My beloved Atman! How deeply man is caught in duality, in opposition, in a certain deadness! By what causes has this dilemma seized the mind and the whole culture of man? The first thing: until we are able to look directly at life’s problems, and while we keep fastening our mind with old solutions and old doctrines, no solution, no peace, no bliss, no realization is possible. It is essential that before one sets out to inquire into life-truth, one first frees one’s mind from solutions and scriptures. Their weight prevents the human psyche from rising upward. By clinging to these solutions, confusion is created. And the second thing: if we are filled to the brim with idealism, hypocrisy is born in life. We wish to appear and to be that which we are not. We wish to follow others, to become an imitation of others. Then life loses its own creativity. Then we remain copies, carbon copies. Naturally, no soul can be an imitation or replica of another soul. Within each soul there is its own unique life. Its unique, incomparable talent and power—this must unfold. As long as we follow, as long as we load borrowed knowledge, other people’s knowledge upon our brain, our mind will not be free of conflict. Let me compress all this into a small story and begin today’s discussion. I have heard: in a great city a photographer had hung a signboard at his shop. From afar a tribal king came to the city, for the first time. A desire arose in him: I too should have my photograph taken. He went to that photographer’s studio. He read the signboard. On it were written the prices for photographs. It said: “If you want a photo just as you are—ten rupees. If you want a photo as you wish others to see you—fifteen rupees. And if you want a photo as you long to be—as God ought to have made you—twenty rupees.” He was a little puzzled. He was a simple, rustic king from the forest. He could not understand what kind of business this was! He asked the studio owner: besides the first, do people also come here for the second kind of photograph? Are there really people who want that second photo? The owner said: you are the first man to ask! Till today no one has ever come for the first photograph. No one wants to appear as they are! He asked: Which photo would you like? The king said: Forgive me, I will have the first photo taken. For I have come to have my photo taken—not someone else’s! But he was a village simpleton. Those who are “wise” never have their own photo taken. They get Mahavira’s photo taken, Buddha’s photo taken, Krishna’s photo taken, Christ’s photo taken—but never their own. Hence the conflicts of the world. Because no man is willing, is ready, to be as he is. For that, great courage is needed. To try to be Rama is very easy, for with the name of Rama comes prestige, respectability. With your own name there is no prestige. To try to be a Buddha is easy—thousands, millions revere Buddha as God. Your mind too must be eager to be worshiped as God. To try to be Mahavira is easy, for millions accept Mahavira as a Tirthankara, they place their heads at his feet, build his temples and statues. Your ego will also be gratified by becoming like Mahavira and Buddha. But the courage to be oneself—very few have it. For the courage to be oneself means the courage to be a nobody—the courage to be nothing. Imitating another is always easy, for we wish to imitate precisely those whose names carry prestige, fame, position—worldly or otherworldly, it makes no difference. Our ego always wants to go toward those standing on the summit, on a high peak. Hence we fall into imitation. All copying, all imitation, all following—this whole world of followers, these people who are striving to become like someone else—are all ego-ridden. And those who are ego-ridden—their minds cannot be peaceful. Their minds cannot be free of conflict. Therefore today I wish to speak to you about constructive sadhana… but some things must break before other things can be built. When a seed is sown, before a sprout arises the seed breaks and dissolves into the soil. If the seed refuses to break, refuses to disappear, no sprout can be born. Before creation, destruction always comes. Destruction is the first stage of creation. There are certain things to be broken. All the ideals of the mind must be shattered. So long as anyone is trying to mold himself according to someone’s image, he is suicidal. He is anti-self. He neither accepts the sovereignty of his own being, nor is he ready to understand his own significance, nor can he have the vision to develop his own being. When we remove from our mind all images, all ideals, all great men, all saints—when we separate them from our consciousness, then we are left empty and alone. Then we can look at the personality that is ours, the personality given to us, the seed with which we were born. Then we can consider what to do for this seed, how to help it grow, how to germinate it. The first thing, the foundational thing for this constructive sadhana, is this: know what you are. Do not fall into the effort of what you should be. Know what you are. Not ideals—what is the fact, what is our actuality? What truly are we? Not Atman and Paramatman—what are the real facts of our minds? What are the real secrets of our mental life? This is very difficult. Not because knowing one’s own fact is far away, but because for thousands of years we have worn such ideals, such masks, that now recognizing our own face has become arduous. Have you ever noticed—when you are with your wife, is your face the same as when you are with your servant? It changes. The eyes with which you look at a servant are different. The eyes with which you look at your wife are different. The eyes with which you see your children are different. The eyes with which you look at a beggar’s child are different. Twenty-four hours a day, like a chameleon, your masks, your faces, your inner weather keeps changing like the wind. Have you ever noticed? Reflected on it? Looked at it? Which is your face—what is your original face? Who are you—what is your fact? Changing, twenty-four hours a day! In the office, before the owner, before the boss, your face is one thing. Standing with the peon, your face is another. Standing with a friend—another face. With an acquaintance—another face. Do you know which is your real face? A person who keeps changing faces twenty-four hours a day slowly forgets what his fact is—what his actuality is. I have heard: a woman went to a cashier in the treasury to change some money. The cashier asked: How shall I accept that you are you? He wanted some evidence, some proof. He asked: How can I accept that you are yourself? The woman quickly took a mirror out of her purse, looked at her face, and said: I am indeed me! Let’s accept that I am myself. But first she took out the mirror and looked at her face. If there were no mirrors, recognizing ourselves would be difficult. For of our original talent, our original capacity—the inborn fact within us—we have no clue. We have put on so many garments, and it is astonishing how lost we have become in them! Man gets lost in his garments. We are lost in them. When you express love, have you ever watched—seen—whether that love is within you? Or are your words borrowed from books that speak of love? When you love, is there love within you, or are you putting on the show of love? Remember: until a person knows his fact, naked as it is—actually as it is—no fundamental revolution will happen in his life. There is an animal hidden within, but the ego does not want to expose it; and to recognize the animals hidden within will make the ego fall in its own eyes, it will have to be shattered by one’s own hands. The picture we have made of ourselves is very beautiful. When we peek within, we find a very ugly person there. Then what happens? Whenever we see ugliness within, some unlovely element, what do we do? We try to cover the ugly with the beautiful. I went to a village and stayed in a house. The house was very dirty. The room they put me in had a strong stench. They had sprayed a lot of perfume there, brought many flowers. When I arrived it was all fragrance. Of course I suspected: if so much perfume has been sprayed, there must be some bad odor, otherwise who would spray so much perfume? Surely there must be a stench here. After a while the perfume evaporated. At night when I slept it was fragrance; in the morning, it was stink. Perfume had been sprayed to hide the smell. The more ugly a man is, the more he tries to cover himself with beautiful clothes. The more ugly a man is, the more he searches for all arrangements and cosmetics to appear beautiful. The whole search is to cover something. In the world we cover ourselves; but one who wishes to move toward Paramatman must uncover, not cover. For however many garments I wear, my nakedness may be hidden from you—but how will my nakedness be hidden from my own soul? And what cannot be hidden from my soul—how can it be hidden from Paramatman? There, whatever I am, so I am. No deception is possible. That is why facts must be known. But we flee from facts—we escape. If you feel that your mind is very greedy, what do you do? You start building a temple, so you can convince yourself: no, how could I be greedy—look, I built such a big temple! A temple was being built in my village, a new temple. I was surprised, for the number of religious believers is decreasing—but why are new temples increasing? Old temples are plenty; no one goes to them. New temples are built every day. I was puzzled. Passing by, I could not understand why a new temple was being built. I asked an old craftsman, you have built many temples—you must know. That craftsman must have been remarkable, with a deep vision. He said: come behind me. We went back; excavations were going on, statues being carved. I thought he would say, the temple is for these idols. I said: That would not be an answer, for then why are these new idols being made—there are enough old ones; no one worships them, no one looks at them—what is the need for new idols? But the old craftsman was very alert. He did not say the temple is for the idols. He took me further back. There some craftsmen were working on a stone. He said: The temple is being built for this stone! I looked closely—on that stone they were engraving the name of the temple’s donor. And all temples are built for this. They are not temples of the gods whose idols are inside. That is false. They are temples for the stones on the outside—the names. This too is a part of greed. It is greed’s investment—not only here, but also in the next world: I built a temple. He will say to God: remember, I had a temple made. I have heard: a very wealthy man died. He went—this is a fanciful tale—to heaven. He knocked loudly. He was surprised: such a great man has died and the doors are closed! They should have been opened beforehand. The news had been published in all the earthly newspapers—has no news reached God yet? He banged on the door. A poor man knocks gently; a big man never knocks gently! He pushed the door. God must have been startled inside! God opened the door and asked: Yes? He said: Yes what! Didn’t you get the news that I have died? No news here? Which newspaper comes here? In all the papers the news was printed—and on the front page. God said: I understand—but what do you want? He said: I want heaven. And he took a bundle of notes from his pocket—he had brought them along, thinking: the habits that work in the world—will God be different? He tried to put the money in God’s hands. God said: Excuse me, perhaps you do not know—your worldly coins don’t work here. These rupees are useless. Then he went pale; the strength with which he had banged the door melted away. That strength was the strength of those notes. If they work, there is strength; if they don’t, it is gone. Still he said: I wish to stay in heaven. God asked his clerks: does he have any merit worthy of heaven? God himself asked: Have you ever done anything? He said: Yes, once I gave an old woman fifteen new paise. Check if this is true. They found it was true. He had given fifteen paise. And anything else? He said: Once I also helped a student with five new paise. That too was found true. And anything else? He said: Nothing else comes to mind. Actually, he had done nothing else. God asked his advisors: What should be done with this man? They said: Return his fifteen paise—because heaven doesn’t come so cheap! I tell you, if heaven came cheap at fifteen paise, it would still be cheap at fifteen lakhs, at fifteen crores. Build as many temples as you like—by building temples you will neither gain heaven, nor any realization of Paramatman, nor peace. Because why do you build? This diseased mind finds many devices to deceive itself—many. A man feels his anger, his anger hurts. The scriptures say an angry man will go to hell, burned in fire, boiled in hot cauldrons. His mind fears, trembles. Being weak, he resolves to forgive. Let me be forgiving; let me not be angry. But a mind full of anger—how will it forgive? This basic question must be pondered deeply—the whole process of life depends upon it. How can a greedy man renounce? The two are opposites. How can an egoistic person be humble? Opposites. How can a mind full of anger be loving? Or a mind full of hate be loving? Or a mind soaked in violence become nonviolent? It cannot. But it can invent deceptions of nonviolence. He can strain water at night before drinking, he can give up some foods—and he will create in himself the delusion that he has become nonviolent. Ahimsa is not so cheap. Heaven isn’t available for fifteen paise—nor ahimsa. To be nonviolent is a total inner revolution. But how will it be? As long as our mind is filled with anger, violence, hatred—how will we be nonviolent? Yet this angry, violent mind wishes to be nonviolent. Then it drapes some trick on the surface. Inside violence goes on crawling; on the surface it assumes the garb of ahimsa. This ahimsa is not deep—not even skin-deep. Provoke it a little; its violence will come out. Recently, when other nations attacked India, all the nonviolent people of this country evaporated! Even the sadhus of this land began to speak the language of war. They too said: Now, to protect ahimsa, violence is needed. What madness! If a man says: To protect truth, now lies are needed—what will be protected? If someone says: To protect ahimsa, violence is necessary—what will be protected? If one says: To protect God, we must build temples to the Devil—what will be protected? But this so-called nonviolent nation—its ahimsa was uprooted in two moments. Because it was very thin, only a cover on the surface. Inside there is no ahimsa; cannot be. How can a violent mind become nonviolent? It will impose nonviolence, cultivate it. Then what? If one is full of sexuality and puts on Brahmacharya from above, what will happen? Will sexuality be destroyed? No. Its streams will move underground. On the surface there will be talk of Brahmacharya; inside, sexuality will whirl more deeply. I was speaking with a nun. We were at the seashore; a strong wind was blowing. It was not my fault; the wind began to flutter my shawl. It touched the nun. As soon as it touched her, it was as if her very life trembled. She did not have the courage to say anything to me. But her followers were there; they could not bear it. They said: Look, please hold your shawl. A man’s cloth is touching the nun! That nun was talking to me about Atman and Paramatman—about moksha, about dhyana, Samadhi. The moment my shawl touched her, all dhyana, all moksha, all Atman-Paramatman vanished. A man’s shawl touched her! I was astonished. I said: A shawl is only a shawl—how can it be male or female? But if the touch of a man’s shawl creates panic within, what does it indicate? It indicates sexuality has been repressed—so repressed that the entire mind is filled with sexuality. Even this shawl becomes a symbol, a sign, a limb of sexuality. Its touch makes something quiver within. Brahmacharya means: the transformation of all the mind’s sexuality into love. But any sexual mind where sex is active will forcibly impose Brahmacharya from above—and will become more and more sexual. Nothing is destroyed by repression. What then to do? What is the way before man? When he feels anger, he reads scriptures on forgiveness, learns about forgiveness. When he feels greed, he learns renunciation, tries to renounce, builds a temple. When sex torments him, when lust torments him, he studies books that say “Brahmacharya is life,” keeps company with monks and sannyasins. Then he tries to be celibate. But how can a sexual mind be celibate? Then you will say, if I am saying this, there is no way! There is a way—but not this way; another. I wish to tell you of it. One who wants a revolution in the facts of his life—the first fundamental is: do not flee from those facts. The weak flee. For change, strength is needed. The coward runs away; for transformation, strength is needed. If you run from the facts of your life—escape here and there, take refuge in some ideal, some moral code, some religious law—and hide your head there. Like the ostrich in the desert: when its enemy comes, it quickly buries its head in the sand. Once its head is in the sand, the enemy is not seen. The logic is simple: if the enemy is not seen—he is not! But by not seeing, the enemy is not destroyed. On the contrary, when you cannot see the enemy, the danger begins—because then you are in his hands, with no way to defend. We do the same as the ostrich. As soon as something appears within and disturbs, we immediately oppose it by burying our head. Sex appears—we begin to take oaths of Brahmacharya. Fools! Has Brahmacharya ever happened through vows? What does taking an oath mean? A man vows he will now remain celibate—what does this mean? It means sexuality is knocking inside. He is taking an oath against it; otherwise, why take an oath? A man who speaks truth—will he ever vow: I shall always speak the truth? He will not—he will say: I do not lie; what is the need of an oath? Only those take vows in whom the opposing element is pushing. To gather strength against it—to collect one’s power—to take society’s support—before four men they declare: I take the vow of Brahmacharya. So that now it becomes part of their ego: I took the vow before a thousand people—lest it break. They raise this ego against sex; then the war begins. With one hand the ego tries to hold the vow; with the other nature presses with sex. Then the mind becomes full of conflict and goes on breaking. A strong person does not flee—he looks. My first request toward constructive life-transformation is: do not run from facts. But you will keep running so long as condemnation of facts remains in your mind. As long as you denounce them—as long as you say anger is bad—you will suffer it. As long as you say sex is bad, you will flee. As long as you say such-and-such is evil—you will run from it. First thing: accept the facts of life. Facts are neither bad nor good. Facts are simply facts. Facts are neither evil nor virtuous—they are simply facts. You have been given two eyes; neither bad nor good—just a given fact. Likewise you have been given sex, anger, greed, ego—these too are facts of life. Just as you have bones, skin, flesh—so too these elements have been given. Simply know that they are facts. The moment you take attitudes of good and bad toward them, the fight begins—the running begins. First thing: accept the facts of life very simply, without condemnation, without denouncing, without praising, without flattery—just see. In the world there are two kinds of people. Some say: sex is life. They have attached themselves to praising that fact. Others say: sex is death. They have attached themselves to denouncing it. Both are entangled. There is a third person, and I ask you to become that third. He neither calls it life nor death—neither nectar nor poison. He says: sex is. It is a fact. Let me know this fact—what is it, why is it? Let me recognize it, enter into its total energy, dig through all its layers, reach its roots, become acquainted with what it is. First thing: know the facts of the mind as facts—know them with a neutral vision. Do not become involved in praise or condemnation. Both these roads are wrong. Stay in the middle. I call this samyam—resting in the middle. Both extremes are intemperance: the voluptuary is intemperate in one way, the sadhu in another. One has gone to one extreme, the other to the opposite. He who rests in the middle is disciplined, is wise. Pause—and know, recognize all the facts of your mind. Do not panic. Panic arises because for thousands of years they have been condemned. Condemnation sits in our mind. When we see anger within, ego within, we think: what shall I do? How to be free of ego? We ask: How shall I be free of ego? Someone says: leave home and family. Someone says: leave property. Someone says: leave clothes. Someone says: leave everything—position, prestige—ego will go. Leave everything—ego will not go anywhere. It will remain, taking a new shape: the ego of a tapasvin, the ego of a renunciate. It will say: I am a sannyasin; none compares to me. It becomes a new kind of ego. Ego cannot go that way. Ego must be known. Kama, krodha, moha, lobha—lust, anger, infatuation, greed—must be known very simply. They are facts of our life, energies of life. Know them. And a great wonder: if you merely become aware of a fact, and inquire into it—by that awareness, that alertness, that wakefulness—changes begin to happen in that fact. You need do nothing. If a man is a thief, and he inquires into this fact rightly—Am I a thief?—without condemning, without praising—knowing it, not running from it—not anxious to change it; simply explores the fact and understands: I am a thief—clearly—this very awareness will begin to bring transformation. A transformation will begin. For when a man consciously knows “I am a thief,” his whole being becomes engaged in changing this ugly fact. He need not do anything consciously; his unconscious mind, his deeper being, engages in transforming it. But we do not wish to accept this fact. What device do we adopt to escape it? We say: we are not thieves, we build temples! How can we be thieves? We are not thieves, we go to the temple daily—how can we be thieves? We are not thieves—we put a tilak on our foreheads, wear the sacred thread—how can we be thieves? We search for devices to evade the facts of life. Sinners go on pilgrimages, sinners go to the temple daily. Why? So we can say: Who says you are a thief—one who goes to the temple every morning, a pilgrim—how can he be a thief? But who, other than thieves, has ever gone to temples and on pilgrimages? One whose mind is free of stealing, free of sin—will he go to a pilgrimage? Pilgrimages come to his heart. Will he go to a temple? God accompanies him. Wherever he is, there is a temple; wherever he is, there is a tirtha. But we flee from facts. I say: acceptance of fact! Let me tell a small story to make it clear. In very ancient times there was a rishi, Gautama. He was sitting in his hut when a youth came—handsome, healthy. He said: I wish to join your ashram. I too thirst for knowledge. I seek truth. I wish to know Brahman. Will you accept me? Gautama asked: What is your gotra, what is your father’s name? The youth said: I asked my mother, but she said she does not know my father, nor my lineage. For when she was young she moved among many gentlemen and pleased them, gave them joy. Therefore there is no knowing who my father is. My mother told me: go to the rishi and say, when I was young I served many men, pleased many men. I am the son of one among those many. I do not know which. My mother’s name is Jabala; my name is Satyakama, so my mother has said: tell the rishi—my full name is Satyakama Jabala. I know nothing of my father. What did Rishi Gautama do? He rose up, embraced him to his chest and said: You are certainly a Brahmin—for such simple, naked truth can come only from one who seeks Brahman. You are a Brahmin—you are accepted. Such straightforward acceptance of fact arises only in one who is a seeker of Brahman. I would say to you: one who seeks truth needs a simple, unhesitating acceptance of fact. To hide it, to flee from it—is disastrous. Expose your mind, open it; if you find… that you have no lineage, no father—there is nothing to be alarmed about. Accept the fact exactly as it is. If you find within that a sheer animal sits—accept that too. What is its fault? It is as we have found it. Nature has given it thus. Accept it. And see what happens out of that acceptance. With acceptance, fear will be gone—fear disappears. Fear exists for one who hides. When you hide something, fear arises. When you hide nothing and open everything plainly, fearlessness is born—abhaya arises. There remains no fear, for fear is of being exposed—someone might expose my nakedness, my lie, my sex. All this belongs to fear. But if I myself have laid everything bare before my own consciousness, all points of fear dissolve. Fearlessness arises. Courage arises. And when I expose all the facts, in the very exposing, the feeling of guilt—this sense of guilt in the soul that “this bad is within me”—is dissolved. Because in exposing I see: the facts are one thing, and I, the one who exposes, am another—separate. The separateness of self-awareness becomes clear. And when a fact appears very painful, meaningless, absurd—if one exposes it to its very bottom by seeing—then through that very seeing, transformation happens in that fact. Awareness—being conscious, alert toward all the processes of one’s mind—works like fire. If we kindle fire, the rubbish is burned and the gold remains pure. Awareness—the capacity to look—is like fire. When we begin to know and see everything within, a fire starts in the mind. In that fire, the trash burns and the gold shines forth. One day, when all the trash is burned away in that fire, only pure gold remains within. Light this fire—the fire of awareness. But those who are escaping cannot light it. Those who have fled in many ways cannot. There are many escapes. A man starts to drink, frightened by his facts. Another begins to gamble, frightened by his restlessness; he stakes himself and forgets everything. In the intense moment of betting, in that state of sensation, worries, pains, anxieties are forgotten. One drinks and forgets. Another sits in a temple corner and goes on chanting “Ram, Ram”—louder and louder. The louder he chants, the more worries are forgotten—for that while, worries dissolve. And by continuously chanting Ram-Ram, or Om, any mantra, the mind’s sensitivity, its wakefulness, diminishes. If I speak the same sentence here for an hour, how many will remain awake? Most will naturally fall asleep. In a court a case was going on. The lawyer speaking for his side had such a monotonous tone, such a single note, repeating the same point and the same legal arguments, that often all the jurors would fall asleep. One day he had been arguing for an hour—almost all the jurors slept. The accused, for whom he was pleading, resting his head on the dock, was also asleep. He shouted to the magistrate: Sir, what kind of court is this? All the jurors are asleep! The magistrate said: Forgive me, I am myself guilty—for from time to time I too fall asleep. But sir, we are not alone responsible—you too are responsible. Please devise some way to awaken people; speak in such a way that sleep evaporates. A mother wants to put her child to sleep; she picks up a refrain—“Sleep, little one, sleep”—and keeps repeating. The mother imagines it is some great music, therefore the child sleeps! The child sleeps because of boredom. Keep saying “Sleep, little one, sleep” to anyone—then not only the child, even the child’s father may fall asleep. One gets bored! Boredom can put anyone to sleep. A man chants Ram-Ram. Another goes on OM-OM. This chanting creates boredom. The mind becomes dull, sluggish, inert. That is why those nations that have chanted Ram-Ram and OM-OM have had their minds dulled completely. Nothing could be created through them. No inventions could arise. Their intelligence became lazy, slothful, blunt—finished. Their culture broke—for can blunt minds create anything? But peace is gained—who does not gain peace from sleep? Who does not gain peace from intoxication? He chants Ram-Ram—worries vanish. Even to worry one needs an alert mind! A dull mind does not worry. A stupid mind does not worry. For worry to spread, awareness is needed. These are all escapes—devices to forget one’s life. No, none of this is religious. Religion is—not to forget life, but total remembrance; not oblivion—but memory. Awareness of every layer of one’s own mind, one’s consciousness. To bring awareness to every stratum—wake, see what is within. Do not flee. The one who flees is irreligious; the one who awakens is religious. In my vision, religion has only one meaning: the continuous effort to awaken. So awaken and see. Then you will see a transformation comes which you did not bring—because you were only awake, only watching: there is theft within me. Experiment, because what I am doing is not theoretical babble. The land is already flooded with that; there is no need for more. I am not giving you sermons. Anyone whose mind is not deranged—why would he sermonize? I am telling you what I see—so that you may look, experiment, and see. If it is right, it will be right to you out of your own experience; I have nothing to do with it. Take any fact within you. Catch hold of one fact and look. Then see whether that fact abides or fades. When you hold any one fact with great awareness—say, violence: there is violence in my mind—and make no effort to be nonviolent. Because the effort to be nonviolent means you have already begun to avoid violence. No—accept being violent: there is violence in me, all right. Now I will live with this fact of violence—let me see what happens. I will remain with this fact—let me see what happens. Remain awake, twenty-four hours, that violence is there. When I used a rude word to the peon—there was violence. When I spoke meanly to my wife—violence. When I pulled my child’s ear—violence. Observe, twenty-four hours—wherever violence is. When I compete—violence. When I build a big house to make my neighbor’s small house look small—violence. Watch all your violence in all your relationships. Watch silently—no need to do anything. As you go on watching, you will be astonished: as awareness grows that there is violence, violence begins to dissolve, and in its place a new element arises—that of nonviolence. Because we do not see—violence remains alive. Our unconsciousness is the life-breath of violence. If we awaken and see—violence dies. Whatever is inauspicious in life lives because of our unconsciousness. We are asleep; therefore it is alive, has breath. Who gives it life? We do. In our stupor we give it breath, strength—we feed it vitality. If we awaken, our energies will withdraw from it. In that very moment, we will become aware. A friend said to me: I get very angry—what shall I do? I have tried many tricks—anger does not go; my life is being ruined by anger. I told him: Do one small thing. Keep a slip in your pocket on which is written: Now I am getting angry. As soon as anger arises, kindly take it out and read it—and put it back. Come to me after a month. He came and said: I am astonished. When anger arises, my hand goes to my pocket—and anger evaporates! Look at any fact with awareness. Your awareness is the death of the fact. And when the fact dies, the energy that was being wasted in that fact is released. After all, energy is being wasted in anger, in greed, in competition, in hatred, in enmity, in jealousy. If all these facts dissolve, an astonishing release of energy will happen. All that energy will gather. The same energy will give strength to your soul. The same energy will become the upward surge of your being. The energy wasted in anger, in greed, in ego—if saved—becomes the path to Paramatman. It becomes the staircase to Paramatman. But by running away, no revolution ever happens. And the revolution that comes through this awakening—this transformation—is not something you bring, because you only awaken. You only awaken—and truth arrives on its own. Man awakens—and truth comes seeking him to his door. Man awakens—and Paramatman comes to find him. But the point is to awaken—totally awaken. Therefore awakening is the only fact, the only tapascharya. Awakening is the only labor, resolve, sadhana. If a man undertakes it, within him a completely new man will be born—one who will know that peace which is eternal, beginningless; who will experience that silence which abides in the heart of Paramatman; who will receive the rays of that bliss which is hidden at the center of this vast existence. He will find the ocean of nectar that permeates all existence. But the person you were will be shattered. All his facts will change; only awareness will remain—and finally, the flame of awareness will unite him with the light of Paramatman. Constructively, what can be done? What are we doing? We are running—running away. No—do not run. Stop, pause, and see—and awaken. And do not be anxious to change yourself; the change will come. Change cannot be the work of your hands. With your confused mind, with your conflicted, unconscious mind—what change can come? If it could have come, nothing more need be said. And if it does bring some change—can that change be better than this mind? The mind that brings the change—can it produce something higher than itself? How could it? Can a creation be greater than its creator? So the nonviolence your mind will produce by escaping violence—can it be greater than your mind? It cannot. It will be smaller than your mind. When my mind is small, filled with violence, anger, lust—how can religion arise from it? It cannot. The religion that arises from such a mind will be of the same kind—a religion of anger, of sin, of ego. That religion cannot be greater than the mind that created it. Nothing can be greater than that which produces it. Then what is the way? From this mind—no way. Nothing can be done from the mind. But there is one thing—one can awaken to the mind. The one who awakens is separate from the mind. The one filled with awareness is behind the mind. If that awareness becomes total, that awareness itself begins to bring revolution into the mind. A small story, to complete our talk. There was a fakir. A youth came to him and said: I am a thief, I am dishonest, I am a liar—but I too want to attain Paramatman. What shall I do? I have gone to saints who said: first give up lying, first give up dishonesty—then come to me. The fakir said: You went to the wrong people, who know nothing. It is good you have come here. And I am happy you accept that you are a thief, dishonest. This is the first mark of a religious man—that he accepts he is a thief, dishonest, a liar. Now something can happen. Your readiness is complete. But do not try to give them up—if you get busy giving them up, they will be saved. Then you will go on running and they will remain. When you stop, you will find they are present. Where can you run leaving yourself behind? He told the youth a little story. A man reached the gate of another village. An old man was sitting there. He asked: What kind of people live in this village? The old man asked: Why do you ask—do you wish to settle here? If so, tell me—what were the people like in the village you left? The man said: Don’t even mention them! Such wicked, vile people don’t exist anywhere! The old man said: Then settle somewhere else. You will find the people of this village worse than the last. This is a very bad village. My experience is that men like those here aren’t found even in that village. Go, settle elsewhere. After he left, another man arrived. He too asked: I want to settle in this village—what kind of people live here? The old man said: First tell me—what were the people like in the village you come from? He said: The very mention of them fills my heart with joy. Such good people I had to leave out of compulsion. My heart will always remain sad for that. The old man said: Come—welcome! You will find the people here even better. There are no people on earth like those in this village! The fakir said to the youth: I tell you this story. Wherever you run, wherever you go—you cannot go leaving yourself behind. What you are goes with you. And its face is what you see reflected in others. What else can you see? You are all mirrors to each other. In each other you peep at your own face. So go anywhere—you cannot run away from yourself. But do one thing—you can awaken to yourself. Do one thing: whenever the thought of stealing or dishonesty arises, do it with awareness. If you must steal, do it with awareness. If you must break a lock—do not break it in unconsciousness. Break it in full awareness: I am breaking a lock, I am stealing. Consciously break the lock. The moment stupor comes, leave the lock there. When awareness returns, only then touch the lock again. Do not open it in unconsciousness. Break it fully awake. Take money from the safe fully awake. The youth returned after fifteen days. He said: You have put me into great trouble! When I am full of awareness, my hand does not move to take the money; when I am unconscious, my hand moves. You have created a great difficulty! Twice I have left wonderful treasures and returned. I had broken the walls, reached inside, opened the safes. As my hand started to rise, the thought arose: the theft must be conscious. As soon as awareness came, theft dissolved. As when we light a lamp here, darkness dissolves. With the lamp—darkness dissolves. Put the lamp out—darkness returns. Exactly so—light awareness, and all perversion dissolves. Put awareness out—perversion returns. Awareness is the lamp of the soul. That is meditation. I call awareness meditation. To be continuously awake to one’s life, to all facts—that is meditation. That is the lamp, that is the flame. Light it—and see: darkness gradually disappears. One day you will find there is no darkness. One day you will find your whole life filled with light—and with a light that is otherworldly; a light of Paramatman; a light not of this world, not of this time, not of this temporal dimension; a light that comes from some far, central source. In its illumination, life becomes filled with dance, filled with music. Only then is there peace, only then truth. Before that—all wandering, all darkness. In that darkness whatever you do—nothing will happen. Light the lamp—then the lamp will do all. Light the lamp of awareness—then awareness will do all. Awareness brings revolution. One who has the courage to break and to make—he can at any moment transform his life into an astonishing life. May Paramatman make your life a flame—a living flame. Not only for you is this essential—at this moment all humanity is in crisis, in pain. If the hearts of many people awaken and become lamps, the darkness of this world can be dispersed; a new culture can be born—one that is religious. Until now no religious culture has been born. In fact, religion itself has not yet been born. In the name of religion—churches have been born, sects have been born. Religion has not yet been born. The lamp of religion has not yet been lit in the human heart. The time is now. Many people must labor—for their own good, and for the good of all mankind. In that alone is welfare. If we can bring forth a culture that is religious—what will it be like? What is a religious mind? The mind in which the lamp of awareness is lit—that is a religious mind. You have listened to my words with such love, such silence—my heart is delighted and grateful. And I bow down at the feet of you all; for no feet are anyone’s—every foot is of Paramatman.
Osho's Commentary
How deeply man is caught in duality, in opposition, in a certain deadness! By what causes has this dilemma seized the mind and the whole culture of man?
The first thing: until we are able to look directly at life’s problems, and while we keep fastening our mind with old solutions and old doctrines, no solution, no peace, no bliss, no realization is possible. It is essential that before one sets out to inquire into life-truth, one first frees one’s mind from solutions and scriptures. Their weight prevents the human psyche from rising upward. By clinging to these solutions, confusion is created.
And the second thing: if we are filled to the brim with idealism, hypocrisy is born in life. We wish to appear and to be that which we are not. We wish to follow others, to become an imitation of others. Then life loses its own creativity. Then we remain copies, carbon copies.
Naturally, no soul can be an imitation or replica of another soul. Within each soul there is its own unique life. Its unique, incomparable talent and power—this must unfold. As long as we follow, as long as we load borrowed knowledge, other people’s knowledge upon our brain, our mind will not be free of conflict. Let me compress all this into a small story and begin today’s discussion.
I have heard: in a great city a photographer had hung a signboard at his shop. From afar a tribal king came to the city, for the first time. A desire arose in him: I too should have my photograph taken. He went to that photographer’s studio. He read the signboard. On it were written the prices for photographs. It said: “If you want a photo just as you are—ten rupees. If you want a photo as you wish others to see you—fifteen rupees. And if you want a photo as you long to be—as God ought to have made you—twenty rupees.”
He was a little puzzled. He was a simple, rustic king from the forest. He could not understand what kind of business this was! He asked the studio owner: besides the first, do people also come here for the second kind of photograph? Are there really people who want that second photo? The owner said: you are the first man to ask! Till today no one has ever come for the first photograph. No one wants to appear as they are! He asked: Which photo would you like? The king said: Forgive me, I will have the first photo taken. For I have come to have my photo taken—not someone else’s!
But he was a village simpleton. Those who are “wise” never have their own photo taken. They get Mahavira’s photo taken, Buddha’s photo taken, Krishna’s photo taken, Christ’s photo taken—but never their own.
Hence the conflicts of the world. Because no man is willing, is ready, to be as he is. For that, great courage is needed. To try to be Rama is very easy, for with the name of Rama comes prestige, respectability. With your own name there is no prestige. To try to be a Buddha is easy—thousands, millions revere Buddha as God. Your mind too must be eager to be worshiped as God. To try to be Mahavira is easy, for millions accept Mahavira as a Tirthankara, they place their heads at his feet, build his temples and statues. Your ego will also be gratified by becoming like Mahavira and Buddha. But the courage to be oneself—very few have it. For the courage to be oneself means the courage to be a nobody—the courage to be nothing.
Imitating another is always easy, for we wish to imitate precisely those whose names carry prestige, fame, position—worldly or otherworldly, it makes no difference. Our ego always wants to go toward those standing on the summit, on a high peak. Hence we fall into imitation. All copying, all imitation, all following—this whole world of followers, these people who are striving to become like someone else—are all ego-ridden. And those who are ego-ridden—their minds cannot be peaceful. Their minds cannot be free of conflict. Therefore today I wish to speak to you about constructive sadhana… but some things must break before other things can be built.
When a seed is sown, before a sprout arises the seed breaks and dissolves into the soil. If the seed refuses to break, refuses to disappear, no sprout can be born. Before creation, destruction always comes. Destruction is the first stage of creation.
There are certain things to be broken. All the ideals of the mind must be shattered. So long as anyone is trying to mold himself according to someone’s image, he is suicidal. He is anti-self. He neither accepts the sovereignty of his own being, nor is he ready to understand his own significance, nor can he have the vision to develop his own being.
When we remove from our mind all images, all ideals, all great men, all saints—when we separate them from our consciousness, then we are left empty and alone. Then we can look at the personality that is ours, the personality given to us, the seed with which we were born. Then we can consider what to do for this seed, how to help it grow, how to germinate it.
The first thing, the foundational thing for this constructive sadhana, is this: know what you are. Do not fall into the effort of what you should be. Know what you are. Not ideals—what is the fact, what is our actuality? What truly are we? Not Atman and Paramatman—what are the real facts of our minds? What are the real secrets of our mental life? This is very difficult. Not because knowing one’s own fact is far away, but because for thousands of years we have worn such ideals, such masks, that now recognizing our own face has become arduous.
Have you ever noticed—when you are with your wife, is your face the same as when you are with your servant? It changes. The eyes with which you look at a servant are different. The eyes with which you look at your wife are different. The eyes with which you see your children are different. The eyes with which you look at a beggar’s child are different. Twenty-four hours a day, like a chameleon, your masks, your faces, your inner weather keeps changing like the wind. Have you ever noticed? Reflected on it? Looked at it? Which is your face—what is your original face? Who are you—what is your fact? Changing, twenty-four hours a day!
In the office, before the owner, before the boss, your face is one thing. Standing with the peon, your face is another. Standing with a friend—another face. With an acquaintance—another face. Do you know which is your real face? A person who keeps changing faces twenty-four hours a day slowly forgets what his fact is—what his actuality is.
I have heard: a woman went to a cashier in the treasury to change some money. The cashier asked: How shall I accept that you are you? He wanted some evidence, some proof. He asked: How can I accept that you are yourself? The woman quickly took a mirror out of her purse, looked at her face, and said: I am indeed me! Let’s accept that I am myself. But first she took out the mirror and looked at her face.
If there were no mirrors, recognizing ourselves would be difficult. For of our original talent, our original capacity—the inborn fact within us—we have no clue. We have put on so many garments, and it is astonishing how lost we have become in them! Man gets lost in his garments. We are lost in them. When you express love, have you ever watched—seen—whether that love is within you? Or are your words borrowed from books that speak of love? When you love, is there love within you, or are you putting on the show of love?
Remember: until a person knows his fact, naked as it is—actually as it is—no fundamental revolution will happen in his life. There is an animal hidden within, but the ego does not want to expose it; and to recognize the animals hidden within will make the ego fall in its own eyes, it will have to be shattered by one’s own hands. The picture we have made of ourselves is very beautiful. When we peek within, we find a very ugly person there. Then what happens? Whenever we see ugliness within, some unlovely element, what do we do? We try to cover the ugly with the beautiful.
I went to a village and stayed in a house. The house was very dirty. The room they put me in had a strong stench. They had sprayed a lot of perfume there, brought many flowers. When I arrived it was all fragrance. Of course I suspected: if so much perfume has been sprayed, there must be some bad odor, otherwise who would spray so much perfume? Surely there must be a stench here. After a while the perfume evaporated. At night when I slept it was fragrance; in the morning, it was stink. Perfume had been sprayed to hide the smell.
The more ugly a man is, the more he tries to cover himself with beautiful clothes. The more ugly a man is, the more he searches for all arrangements and cosmetics to appear beautiful. The whole search is to cover something.
In the world we cover ourselves; but one who wishes to move toward Paramatman must uncover, not cover. For however many garments I wear, my nakedness may be hidden from you—but how will my nakedness be hidden from my own soul? And what cannot be hidden from my soul—how can it be hidden from Paramatman? There, whatever I am, so I am. No deception is possible.
That is why facts must be known. But we flee from facts—we escape. If you feel that your mind is very greedy, what do you do? You start building a temple, so you can convince yourself: no, how could I be greedy—look, I built such a big temple!
A temple was being built in my village, a new temple. I was surprised, for the number of religious believers is decreasing—but why are new temples increasing? Old temples are plenty; no one goes to them. New temples are built every day. I was puzzled. Passing by, I could not understand why a new temple was being built. I asked an old craftsman, you have built many temples—you must know. That craftsman must have been remarkable, with a deep vision. He said: come behind me. We went back; excavations were going on, statues being carved. I thought he would say, the temple is for these idols. I said: That would not be an answer, for then why are these new idols being made—there are enough old ones; no one worships them, no one looks at them—what is the need for new idols? But the old craftsman was very alert. He did not say the temple is for the idols. He took me further back. There some craftsmen were working on a stone. He said: The temple is being built for this stone! I looked closely—on that stone they were engraving the name of the temple’s donor.
And all temples are built for this. They are not temples of the gods whose idols are inside. That is false. They are temples for the stones on the outside—the names. This too is a part of greed. It is greed’s investment—not only here, but also in the next world: I built a temple. He will say to God: remember, I had a temple made.
I have heard: a very wealthy man died. He went—this is a fanciful tale—to heaven. He knocked loudly. He was surprised: such a great man has died and the doors are closed! They should have been opened beforehand. The news had been published in all the earthly newspapers—has no news reached God yet? He banged on the door. A poor man knocks gently; a big man never knocks gently! He pushed the door. God must have been startled inside! God opened the door and asked: Yes? He said: Yes what! Didn’t you get the news that I have died? No news here? Which newspaper comes here? In all the papers the news was printed—and on the front page. God said: I understand—but what do you want? He said: I want heaven. And he took a bundle of notes from his pocket—he had brought them along, thinking: the habits that work in the world—will God be different? He tried to put the money in God’s hands. God said: Excuse me, perhaps you do not know—your worldly coins don’t work here. These rupees are useless. Then he went pale; the strength with which he had banged the door melted away. That strength was the strength of those notes. If they work, there is strength; if they don’t, it is gone. Still he said: I wish to stay in heaven.
God asked his clerks: does he have any merit worthy of heaven? God himself asked: Have you ever done anything? He said: Yes, once I gave an old woman fifteen new paise. Check if this is true. They found it was true. He had given fifteen paise. And anything else? He said: Once I also helped a student with five new paise. That too was found true. And anything else? He said: Nothing else comes to mind. Actually, he had done nothing else. God asked his advisors: What should be done with this man? They said: Return his fifteen paise—because heaven doesn’t come so cheap!
I tell you, if heaven came cheap at fifteen paise, it would still be cheap at fifteen lakhs, at fifteen crores. Build as many temples as you like—by building temples you will neither gain heaven, nor any realization of Paramatman, nor peace. Because why do you build? This diseased mind finds many devices to deceive itself—many.
A man feels his anger, his anger hurts. The scriptures say an angry man will go to hell, burned in fire, boiled in hot cauldrons. His mind fears, trembles. Being weak, he resolves to forgive. Let me be forgiving; let me not be angry. But a mind full of anger—how will it forgive? This basic question must be pondered deeply—the whole process of life depends upon it.
How can a greedy man renounce? The two are opposites. How can an egoistic person be humble? Opposites. How can a mind full of anger be loving? Or a mind full of hate be loving? Or a mind soaked in violence become nonviolent? It cannot. But it can invent deceptions of nonviolence. He can strain water at night before drinking, he can give up some foods—and he will create in himself the delusion that he has become nonviolent. Ahimsa is not so cheap. Heaven isn’t available for fifteen paise—nor ahimsa. To be nonviolent is a total inner revolution. But how will it be? As long as our mind is filled with anger, violence, hatred—how will we be nonviolent? Yet this angry, violent mind wishes to be nonviolent. Then it drapes some trick on the surface. Inside violence goes on crawling; on the surface it assumes the garb of ahimsa. This ahimsa is not deep—not even skin-deep. Provoke it a little; its violence will come out.
Recently, when other nations attacked India, all the nonviolent people of this country evaporated! Even the sadhus of this land began to speak the language of war. They too said: Now, to protect ahimsa, violence is needed. What madness! If a man says: To protect truth, now lies are needed—what will be protected? If someone says: To protect ahimsa, violence is necessary—what will be protected? If one says: To protect God, we must build temples to the Devil—what will be protected? But this so-called nonviolent nation—its ahimsa was uprooted in two moments. Because it was very thin, only a cover on the surface. Inside there is no ahimsa; cannot be. How can a violent mind become nonviolent? It will impose nonviolence, cultivate it. Then what?
If one is full of sexuality and puts on Brahmacharya from above, what will happen? Will sexuality be destroyed? No. Its streams will move underground. On the surface there will be talk of Brahmacharya; inside, sexuality will whirl more deeply.
I was speaking with a nun. We were at the seashore; a strong wind was blowing. It was not my fault; the wind began to flutter my shawl. It touched the nun. As soon as it touched her, it was as if her very life trembled. She did not have the courage to say anything to me. But her followers were there; they could not bear it. They said: Look, please hold your shawl. A man’s cloth is touching the nun! That nun was talking to me about Atman and Paramatman—about moksha, about dhyana, Samadhi. The moment my shawl touched her, all dhyana, all moksha, all Atman-Paramatman vanished. A man’s shawl touched her! I was astonished. I said: A shawl is only a shawl—how can it be male or female? But if the touch of a man’s shawl creates panic within, what does it indicate? It indicates sexuality has been repressed—so repressed that the entire mind is filled with sexuality. Even this shawl becomes a symbol, a sign, a limb of sexuality. Its touch makes something quiver within.
Brahmacharya means: the transformation of all the mind’s sexuality into love. But any sexual mind where sex is active will forcibly impose Brahmacharya from above—and will become more and more sexual. Nothing is destroyed by repression. What then to do? What is the way before man?
When he feels anger, he reads scriptures on forgiveness, learns about forgiveness. When he feels greed, he learns renunciation, tries to renounce, builds a temple. When sex torments him, when lust torments him, he studies books that say “Brahmacharya is life,” keeps company with monks and sannyasins. Then he tries to be celibate. But how can a sexual mind be celibate? Then you will say, if I am saying this, there is no way! There is a way—but not this way; another. I wish to tell you of it.
One who wants a revolution in the facts of his life—the first fundamental is: do not flee from those facts. The weak flee. For change, strength is needed. The coward runs away; for transformation, strength is needed. If you run from the facts of your life—escape here and there, take refuge in some ideal, some moral code, some religious law—and hide your head there. Like the ostrich in the desert: when its enemy comes, it quickly buries its head in the sand. Once its head is in the sand, the enemy is not seen. The logic is simple: if the enemy is not seen—he is not! But by not seeing, the enemy is not destroyed. On the contrary, when you cannot see the enemy, the danger begins—because then you are in his hands, with no way to defend.
We do the same as the ostrich. As soon as something appears within and disturbs, we immediately oppose it by burying our head. Sex appears—we begin to take oaths of Brahmacharya. Fools! Has Brahmacharya ever happened through vows? What does taking an oath mean? A man vows he will now remain celibate—what does this mean? It means sexuality is knocking inside. He is taking an oath against it; otherwise, why take an oath? A man who speaks truth—will he ever vow: I shall always speak the truth? He will not—he will say: I do not lie; what is the need of an oath?
Only those take vows in whom the opposing element is pushing. To gather strength against it—to collect one’s power—to take society’s support—before four men they declare: I take the vow of Brahmacharya. So that now it becomes part of their ego: I took the vow before a thousand people—lest it break. They raise this ego against sex; then the war begins. With one hand the ego tries to hold the vow; with the other nature presses with sex. Then the mind becomes full of conflict and goes on breaking.
A strong person does not flee—he looks. My first request toward constructive life-transformation is: do not run from facts. But you will keep running so long as condemnation of facts remains in your mind. As long as you denounce them—as long as you say anger is bad—you will suffer it. As long as you say sex is bad, you will flee. As long as you say such-and-such is evil—you will run from it.
First thing: accept the facts of life. Facts are neither bad nor good. Facts are simply facts. Facts are neither evil nor virtuous—they are simply facts. You have been given two eyes; neither bad nor good—just a given fact. Likewise you have been given sex, anger, greed, ego—these too are facts of life. Just as you have bones, skin, flesh—so too these elements have been given. Simply know that they are facts. The moment you take attitudes of good and bad toward them, the fight begins—the running begins.
First thing: accept the facts of life very simply, without condemnation, without denouncing, without praising, without flattery—just see.
In the world there are two kinds of people. Some say: sex is life. They have attached themselves to praising that fact. Others say: sex is death. They have attached themselves to denouncing it. Both are entangled. There is a third person, and I ask you to become that third. He neither calls it life nor death—neither nectar nor poison. He says: sex is. It is a fact. Let me know this fact—what is it, why is it? Let me recognize it, enter into its total energy, dig through all its layers, reach its roots, become acquainted with what it is.
First thing: know the facts of the mind as facts—know them with a neutral vision. Do not become involved in praise or condemnation. Both these roads are wrong. Stay in the middle. I call this samyam—resting in the middle. Both extremes are intemperance: the voluptuary is intemperate in one way, the sadhu in another. One has gone to one extreme, the other to the opposite. He who rests in the middle is disciplined, is wise.
Pause—and know, recognize all the facts of your mind. Do not panic. Panic arises because for thousands of years they have been condemned. Condemnation sits in our mind. When we see anger within, ego within, we think: what shall I do? How to be free of ego? We ask: How shall I be free of ego? Someone says: leave home and family. Someone says: leave property. Someone says: leave clothes. Someone says: leave everything—position, prestige—ego will go. Leave everything—ego will not go anywhere. It will remain, taking a new shape: the ego of a tapasvin, the ego of a renunciate. It will say: I am a sannyasin; none compares to me. It becomes a new kind of ego.
Ego cannot go that way. Ego must be known. Kama, krodha, moha, lobha—lust, anger, infatuation, greed—must be known very simply. They are facts of our life, energies of life. Know them. And a great wonder: if you merely become aware of a fact, and inquire into it—by that awareness, that alertness, that wakefulness—changes begin to happen in that fact. You need do nothing.
If a man is a thief, and he inquires into this fact rightly—Am I a thief?—without condemning, without praising—knowing it, not running from it—not anxious to change it; simply explores the fact and understands: I am a thief—clearly—this very awareness will begin to bring transformation. A transformation will begin. For when a man consciously knows “I am a thief,” his whole being becomes engaged in changing this ugly fact. He need not do anything consciously; his unconscious mind, his deeper being, engages in transforming it.
But we do not wish to accept this fact. What device do we adopt to escape it? We say: we are not thieves, we build temples! How can we be thieves? We are not thieves, we go to the temple daily—how can we be thieves? We are not thieves—we put a tilak on our foreheads, wear the sacred thread—how can we be thieves?
We search for devices to evade the facts of life. Sinners go on pilgrimages, sinners go to the temple daily. Why? So we can say: Who says you are a thief—one who goes to the temple every morning, a pilgrim—how can he be a thief? But who, other than thieves, has ever gone to temples and on pilgrimages? One whose mind is free of stealing, free of sin—will he go to a pilgrimage? Pilgrimages come to his heart. Will he go to a temple? God accompanies him. Wherever he is, there is a temple; wherever he is, there is a tirtha. But we flee from facts. I say: acceptance of fact!
Let me tell a small story to make it clear.
In very ancient times there was a rishi, Gautama. He was sitting in his hut when a youth came—handsome, healthy. He said: I wish to join your ashram. I too thirst for knowledge. I seek truth. I wish to know Brahman. Will you accept me? Gautama asked: What is your gotra, what is your father’s name?
The youth said: I asked my mother, but she said she does not know my father, nor my lineage. For when she was young she moved among many gentlemen and pleased them, gave them joy. Therefore there is no knowing who my father is. My mother told me: go to the rishi and say, when I was young I served many men, pleased many men. I am the son of one among those many. I do not know which. My mother’s name is Jabala; my name is Satyakama, so my mother has said: tell the rishi—my full name is Satyakama Jabala. I know nothing of my father.
What did Rishi Gautama do? He rose up, embraced him to his chest and said: You are certainly a Brahmin—for such simple, naked truth can come only from one who seeks Brahman. You are a Brahmin—you are accepted. Such straightforward acceptance of fact arises only in one who is a seeker of Brahman.
I would say to you: one who seeks truth needs a simple, unhesitating acceptance of fact. To hide it, to flee from it—is disastrous. Expose your mind, open it; if you find… that you have no lineage, no father—there is nothing to be alarmed about. Accept the fact exactly as it is. If you find within that a sheer animal sits—accept that too. What is its fault? It is as we have found it. Nature has given it thus. Accept it. And see what happens out of that acceptance. With acceptance, fear will be gone—fear disappears.
Fear exists for one who hides. When you hide something, fear arises. When you hide nothing and open everything plainly, fearlessness is born—abhaya arises. There remains no fear, for fear is of being exposed—someone might expose my nakedness, my lie, my sex. All this belongs to fear. But if I myself have laid everything bare before my own consciousness, all points of fear dissolve. Fearlessness arises. Courage arises.
And when I expose all the facts, in the very exposing, the feeling of guilt—this sense of guilt in the soul that “this bad is within me”—is dissolved. Because in exposing I see: the facts are one thing, and I, the one who exposes, am another—separate. The separateness of self-awareness becomes clear. And when a fact appears very painful, meaningless, absurd—if one exposes it to its very bottom by seeing—then through that very seeing, transformation happens in that fact.
Awareness—being conscious, alert toward all the processes of one’s mind—works like fire. If we kindle fire, the rubbish is burned and the gold remains pure. Awareness—the capacity to look—is like fire. When we begin to know and see everything within, a fire starts in the mind. In that fire, the trash burns and the gold shines forth. One day, when all the trash is burned away in that fire, only pure gold remains within.
Light this fire—the fire of awareness. But those who are escaping cannot light it. Those who have fled in many ways cannot. There are many escapes. A man starts to drink, frightened by his facts. Another begins to gamble, frightened by his restlessness; he stakes himself and forgets everything. In the intense moment of betting, in that state of sensation, worries, pains, anxieties are forgotten. One drinks and forgets. Another sits in a temple corner and goes on chanting “Ram, Ram”—louder and louder. The louder he chants, the more worries are forgotten—for that while, worries dissolve. And by continuously chanting Ram-Ram, or Om, any mantra, the mind’s sensitivity, its wakefulness, diminishes. If I speak the same sentence here for an hour, how many will remain awake? Most will naturally fall asleep.
In a court a case was going on. The lawyer speaking for his side had such a monotonous tone, such a single note, repeating the same point and the same legal arguments, that often all the jurors would fall asleep. One day he had been arguing for an hour—almost all the jurors slept. The accused, for whom he was pleading, resting his head on the dock, was also asleep. He shouted to the magistrate: Sir, what kind of court is this? All the jurors are asleep! The magistrate said: Forgive me, I am myself guilty—for from time to time I too fall asleep. But sir, we are not alone responsible—you too are responsible. Please devise some way to awaken people; speak in such a way that sleep evaporates.
A mother wants to put her child to sleep; she picks up a refrain—“Sleep, little one, sleep”—and keeps repeating. The mother imagines it is some great music, therefore the child sleeps! The child sleeps because of boredom. Keep saying “Sleep, little one, sleep” to anyone—then not only the child, even the child’s father may fall asleep. One gets bored! Boredom can put anyone to sleep.
A man chants Ram-Ram. Another goes on OM-OM. This chanting creates boredom. The mind becomes dull, sluggish, inert. That is why those nations that have chanted Ram-Ram and OM-OM have had their minds dulled completely. Nothing could be created through them. No inventions could arise. Their intelligence became lazy, slothful, blunt—finished. Their culture broke—for can blunt minds create anything? But peace is gained—who does not gain peace from sleep? Who does not gain peace from intoxication? He chants Ram-Ram—worries vanish. Even to worry one needs an alert mind! A dull mind does not worry. A stupid mind does not worry. For worry to spread, awareness is needed. These are all escapes—devices to forget one’s life.
No, none of this is religious. Religion is—not to forget life, but total remembrance; not oblivion—but memory. Awareness of every layer of one’s own mind, one’s consciousness. To bring awareness to every stratum—wake, see what is within. Do not flee. The one who flees is irreligious; the one who awakens is religious.
In my vision, religion has only one meaning: the continuous effort to awaken. So awaken and see. Then you will see a transformation comes which you did not bring—because you were only awake, only watching: there is theft within me.
Experiment, because what I am doing is not theoretical babble. The land is already flooded with that; there is no need for more. I am not giving you sermons. Anyone whose mind is not deranged—why would he sermonize? I am telling you what I see—so that you may look, experiment, and see. If it is right, it will be right to you out of your own experience; I have nothing to do with it.
Take any fact within you. Catch hold of one fact and look. Then see whether that fact abides or fades. When you hold any one fact with great awareness—say, violence: there is violence in my mind—and make no effort to be nonviolent. Because the effort to be nonviolent means you have already begun to avoid violence. No—accept being violent: there is violence in me, all right. Now I will live with this fact of violence—let me see what happens. I will remain with this fact—let me see what happens.
Remain awake, twenty-four hours, that violence is there. When I used a rude word to the peon—there was violence. When I spoke meanly to my wife—violence. When I pulled my child’s ear—violence. Observe, twenty-four hours—wherever violence is. When I compete—violence. When I build a big house to make my neighbor’s small house look small—violence. Watch all your violence in all your relationships. Watch silently—no need to do anything. As you go on watching, you will be astonished: as awareness grows that there is violence, violence begins to dissolve, and in its place a new element arises—that of nonviolence.
Because we do not see—violence remains alive. Our unconsciousness is the life-breath of violence. If we awaken and see—violence dies. Whatever is inauspicious in life lives because of our unconsciousness. We are asleep; therefore it is alive, has breath. Who gives it life? We do. In our stupor we give it breath, strength—we feed it vitality. If we awaken, our energies will withdraw from it. In that very moment, we will become aware.
A friend said to me: I get very angry—what shall I do? I have tried many tricks—anger does not go; my life is being ruined by anger. I told him: Do one small thing. Keep a slip in your pocket on which is written: Now I am getting angry. As soon as anger arises, kindly take it out and read it—and put it back. Come to me after a month. He came and said: I am astonished. When anger arises, my hand goes to my pocket—and anger evaporates!
Look at any fact with awareness. Your awareness is the death of the fact. And when the fact dies, the energy that was being wasted in that fact is released. After all, energy is being wasted in anger, in greed, in competition, in hatred, in enmity, in jealousy. If all these facts dissolve, an astonishing release of energy will happen. All that energy will gather. The same energy will give strength to your soul. The same energy will become the upward surge of your being.
The energy wasted in anger, in greed, in ego—if saved—becomes the path to Paramatman. It becomes the staircase to Paramatman. But by running away, no revolution ever happens.
And the revolution that comes through this awakening—this transformation—is not something you bring, because you only awaken. You only awaken—and truth arrives on its own. Man awakens—and truth comes seeking him to his door. Man awakens—and Paramatman comes to find him. But the point is to awaken—totally awaken. Therefore awakening is the only fact, the only tapascharya. Awakening is the only labor, resolve, sadhana. If a man undertakes it, within him a completely new man will be born—one who will know that peace which is eternal, beginningless; who will experience that silence which abides in the heart of Paramatman; who will receive the rays of that bliss which is hidden at the center of this vast existence. He will find the ocean of nectar that permeates all existence. But the person you were will be shattered. All his facts will change; only awareness will remain—and finally, the flame of awareness will unite him with the light of Paramatman.
Constructively, what can be done? What are we doing? We are running—running away. No—do not run. Stop, pause, and see—and awaken. And do not be anxious to change yourself; the change will come. Change cannot be the work of your hands. With your confused mind, with your conflicted, unconscious mind—what change can come? If it could have come, nothing more need be said. And if it does bring some change—can that change be better than this mind? The mind that brings the change—can it produce something higher than itself? How could it? Can a creation be greater than its creator? So the nonviolence your mind will produce by escaping violence—can it be greater than your mind? It cannot. It will be smaller than your mind. When my mind is small, filled with violence, anger, lust—how can religion arise from it? It cannot. The religion that arises from such a mind will be of the same kind—a religion of anger, of sin, of ego. That religion cannot be greater than the mind that created it. Nothing can be greater than that which produces it.
Then what is the way? From this mind—no way. Nothing can be done from the mind. But there is one thing—one can awaken to the mind. The one who awakens is separate from the mind. The one filled with awareness is behind the mind. If that awareness becomes total, that awareness itself begins to bring revolution into the mind.
A small story, to complete our talk.
There was a fakir. A youth came to him and said: I am a thief, I am dishonest, I am a liar—but I too want to attain Paramatman. What shall I do? I have gone to saints who said: first give up lying, first give up dishonesty—then come to me. The fakir said: You went to the wrong people, who know nothing. It is good you have come here. And I am happy you accept that you are a thief, dishonest. This is the first mark of a religious man—that he accepts he is a thief, dishonest, a liar. Now something can happen. Your readiness is complete. But do not try to give them up—if you get busy giving them up, they will be saved. Then you will go on running and they will remain. When you stop, you will find they are present. Where can you run leaving yourself behind?
He told the youth a little story. A man reached the gate of another village. An old man was sitting there. He asked: What kind of people live in this village? The old man asked: Why do you ask—do you wish to settle here? If so, tell me—what were the people like in the village you left? The man said: Don’t even mention them! Such wicked, vile people don’t exist anywhere! The old man said: Then settle somewhere else. You will find the people of this village worse than the last. This is a very bad village. My experience is that men like those here aren’t found even in that village. Go, settle elsewhere.
After he left, another man arrived. He too asked: I want to settle in this village—what kind of people live here? The old man said: First tell me—what were the people like in the village you come from? He said: The very mention of them fills my heart with joy. Such good people I had to leave out of compulsion. My heart will always remain sad for that. The old man said: Come—welcome! You will find the people here even better. There are no people on earth like those in this village!
The fakir said to the youth: I tell you this story. Wherever you run, wherever you go—you cannot go leaving yourself behind. What you are goes with you. And its face is what you see reflected in others. What else can you see?
You are all mirrors to each other. In each other you peep at your own face. So go anywhere—you cannot run away from yourself. But do one thing—you can awaken to yourself. Do one thing: whenever the thought of stealing or dishonesty arises, do it with awareness. If you must steal, do it with awareness. If you must break a lock—do not break it in unconsciousness. Break it in full awareness: I am breaking a lock, I am stealing. Consciously break the lock. The moment stupor comes, leave the lock there. When awareness returns, only then touch the lock again. Do not open it in unconsciousness. Break it fully awake. Take money from the safe fully awake.
The youth returned after fifteen days. He said: You have put me into great trouble! When I am full of awareness, my hand does not move to take the money; when I am unconscious, my hand moves. You have created a great difficulty! Twice I have left wonderful treasures and returned. I had broken the walls, reached inside, opened the safes. As my hand started to rise, the thought arose: the theft must be conscious. As soon as awareness came, theft dissolved.
As when we light a lamp here, darkness dissolves. With the lamp—darkness dissolves. Put the lamp out—darkness returns. Exactly so—light awareness, and all perversion dissolves. Put awareness out—perversion returns.
Awareness is the lamp of the soul. That is meditation. I call awareness meditation. To be continuously awake to one’s life, to all facts—that is meditation. That is the lamp, that is the flame. Light it—and see: darkness gradually disappears. One day you will find there is no darkness. One day you will find your whole life filled with light—and with a light that is otherworldly; a light of Paramatman; a light not of this world, not of this time, not of this temporal dimension; a light that comes from some far, central source. In its illumination, life becomes filled with dance, filled with music. Only then is there peace, only then truth. Before that—all wandering, all darkness. In that darkness whatever you do—nothing will happen. Light the lamp—then the lamp will do all. Light the lamp of awareness—then awareness will do all. Awareness brings revolution.
One who has the courage to break and to make—he can at any moment transform his life into an astonishing life. May Paramatman make your life a flame—a living flame. Not only for you is this essential—at this moment all humanity is in crisis, in pain. If the hearts of many people awaken and become lamps, the darkness of this world can be dispersed; a new culture can be born—one that is religious.
Until now no religious culture has been born. In fact, religion itself has not yet been born. In the name of religion—churches have been born, sects have been born. Religion has not yet been born. The lamp of religion has not yet been lit in the human heart. The time is now. Many people must labor—for their own good, and for the good of all mankind. In that alone is welfare. If we can bring forth a culture that is religious—what will it be like? What is a religious mind? The mind in which the lamp of awareness is lit—that is a religious mind.
You have listened to my words with such love, such silence—my heart is delighted and grateful. And I bow down at the feet of you all; for no feet are anyone’s—every foot is of Paramatman.