Prem Nadi Ke Teera #9

...it remains so until knowing dawns.

then no question arises at all.

Then the question of believing doesn’t arise at all.

No, no,...

Believing...

I don't say that, I don't say that.

Then the very question of belief does not arise. You believe in God; you don’t “believe in” a wall—this you know. Therefore you won’t ask anyone whether they believe in a wall or not.

Please understand what I am saying. What you do is not my concern. My point is that belief is necessary only until knowing happens. The moment knowing happens, both believing and not believing become pointless. So my emphasis is that, in matters of religion, those who keep on believing are deprived of knowing, and those who keep on not believing are also deprived of knowing. And the day the event of knowing happens, belief cannot furnish an answer.

If you ask me, “Do you believe in God?” I will say, “No, I know.” I say this because I understand belief to be a decision taken in a state of not-knowing. In the state of knowing, no decision to believe can be taken. That is my understanding. Whether that seems right to you or not—that is not the big question.

(The audio recording of the question is not clear.)

No, if you are doing something, then I do not disturb you. But if you are doing something wrong, I will certainly disturb you. And if the Gita says that one should not disturb someone who is doing wrong, then it is saying something very dangerous. The one who is doing wrong must be disturbed. In the Gita too, Krishna is disturbing Arjuna the whole time. What Arjuna wants to do is run away from the war; Krishna is disturbing him. The whole book came into being out of disturbing him. Krishna’s entire work there is to disturb Arjuna from what he wants to do, and to make him do what he does not want to do. Otherwise that book would never have been born. And if no one is to be disturbed—then Buddha’s speaking was in vain, Christ’s speaking was in vain, Nanak’s explaining was in vain, because all that is precisely to disturb someone or other.

A man is drinking alcohol. If you will not disturb him, what will you do? And if a man is doing something wrong by which he cannot reach God—if you will not disturb him, what will you do? So “not disturbing” can only mean this much: do not disturb someone away from the right path. But whether someone is on the right path or not—one must certainly disturb them away from the wrong path.

Then we will have to unsettle him by ninety-five percent, not by five percent. Wherever it is wrong, it has to be called wrong. You may find that troubling; changing your path is troublesome. You have already walked two miles. Now I tell you: turn back at the crossroads; take the path afresh. It feels like a bother. But you are afraid of a very small inconvenience. And the farther you go, you’ll still have to turn back. If not today, then in the next life you will have to return. There is no way without turning back. If the path is wrong, you will have to return—so the sooner you return, the better. Yes, it is difficult for me too, and it is difficult for you.

Because when I tell a man who has walked two miles that he has been walking wrongly, first he stubbornly says, “No, I haven’t.” He has walked two miles; he wants someone to say he walked right, so that his effort does not go to waste. So he doesn’t agree and creates difficulty. And it is troublesome for me too to make him understand. If I say, “You are going absolutely right,” he is pleased—and I also feel an easy pleasure.

Those who do not unsettle you have no compassion for you. If there is compassion, then on seeing what is wrong one must unsettle you. Even if you have walked a thousand miles on the wrong path, you will have to return—and it is right to return as soon as possible. Because you won’t stand still; by tomorrow you will have gone another two miles, another ten miles. Therefore, the sooner you return, the better. So my work is to unsettle.

There is no criterion. If he is on the right track, he won’t come to ask me in the first place. I never went to him to ask anything. He is not moving rightly; that’s why he goes around asking here and there. What need is there to ask? What need does he have? Do you go to a doctor to ask, “Have I somehow become ill?” If you went to the doctor, what for? You have a suspicion. You know—somewhere something is off. You are not arriving anywhere, you are not attaining anything; that is why you keep searching. That is what search means.

The day you feel you have found the right path and are walking well, joy is there—the matter is closed. Why would you come to me? Why would you go to anyone? It’s finished. And let me tell you: I am disturbing you. I am not saying that you must be disturbed. I am saying what seems right to me; if it does not seem right to you, don’t be disturbed. I am not pushing you off balance by force.

Go ahead, then—who is stopping you? Am I stopping you?

When have I ever refused you? Let me disturb you—why would I refuse you?

Yes, then explain it to me. You explain it to me. But then I will come to you.

I understand, I understand your point. If you feel I am going wrong, then make me understand. Try to unsettle me—what harm is there in that? (The audio recording of the question is not clear.) There is no touchstone, no touchstone. The person who is on the right path has an inner sense that he is right. And the one who is wrong has the sense that he is wrong. Just as when a thorn gets embedded in your foot you say, “I am in pain.” But what is the criterion that you are in pain? How are we to accept that you are in pain? Then the thorn is removed. You say: “Now there is no pain.” What is the criterion that now you have no pain? Your experience is your criterion. Your experience is your criterion.

Consider the world to be wrong.

No, no, no. Then why do you drink only one and a half? If you’re going to do it, do it properly—have three quarters. Yes—why sober up so others can come and lecture you? Just stay drowned in it. Why get caught up in anyone’s court of opinion? If you’re getting joy, then even if the whole world calls it wrong, drop the worry; you enjoy your thing completely. No, no, no—you’re not understanding what I’m saying. You enjoy it completely.

Where am I saying that? Where am I saying that? No, I haven’t said that at all. What I am telling you is: if you feel joy in drinking alcohol, keep on drinking. If I feel joy in disturbing you, then I will try to disturb you—you don’t get disturbed.

There is none. As a criterion, apart from your own experience there is none. There simply isn’t; there is no way around it.

Then go and look for it. I say there is no criterion. You look for a criterion, then. You look for a criterion. I say there is no criterion. You look for a criterion. If you ever find one, let me know.

Not “there will be”—you are here.

Then leave it... don't talk about it. Because wherever you haven't arrived, don't speak of it.

Then make it. Peer in and make it. If you already know... One big difficulty is this: if you already know all this, then why are you asking me? The things you are saying are all as if you already know. Where is the Sukhmani? Where is the word? Where is the wordless? What happens at the time of death? What does not happen?—if you already know all that, then it is useless to ask me. No—if it has not been known, if it has not been known, then there is some meaning in asking.

If words are happening to you there...

No—if that is so certain, then what is there to ask me? The difficulty is that when we already have knowledge about something, we should not be making a question. Because when the “knower” frames a question, it creates great trouble. The very meaning of a question is that we do not know, so we set out to inquire. If we already know...

No, no—why call yourself a child?

This is exactly our whole difficulty. We hear so much, we read so much, and it sits in the mind. Then questions begin arising out of what we have read and heard. Such questions become scriptural; they lose their living connection with life. Neither do you know that there is something within, nor do you know that there is nothing within. You only say: some say there is nothing inside, some say there is something inside.

When we don’t even know whether there is anything within, where would its center be? From where would movement arise in it? All such questions become hypothetical. For now, care about this first—listen, first hear me out completely—care first about turning within. So that you can find out whether there is anything inside or not. If there is nothing, then searching for a center will be madness. First turn and look within to see what is there.

Through the meditation method I am giving you, you will be able to turn inward and see that, besides the body, there is indeed something within. And the moment you see that there is something within, you will never again ask about a center, because what is within is centerless. Here lie the difficulties. The difficulty is this: anything that is infinite cannot have a center. Whatever is finite has a center. What is infinite has no center—or else, its center is everywhere. It has to be one of the two.

So first enter within and try to find out whether there is anything inside. If there is nothing inside, then there is no question of a center at all. And if there is something inside, even then I tell you the question of a center will simply disappear. Because the moment you look within you will find what is there is infinite. It can neither be divided, nor can a center be made of it; it has neither any circumference anywhere nor any center anywhere. It isn’t a matter of geometry that there would be a center there. All this talk of centers we pick up from books; without knowing, we start talking about it and start raising questions. And then all these questions take us nowhere.

So my whole concern is experimental, not speculative. I do not much care what the theorists say. I care how much comes within your own experience. First of all, turn within and find out whether there is something inside. The day you come to know that there is, that day you may try to find whether it has a center—and you will find it is centerless.

And about what you are saying regarding the unsaid... No, I am not bothered, I am not offended. But we have only half an hour, and others may also want to ask something. It’s possible it won’t be to the point. The fun is, if you already know, then why ask me...?

Two points must be noted. First: those with very mediocre personalities—neither very bad nor very good, ordinary people, neither great sinners nor great virtuous ones—such ordinary people take not even a second to enter another birth. Here they die, there they are born. For the ordinary, wombs suited to them are always available; there is no need for delay. But if a person is very bad, it will take time. And if a person is very good, it will also take time.

Because very good wombs are hard to find, and very bad wombs are also hard to find. So if a man like Hitler dies, he will have to wait for years—perhaps even for births. Because a womb in a condition suitable for a Hitler is rare. So the nobler or the baser the soul, the more the difference in time it will require. The souls who, because of their badness, have to wait in the waiting room—we call them pretas, spirits or ghosts. These are bad souls waiting for their womb. Those good souls who have to wait we call devas, gods. They too are souls waiting for a suitable womb. The ordinary person does not take even a moment; he immediately finds another birth.

Second, you ask whether a change between male and female can happen. Generally, the change is more from female toward male; from male toward female it is less. And the total reason is only this: no woman is truly happy and content in being a woman; throughout life her longing runs toward being a man. But the reverse change also happens, only in smaller numbers. And whether a human is female or male makes no difference to the “species” of birth; it makes no difference in their stage. The development of consciousness is equal in both; they are on the same plane. It never happens the other way.

It never happens that a human dies and becomes an animal. Either evolution moves forward, or one keeps revolving within the same human womb for a long time. There is no going back. A human being does not die and become an animal. Yes, an animal can die and become human. In the evolution of this existence there is simply no returning backward: everything moves ahead. If you do not move ahead, you keep repeating where you are. A person may revolve hundreds of times in human birth if he does not grow. And the question of “time” depends on many things.

First, much depends on being good or bad. If one is ordinary, transformation happens easily. But if I say this, you will have to just accept it—what else can you do? When you ask such questions, and someone answers, what can you do? You have to accept it.

That is why I do not call such questions religious. Because questions whose answers you have to accept on belief are no longer religious questions. They are meaningless in that sense. Because I might be saying it—and I might be entirely wrong. For the moment you have no option except believing. Therefore do not accept such things merely on belief; even about such things one should try to know.

You can remember your past lives—there is a scientific process to recall your past birth. And that remembrance will put you in a position to know many things. It will also tell you how much gap there was between the last death and this birth. Though those gaps are also very complex, because our way of measuring time is a very tricky matter.

You doze off for a second and have a dream that would take years to live through: in the dream you are a child, then grown, you fall in love, marry, have children, get them married. The wink breaks and you say, I saw such a long dream. The person next to you says, impossible—you couldn’t have seen such a long dream, your eyes were closed for barely a second. So in one second you can see such a long dream.

In fact, dream-time is a different kind of time; your waking time is a different kind of time; and your sleep has a different kind of time-sense. The perception of time differs. The moment a man dies, his time-scale also changes. Therefore, in our time-scale we cannot say whether he took five days, six days, or seven days to be born again—day and night are our time-scale. As soon as the body drops, you are outside this time-scale, and another time-scale begins to operate, which is very different.

Hence the rules we have made—after three days we will do this, after thirteen days that—are very approximate. Typically they are made this way: generally, within three days the person will take birth. If not in three, then in thirteen; if not in thirteen, then within a year. That is why we continue to perform some ritual or another for the deceased up to a year—only because within our scale this is the most probable window.

But all this is approximate; it cannot be exact. Because the basic perception of time after death changes fundamentally. But since all this becomes a matter of belief, I am not very eager about it.

I am eager that a few experiments be made. Some experiments should be done. For instance, it’s amusing that you have lived so long and you sleep every night, yet you still cannot say what sleep is when it comes. Every night you go into sleep, but what is sleep? Even after going into it daily, you cannot say. And the reason is this:

As long as you are awake, sleep does not happen; and when sleep happens, you are not awake. The two never meet. If you could remain awake and sleep arrived, you would recognize what sleep is. But if you remain awake, sleep will not come. You are not present—you become unconscious—and then sleep comes, so you never recognize it. When we cannot recognize even sleep, then in death we certainly will not recognize—death is the great sleep.

So my emphasis is that anyone who wants to inquire into these matters should begin with sleep—start becoming aware in relation to your sleep. While falling asleep, remain watchful: when does sleep come, what happens inside at that moment? If you experiment for two to four months, you will catch it. Sleep will come and awareness will remain: the body will fall asleep and inside a stream of alertness will also continue. The day you catch sleep, that day you will also be able to catch your death. Before that you will not. And the day you can catch death—even if it is the past death you recall—you will realize the entire scale is different; it is difficult to convey.

It is almost like this: Suppose there is an island where no flowers ever bloom—only stones. A resident goes to another land where flowers bloom. He returns and the villagers ask, What did you see there? He says, I saw flowers. They ask, What are they like? On that island no flowers exist; there are only colorful stones. So he picks up a colorful stone and says, Something like this. Though what relation does a stone have with a flower? But the poor fellow—by what means can he explain?

So almost all those who have passed through the experience of death had to say what they said in our language. And there is no congruence between our language and that experience. Therefore all doctrines are like explaining a flower through a stone. They are never exactly correct. Hence there is no need to cling to my words, nor to insist that they are right or wrong.

The concern should be that we begin a few experiments in life. At night, try to fall asleep consciously. In the morning, as sleep breaks, try to come out consciously. If you succeed in this, then at the time of coming death you will be able to go consciously. And if you can go consciously through death, then into the coming birth you will also go consciously—sleep is like night, birth is like the morning. And you will be able to discover the gap between them—how long it is—though you still won’t be able to tell people how long it is, because there the time-scale becomes entirely different. To understand this theoretically has no meaning; it only sounds like a story. For us there is no place inside us where it connects.

Yet we keep asking such questions, thinking perhaps asking them will solve something. Nothing at all is solved. Such questions only reveal our curiosity. But nothing is resolved. Everything is written in books and we read and hear it. That solves nothing. We should become eager to experiment a little. Small experiments can reveal very great things.

So experiment with sleep if you want to experience the gap between death and the next birth. One more delight will come: if you can sleep while remaining aware, and awaken while remaining aware, then every day when you say, I slept six hours at night—that is said in the day’s scale. Once you experience six hours of night directly, you will never again mistakenly say, I slept six hours. That is the day’s scale, not the night’s. We have not yet made a clock for night and sleep. Then you will be utterly at a loss. Someone will ask, How long did you sleep last night? You will say, If you ask in the day’s time I can answer, but for the night’s time there is no measurement yet. There is no clock that can tell how long, in night’s terms, we slept.

I went to see a woman in Raipur. She has been unconscious for nine months, in a coma. Doctors say she can remain alive for three years, but will never come to consciousness again; injections and medicines are being given while she remains unconscious. If this woman regains consciousness after three years, she will only say, I fell asleep just now and I have woken now. There will be no gap of three years for her. She will not know that three years have passed in between. We who remained awake will know three years passed. She will not. It is very difficult for her to know, because we have no time-scale for unconsciousness.

So how much time falls between birth and death is a matter of experience. I have, however, given you the rough rule: those living ordinary lives—neither very bad nor very good, like most people, a little good and a little bad—do not take long. I say “long,” not “time.” And now it becomes a bit subtle.

In Europe there was a very remarkable man, a French thinker; he used two words: time and duration. He said: time and duration are different. Time is what we measure with the clock; duration is what we experience within. And it is not necessary that time and duration be the same.

If you are sitting by your beloved, the clock may say an hour has passed, while you say, Not even a moment. The “moment” is duration. If you are sitting by your enemy, the clock may say five minutes have passed; you say, It felt like two hours. That is duration. So if a very happy, blissful man is dying, however great the gap between death and the new birth, it will feel short to him—because everything will depend on his bliss. If a miserable man is dying, even a very short gap between death and the next birth will feel very long.

Christians have an idea that hell is eternal. Once a man falls into hell, he falls forever; he will never return. This has been a big problem; Christians cannot answer it, because it seems utterly absurd. However many sins a man commits, even then the punishment cannot be eternal. If sin has a limit, punishment should also have a limit.

Bertrand Russell wrote a book and made great fun of this idea. The book is titled, Why I Am Not a Christian. Among many reasons he also mentions this: the Christian doctrine of eternal condemnation is beyond my understanding. He writes: If I were to confess before the strictest court all the sins I have committed—and even those I only thought of—still I could not be given more than four or five years of punishment. For such sins, done and merely thought, if I have to stay in hell for eternity, that is great injustice. His point makes sense. But Christians cannot answer it.

It is very difficult. Because how are Christians to answer what Jesus said? What Jesus means can only be understood from Jesus’ stature—otherwise not. It is very hard. Surely it must have been clear even to Jesus that the term “eternal condemnation” is dangerous—how can it be? And Jesus, such a good man, ready to forgive every kind of sin—he even asks God to forgive those who are crucifying him: forgive them, for they know not what they do. Such a man cannot consign a sinner to eternal condemnation. Then what is the meaning?

My own view is this: the more sinful a man is, the more miserable he is. And a single moment of misery feels eternal—a single moment. So a single moment of hell will also feel as if it is endless... there is no end in sight. We all say happiness is momentary. It is, but another reason is that happiness feels momentary: when it comes it scarcely arrives before it seems to be gone. When misery comes, it seems it never leaves.

So for the person who dies, the felt duration between death and birth will depend on the state of his consciousness. If he is blissful, it will feel as if everything passed in a moment. If he is miserable, he will say it took eternity. It will depend on a thousand factors. Therefore there can be no fixed doctrine—nor is there any possibility of one. These are general pointers.

(The audio recording of the question is not clear.)

His question is good—every question is good—but unnecessary. We raise such questions by assuming, for instance, “when the world was not.” There was never a time when the world was not. There will never be a time when the world will not be. Yes, it may not be on this planet Earth; life may start on another planet.

Scientists now say that at present there is life on at least fifty thousand planets—at least fifty thousand. This Earth is not the only living one. There are at least that many planets in the universe on which life exists—and it may be that on some it is more evolved than ours. No difficulty. It may be that somewhere there is life utterly different from ours—no problem. There could be beings with fifteen senses, with fifty senses—no surprise. So when we say, “when the world was not,” we are already assuming that there was a time when there was no world. There is no such time. The world has always been.

In fact, “world” means that which is from always—its very name implies it. There was never a time when it was not and then it came to be. From nothing, nothing comes. Even the life that came to this Earth, scientists now say, could only have come from another planet. It came from some planet. And now we are beginning to find a thousand kinds of evidence. For instance, when we sent man to the moon, along with the men we sent a few germs too. Those germs may develop. Over ten or twenty million years, life could fully blossom on the moon. Then the people of the moon will ask: where did life come from here?

Life always travels. Our Earth may no longer be livable in perhaps four thousand years. Life will be wiped out here. It may be that this very impending evacuation is the unconscious reason for our intense urge to reach the moon and Mars. Life is always engaged in the effort to save itself. Consider the semal—the silk-cotton tree. It produces that cottony fluff for one reason only: so that its seed may not fall beneath itself. If it falls under such a huge tree, a new sapling cannot grow; life would be destroyed. So it produces the cotton to carry the seed away on the wind; if it falls beneath, no new plant will grow. The seed flies off and falls where it can grow.

In a thousand ways, life strives to preserve itself. This Earth was not always alive. But this Earth is not “the world.” The world is vast and this Earth is a very small thing. Perhaps we should say a very tiny part, of such proportions that... I was reading: if we could condense the entire universe and make it as big as our Earth, then our Earth would be like a grain of sand. It would be hard to find where it is. That is the proportion. But we take this to be the whole world; then difficulties arise.

The world is vast: somewhere life is forming, somewhere life is dissolving. An old man is nearing death; a child is nearing life. One planet approaches death; another planet is becoming vibrant. Just as all things are forming and dissolving, suns and stars are also forming and dissolving. Somewhere a sun is cooling; somewhere a sun is becoming alive and hot again.

Our sun will not last much longer either. Its time of death is approaching. But there are other suns becoming vibrant, still children and growing. As in this small life we see children growing and the old passing away, so in the vast universe some world, some earth, some planet is dying and some planet is being born. Their number is endless. Scientists say that, within what their calculations can reach, there are around four billion suns.

Four billion suns, each with their own families. Just as our sun has a family—the moon, Mars, Jupiter, Earth—so four billion suns have their families. And this four billion is not a final tally; that is only as far as our instruments reach. Beyond that... And the amusing thing is, this whole universe is not static in one place; it is expanding. It is spreading like a balloon into which air is being blown—spreading and becoming bigger.

We raise such questions because we think this Earth is the whole of life. Then we ask, How did life reach from the source to Earth? When Earth becomes youthful enough to bear life, life arrives. When it grows old and dies, life withdraws. And there was never a time when existence was not, and there will never be a time when it will not be. That which is always is called the world—but it changes every day. So when we ask, How was creation made? we are asking a wrong question. Creation was never “made”; creation is—it is happening, all the time, now.

Now a friend is asking, “What is its purpose?”

In fact, the human mind cannot think outside of purpose. We always think there must be a purpose. But if someone were to ask you: when you are in love, what is the purpose? If someone asks: when you are blissful, what is the purpose? What is the purpose of being blissful? You will say: Bliss is enough in itself; it needs no purpose. Love is enough in itself; it needs no purpose.

This world, this existence, is enough in itself; it needs no purpose outside itself. It is—and that is enough. No purpose is needed beyond it. But man imposes his mind on the world: man never does anything without a purpose; and if someone does, we call him mad. He runs a shop for a purpose—to earn; he earns for a purpose—to build a house; he builds a house for a purpose—to live in it. But we never ask: if we keep going inside all these purposes, the final purpose will be: I want to live in bliss. Then we can ask: Why live in bliss? What is the purpose? There you will be in trouble. You will say: No, the matter ends here.

We build houses, we earn money, we make friends—and enemies too; we struggle and we seek peace—all so that we may live in bliss. But what is the purpose of bliss? Bliss is purposeless. The world is in its own bliss. It has no purpose, no “purpose.” And if someone says, This is the purpose, we can then ask: And what is the purpose of that purpose? It makes no difference.

So we can say it this way. In the language of religion: it is God’s bliss—his play, his leela. In the language of science: it is purposeless. In the language of religion: it is leela. And leela means the same: that which has no purpose. The joy of play. There is no reason. Children are playing outside, building sandcastles and knocking them down. If someone asks, What is the purpose? we say: They are playing. There is no purpose. In a while the play will end; they will kick the sand and go home. Life is purposeless—or, if you wish, say that bliss is the purpose. Other than that, there is no purpose.

It is a somewhat technical and scientific matter. First, whenever we read, or do anything with the mind, a particular kind of electrical wave begins to run in the brain, which is called the alpha wave. As it starts running, each person can read only as fast as his alpha waves are moving. And now we have instruments to measure alpha waves. We can measure how the alpha waves are running inside. The more intense the speed of the alpha waves, the faster the reading.

Scientists have even made a small device: an “alpha phone,” which, when placed on your skull, can also accelerate your waves. From the outside they can be increased. They begin to move faster. So if alpha waves can be quickened within, your speed of reading and understanding—all of it—accelerates. If alpha waves can be reduced, you become utterly quiet. In those who meditate, measurements show the alpha waves become very slack.

In Japan, with Zen monks, extensive tests have been done on alpha waves of the mind. It seems that with great difficulty a single wave is moving. Meditation is that state where alpha waves are at a minimum. And thinking, reflection, study is the state where alpha waves are at a maximum. Until now it wasn’t clear why someone could read more and faster. Now it is clear what the causes are. How much memory one can retain also depends on alpha waves—on the quantity and the speed of those waves.

When you take alcohol, or LSD, or mescaline, the effect is on the alpha waves. When you are joyful your alpha waves are different; when you are sad they are different. Your brain is made of millions of cells, and each cell is a small electrical unit constantly throwing off waves. Everything depends on their coordination.

This coordination can happen in two ways. There are yogic methods for it, but they are very long routes. And there are scientific routes now developing which are much easier. Sometimes, as in the case you mentioned—Maria, in the Philippines—what happened to her has happened to many other people in history. But it is accidental. It did not happen by doing something; it is accidental. For whatever reasons, for certain bodily chemical reasons, the speed of their alpha waves is extremely fast, supremely intense. There can be a thousand reasons. What we call intelligence, brilliance—everything depends on alpha waves. There are ways in yoga to increase these alpha waves.

For example, the chanting of Om. It is very interesting that the chanting of Om does nothing but give momentum to the alpha waves. It has nothing to do with religion. But this is not generally understood. It has no religious connection. The sound of Om stimulates the alpha waves. Sounds are also waves. Sound is a wave. It quickens the alpha waves. And Om is the primal sound.

Of all the sounds a human being can make, their root tones are contained in it—A-U-M. These are the three basic sounds. By the impact of these three, the rhythm of your alpha waves increases. That’s why whether it is Om, or other such words used by others—these are all transformations of Om. For example, Muslims say “Ameen,” which is a transformation of “Omeen,” and Christians say “Amen,” which is a transformation of “Omen.” They are all forms of Om—the strike of Om. Ameen does the same work. If someone says Ameen with force and feeling, it strikes the alpha waves and increases their speed.

But all this was groping in the dark—groping in the dark. Very soon we will be able to use the alpha phone with children. If not today, tomorrow it will be usable in schools. And the alpha phone can do both—speed you up and slow you down. Because there is a difficulty: if you use any other process and the waves become too fast, at night you may not be able to sleep.

Maria will find it very difficult to sleep. Her sleep will disappear. If the waves run at such a high level through the day, the night will pass and the waves won’t slow down. That’s why on the day you are worried, you cannot sleep. There is no other reason; alpha waves are the reason. They are running so powerfully that when you go to sleep at night the waves don’t tire and their speed continues, the vibration continues. Hence you can’t sleep. A student before an exam can’t sleep that night. His alpha waves are running hard. So all night he keeps giving the exam in his dreams, tossing and turning, but the alpha waves are running hard.

Now these waves can also be reduced. What you call tranquilizers—these simply reduce alpha waves, nothing else. You take a tranquilizer at night; it attenuates the alpha waves and you fall asleep.

So there are methods, there are methods. But not every method works for everyone, because everyone’s capacity is limited. And if you make a brain work beyond its current workload, it can break; damage can happen. However, even so, the amount of work we extract from our brains is very little—no more than fifteen percent. No human being, however great, born on the earth has used more than fifteen percent of the brain—whether Einstein, or Buddha, or Krishna. More than fifteen percent of the capacity has not yet been used. Even then such great beings could be born.

If we could use a hundred percent of capacity, we would create supermen. But perhaps the human body is not yet capable of the greater utilization; if we try to use much more, it may break. Now it will become possible, because we can free the human mind from many tasks. Right now we burden it with useless work—making it memorize.

We teach a child mathematics, language—we don’t know what all we teach. All his alpha waves get filled with these things. Nothing much is left available for the greater work. By the time he leaves the university, he has nearly used his waves as much as he could. After university he never really uses them. Now this may become possible, because with the development of computers we can hand over the useless work to them. The brain will have much power and much rest available. But if you want to use it, by using certain special sounds the speed of reading can be increased. In that, Om is a great support—Om is a great support. But it has a particular rhythm, a particular method, and particular conditions for its use.

For example, in Tibet they have made a bell. It is quite marvelous. It greatly increases alpha waves. The Tibetan “bell” is bowl-shaped, and it is not struck; a wooden stick is placed against the inner rim and moved around in a circular motion. It is made of special metals and with a precise arrangement. And when it is circled and struck three times, the full resonance of “Om Mani Padme Hum” arises from the bell—its full voice. Practitioners will sit with the room closed, and one person will keep sounding “Om Mani Padme Hum” on that bell at a steady, regular pace. All the rest will simply absorb the sound. It makes a great difference to their alpha waves. That is why the memory of the Tibetans today is unmatched on earth.

Those waves are very useful for increasing memory. The bell you hang in the temple also was once hung there with a purpose, but now it serves no purpose. It was hung there so that it would keep ringing throughout the day. Whoever came would ring it, and it would create special waves in the temple. When you entered the temple within those waves, your alpha waves would change—there is no other reason. No gods are sleeping there to be woken up by the bell. But when you ring it, the whole temple is filled with a certain wave; you enter that wave and your alpha waves are affected. There is a whole technique, a whole method of ringing it. Otherwise it is only a head-ache maker, nothing else. I will talk to you about this; there are some methods.

It can be, but there are dangers too. If you use music for meditation, do not get absorbed in the music; otherwise you will slip into unconsciousness rather than into meditation. It can be used. Listen to the music—do not be absorbed; be a witness.

When a sitar is playing, our ordinary tendency is to get absorbed, to start swaying with the sitar. If you become absorbed, there will be no benefit for meditation. You will get rest, you will get relaxation, but do not become absorbed. The sitar is playing—just remain a witness. Do not start swaying. Simply be aware that it is playing. The sound is coming; keep watching. Do not become identified with these sounds; do not become one with them. Then there will be benefit. And if you get absorbed, there can be harm.

That is why Muslims prohibited music, because in it the possibility of becoming absorbed is greater than of being a witness. So they prohibited it: they would not use music. Many other religions have used music; Islam refused. Because in it there are ninety chances to become absorbed, and only ten where a person can stay awake. Music is more a thing that lulls you to sleep than one that awakens you. But if you can remain awake—and be awake in something that is fundamentally soporific—then great results will happen. But you will have to be careful in the experiment; otherwise it is easy to get absorbed.

One does not enter samadhi; one becomes absorbed. Because poor Nairolin himself is still searching for samadhi. For now he goes to yogis; if the player himself has not attained samadhi, then for the listener to attain it is a bit of a tricky matter. But yes, samadhi is often a mistake—he takes absorption to be samadhi. You will become absorbed; if Nairolin plays, he is a marvelous player, a marvelous player.

(The audio recording of the question is not clear.)

It is connected with alpha waves. It is connected with alpha waves. It alters the alpha waves; some mantras can increase them, some can decrease them. So a mantra can only be given after looking at each individual. Therefore not every mantra is for everyone. Not every mantra is for everyone. Because it may be that for you, reducing the alpha waves is what is useful—then a different kind of mantra would be needed; different words and sounds would have to be used. And if increasing them is useful, then others are useful.

A student requires one kind of alpha waves; an old person requires another kind. Right now the student has to remember; the old man has to forget. Their alpha waves should be different. Therefore a mantra can be given absolutely individually. From reading a book and then chanting a mantra... that is dangerous. It is like reading a book and starting to take medicines. Medicine is an absolutely individual treatment. There will be some medicine in that whole book that is for you, but not all medicines are for you. And some medicine may be poison for you. And that is why it has almost come to this... everyone is chanting “Ram-Ram.” It is dangerous. For someone it may be useful; for someone it may be dangerous. For someone “Hare Krishna” may be useful; for someone it may be utterly useless.

(The audio recording of the question is not clear.)

It is for each individual—because what is necessary for his brain is the real question. Not everything is necessary for him.

Yes, call him a guru. I would call him an expert...