Sadhana Sutra #16

Now let us take the sutra.

The twelfth sutra: “Ask your own innermost being, that One, the supreme mystery of life which He has kept hidden for you through the ages. The great and arduous task of conquering the cravings of the individual soul is of ages. Therefore do not expect to receive its reward until the experiences of ages have been gathered. When the time comes to learn this twelfth rule, man stands on the threshold of the superhuman state.”

“The knowledge that has now come to you has come for this reason: your soul is one with all pure souls, and one with the Supreme Essence. This knowledge is held in trust for you by the Highest. If you betray it, or misuse it, or slight it, even now it is possible that you may fall from the high place you have reached. Many who have come far fall back from the threshold because they cannot bear the burden of their responsibility and cannot move further. Therefore be alert to this moment with reverence and with fear, and be ready for battle.”

“Ask your own innermost being, that One, the supreme mystery of life which He has kept hidden for you through the ages.”

Ask the earth, ask the wind, ask the sky, ask the waters—but they are outside you, and whatever they have kept hidden is an external event. They can tell you about the Buddhas, the Tirthankaras, the Christs, the Krishnas. But the real secret is hidden within you.

Your innermost being has journeyed since the beginningless past. Infinite are its experiences. What have you not been? You were stone, you were plant, you were bird, you were animal; you were woman, you were man; you were saint, you were thief. There is no experience you have not had; no state you have not passed through. You have known hells, you have known heavens. You have known suffering’s torment and committed suicide. You have wrought destruction and violence. You have known the joy of creation; you have given birth, you have built and made. There is nothing that has not passed through you, and nothing you have not passed through. That treasure is safeguarded in your depths. Whatever you have lived, known, done—its essence is stored. The quintessence of all that experience is hidden in your deep core. Ask this too; open this too. The moment it opens, the whole mystery of life will open—because you have lived life; you are life itself.

There is nothing in this universe unfamiliar to you. But you have fallen into forgetfulness. With each new body you have created a new ego, and with each fresh ego you have become oblivious of the past. You have no idea what happened before. So you keep forgetting your own inheritance. You cannot use what you yourself have accumulated. Therefore you keep repeating the same mistakes you have made countless times.

Mahavira constantly urged his disciples toward recollection of past births. He made it foundational to his method. He said: until you remember your past life, you will continue to repeat the very mistakes you are repeating now—because you forget that you have done all this before.

You have amassed wealth many times—this is not your first occasion. And many times, having amassed wealth, you failed—and yet you are doing it again. You have built houses many times; they crumbled; today not a trace remains. Yet you build again, imagining these will last forever, as if you too will live in them forever! You have loved men and women before; all those loves went vain; you attained nothing—yet you are doing it again, thinking somehow the treasure of life will be found in relationships! You have had children before; you raised them with great ambition; all proved futile. They never fulfilled you. For one who cannot fulfill himself, how will another fulfill him? Yet you repeat the same things. You revolve like a wheel, whose spokes go down and up again, and the potter’s wheel goes on turning. Each time one spoke rises, you think some new event is happening. But you have passed through those events times without number.

So Mahavira said: turn back; remember a little of your previous births. Then you will not repeat the blunders again. You will understand that what you are doing is mere repetition, and repetition is futile; it has no meaning.

Everything is hidden within you. Nothing is lost. Whatever has once come within your awareness has become part of you. This is so. Beyond even this, a greater thing is hidden within you: the origin of this world. You were a witness at the beginning—because you never began. You belong to that which never begins. Universes arise and dissolve; they come and go. But you are a ray of that consciousness which is present at the moment a universe begins—indeed, it should be said, which brings the universe into being—and which remains witness when the universe is dissolved. Consciousness is never destroyed. You are part of that supreme consciousness. You know the moment of the birth of creation, because you gave it birth—you were a participant. That event is hidden in your deepest core. You go about asking people, “Who created the world?” You have no idea that you too are a participant in its creation.

But you will know this only by going within. The end of the world is hidden within you as well—because you yourself wrote this story. You are the author of this play. That supremely esoteric secret, too, abides within you. You are afraid of death because you do not know that at your center is the immortal nectar. You tremble before trifles; whereas nothing can make you tremble—nothing can frighten you—because nothing can annihilate you. But that is hidden within you.

This sutra says, “Ask your own innermost being, that One, the supreme mystery of life which He has kept hidden for you through the ages.”

Ask your own self.

Maharshi Ramana based his whole method on this one formula. He said there is only one sadhana: Ask, “Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” He said: With all your might, dedicating your whole life-energy, breath by breath, hair by hair, keep asking one question inside: “Who am I?” And keep asking; do not answer—because the answers you give will all be false. Let the answer come; don’t you give it—because you answer too quickly. Your quick answers are all false, for your answers are in your head before the question has truly ripened.

People come to me and say, “We ask, ‘Who am I? Who am I?’ Then the answer comes: I am the soul; I am the Supreme Brahman.”

It doesn’t come that fast. You read that in some book; you learned it from some scripture. You knew it before you began asking! Then why ask? Of whom are you asking? If you already know “I am the soul,” what is there to ask?

No—the answers that arise from memory won’t do. Answers from your skull won’t do. The answer that comes from your innermost being is very different. It will sound as if someone else is speaking, not you. The difference will be clear: you are asking; someone else is speaking. That voice won’t be yours; those words won’t be yours; that sound won’t be yours. It will be unfamiliar from all sides.

That is why fakirs, Sufis, devotees have said: we asked, and God replied. No God is replying. Your innermost being replies—because there you are God. But the voice is so unfamiliar, a voice you have never heard; it matches none of your usual words; it has no connection with your lips; it does not arise from your throat; it has nothing to do with your memory or intellect. It seems to come from very far away, from beyond. Hence it has seemed to all that someone else is answering. No one else answers. The answer arises from your inner soul. But you have become so distant from yourself, so far removed, that your own answer sounds like another’s answer.

Ask, “Who am I?” But do not answer. Put all your energy into the asking; save not a drop for answering—because your answer has no value. Your answer will be either read or heard, borrowed from rishis and sages, scriptures and conditioning. It is dust that has settled on you from outside; it has no worth. Ask in such a way that you are left with no answer at all, that in the very process of asking all your answers fall away and only the question remains. And the day only the question remains, it will begin to pierce within like an arrow—because when there are no answers to block it on the circumference, you begin to journey inward.

Therefore, before the supreme knowing, all your knowings have to be dropped—your learned knowledge. Before the supreme knowing can happen, all scriptures have to be floated down the river. All burdens have to be laid aside; all doctrines relinquished—because anything that came from outside cannot take you within.

If you become capable of asking a pure question, and your whole life-energy is conscripted into that one inquiry—Who am I?—and there is no hurry to answer, not even the inclination; rather, it is clear you do not know, so how could you answer—then one day you will find your question has become a boat carrying you toward your innermost being; you have set out on the inner journey. A moment will come when, asking and asking, the question itself will drop—because on the circumference where the answers are useless, the corresponding question too cannot be meaningful.

This is a little subtle. If the answers of a given level are useless, will the question of that level be meaningful?

But first the answers fall. Your knowledge falls, and you become ignorant. In ignorance the question remains; answers do not. Then your ignorance, too, will fall; the question will also drop. Asking and asking—after all answers have fallen—suddenly one day the question no longer arises within. You even want to manufacture it, but it no longer forms; you become empty. Who am I? Who am I? Asking and asking, emptiness blossoms. In that very emptiness, for the first time, your inner voice will manifest, and you will hear the answer.

It sounds paradoxical: As long as you are asking, the answer will not come. When asking too falls away, the answer comes. But don’t say, “Then what is the need to ask? Let me close my eyes right now and the answer will come!” As of now, even if you say you are not asking, you are still asking. It won’t happen. Questions are helpful in moving away from the periphery.

Exactly like this: if a thorn gets embedded, we remove it with another thorn. What do you do with the second thorn? Do you keep it in the wound? You throw it away too. Right now your mind is full of answers; therefore Ramana says, ask. Use the thorn of inquiry to pull out the thorn of borrowed knowledge. Then what will you do with the second thorn? It helped so much—shall you keep it carefully? When you are free of knowledge, why cling to ignorance? One who is ready to drop knowledge—will he be attached to ignorance? One who could throw away all that trash—“I am the soul, I am Brahman, aham brahmasmi”—will he cling to the question “Who am I?” A moment will come when he will drop that too. Both thorns will be gone.

Knowledge is a thorn, ignorance is a thorn. When neither knowledge nor ignorance remains, supreme knowing becomes available; prajna flowers. Then you will know “I am Brahman.” But then you will know—experience. It will be your own realization, your direct seeing. Now no power in the world can take this experience from you.

Earlier, your “knowledge” that “I am Brahman” could be toppled by a child’s question. He could say, “All right, if you are Brahman, here is a stone—make it disappear.” You would be in trouble; your knowledge would get entangled. He could say, “It isn’t the season for blossoms—bring flowers to this tree, O Brahman.”

A Jain monk comes to me. His only trouble is this: he believes he has attained kevalya—absolute knowledge. But there’s a hitch. In Jain scriptures it is said that one who attains kevalya becomes trikalajna—knower of the three times. So anyone can put him in a fix. He says, “I have attained kevalya.” They ask, “And knowledge of all three times?” So he comes to me: “This is a big problem. Is knowledge of the three times absolutely necessary for kevalya? Can there be kevalya without being trikalajna? I have attained kevalya, but people put me in a spot. They ask, ‘O kevalin, what is in my closed fist?’ Then I get into trouble. Please explain in some way that one can have kevalya-jnana without being trikalajna.”

Now, he has attained kevalya by reading the scripture! And in the same scripture it is written that trikalajna he must be. He cannot deny that. I tell him: You would do better to regard yourself as ignorant. Don’t hurry about kevalya. The day kevalya happens, you will not come to me for testimony, for a certificate—“Please write that I have attained kevalya, and that knowledge of the three times is not necessary.” When it is your realization, all such issues vanish. If you do attain without being trikalajna, you will simply say, “Fine—trikalajna I am not; kevalya I have.” What need to convince another? If you try to convince, he will raise questions and arguments, and then you will have to answer them—then the difficulties begin.

Often those whose minds are a bit disturbed attain “kevalya” and “Brahman-knowledge” very quickly. It takes no time. These are symptoms of madness; they need treatment. They should be kept in a psychiatric hospital. The delusion arises out of ego.

The sutra says: “The great and arduous task of conquering the cravings of the soul is of ages.”

It doesn’t happen in a single instant. Many come to me saying, “Our kundalini has awakened!” Some goddess touched them and, lo, the kundalini rose! “And what else happened?” “Nothing else; everything is as it was.” There is a goddess in Bombay—whoever goes to her, ten or twenty-five at a time—all become enlightened! She has turned about twenty-five people into Buddhas, just like that! Ask these Buddhas: “What else happened?” “Nothing else—just that we became Buddhas!”—because she has declared that you have attained.

Man is so eager for the cheap that if someone says, “It has happened,” he believes—he wants to believe. Life is not so cheap. There is tapas of ages, labor of ages, wandering of ages—only then does even a little fall into your hands. And even that—only a little.

This sutra says: Even after doing everything, one who has reached the threshold—the door of the divine—can still fall back.

A small mistake, and the door that stood before you can be lost for ages. The nearer you come to the goal, the more dangerous mistakes become. When you are far from the destination, there is less fear of going astray—how much further can you get? The closer you come, each step becomes critical: a single misstep and you may miss the goal. The stakes grow high. Responsibility increases. Greater awareness is needed. Nearness brings greater difficulty. But people “arrive” without ever traveling—someone gives them a notion, and they are satisfied!

In America there is a gentleman. A letter from his disciple reached me: many have told him he is “accomplished,” and two or three “wise men” from India have even sent him certificates that he has attained; only your certificate is needed.

What madness! And those who wrote such certificates have thereby proved that they too have not attained. Is attainment a matter of certification? Is there any need to ask anyone? Will someone else decide you have arrived? And even after arriving, will you still await another’s decision?

But man wants to become something without doing anything. And nowhere is it as easy to “become” without doing as in religion. Everywhere else, you will have to do something before something becomes possible. In religion it seems you can just “be”—no obstacle, no test, nothing can stop you.

Remember: as meditation deepens and samadhi draws near, responsibility increases; so does danger. Earlier, any mistake made little difference—you were so lost already! How much further could you wander? But now, a slip of an inch and you may lose a thousand miles. Now a tiny shift of direction and you may go astray. Many at the threshold stumble and fall. And if even a faint line of ego remains near the goal, that ego will mislead you. It will announce “samadhi” before samadhi; it will declare “meditation” before meditation. And the moment you think you have arrived, the journey stops.

“The knowledge that has now come to you has come for this reason: your soul is one with all pure souls and one with the Supreme. This knowledge is held in trust for you by the Highest. If you betray it, misuse it, or slight it, even now you may fall from the high place you have reached.”

I see this daily: as people come close, the ego makes its last assault. Yesterday it was the ego of wealth, the ego of status; then it becomes the ego of meditation: “I am a meditator.” The moment this ego asserts itself, you are betraying, misusing, slighting—and it is possible you will be thrown back.

“Many who have come far fall back from the threshold because they cannot bear the burden of their responsibility and cannot move further. Therefore be alert to this moment with reverence and with fear, and be ready for battle.”

“Alert with reverence and with fear”—this needs a little understanding. What does it mean? Why place reverence and fear together? They seem opposites—how can one who is reverent be fearful, and how can one who is fearful be reverent? But their purposes are distinct; they are present in two different dimensions, not to be harmonized into one.

Reverence toward the future; fear of falling back into the past. Reverence for moving forward; fear that you may slip backward. Two different directions—so they can coexist. Keep a constant fear that you can still fall back. If fear is present, you will remain alert. If you hear the voice of ego anywhere, become afraid—now you can be pulled back; the bridge is not entirely gone; the road back still exists. You can still take it.

And reverence toward the future—complete trust in what is ahead. No trust in the past. If these two stay in your awareness—that much remains to happen; all has not yet happened, this sense with regard to the future; and the past is gone but not absolutely gone, return is still possible, the roads remain, and a small mistake can send you far back—then you will be rightly poised.

Climbing is very hard; descending is not. In a single instant you can fall inconceivably far. To rise takes ages. That is the fear. And toward the future—perfect faith, hope. Keep these two in mind.