Main Mrityu Sikhata Hun #13

A few things are useful to understand. First, the whole arrangement of existence depends on the polarity of negative and positive. Wherever there is attraction, wherever there is a pull, the two divided poles of negative and positive are at work. The division into man and woman is part of that greater division; the division of sex is also a part of that greater division. In the language of electricity, the negative and positive poles attract each other intensely.

Ordinarily, the attraction that man and woman feel between them is for the same reason. Fundamentally there is no difference between this attraction and the attraction of a piece of iron toward a magnet. If the piece of iron could speak, it would say, “I have fallen in love with this magnet.” If it could speak, it would say, “Without this magnet I cannot live now; either I will live with it or I will die.” If it could speak, it would write as many poems about love as human beings have written. It does not speak—that’s the only difference—otherwise the attraction is the same. If this point about attraction becomes clear, a few more things will also become clear.

Generally this attraction is experienced in the ordinary sense. But in spiritual terms this attraction can be used, and in certain situations it becomes indispensable. For example, if a man’s subtle body suddenly steps out—suddenly!—without prior preparation, without previous arrangement, without any deliberate practice to take it out; if it goes out accidentally, then returning becomes very difficult. Or if a woman’s subtle body goes out inadvertently—due to illness, an accident, an injury, or even in the course of some practice, but without her own deliberate arranging—then in that state returning becomes very difficult. Because one knows neither the path of going out nor the path of returning. In such conditions the presence of the opposite pole can be helpful.

If a man’s subtle body is out and a woman touches his body, it becomes easier for his subtle body to come back into his body. This is like placing a magnet on one side of a glass wall with a piece of iron on the other side: the iron will be drawn to the magnet without any concern for the glass wall in between. The man’s gross body will be there between, of course, but the woman’s touch becomes supportive in bringing the subtle body that has gone out, back in. That magnetic force is the cause. Similarly, the accidental outward flight of a woman’s subtle body can be helped to return.

But this is in accidental situations. If the experiment has been done in a systematic, organized way, then it is not necessary. Why not? Because, as I said earlier, each man’s first body is masculine; his second body is feminine. A woman’s first body is feminine; her second body is masculine. If someone has sent the body out in an organized, deliberate way, then he does not need the body of another woman; he can use his own inner feminine body to bring it back. Then the other is not required. But this will be so only when the experiment has been consciously designed. If the event is accidental, you do not even know you have other bodies within; you do not know their processes, nor how to use them. So it can happen that even without a woman a man’s subtle body returns—but that too would be accidental, just as the going out was accidental. It cannot be said with certainty.

Therefore, in every tantric laboratory—where, in human history, the greatest work has been done on the inner bodies—since no one has experimented as much on the inner life as the tantrics, the presence of a woman became indispensable. And not just any woman—an extraordinary woman. For if a woman has been with many men, her magnetic force diminishes. Hence a virgin girl had great value in tantra. There were no other reasons. If a woman has been with many men—or with one man many times—her magnetic power gradually gets depleted.

The decline of attraction in an elderly woman is not merely due to age. The decline of attraction in an elderly man is not merely due to age. A very basic reason is that their polarity has become weak. The man has become less masculine; the woman less feminine. If someone can preserve his manhood or her womanhood even into old age—the process of preserving this is called brahmacharya—then the attraction does not fade to the end.

There is a woman in America, still alive, over seventy. Yet in America no young woman is a greater center of attraction than this seventy-year-old woman. Even today, at seventy, wherever she passes, special police arrangements become necessary. She has been able to preserve her magnetic element up to seventy. A man can also preserve it.

Prithvichand-ji is sitting here near me. He is advanced in years, yet the element of youth in him has not been destroyed. He has preserved his magnetic power very far. Even in old age he still has attraction—in every way...

So in tantra the value of virgin maidens became supreme. And these virgin girls were used to help return a practitioner’s outward-turned consciousness back within. They were given such sanctity that their magnetic power would not leak away by any means.

There are ways to increase this magnetic power, and there are ways to diminish it. We are generally unaware of this. What we call siddhasana, padmasana, all these postures were devised with the intention that a person’s magnetic power not spill outward.

Our magnetic power flows out through certain specific channels. For example, it flows out through the fingertips. In fact, wherever energy is to flow, it needs something long and pointed to flow through. Through round forms energy cannot flow; it just circulates within. It flows out through the toes too. The hands and feet are two special places from where magnetic power flows away. In padmasana or siddhasana, there is an arrangement to join both hands and both feet, so that if energy flows from one hand it enters the other; it does not fall outside.

Another very big door through which energy flows is the eyes. But if the eyes can be kept half open, the flow stops. You will be surprised to know that energy flows through fully open eyes and also through fully closed eyes. Only through half-open eyes does it not flow. If the eyes are fully closed, it can still flow; if fully open, it certainly flows. But if the eyes are half closed and half open, the circular circuit within the eyes gets broken. Half open, half closed—the energy wants to flow out and also wants to stay in. The energy divides into two parts; the two parts oppose each other and cancel one another. Hence the half-open eye acquired great value in tantra and yoga—everywhere.

If the energy is safeguarded from all sides, and a person is aware of the inner opposite body and knows it, then the other is not necessary. But sometimes, while experimenting, accidental events occur. Someone is meditating, unaware, and the moment arrives when the event happens. Then external aids can be used. They are not essential—only in accidental conditions do they become necessary.

Therefore, in my understanding, if husband and wife can cooperate with each other, they can also be companions spiritually. If they can thoroughly understand each other’s spiritual states, magnetic power, and electrical currents, and support one another, then husband and wife can attain inner realization more easily than solitary monks or nuns. And there is a further advantage for husband and wife: not only do they become familiar with each other, their magnetic forces achieve a deep adjustment.

Thus a very strange experience is observed: if a man and woman have great love, great closeness, deep intimacy, and no quarrels, then gradually each other’s qualities and defects enter into the other. So much so that if a man and woman love each other deeply, their voices begin to sound alike, the expressions of their faces become similar, and their personalities begin to come into a single harmony. In truth, each other’s electricity enters within, and gradually they become attuned. But if there is an atmosphere of conflict between them, this is not possible. So keep in mind that man and woman can be cooperative. Their marriage need not be only a marriage of sex; it can also be a marriage of samadhi.

In this connection, it is also worth noting that ordinarily a sannyasin becomes very attractive—he attracts women more than an ordinary man. There is no other reason: a great accumulation of magnetic forces gathers around a renunciate. And, compared with an ordinary woman, a sannyasini attracts a man to a far greater degree; she has accumulated power.

And if husband and wife also understand well the arrangements for gathering and losing power, they can be far less complicit in each other’s loss of power and far more helpful in preserving it. As I have said before, if intercourse too is undertaken with knowledge of yogic processes and tantric arrangements, it can become power-conserving.

But remember: this necessity applies in accidental events. It is not a necessity in every situation. And many times even in accidental events the subtle body returns. But then the inner woman is at work; the woman within is certainly working; the man within is certainly working.

There are a few things to understand here as well. Ordinarily we have no idea that every touch of ours is a magnetic touch. When we touch someone filled with love, the one who is touched senses the difference. When we touch filled with hatred, that too is sensed. When we touch with indifference, even that is felt. In all three states our magnetic element flows in different currents. And if, with the whole mind and a firm resolve, one concentrates entirely in the hands, the magnetic currents become very intense—what Mesmer called magnetic passes.

If we lay a person down naked, do not touch the body, and hold both our hands above the head at a distance of about four inches, keeping that gap, and then, while vibrating the hands strongly, move them the same four inches above the body down to the feet, and do this for fifteen minutes, that person will enter a peace and a sleep so immeasurable as he has never known. Do not touch. At a distance of four inches, create electric currents in the air with your hands. With both hands simply feel that electric streams are flowing and, spreading your hands, carry them from the head downward to the feet.

A very amazing incident was written by Aldous Huxley’s wife in her memoirs. Huxley’s first wife was still alive, and this woman met her. The woman was a psychiatrist, and Huxley had come to consult her. She went to his home for a psychoanalytic session, laid Huxley on the couch, and talked with him for nearly two hours. But she realized Huxley was so intelligent that getting anything out of him would be very difficult. With very intelligent people this difficulty arises: whatever she said, Huxley knew more than that. The books she referred to, Huxley had read even more. The words and terminology she used, Huxley himself was explaining to her. It became a tough case: the one who was ill was more alert, more learned, more intelligent—one of the keenest minds of his time. She was an ordinary doctor, a psychiatrist, but Huxley was extraordinary. After an hour or so she grew anxious. She thought, the conversation is not going anywhere—once scientific vocabulary intrudes, things seldom go anywhere. And those who know the precise meanings of words often never reach the meanings; they stop at the words.

She was perplexed. Suddenly it occurred to her that this way would not work. She had heard that Aldous Huxley knew something about magnetic passes. So she said to him, “I’ve heard you know about magnetic passes.” Huxley at once sat up. Until then he had been replying with effort; now he took great interest. He said, “Then you lie down on the couch.” Huxley told the woman to lie down. She lay down simply so Huxley might have a chance to do something and the session might become a little lively—he had been restless for an hour and a half. She lay on the couch; Huxley gave her passes four inches above the body.

It is a simple procedure: hold both hands about four inches above the face, begin to vibrate the fingers vigorously, and inwardly intend that electric rays are flowing from all ten fingers downward—then carry them down from above to below. In ten minutes the woman entered a deep peace. It had been only a device to make Huxley active and interested. Then she sat up and said, “Now you lie down.” And she went home.

But two days passed; her trance would not break. She walked, got up, sat, but a drowsiness as if sleeping was there all the time. She was surprised. She phoned Huxley’s wife and said, “Since I returned from your house I’m in a strange state.” Huxley’s wife asked, “Did Huxley bring you back?” She said, “He didn’t bring me back; I just sat up.” So Huxley’s wife shouted to him on the phone, “You forgot to bring Lara back! She’s still in a sleep-like state.” Huxley said, “Before I could bring her back she got up and got busy with other matters—and then I forgot.”

The power that was given to her through the magnetic passes had not been withdrawn, so it kept following her for a day and a half. If you want to give energy, move from above to below; if you want to take it back, move from below to above. If you want to give, go from top to bottom; if you want to take it, go from bottom to top—return it that way.

Then there are certain points on the body that are very sensitive, through which energy enters quickly. The most sensitive point is between the two eyes—what is called the ajna chakra, the third eye. Close your eyes and let another person hold a finger about four inches in front of that point; you will not see the finger outside, but inside you will start seeing it. The finger is not touching you, but you will begin to feel a touch within, and the chakra will begin to move. Even a sleeping person, if someone places a finger four inches away at the center of the forehead, will have his chakra begin to move in sleep. It is a very active point.

The second active point is at the back of the neck. Try a small experiment—it will be quite delightful. Someone is walking on the road, a stranger. You walk behind him. From a distance of about four feet, fix both your eyes on his neck and suggest to him: “Turn and look back!” Within two or three minutes you will find that he becomes uneasy and looks back. You can also suggest whether he should look from the left or from the right; he will turn exactly as you suggest. You can also suggest, “Don’t go straight now—turn by the side road.” After ten or fifteen trials, when you are confident it can happen, you can mislead a person from his path—take him where he was not going.

Children who are abducted are not tied hand and foot; the work is done at the throat center. If you tie their limbs, anyone on the street will catch you. Children may cry. The whole world is around. But if someone has learned to give precise suggestion at the neck center, he can take anyone with him wherever he wants. And the fun is that he will be ahead and the other will be behind; so no one can even say he is being led by you. You will be in front, yet all the suggestions will be operating in him. He can turn where he wishes, make you move where he wishes, take you where he wishes.

These two points near the head are very important. There are other points in the body as well, but it is better not to speak of them. These two are the simplest, straightforward. As I said in the previous talk, any woman who went to Gurdjieff would immediately feel that some work had begun at her sex center. Even some of the most intelligent women who went to meet George Gurdjieff reported the same experience: the moment they were with him, intense sensations would begin to form a vortex at the sex center. It is a very sensitive point. The navel is also a point. There are other points as well.

If someone’s consciousness has gone out, where should one touch? Generally we should know, regarding the person’s personality, at which point he lives. If he is sexual, then touching his sex center will bring him back quickly. If he is intellectual, living in the mind, then touching his ajna chakra will bring him back. If he is emotional, sentimental, then touching his heart will bring him back. It depends on which point the person lives at.

Remember, when a person dies, the prana leaves from the same point where he lives. And the point from which his prana leaves is the very point of entry for the subtle body within. A sexual person, when he dissolves—dies—his prana leaves from the genitals. There was, and is, a complete science that by looking at a dead person one can tell the point at which he lived all his life, because that center will have broken.

We know that even today we perform a ritual at the cremation ground which is utterly uncomprehending, though it was decided upon in a moment of great understanding. At the cremation ground we crack open the skull of the dead with a stick—at the place of the sahasrar. In truth, one who has attained to the sahasrar has his skull crack at death; his prana leaves from there. In the hope that the prana of our dear one who has died may also leave from the sahasrar, we keep cracking his skull. He has already left; breaking the skull now is meaningless. But those who attain the ultimate state have a perforation at the skull at the moment of death; their prana leaves from there—this became known through experience. So in that hope and love we keep cracking the skull of our dear one at the cremation ground, thinking his prana too may leave from there. But he has died; the prana has departed.

The point from which our prana leaves is the center of our life. Therefore, by touching that same center, the subtle body can return immediately. This will differ from person to person. This will differ from person to person. But for ninety out of a hundred people it will be the sex center, because the whole world is obsessed with sexuality. So if nothing is understood, take the sex center as the focus of the experiment. Second, if not the sex center, there is much likelihood of it being the ajna chakra, because those who are very intelligent or use the intellect a great deal gradually transform their sexual energy into intelligence. If neither of these, then the heart center needs to be touched. Those who are neither very sexual nor very intellectual are emotional. These are the three common centers. Then there are uncommon centers too, but such uncommon people are very rare. By touching these common centers, activation...

There are two or three more things to keep in mind about these touches. If the person giving the touch is himself bound to some particular center, it becomes a very thoughtful matter. Suppose someone whose ajna chakra is active touches another’s heart chakra—he will be able to affect it very little. So everything must be considered—hence it is an entire science. And for all these experiments—for experiencing the seven bodies, for the exteriorization of bodies—individual experiments are always dangerous. They should be done in schools, in ashrams, where there are others who understand these arrangements and can cooperate.

Therefore, among those sannyasins who chose to be wandering mendicants, the seven chakras and seven bodies were lost, because a wandering sannyasin cannot experiment with these. Those sannyasins who keep moving do not stop or stay; they cannot experiment much in these matters. So where there were monasteries and ashrams, great experiments were carried out.

For example, in Europe there is a monastery into which no man has ever entered, even today. That monastery has existed about fourteen hundred years. Only women live there; only nuns. And once a woman enters, she can never come out again. Her name is struck off the civic registry, because she is as good as dead. She has no meaning left in the world now. She no longer is. Such a monastery also exists for men. And esoteric Christianity, which created these monasteries, has done an astonishing work. There is a monastery of men into which no woman has ever entered; and a man who goes inside never comes out again.

These two monasteries are nearby. And if ever a seeker’s soul goes out, he does not need a woman’s touch; just laying him down near the wall of the women’s monastery is enough—the whole monastery is charged. No man has ever gone there. Inside are thousands of women. And this is no ordinary resolve; it is an extraordinary resolve—a resolve to die while living. There is no returning.

In such monasteries the most secret sciences could be developed, because there was great facility for experiment. Tantrikas had created similar arrangements, but tantrikas were gradually destroyed. We are responsible for that. Because in this land, so many foolish notions of morality declared the tantrikas immoral.

Naturally, if in a monastery a naked woman is worshiped, the moralist outside will be disturbed. If it becomes known that in some monastery a virgin girl sits naked and the other seekers worship her, this will certainly seem dangerous. And the outsider can think about a naked woman only what he thinks in his own mind. He imagines: where a naked woman sits and men are present, what must be going on there? He can think only what he himself does.

Naturally, we destroyed many monasteries in this country, many scriptures. King Bhoja alone had a hundred thousand tantrikas killed—mass murder. Across the country they were killed in many places. Because they were conducting experiments that would kill off the entire priesthood, the entire scholarship, the so-called morality—the puritan mind—of this land. If their experiments were right, then our entire morality is wrong. The tantrikas’ experience was that if, before a naked woman, a man performs certain processes with a mood of worship, he becomes free of woman forever. If, before a naked man, a woman performs certain processes of worship, she becomes free of man forever.

Essentially, these were arrangements to bind and reverse the magnetic forces within woman and man. If, keeping a naked woman before him, a man becomes capable of looking at her with a feeling of worship, that is no ordinary event. Nature has made us capable of looking at her with a feeling to enjoy. But if a man becomes capable of seeing her with a feeling of worship, then the current of electricity which till now flowed toward the outer woman begins to flow toward the inner woman—and then there is no alternative. The attraction to woman is dissolved. Now she has become mother, goddess—something worthy of worship. The flow of energy that was toward her turns back. Energy is not destroyed; only its flow changes. No power is destroyed; only its channeling changes. If the outer woman becomes worthy of worship, the energy begins to flow inward—and union with the inner woman happens. After that union, outer union has no meaning, no purpose.

For this, special procedures had to be done before the naked woman—special mental states, special meditative experiments, special mantras, particular words, particular tantras. And in the midst of all this, when the experiment is done, it happens. It was a scientific arrangement, just like what science does today in the laboratory.

We have all heard that when hydrogen and oxygen combine, water is formed. But if you fill your room at home with both hydrogen and oxygen, still water will not be formed. Even if hydrogen and oxygen are present in the room, water will not appear. For hydrogen and oxygen to become water, electricity of very high voltage must be passed there. The water you see in rainfall is formed because of lightning flashing in the sky. Hydrogen and oxygen are present, but only when electricity flashes with enough force, in that arrangement of heat and electricity, can hydrogen and oxygen unite and water be formed.

If, by misfortune, a day should come—and it could come, by the kindness of scientists—that in our books only this much remains written, “water is formed from the union of hydrogen and oxygen,” we still would not be able to make water.

Now in our books of tantra only this much remains written—that by worshiping a naked woman with a devotional feeling, a person’s energy turns inward. But we do not know that there must also be some “electric spark,” some further arrangement that should occur in between.

Look at it like this. You have heard the Tibetan mantra Om Mani Padme Hum. If you repeat the whole mantra: Om—you will find that different parts of the body participate. Mani—lower parts of the body participate. Om revolves only above the throat. Mani reaches the heart. Padme goes to the navel. Hum reaches the sex center. If you use only these sounds, you will immediately notice that they enter different parts of the body.

Now, with Om Mani Padme Hum—if this Hum is used a great deal, the sex center stops flowing outward. Such a heavy blow—Hum! If this Hum is used repeatedly, a person’s sexuality is destroyed; his lustfulness departs.

There were many such processes to be done before the naked woman. And if a man stands naked, while other seekers are watching, it is very easy to recognize whether the result is happening or not. A woman’s sexual mechanism is hidden within the body, so seeing a naked woman it is not certain from the outside whether she is sexual or not; but seeing a naked man, it is immediately known. Mahavira gave permission to be naked only to those monks who had practiced Hum deeply. They could then be allowed to remain naked. Even in sleep their genitals would not be affected.

You will be surprised to know that it is ordinarily difficult to find a man who does not have an erection two or four times during the night in sleep—whether he notices it or not. In America, where much experimentation on sleep is going on, a very surprising fact has come to light: during sleep every man’s genitals become affected two or four times. Whenever the plane of dreams comes near the center of sex, it is affected.

If dreams can affect, then words can affect too. And if dreams can affect, images can affect as well. What is a dream?

So the whole arrangement exists. Within that arrangement there are methods of transformation. Energy can turn inward, provided...

One could ask: was there no tantric arrangement in which a man stood naked and women worshiped him? This too needs to be understood a little. There has been no such tantric arrangement where the man is made to stand naked and the woman worships him. There are reasons for this. It is unnecessary. Two or three reasons. The first is that whenever a man feels attraction toward a woman, he wants to make her naked. A woman does not want this. Man is a voyeur; he wants to see the woman naked. The woman does not want to see.

Therefore at the moment of intercourse, ninety-nine out of a hundred women will close their eyes; the man will keep his eyes open. Even if you are kissing a woman, she will close her eyes. There is a reason for her closing her eyes: she does not want to live this moment outwardly. Outwardly this moment has no purpose for her. In this moment she wants to savor the juice within.

That is why men have made so many statues of naked women, so many films, so many stories, so many paintings. But women have never taken any interest in naked men to this day. They neither keep pictures of naked men, nor paint them, nor hang their calendars at home—no curiosity at all. Women have to this day never taken any interest in naked men. A naked woman evokes a very deep curiosity in man. Therefore a naked woman can become a cause of transformation within a man. A naked man will only become a cause for a woman to close her eyes—and nothing more. Hence it is meaningless. But the transformation of woman occurs in a different way. Whenever a woman...

And keep this in mind: a woman is a passive sex, a receptive sex—she is not aggressive. No woman can attack. Not even a little: a woman will not even go of her own accord to tell someone “I love you”—that too is an aggression. Even if a woman loves someone, she arranges it so that he himself will say “I love you” to her. She does not go to say it herself. She cannot make even that much aggression. That too is an assault. And when a man says to a woman “I love you,” and even if she has to say yes, she will still say no—meaning she will not cooperate even that far in aggression. She will say no. From her no it will be understood that she is accepting—this is another matter. Her no will be affirmative; behind her no will stand her yes; her joy will be expressed, but she will not be able to say yes itself.

To lead a woman into the realm of sexuality, a man has to initiate her; the woman must be initiated. And if a man, on seeing a naked woman, does not become lustful—and on seeing her his inner energy dissolves—then this event proves immensely valuable for that woman. This event proves immensely valuable for that woman. The energy of the man moving inward becomes supportive to the movement of her energy inward—it becomes an initiation. Just as a man entices a woman onto the path of sexuality, so too, if before a woman a man moves toward non-desire, he gives her initiation toward non-desire. Therefore the second arrangement was never sought. There was no need.

This is possible, and there are reasons for it. It will be useful to say a little about this. In fact, when we say someone is a man or someone is a woman, we are not speaking very precisely. Truly, no one is only male and no one only female. Being male or female is a matter of amount, of degree.

When a child is in the mother’s womb, for a while it carries both potentials; it is neither female nor male. Then gradually it sets out on the journey of becoming female or male. Even this movement is only a difference of proportion. When we call someone a man, it means he is sixty percent male and forty percent female; or seventy percent male and thirty percent female; or ninety percent male and ten percent female. When we call someone a woman, it means her femaleness is predominant over her maleness.

Sometimes it happens that a man is fifty-one percent male and forty-nine percent female—a very small gap. Such a man will appear effeminate. If a woman is only fifty-one percent female and forty-nine percent male, she will seem very masculine. If such a woman finds an effeminate man, she will assume the dominant role.

In fact, in such a situation it is simply a linguistic mistake. There the man should be called the wife and the woman the husband—if we are to use the terms correctly. Because the one who is dominant is the master. In that case we should drop using “husband” and “wife” as synonyms for male and female. Truly, being a husband is a function, a position. A woman can occupy it, a man can too. Being a wife is also a function; a man can occupy it, and a woman can. Many men live in the status of the wife; many women live in the status of the husband.

What causes this way of living is the percentage mix of their personality. And so it sometimes happens that a man—suddenly, due to some illness or some reason—becomes female; a woman becomes male. Not long ago there was a big court case in London. A girl married, and after the marriage she became a man. The case argued that she had deceived, that she had been a man, and the man she married had been cheated. It became very difficult for the girl to prove that she had been a girl and had now become a man. But medical science helped her, and it was established that she had been a girl—on the verge, marginal—standing right on the boundary: one step further and she would become a boy. That one step happened.

In the future it will not be difficult: if a man wishes in life to be a woman, or a woman to be a man, there will be a scientific arrangement for it. This is pleasant too, because playing the same role again and again makes one bored; there should be change.

Therefore the women in whom the masculine element is stronger will become dominant. And such women will remain unhappy. The reason is that their dominance is contrary to their femaleness; thus their sorrow will have no end. In truth, a woman can like only the man who can subdue her; no woman likes a man who is subdued by her. Now, the woman in whom the masculine element is greater will both dominate and be unhappy, because she has not found a man who can dominate her. So her unhappiness will not end. And a man’s happiness lies in the woman being surrendered to him. If the man himself becomes surrendered to the woman, he will be in trouble; he will not find fulfillment.

In truth, being male or female should not be marginal. But the order we have developed is gradually becoming marginal; many people have come to stand on the margin. Civilization has done this. Civilization has made the roles of women and men almost the same. This has caused harm: it has reduced the woman’s femininity and the man’s manhood. Whereas it is necessary that the two be at extreme poles. A man should be ninety-nine percent male and one percent female—the one percent will remain; it cannot be escaped. A woman should be ninety-nine percent female and one percent male. For this it is necessary that they have different bodily exercises, that there be some difference in their diet, that their education be different, that the whole discipline of their lives be different. Then we will be able to place them as polarities.

And the day human understanding grows, that day we will not want the woman to be like the man and the man to be like the woman. That day we will want the woman to be like a woman and the man like a man, and that there be a great distance between them. Because the greater the distance, the greater the attraction; the greater the distance, the greater the juice; the greater the distance, the greater the joy of meeting. The less the distance, the less the juice; the less the distance, the less there is any joy in meeting.

But this is what has happened. As man has become civilized, he has become delicate. He no longer goes to fight wars, nor labors in the fields, nor wrestles wild animals, nor breaks stones. His personality has begun to become effeminate; he has grown dainty. He has lost his muscles, lost a very basic part of his being a man.

The woman keeps coming closer to the man. She receives an education like a man; in the framework society has built—which is masculine—if she is to succeed, she has to compete with men. She has to do men’s kinds of work. If she is to work in a factory, she has to live like a man; in an office, she has to live like a man. She is a woman in name only; her biological femaleness becomes meaningless. In every sense she becomes masculine: she does all the man’s work and competes with men. On the one hand the man becomes more delicate; on the other, the woman becomes more like a man.

This has had disastrous consequences. The greatest of these is that no woman can be fulfilled by any man, and no man can be fulfilled by any woman. And thus the fire of dissatisfaction grips one twenty-four hours a day; it will keep on gripping. Until we can place the personalities of woman and man exactly opposite each other, at the ultimate ends of difference, it will continue. So for these reasons this happens. It should not happen; it is unhealthy.

No, no, we should not. Absolutely not.
Just as someone may have a disease; we cannot call them a pervert.
No, no—the question of calling them a pervert does not arise.
But many people do say, “This is perversion.”
No—not perversion, an accident. Not perversion—an accident.
You are saying this now, but ordinarily people...
No, there is no question of perversion. It is simply an accident, and measures should be taken to save one from this accident. And the person with whom this accident is happening is worthy of compassion, not of an abuse like “pervert.” No—the mistake is ours, and every attempt to “correct” him is an attempt born of our ignorance, unless we concern ourselves with making his whole personality qualitatively feminine—which can be done; there is no difficulty in it. With a few hormone injections he can become feminine, he can become masculine.

But we are not thinking in that direction. If a wife scolds and browbeats a husband, dominates him, harasses him, exercises ownership, he never thinks this is a matter for a doctor. He thinks it’s a matter of going to some sadhu-maharaj to get her “explained to.” It has no connection with that. The sadhu-maharaj has no fault here, nor any role. There is no question of having someone explain it. What is needed are hormones that make her more feminine. And those hormones can be given; there is no difficulty in that. If a man is behaving in an effeminate way and the wife cannot find any rasa in him, there is no need to be angry or unhappy about it. He needs treatment—just as one needs treatment for other things.

First, understand this: the moment our subtle body goes outside the gross body, the body’s natural arrangement is bound to be disturbed. The event is not natural; it is beyond nature—one could even say “unnatural,” beyond the scope of nature. Whenever something happens that is different from, or above, nature, the harmonious order nature had established will be thrown into disarray.

If you want to avoid that disorder, a great deal of preparation is needed. Yogasanas are a great aid in that preparation. Mudras help in the same direction. In fact, the whole discipline of hatha yoga supports this. The body has to be given the iron element, the resilience, to endure such an “unnatural” event. An ordinary body will not do; an extraordinary body is needed.

Take, for example, Ramamurti. His body and ours are not fundamentally different. But Ramamurti understood a “trick” of the body and mastered it. We see the principle every day but it never occurs to us. You see a car tire carrying a huge load because of the air within it; let out some air and it won’t carry the same load. A specific ratio of air is needed to bear that weight.

Through a particular pranayama process, the chest can be filled with so much air that even an elephant could stand on it. Then the chest functions like a tire, like a tube. A precise proportion of air! If one knows exactly what lung volume is needed to bear an elephant’s weight, there’s no difficulty. Ramamurti’s lungs were the same as ours. The rubber tube in a tire isn’t iron; it has no great strength of its own—its utility is simply that it can contain a certain volume of air. If that much air remains, the job is done.

There is even a new idea for a car that travels four feet above the ground. It won’t need tires at all. The same trick: it will move so fast that a layer of air beneath it will be given such volume that it will be supported above. At very high speed the air below and above separate; below, a four-foot layer forms due to the velocity. When you drive a boat fast, a trough forms behind it; that trough actually helps the movement. If water “refused” to form that trough, the boat would not move. Because water rushes to fill the trough, the boat is propelled forward. The whole trick is that the space behind is emptied, the water runs to fill it, and the boat gains momentum.

So if a car can be driven at a particular speed, the layer of air four feet below becomes the road. No need to construct it; it forms instantly at that velocity, and the car glides above. No wheels needed; no bumps, blows, or rain will affect it—just air is enough.

Hatha yoga discovered many processes that give the body a special arrangement. If that arrangement is provided, then it makes a difference. That is why a hatha yogi never dies young; the ordinary raja yogi does. Vivekananda dies; Shankaracharya dies; the hatha yogi does not. The reason is that he has fully arranged the body—before the event occurs, he has prepared the body. Now the body is ready to withstand an unnatural state.

Therefore, the hatha yogi undertakes many “unnatural” practices. For example, when the sun is burning hot, he will sit wrapped in a blanket. Sufi fakirs keep woollen blankets; “suf” means wool—one who always wears wool is called a Sufi. In Arabia, where fire seems to rain from the sky, they live wrapped in blankets. Fire burns all around, yet they sit under blankets—deliberately creating an unnatural condition. In Tibet a lama sits naked on snow, and you would be astonished to see sweat dripping from his body. He is training the body to sweat in falling snow—an intensely unnatural preparation.

There are many such “unnatural” trainings. If the body has passed through them, it becomes able to endure that unnatural event; then the body is not harmed. But ordinarily these preparations take years. Later, raja yoga concluded: Why bother to save so much life? It takes twenty or thirty years—thirty at the least. If someone begins at fifteen, he will be ready around fifty. Raja yoga decided: Why be so concerned with the body? If the state is attained and the body falls away, what is there to preserve? So those preparations were dropped.

That is why Shankaracharya died at thirty-three. Such a great event occurred, but the body was not prepared for it. Yet there was no need to prepare it either. Only if one sees a need should it be done; otherwise, there is no reason. And if you must labor for thirty-five years just to save thirty-five more years, the arithmetic is not very profitable. If I work from fifteen to fifty, those thirty-five years are spent; and if I then live thirty-five more, to eighty-five, the accounts balance—what is the point?

If you told Shankaracharya, “Had you done hatha yoga, you could have lived to seventy,” he would say, “I could have—but it would have cost me forty years of labor. That labor is unnecessary. I prefer to die at thirty-three; there’s no harm in it.”

So hatha yoga gradually fell behind because the processes were so long. But I feel that in the future, with the help of science, these processes will return. Then you won’t need thirty-five years; five years may suffice. If science is fully used, we won’t need to lose so much time. But the birth of a scientific hatha yoga will take time—and I believe it will not arise in India but in the West, because we lack the scientific milieu.

It can be safeguarded, but there is no special point in safeguarding it—except in particular situations where it may be useful for others. In such cases the event would also occur within a “school.” For instance, for Shankaracharya himself there was no personal benefit in living longer, but for others there could have been. In this way hatha yoga retains a certain value. One could say to Shankaracharya, “Granted you have no need, but if you live thirty-five more years, many others will benefit.” By this doorway hatha yoga may return; otherwise, not.

As for the body’s “adjustment” that breaks: it is like opening a car engine—once opened and reassembled it may run well, but the overall life of the car is reduced. That is why a buyer asks, “Has the engine ever been opened?” Even if it has been put back perfectly, the life shortens; it cannot be exactly what it was. A slight difference brings a difference.

In our body some elements die very quickly; some take longer; some do not die even after a person is dead. On the cremation ground nails continue to grow; in the grave the hair keeps growing. The person has died, but nails and hair are not ready to quit so soon; they carry on with their work and take a long time to die.

When the body dies, death occurs on many layers. The body contains many automatic systems that do not require the presence of your soul. I am sitting here speaking. If I leave the room, the speaking stops—but the fan keeps running, because it has its own automatic arrangement, unrelated to my presence.

So within us there are two kinds of arrangements. One stops as soon as consciousness withdraws. Another goes on working for a while even after consciousness withdraws. Some systems are so automatic and built-in that they function for quite some time. Consciousness departs, but they continue—the hair has no idea that Kriyanand has passed on; it goes on doing its work. It takes a long time to get the “news.” When it finally knows, it too stops: “The man is gone; now we should cease; no more growth.” Some elements die very quickly—within six seconds.

For example, with a heart attack: if assistance is provided within six seconds, a person can be saved. A heart attack is not in itself death; it is a structural error. In the last world war, about fifty men were saved on the Russian front who had collapsed with heart attacks—if help reached within six seconds, they survived; beyond that, some elements were lost and reviving them became difficult. The delicate parts of the brain die very quickly, almost instantly.

So if the tejas body remains outside too long, protecting the body becomes essential; otherwise, some parts will die. Yet you cannot estimate how long the tejas body was out—the time-scales differ. My tejas body may slip out, and I may feel I remained outside for years; returning, I see only a second has passed on the clock. The time-scales differ.

It is like a nap in which one dreams of marriage, a wedding procession, children growing up, and their weddings too—then wakes and we say, “You only dozed for a minute. How could such a long dream happen?” The time-measure of dreams differs from the waking measure—much faster, much more fluid. The tejas body may be out for a second and it may feel like years. So there is no reliable estimate of how long you have been out.

It is very important to keep this body safe. The difficulties are great. But if the arrangements for safety are complete, one can remain out for quite long.

There is an incident in Shankaracharya’s life worth understanding. He remained outside for six months by our time-scale; as for the tejas body’s time-scale, speaking of it is pointless.

A woman involved him in a tangle. He debated with Mandan; Mandan was defeated. But his wife offered a very feminine argument—only a woman could give it. She said, “Only half of Mandan Mishra is defeated; I, his other half, am still alive. Until I too am defeated, you cannot claim total victory over Mandan.”

Shankar was in a fix. The point was right, though meaningless. Mandan Mishra had been defeated. A wife being “half” does not mean that if Gama defeats the husband he must also defeat the wife to be declared the victor. But Bharati, Mandan’s wife, was herself a formidable scholar—few women have reached that level. Shankar thought, “All right, this will be a delight; since Mandan has lost, how long can Bharati stand?”

But a mistake was made. It is easy to defeat a man; it is very difficult to defeat a woman—because the logics of defeat and victory in men and women differ. Their very modes of reasoning are different. That is why husbands and wives often cannot understand what the other is saying; their logics run on parallel lines and seldom meet.

Shankar expected talk of Brahman and such, but Bharati avoided those topics—she had seen Mandan’s difficulty. Brahman and maya would not do! She asked Shankar to speak on the Kama Shastra. Shankar was in trouble. “I am a consummate celibate,” he said. “Please don’t question me on the Kama Shastra.” She replied, “If you know nothing of the Kama Shastra, what else could you possibly know? If you don’t even know this much, what do you know of Brahman and maya? And since you call this world ‘maya,’ we must speak of the source from which this world arises. That is my field of debate.” Shankar asked for six months’ time: “I will learn and return. I have never studied this; I do not know this secret.”

So Shankar had to leave his body and enter another. One might ask: could he not have learned through his own body? He could—yet the entire current of that body had turned inward; reversing it outward was difficult. He could have related to a woman through that body; but to turn that flow outward would have taken longer than six months. Going from outer to inner is easy; turning from inner to outer is very difficult. Dropping pebbles to pick up diamonds is easy; later dropping diamonds to pick up pebbles is hard.

He was in a bind; nothing could be done through that body. He sent friends to find a body that had just died, so he could enter it—while they kept his own body safe until he returned. For six months he lived in a king’s body and then came back.

For those six months Shankar’s own body was protected. Such protection is extremely difficult. A slight mistake, and return becomes impossible. Deeply devoted people did the work—of such dedication that we cannot imagine what they did.

As I mentioned, the Tibetan practitioner sits in the cold and sweat trickles from his body. This happens by sheer resolve. By resolve he denies the fact of cold; by resolve he asserts the fact of sunshine and heat. He places outer circumstance beneath inner state. Snow may be falling, but he closes his eyes and refuses the circumstance: “It is not true that snow is falling. I accept that the sun is out and it is hot.” He takes this conviction into deeper and deeper resolve. A moment comes when each breath, each pore, every particle of life knows it is hot. How then will sweat not flow? It begins to flow. Circumstance is suppressed; inner state becomes effective.

In one sense, all yoga is the subordination of circumstance to inner state; and all worldliness is living under circumstance that suppresses inner state.

What exactly Shankar’s friends did to keep that body safe has never been told or properly written. His life-breath had departed—what did they do for six months? For six months a circle of friends sat around the body in an unbroken vigil. A fixed number had to be present at all times. Individuals could rotate, but twenty-four hours there had to be a certain field, an atmosphere of that cave, and definite waves of thought reaching there continuously. About seven people sat there in the feeling: “We are not breathing; Shankar’s body is breathing. We are not living; Shankar’s body is living.” The electrical currents of their bodies had to keep flowing into Shankar’s through the seven chakras. Their hands remained on the seven centers, pouring their magnetic force, their life energy, into them—for six months.

This had to be continuous. A lapse of even a moment would break the current; the body would lose its warmth. It had to remain as warm as a living body—precisely that temperature. A slightest deviation—and this temperature cannot be produced by fire or any device—only by seven people continuously pouring their life-energy, their magnetic force, through the seven chakras. The body should never “come to know” that the resident consciousness has gone, because what it used to receive from that person is now being supplied by the seven.

You understand? What Shankar’s consciousness supplied to those seven centers must never be missed; the only way is that seven other bodies supply it. Those transmission centers keep giving, and the body remains alive. If they miss, the body begins to prepare for death. It knows nothing else; if others can supply it, it can be kept alive.

To keep Shankar’s body alive for six months was a most astounding experiment. For six months there had to be a continuous presence—if one person left, another instantly replaced him—of seven people there. Shankar returned after six months and could answer what he had not known before.

There was another way he could have known, but Shankar did not have that method. Had this happened in Mahavira’s life, he would not have entered another body; he would have entered the memory of his past lives. There was another source. But jati-smarana—the recollection of past births—remained confined to Jains and Buddhists; it never reached the Hindus. If someone had put such a question to Mahavira, he would not have tried to enter someone else’s body. He would have entered the memory of his own past bodies, recalled his relations with women, known, and then answered—no six months needed. But Shankar did not have that science. He had another, developed by a different class of practitioners: the science of entering another’s body.

Spirituality has many sciences. No single religion so far has possessed the complete set of all these sciences. One religion develops one method and is content with it; another develops another and is content with that. But nowhere in the world has a religion yet arisen that holds the entire treasure of all religions. That will not happen so long as we see religions as enemies. Only when they come together as friends, open their treasuries to one another, and share ownership of their riches, will a comprehensive science evolve drawing from infinite sources.

Something was developed in Egypt that India does not have; those who built the pyramids had something no one in India possesses. Those who worked in the Tibetan monasteries had something India does not. What India has, Tibet does not; what they have, others do not. Yet each clings to its fragment as if it were the whole—and that has created great difficulty.

Jati-smarana is a very easy experiment, without danger; entering another’s body is very difficult and not free of risks. But Shankar had no access to the former. And since he spent his life debating Jains and Buddhists, that door was closed to him—what they had could not come to him. The process went on in enmity; the doors were shut. Had a ray of the sun come from that side, Shankar would not have accepted it; he would accept the sun’s rays only through his own door.

We do not see it, but the ray that comes through any door is of the same sun. Yet we sit guarding our own doors. We do not notice that the man in Arabia wrapped in wool and the man in Tibet sitting naked are doing the same work. Their practices look opposite but are identical—the same work, the same principle.

You ask how entry happens in those who are mediums. In fact, this entry and that entry are opposites. In one kind of entry, the one who is entering goes into someone else’s body. In the case of a medium, the medium is the one who allows someone else to enter.

There is a difference between the two. If I were to leave my own body and enter another’s body, that is a different process. One could call it a masculine process: you have to enter some body. The medium’s process is, one could say, feminine. The medium is simply receptive, inviting someone within. The medium’s case is very simple, not very difficult. And those whom the medium will call are generally disembodied souls; embodied souls, rarely.

There are souls without bodies moving all around us. Right now it is not only we who are sitting here; others are also here. But they have no bodies, so we are utterly unconcerned with them. Their presence means nothing to us.

They are present in the same way that, if a radio were placed here and we switched it on, it would catch Delhi. When it was not switched on, do you think Delhi was not speaking? When you had not turned the radio on, were the waves from Delhi not passing through here? They were passing even then, but we had no idea—because there was no medium between us and them to make the connection. The radio functions as a medium: it relates what is passing through here to us.

People who can act as a medium for souls are doing the same work as a radio—tuning. Because of their presence, a soul from among those always around us can enter.

But these are disembodied souls. And a disembodied soul is always eager to enter a body. There are reasons. The main reason is that a disembodied soul—call it a ghost—has the same desires as an embodied person, but it has no body. The desires are the same, the passions the same, but there is no body. And none of the disembodied one’s desires can be fulfilled without a body.

Suppose a ghost wants to love someone—then it needs a body. The urge for love remains within, but it has no body. If it comes near someone’s body, it passes right through; it does not stop anywhere. Our body does not obstruct its “body”; it goes through ours—this side, that side. It needs a body. So it is filled with the longing to obtain one.

Sometimes, if a frightened person shrinks within, it enters. In fear a person contracts. You do not occupy your own body as fully as you should; in fear you shrink, become small. Much of the body’s space remains empty; a vacuum is created. Into that vacuum, in fear, it slips. People think ghosts are created by fear. They are not created. And people think fear itself is the ghost—this too is not right. The ghost has its own existence. Fear merely provides it the convenience to manifest. So in fear anyone can become a medium—but in that medium it is a ghost that is entering, and so only trouble will arise.

The medium you are talking about involves a soul invited voluntarily. Someone has deliberately emptied inner space and extended an invitation. So the medium’s art is only this much: that you can empty space within yourself, and if there is some soul nearby, invite it, “Come in.” But because this is done knowingly, there is no fear in it. And because it is done voluntarily, there is not that much danger. And because it is done knowingly, the path by which it comes is known, and the path by which it is sent back is also known. But it happens through receptivity—and only with ordinary disembodied souls.

If one wants to call an embodied soul, the dangers increase. Because if I call an embodied soul onto a medium, that person’s body will fall there in a swoon. Many times when people faint and fall, we think it is an ordinary faint. Often it is not ordinary, and that person’s soul has been called somewhere. Therefore, at that moment, to treat them is not free of danger. At that time it is best to do nothing with them. But we have no idea of this. Up to now science has not been able to determine clearly when a faint is an ordinary faint and when it is the soul going out. The event looks the same, but it is of a very different kind. Here we are calling; there we are going.

Now, tomorrow! All right, ask one more.

Ramakrishna was very fond of food—more than necessary. One could say he was crazy about it. A discussion on Brahman would be in full flow, and in between he would get up, go into the kitchen, and ask Sarada, “What have you made?” Then he would return and resume the discourse on the Absolute. Sarada was vexed, of course, and the close disciples were also worried: if people came to know, there would be great scandal. In fact, it is the disciples who worry too much about the guru. They are heavily burdened with anxiety that the guru might be maligned—someone might say this, or say that.

Finally Ramakrishna was asked, “Is it becoming of you to leave a discourse on Brahman midway and get involved in talk of food? It doesn’t seem appropriate. And for a person of your stature—food?”

What Ramakrishna said was astonishing. He said, “Perhaps you don’t know—and how would you know? All the anchors of my boat have been cast off. My boat has uprooted all the stakes. My sails are full of wind. I am ready to depart. I have, however, driven one stake firmly into the shore so the boat does not slip away yet. And the day I take no relish in food, understand that only three days remain until my death. That day I will die, for I will have no reason left to be here. But I must tell you something and deliver something to you; there is something within me I am eager to give you—so it is necessary that I tarry. My boat is ready to leave, but there is treasure in it that I wish to distribute to the people on the bank. The people on the shore, however, are asleep. First I must awaken them, then persuade them to receive this treasure, and also convince them that it is indeed treasure—for they do not know it as treasure; they think it is trash. They say, ‘Why entangle us in such talk? Let us sleep; we are enjoying our beds very much.’ So I must win over the people on the shore and distribute the treasure with which my boat is filled, because my time to depart has come. Therefore I have hammered in one stake. I keep taking relish in food for this reason. This taste for food is my stake. And the day I take no relish in food, know that three days later I will die.”

No one took this very seriously that day. Often it happens so. Many things are not taken seriously—and in the lives of Ramakrishna, Buddha, Mahavira, there are many such instances: had they been taken seriously, the world could have benefited immensely. Perhaps it was thought that Ramakrishna was merely giving an explanation, a rationale, saying something only to make a point. The devotees must have harbored the suspicion: “He simply wants to eat, and he has found a trick both to convince us and to remove any objections.”

Yet that is exactly what happened. One day Sarada brought a plate of food. Ramakrishna was lying in his room. He turned on his side. Usually, when the plate arrived, he would get up at once, stand, and look to see what had been served. His turning away made Sarada recall what he had once said: that after such a day only three days would remain. The plate fell from her hands. She began to cry out and weep. But Ramakrishna said, “Now what can be done? The stake has been pulled up. How long could I keep it hammered in?” Exactly three days later, he passed away.

So you ask: can such a soul remain on this earth without rasa?

Up to the fifth body, some rasa of this earth is needed; otherwise one cannot remain. Up to the fifth body, a stake on this shore is necessary; otherwise one cannot remain. Until the fifth body, one must hold on to the rasa of one of the five senses and hammer it in. But after the fifth body, one can remain. In that state, other kinds of forces come into play. Then there is no need to preserve any bodily rasa. In that condition…

Now this is a different matter, and it needs a bit more space—but let’s grasp it briefly. After the fifth body, if a person is to remain—like Mahavira, or Buddha, or Krishna—then the pressure of souls liberated from this world works upon him. The insistence and the pressure of those consciousnesses freed from this realm operate from above. Theosophy made an important discovery regarding this: that many souls who are liberated, who have merged, who have reached where one has to reach—their pressure can work to hold someone back for a little while.

Imagine it like this: the boat is about to push off; no stake remains; but the people on the other shore are calling out, “Wait a little longer. Don’t be in such a hurry.” The voices from that shore can become the reason to stay. With Mahavira, Buddha, and Krishna, such voices could work. By Ramakrishna’s time, however, circumstances had greatly changed and become very difficult. In truth, those on the other shore have become so distant from our century that there is no reckoning of it. Their voices can hardly reach us; the shores have drifted, the gap has widened, the continuity has been broken.

Consider Mahavira’s life: there is continuity. Before him, twenty-three tirthankaras had already come in that tradition of which Mahavira is the twenty-fourth. He has twenty-three links before him. The twenty-third lived only about two hundred and fifty years earlier—very close to Mahavira. The first may be far away, but there are twenty-three in between, each near to the other. The one immediately before Mahavira is on that far shore…

You may be surprised to learn what tirthankara means. Tirtha means a ford, a crossing-place, a ghat. Tirthankara means “the one who crossed from this very ford before.” That’s all it means: from this same crossing, twenty-three tirthankaras crossed earlier. There is a coherent order there—language (the language spoken in that realm), symbols, messages, signs, all of it exists. So the twenty-fourth, standing on the bank, can hear, can understand, can receive the messages brought by those twenty-three.

Today there is not one person among the Jains who can catch even a single word of that tradition. It has been twenty-five hundred years since Mahavira died. In these twenty-five hundred years there is such a vast gap that even if Mahavira were to shout from there, there is no one on this bank who could understand that language. In twenty-five hundred years the language has changed entirely, the symbols have changed. The series of signals from that realm has been lost. There are books, which Jain monks sit and read, but they know nothing of what else could be. They will prepare to celebrate the twenty-five hundredth birth anniversary, make a lot of noise, carry flags, shout “Hail Mahavira!”—but they have no arrangement left to catch Mahavira’s voice. And not even one person is ready who could catch it. The Jains do not have it; perhaps someone outside the Jain fold might.

Similarly, the Hindus had an arrangement; the Buddhists had an arrangement. By Ramakrishna’s time, there was no arrangement. Ramakrishna had no thread by which the voice from the other shore could hold him. Therefore there was only one way: to hammer a stake into this shore and stay. No other means was available. No pressure from that side could be detected.

Two kinds of people have worked in the spiritual field. One kind worked in a linked chain; their chain continued to function for thousands of years. For instance, the twenty-fourth in Buddha’s stream is still to be born—one more personality of Buddha is yet to come. Even now, Buddhist monks around the world await him in countless forms of yearning and expectation, hoping to catch the thread once again.

But the Jains no longer have this. Among the Hindus there is an idea of Kalki—that one more being will descend—but even then there is no clear, precise method: how to call him, how to catch him, how to recognize him; there is no way laid out for recognition.

You will be surprised to know that the twenty-three Jain tirthankaras left all the criteria by which the twenty-fourth would be recognized—what signs he would bear, the lines on his hand, the wheel on his foot, the nature of his eyes, the mark upon his chest, his height, his lifespan—everything was specified. There was no difficulty recognizing that man.

In Mahavira’s time eight people claimed to be the tirthankara, because the time had come, the hour had struck—and there were eight claimants. In the end Mahavira was accepted; the other seven were set aside, because only in him were the symbols fulfilled.

But by Ramakrishna’s time there was no such arrangement, no way to recognize. Now the situation is very confused. In spiritual terms today the world’s condition is very strange. In this strangeness, there is no way now except to hammer a stake into this very shore and stay put. No voice comes from the other side; if it does, it is not understood; even if it is understood, its secret is hard to decode.

The whole difficulty is that messages from that realm to this one can only be symbolic, in signs.

Perhaps you don’t know that for the last hundred years scientists have known there must be at least fifty thousand earths in the universe where life exists, where humans or beings more evolved than humans exist. But how to converse with them? What signals to send? What signal would they understand? It’s very difficult. How would they comprehend? An Indian understands when he sees the tricolor flag that his flag is flying. But if they saw a tricolor flag, they wouldn’t understand anything. And how to fly a tricolor so they could see it? In this matter, experiments have been conducted so strange they defy imagination.

One man constructed a triangle miles long in Siberia and sowed it with yellow flowers over that entire miles-long triangle. He illuminated it with special lights—because a triangle, wherever it is in the universe, remains a triangle. It always has three angles. Wherever there are humans, or beings above humans—geometry’s figures do not vary. So perhaps through geometry we could make contact. Perhaps seeing such a vast triangle, someone on another planet might think: surely such a thing could not arise by itself—one; and if it is a triangle, then the makers must know geometry—two. With that assumption, great effort was made for many days. But no reply came—no news that anyone had understood.

Then many radars were set up, hoping perhaps they might send us some signal that we could catch. Sometimes signals do seem to be caught, but their secret is not revealed. For instance, you’ve heard of flying saucers. In many places on earth, many people have seen something like a flash of electricity, circling like a small saucer—and then it departs. It has been seen in many places, at many moments; sometimes, on a single night, in many parts of the earth. But even now its secret has not opened: what is it, who sends it, why does it come, why does it go?

It is quite possible that beings from another planet are trying to send signals to earth that we do not understand. When we don’t understand, some among us say it’s all false—flying saucers are just gossip. Some say it must be an optical illusion. Some say it must be a natural phenomenon. But still nothing is clear as to what it is. Only a very few have the thought that it might be an invitation, a message, from inhabitants of another planet.

But even that would be easier, because the gap between life on another planet and life on this one is not as vast as the gap between a soul gone to that other realm and the souls of this realm. That gap is even greater. The signals sent from there do not get caught; if they are caught, they are not understood; if understood, their secret does not open.

So for persons like Ramakrishna in this century—indeed, in the past two hundred years, even saying two hundred is not exact: truly, since Muhammad, things have become very difficult. For fourteen hundred years it has been difficult. Seeing this difficulty, Nanak arranged a new provision—a fresh ten-person lineage. But even that was lost, and very quickly; it did not last long.

Now only individual seekers remain in the world, who have no chain of transmission. For the individual seeker, the only way is to use the body’s stake. And before the fifth body there is no other way than the body’s stake. After the fifth body, external signals can work; external pressure can work. But if no signals come from outside, then even a seventh-body person has to make use of a stake from below the fifth—there remains no other way.

The rest, tomorrow!