limbs, but they won’t move—a panic sets in. Even when he wakes he finds himself drenched in sweat. Though awake and understanding that no enemy is there, no mountain fell—that it was his own pillow on his chest, or his own hands—still the breath pounds, as if he has run for miles. The dream is broken, yet its effects linger.

What we call the sufferings of the world are delusions of our own awareness.

“In which this imagined world appears like a snake in a rope...”
You have seen a rope lying on the path in the dark—the idea of a snake arises! The thought arises and the snake is imposed on the rope. You run! You raise a hue and cry! In running you may fall, break your limbs, and later discover it was only a rope—you ran for nothing! But what then? Your bones are already broken!

If you have even a small lamp of awareness, even in the darkest night you will see by that lamp: the rope is a rope, not a snake. In that awareness, bliss and the supreme bliss are born.

“Therefore roam happily!”

You have the key. You have the light. You have covered it with needless veils. Remove the veils. Lift the curtain! The veils of thought, desire, expectation, imagination, dreams—remove them. They are the veil. Lift it. See with open eyes.

People sit wearing burqas. Because of those burqas, nothing is seen. They bump around, fall into pits.

“That very awareness is bliss, supreme bliss. Therefore roam happily.”
Yatra viśvam idaṁ bhāti kalpitaṁ rajju-sarpavat,
Ānanda-paramānandaḥ sa bodhas tvaṁ sukhaṁ cara.
Slightly understand, grasp, recognize this awareness—and then roam in happiness. This existence is supreme joy. Existence knows no sorrow. Sorrow is your own manufacture.

It is difficult to understand this because we live in so much sorrow—how to accept there is no sorrow? The one who ran seeing the rope also does not accept there is no snake. The one who thought a mountain fell on his chest cannot accept, in that moment, that no mountain fell. Our condition is the same.

What to do?
Move a little from the seen to the seer! See everything, but do not forget the one who sees. Hear everything, but do not forget the one who hears. Do everything, but remember that you are not the doer.

Buddha used to say: walk on the road and remember that within, no one is walking. Within, everything is unmoving.

And so it is.

You have seen a cartwheel move? The axle-pin remains still; the wheel turns. So the wheel of life turns; the pin remains unmoving. You are the pin.

“The one who identifies with freedom is free, and the one who identifies with bondage is bound. For in this world the proverb is true: as is the mind, so is the motion.”

This aphorism is valuable.

“The one who takes himself as free is free.”
He who knows “I am free” is free. For freedom, nothing else need be done; only this knowing: I am free! Your doing will not bring freedom; your knowing will. Freedom is not the result of action; it is the fruit of knowledge.

“The one who identifies with freedom is free, and the one who identifies with bondage is bound.”
Whoever thinks “I am bound,” is bound. Whoever thinks “I am free,” is free.

Try it for yourself! For twenty-four hours, think just this: “Let it be so for a day— I am free.” Live free for twenty-four hours. You will be astonished; you yourself won’t believe it. If you think you are free, no one can bind you. If you think you are bound, everything will bind you.

I had a friend, a fellow professor. It was Holi; he drank bhang. He made a ruckus on the road, created mischief. He was a simple man. The danger with simple men is that much is suppressed inside. He was not a troublemaker. His name was Bholaram—an innocent soul. For such a one, bhang should be avoided; the innocence on the surface gets drowned and all that was suppressed emerges—what he never did in his life came out. He went to the street, made noise, created disorder, teased a woman. He was caught and locked in the police station. He was a professor of English.

Around two at night, a man came to me and said, “Your friend has been caught; he asks that you get him out before morning, otherwise it will be difficult!” With great difficulty, by morning, I could get him out. We brought him home, but he was so shaken—being a straight man—it created a crisis. For three months he suffered terribly. If a policeman passed on the street, he hid—“He’s coming to arrest me!” We lived in the same room. At night, if a policeman blew a whistle, he’d slip under the bed. I’d say, “What are you doing?”

“They are coming!”

Things got so bad that he wouldn’t let me sleep nor sleep himself. “Stay awake! Did you hear? They…! The air carries the news, voices are coming. On the radio they are sending bulletins from here and there: where is Bholaram?”

I’d say, “Bholaram, go to sleep!”

“How can I sleep? Life is in danger. They will catch me! There’s a file against me.”

In the end I got so troubled that, seeing no other way… He stopped going to college, took leave, sat at home. That same theme ran twenty-four hours—a state psychologists call paranoid. He began creating from his own fear. He was a good man; I had never imagined this. But I learned what a man can imagine! “The walls,” he would say, “have ears. People are listening everywhere.” Anyone walking on the road was walking only watching him. Someone laughing by the roadside was laughing at Bholaram. If anyone talked, they were plotting against him. The whole world was against him.

Seeing no other remedy, I thought of one path. An inspector I knew—his friend. I explained, “Bring a file and come.”

He said, “If there were a file, I’d bring it. There is no file, no case. The man did nothing—only once drank bhang, made a little commotion—finished. There is nothing to make such a fuss about.”

“Bring any file. Leave the pages blank inside—but the file should be big, because he says the file is big. And Bholaram’s name should be on it. And don’t worry—give him a couple of slaps, and even put handcuffs on him; and until I give you ten thousand rupees as bribe, don’t agree to release him. Only then, perhaps, he will be freed.”

He came. He gave him a few slaps. When he was slapped, he became strangely pleased. He said to me, “Now see! What I said has happened or not? Here is the file. In big letters: ‘Bholaram.’ Now tell me—where did all your sensible talk go? Now this is happening. Come, Bholaram! They’ve even put on handcuffs!”

In one way he was pleased; in another he was sad, and cried. But in one way he was delighted that his belief proved true. Man is such a mad creature! If even your belief in your suffering is proved right, your ego is satisfied: “See, I was right!”

His whole attitude was: I proved everyone else wrong; all who tried to explain were wrong; in the end, only I turned out to be right.

With great effort, coaxing and pleading, I gave bundles of notes to the inspector; he burned the file before him. From that day, Bholaram was free—he became well! The whole matter was finished.

Almost this is our state.

“One who identifies with freedom is free; one who identifies with bondage is bound. For in this world this saying is true: as is the attitude, so is the destination.”
Muktābhimānī mukto hi, baddho baddhābhimāny api.
Kiṁvadantīha satyeyam—yā matiḥ sa gatir bhavet.
Yā matiḥ sa gatir bhavet!
As you think, so you become.

“The Self is the witness, all-pervading, perfect, one, free, conscious, actionless, unattached, desireless, peaceful. It only appears as the world because of delusion.”

Witness, all-pervading, perfect—listen to these words!

Ashtavakra says: you are perfect! There is nothing to be added to you. As you are, you are complete. There is no development to be done in you. No steps to climb. Nothing ahead of you. You are perfect; you are the Divine; you are all-pervading; you are the witness; the one; free; conscious; actionless; unattached. No one has bound you. You are alone, in supreme solitude—desireless!

You do not have to become this—that is the difference in Ashtavakra’s message. If you listen to Mahavira, he says: you have to become this. Ashtavakra says: you already are this!

It is a big difference, not small. Mahavira says: become unattached, become desireless, become perfect, become all-pervading, become the witness. Ashtavakra says: you are thus; just awaken! Open your eyes and see.

Ashtavakra’s yoga is an utmost easy-yoga.
The simple samadhi is best!

“Drop the delusion ‘I am a reflected, egoic soul,’ and drop the notions of inner and outer—then contemplate the changeless, awareness-form, nondual Self.”

“Aham ābhāsa iti—I am an apparent, reflected, egoic being!”
What you have believed till now is only an appearance. It is your belief, your opinion. Though those around you believe the same, which strengthens your opinion. After all, man borrows opinions; you learn from others; you imitate. Here, everyone is miserable—you too have become miserable.

In Japan there was a wonderful saint: Hotei. The moment he awakened, he began to laugh. He laughed for the rest of his life. He went from village to village. People in Japan call Hotei “the laughing Buddha.” He would stand in the marketplace and start laughing. His name spread far and wide. People waited for him to come. He had no other preaching—he would simply stand and laugh; slowly a crowd gathered, and people too began to laugh.

People asked Hotei, “Say something else.” He said, “What else to say? You are crying for no reason. Someone is needed to make you laugh! I bring only this news: laugh. Nothing is lacking! Laugh with an open heart. The whole existence is laughing; you are crying for no reason! Your crying is wholly private. The whole existence laughs—the moon, the stars, the flowers, the birds; you are the only one crying. Open your eyes and laugh! I have no other message.”

He laughed, wandering from one village to another. They say he made the whole of Japan laugh! And gradually, through laughter, people got glimpses. That was his meditation; that was his samadhi. Laughing, people slowly experienced: we can laugh; we can be happy—for no reason!

The search for causes is wrong. As long as you seek a cause—“When there is a cause, then I will laugh”—you will never laugh. If you think, “When there is a reason, then I will be happy,” you will never be happy. The seeker of causes becomes more and more miserable. Causes belong to sorrow. Happiness is your nature. Causes have to be manufactured—sorrow has to be manufactured too. Happiness is. Happiness is present. Manifest it. This is what Ashtavakra keeps saying:

“Be the awareness, and roam in happiness!”
“Free of sorrow, be happy!”
“Drink the nectar of trust and be happy!”
Drink the nectar—be happy!

Man is perfect, one, free. Only appearance is obstructing.

“Drop the illusion ‘I am a reflected, egoic being,’ and drop the notions of inner and outer; then imbue yourself with the changeless, awareness form—the nondual Self.”
Aham ābhāsa iti bāhyaṁ antaram muktvā—
“Be free of the notions of outer and inner.”
The Self is neither outside nor inside. Outside and inside are distinctions of mind. The Self is outside and inside both. Outside and inside arise in the Self. The Self alone is. Drop all notions of in-and-out; imbue yourself with the changeless, awareness-form, nondual Self.

This translation is not right. The original sutra is:
Bāhyaṁ antaram bhāvaṁ muktvā—
Free of the inner-outer.
Tvaṁ kūṭastha-bodham advaitam ātmānaṁ paribhāvaya.
Paribhāvaya—imbue yourself!

“Vichar—contemplate” is not right. Paribhāvaya: “Imbue yourself with the feeling that you are the changeless Self.” Let this be your bhāva, your felt sense. Feeling! Bathe in this feeling. Thought would be the head again; this happens from the heart. This feeling will be like love, not like mathematics. Not like logic—like a song, whose humming sinks to the depths and touches the innermost of your being, making it quiver.

Imbue yourself with the feeling: I am the changeless Self. I am not the spinning wheel, but the pin at its center. Kūṭastha means the unmoving, like the fixed pin.

As long as you think you are on the earth, you are on the earth. The moment you show readiness, the moment you take courage, that very moment the flight in the sky can begin.

Flocks upon flocks of clouds, elated over the earth—
I fly on and on, above the clouds!
A strange realm opens before me;
Some vast dream wakes within the sleeper.
Where dissolves the time-sea, home to home!
A train through a dark, icy valley,
In the undulant streams fish glitter;
I sink into the foaming darkness within!
For miles a red rim encircles the sun,
A rainbow overflows upon my wings—
Here and there fountains of color burst!
Somewhere a river seems still, elsewhere bridges fly;
Currents over currents, restless, eager,
Mountains melt and flow through the sky!
Village upon village, white woods of kans grass;
What breath births these endlessly sprouting trees?
Another earth the sky has become—
Flocks upon flocks of clouds, elated over the earth!
I fly on and on, above the clouds!
A strange realm opens before me!
Some vast dream wakes within the sleeper!

Awaken! You have dreamed enough—now awaken! Awakening is the key. Nothing else to do—no discipline, no yoga, no posture—just awakening!

Hari Om Tatsat.