Sadhana Sutra #7

There is much to be understood in this sutra.

First, the path is not already given. It has to be discovered. Yet everyone lives in the illusion that the path is already given. And if anything has most helped to destroy religion in the world, it is precisely this illusion that the path is already given.

With birth the path is not obtained; it has to be sought. But all religions have arranged it so that along with birth they hand you their religion as well! With the mother’s milk they pour religion into you! When the child is still innocent—no capacity to think, to reflect, to understand—it is then that we push the path into the depths of his unconscious. The parents push in their path! And even that path is not theirs; it too was shoved into them by their parents. So you are born as a Hindu, or a Mohammedan, or a Jain, or a Christian. With birth you are joined—made to be joined—to some path.

No one is born a Hindu or a Mohammedan. It is impossible. One can be born in a Hindu home, but no one can be born a Hindu. One can be born in a Muslim home, but no one can be born a Muslim. When a human being is born, he has no religion, no path. Parents, family, society, caste—these are imposed upon the child. And they hurry to impose them, because if the child comes to awareness, he will resist. So it is imposed in his unconsciousness.

All religions are in a great hurry to grab the child by the throat. A little delay—and the chance will be missed. And once the child comes from the state of unconsciousness into consciousness, once he gains awareness, you will not be able to impose religion upon him. Then the child will search on his own. And it is possible that the child of a Hindu home may feel the Christian path is his; and the child of a Christian home may feel the Hindu path is his. Great disorder would erupt! To avoid such disorder—lest my son abandon my religion—we commit a crime while the child is unconscious: we fasten chains of conditioning around his neck. Among all the great sins humanity has committed, this is the greatest.

Why do I call it the greatest sin? Because it means we have given the child a false religion that is not his own choice. And religion is such a thing that unless you choose it yourself it will not be meaningful. Only when you choose—through your own search, your agony, your thirst—do you become religious. Another’s religion remains on the surface. And because of it your own search is obstructed.

Therefore, observe: when a Buddha is alive, or a Mahavira is alive, or a Mohammed is alive, or a Jesus is alive—then the light of religion that burns in that time, and the revolution it brings to the lives of those who come to them—later, that flame slowly dims. For those who go to Buddha and are initiated have made their own choice to become Buddhists. Through thought, experience, reflection, sadhana, they have felt that Buddha’s path is right, so they follow him. It is their personal choice, their own surrender. No one else has committed them; they have committed themselves. Then the very flavor is different. Then they can stake their whole life, because what seems right to them is worth risking their life for. But their children will be Buddhists by birth. It will not be their choice. They will not have decided; they will not even have thought. Buddhism will be installed on their chest.

Remember: if you choose even hell of your own accord, it will be heaven. And if heaven is thrust upon you by force, it will be hell. In coercion is hell. If something is imposed from above—even if it is bliss, it turns into misery. Imposition becomes a prison.

So today on the earth there are neither Hindus nor Muslims nor Buddhists—there are prisoners. Some are prisoners in a Hindu jail, some in a Muslim jail, some in a Jain jail.

I call it a jail because you have never even thought whether you want to be Jain, Hindu, or Muslim. You have not chosen. This is your slavery. And the slavery is so subtle that you are not even aware of it, because it was not put in while you were conscious. When you were unconscious these chains were clasped upon your hands. When you came to awareness you found the chain already in your hands. And even that chain is not called a chain. Your parents, your family, your society have explained that this is an ornament! You guard it so that no one breaks it. This is an ornament—and very precious; you will lay down your life for it.

A very amusing phenomenon occurs: if there is a danger to Hinduism, you are ready to die for it. For Hinduism, Islam, Christianity—any religion—you can die; but you cannot live. If you are told, live like a Hindu—you are not ready to live. Live like a Muslim—you are not ready to live. But if there is a quarrel, a riot—you are ready to die! The man who was never ready to live for Hinduism is ready to die for it! What is the matter?

Somewhere there is a disease. We have no passion to live; but for killing and being killed we become eager. Because the moment someone attacks our religion, we lose all awareness. The attack is on our unconscious part.

Therefore, when Hindus and Muslims fight, do not think they fight in awareness. They fight in unconsciousness. In unconsciousness they are Hindu and Muslim; not in awareness. So if someone wounds their unconscious mind, they go mad. Neither Hindus fight nor Muslims fight—madmen fight. Some are mad in a Hindu way, some in a Muslim way—different labels, but madness all the same.

And religion is planted in you at a time when there is no capacity for reasoning.

Hence I say this is the greatest sin. And until this sin ceases—until we give each individual the freedom to seek his own path—the world cannot be religious. For to be religious requires one’s own decision.

Understand it this way—it will be easier.

In earlier days—in our country, even till very recently—we used to perform child-marriages. Neither the husband had any say as to whom he would marry, nor the wife. The children were so small they did not even know what was happening! We made them husband and wife in their unconsciousness—without awareness. Just as with birth one gets a sister and parents, so in unconsciousness one got a wife and a husband.

There was one convenience in child-marriage: it was very difficult to break. Because the union formed in unconsciousness—there was no question of conscious choice—so where was the question of breaking it? Those who devised child-marriage were very clever people. It meant that the marriage would not break. What was never consciously joined cannot be consciously broken. The marriage would continue, would be stable—but the happening of love would never occur in it.

Remember, living close, near, together—a kind of friendliness arises; but it is not love. Love is a madness, an ecstasy.

In child-marriage love does not happen at all. In fact, the device of child-marriage was precisely so that love would not happen—because love is dangerous. Marriage is safe; love is dangerous. Love takes you to such heights that there is the danger that if you fall, you will fall into equal depths. You can never fall in marriage, because it has no heights. It is a journey on flat land—no peaks, no abysses—safe, stable.

So marriage is an institution; love is an event. An event is unknown; an institution can be organized. Clever people contrived it. Love can be dangerous—and it will be. Because it is very difficult to live forever on such heights; you will have to come down. Love lifts you to heights of imagination, creates such dreams that to live with them is possible only for a few dreamers. The rest will fall back to the earth; to live on that peak is hard. And when you fall, there will be great pain. Remember, the greater the delight you seek, the deeper the ditch that always waits beside it.

So those who made child-marriage arranged very skillfully. They removed the danger of love; there was no fear of falling. And since you had never married by your own act in awareness, how could you divorce? What you never did—how could you undo it? Can you divorce your sister? Can you divorce your mother and father? These are natural facts—where will you go? What method will you use to say, my sister is no longer my sister? There is no way. Even if you become enemies, whatever happens, the sister remains the sister, the father remains the father, the mother remains the mother. We put the wife into exactly the same frame.

There is only one chance of choice in life—in relationship. Father is given by birth, mother is given by birth, brothers and sisters are given by birth. Only the relationship of husband and wife carries freedom. All the rest are dependencies. That one free happening could be dangerous—because freedom is dangerous. So we cut that too. We made marriage an institution tied to the unconscious. The danger was removed—but the romantic flight of love was also lost. The juice that comes with danger was also lost.

Exactly what we did with child-marriage we have done with religion. We attach it too. When the child grows up he finds he is a Hindu. He has no awareness that when he was born he was not a Hindu. When he gains consciousness he discovers he is Hindu or Muslim. It doesn’t even occur to him that this conditioning is borrowed, injected into his conscious mind; he was not born with it. Now his whole life he will go on assuming: I am a Hindu. And what he has not chosen cannot really be juicy for him—because properly speaking, it has no connection to him. It is an imposition; he will carry it like a formality. If it becomes socially necessary, he will visit a temple; on Sundays he will reach the church. If there is a festival, he will fulfill the formality. Religion then becomes a part of social arrangement.

But religion is not a part of social arrangement. Just as love is dangerous, religion is even more dangerous. As love is dangerous because nothing on its way can be predetermined—religion is even more so. Love leads along unknown paths; religion leads along even more unknown paths. Religion is self-revolution.

We have made religion a social institution, so there is no way for self-revolution. Then, toward whatever is thrust upon us, a resistance arises in the mind—it must. And breaking whatever is imposed becomes delicious. Why? Because when we break it, we feel we are becoming free.

Freud has written: I went with my wife and child to stroll in a garden. When we were about to return and the gate was being closed, the child was missing. I asked my wife, where is the boy? She panicked—the gate is closing, the garden is miles long—where will the child be? Freud said, don’t panic. You didn’t forbid him to go anywhere, did you? If you forbade him, we should look there first. If he has even a little intelligence, he should be there. The wife said, I told him not to go near the fountain. Freud said, quickly—run to the fountain. The boy was sitting there with his feet dangling in the water. The wife asked, how did you guess he’d be here? Freud said, what guessing is needed? If the boy were absolutely a fool, a mistake could happen. If he has even a little intelligence, where there is prohibition, there is juice; where there is no, there is an invitation.

Tell anyone, don’t do this—you have created a taste to do it.

The immorality that is rampant in society today is the result of the moral preachers who sit as your gurus. Sadhus, sannyasins, mahatmas—ninety percent of the immorality, they are responsible for. They create the taste. They keep saying, don’t do this, don’t do that—and where they say don’t, it seems a treasure of mystery must be hidden there. When so many mahatmas are busy warning, surely there is something! Otherwise why would they waste so much time? Don’t do this… The mind wants to explore, to find out. A sickly taste is born.

Look, if a film is marked 'Only for Adults,' then see—little children will buy two-anna mustaches, stick them on, and line up at the gate. Surely something is going on inside! It is very difficult to escape prohibition.

So whatever is thrust by force, in breaking it a relish arises. So much irreligion exists because religion is an imposition; it is not your choice, not your personal resolve.

It is better to be irreligious than to carry another’s religion on your head. Because then you will never become religious; you will remain false. It is better to throw away what is borrowed. To live without religion for a few days is no harm. But no one can live long without religion—because without religion there is no way to attain bliss. Therefore I am not afraid; I say, better be without religion than carry a thrust religion. For because of the imposed religion a rebellion arises in your mind against religion itself. Deep within, there is opposition; on the surface there is religion. And you split into two. Then you will not go in search either. Whenever religion is discussed, you feel: we already know religion, it is familiar. This borrowed, imposed, conditioned religion is not your path. There are still other dangers in it.

First, religion must not become an institution; religion is revolution. And each person must choose his own religion, his own path. For how can what is supposed to give Moksha be given by another? Consider a little: if the ultimate freedom is to be attained, and its very first step is slavery, how will it lead to ultimate freedom? Someone tells you, you will attain supreme liberation—but first let me put handcuffs on you. You will attain supreme liberation—but first let me lock you in a prison. You will attain supreme liberation—first let me hang a stone from your chest. Will you agree that he is leading you toward supreme liberation? You might as well say, I am free enough already! What you propose is deeper bondage.

Liberation comes only through freedom. The first step of liberation is freedom itself. And the first freedom needed is freedom from the religions given by others.

Search for your path—this is the meaning of the sutra.

Do not be afraid, do not be frightened. And it is not necessary that the religion into which you were accidentally born, the conditioning that was given to you, is of any use to you. Not necessary. It may not be useful; it may be dangerous, a hindrance—because… consider this a little.

There is Meera—she dances, she sings. Her Samadhi becomes dance. Can you imagine Mahavira dancing? The very thought seems absurd—Mahavira dancing? It doesn’t fit; even to imagine is difficult. No one has ever dreamt of Mahavira dancing with a peacock crown on his head. He would look utterly incongruous, ridiculous. But if Meera does not dance, and sits like Mahavira—a stone statue beneath a tree—that too won’t fit. Meera’s individuality is different from Mahavira’s. Her Moksha will come through the path of dance. Mahavira’s Moksha will come through silence, stillness. Both will reach, but each in his own way.

Place Krishna and Christ side by side in your mind—great difficulty arises. Followers of Jesus say Christ never laughed, for the world is so full of pain—how could he laugh? How could a Param-jnani laugh? And Krishna—he is dancing, playing the flute, the ras with the gopis is in full swing. The follower of Jesus cannot even conceive that Krishna could be a Param-jnani, because such rejoicing does not befit a param-gnani. And the devotee of Krishna cannot conceive that this sad, long-faced Jesus could be a Param-jnani. Such melancholy, deadness—this does not befit a Param-jnani. A Param-jnani must be overflowing with bliss.

But Christ also reaches—through his own path. The one who identifies himself with the world’s pain, who takes the suffering of the whole world upon himself, who forgets himself and becomes one with the suffering of all—he too reaches. That too is a path.

And the one who forgets all pain, becomes so absorbed in bliss that he is not even aware that there is pain in the world, who becomes one with the celebration of existence, who dissolves in the ras—he also reaches. But the ways of reaching are different.

I say this because if your path is of dance and you are born in a house of Mahavira’s followers, you will be in trouble. Nothing will fit. If you are born in Meera’s house, fine; otherwise nothing will fit. You will always find somewhere there is no resonance. In your conscious mind you will think you are a Jain; but the structure of your being is that of a bhakta—then you will be hindered. If you are of the type of Mahavira and you are born among Krishna’s devotees, then on the surface it will seem okay; inside, everything will feel wrong. You will become a hypocrite. What you do will not harmonize with your nature; it will not be real, authentic. And what you want to do you will not be able to do—because it will go against your conditioning.

If humanity today is so entangled, this is the reason. It is essential to study all religions, but the choice must be one’s own; no one else should choose. A good world can be born. Teach all religions as religions—and leave the individual free to search and choose. And whatever he discovers—welcome it.

There will be deep consequences. First, the rebellion that arises against religion will not arise. Atheists will be fewer. Atheism is born as a reaction to theistic belief forced by coercion. Atheism will decline. The arrangement that does not fit will wither away; what fits, we will choose. A harmony will arise, a love. What I have chosen will be my personal discovery. What is my discovery is juicy for me. What is my invention is delightful for me. For it I can stake everything. And until we can stake all for our religion, no revolution happens in our life.

Third, in a single home there will be many religions. Riots could end in the world. The only way: that in one house people of many religions live—then riots cannot happen. Whom will you fight? If there is a Hindu–Muslim riot, what will you do then? Your wife is Muslim—she will stand with the Muslims; your son is Buddhist—he will stand with the Buddhists; your brother is Jain—he will stand with the Jains. How will you partition Pakistan inside the home? It will be very difficult.

As long as an entire family belongs to one religion, riots cannot cease. Because then you can easily be saved; those you are attached to are all of your religion; those you love are all of your religion. But if in one home there are ten religions, and you love your wife and she is Muslim, you cannot fight the Muslims.

However much people shout 'Hindu–Muslim bhai-bhai,' or 'Allah-Ishwar tere naam'—all futile. Nothing will happen from these slogans. Until love’s arrangement in each home includes many religions, there will be no need to say 'Hindu–Muslim are brothers'—they will be. Today it has to be said because they are not. It is a lie, a sheer imposition. Trickery—nothing but politics.

This sutra is revolutionary: 'Search for the path.'

The path is not with you. It is not given by birth; not available by conditioning. You will have to search your own path. Mistakes will happen, slips will happen—let them. You will wander—wander. A living insecurity is better than dead security. Wandering is good, for only by wandering can one discover. What is obtained free, without wandering, borrowed from another, leads nowhere. On the search for your own path many obstacles will arise.

You are sitting here: whenever I say something, you keep weighing inside whether it fits your religion or not—then no search is possible. In your skull the wheel keeps turning: is this written in the Gita? Is this said in the Quran? Did Lord Mahavira say this? If he did—then okay; if not—then wrong. How will you search? You have already decided what is right and wrong. When it is already decided, what search can there be?

Only he can search who has not decided. If I am saying something—or anyone is—one should be utterly impartial toward it. First try to understand—and put your prior assumptions aside: do not come in the way. If they come, understanding becomes impossible. Putting them aside does not mean accepting what is being said. There is no need to believe—understand. And when you have understood fully, then weigh both. And when you weigh, stand apart from both. Do not say, one is my belief and one is yours—for then you cannot weigh. You will cheat; you will favor your belief. Then you are not a judge—you are a party, a relative; you cannot be just.

Whoever wants to search for the path must keep himself impartial toward all paths. If you are a Jain—put aside being Jain. If you are a Muslim—put it aside. Then, whatever you are inquiring into, understand it fully, test it in experience, and then weigh both. And while weighing, do not stand in any camp—stand apart from both. Then if it seems that what the Muslim says is right, follow it.

And remember, then that too is your discovery. It is not necessary that one born in an Islamic home will invariably discover that being a Muslim is not right. He may discover that being a Muslim is right. One born in a Hindu home need not abandon Hinduism; it may be that Hinduism is his path. But when, with such impartial search, what was given is rediscovered—it becomes one’s own. Then it is no longer given by parents; you have found it anew. This re-discovery changes the whole quality. Then it is not father-and-mother’s religion; I have discovered it myself.

But this requires great honesty. There is no need to hurry—don’t be in a rush that deep down you already know Hinduism is right. If so, you will pretend a little—glance through the Quran and say, no, Hinduism is right. Not with such haste. Protect yourself from dishonesty—that is an essential part of the search.

But we are clever. Even those we call very good people are clever to the extreme. For instance, many books have been written. Dr. Bhagwandas wrote a book on the essential unity of all religions. He was a great scholar; he wrote with much research. In the movement for the synthesis of all religions in India, it is a valuable book. All were influenced by it—from Annie Besant to Mahatma Gandhi.

But the book is dishonest. Dishonest because Dr. Bhagwandas searches the Quran—but he searches only what is also in the Gita. Deep down the Gita is right—that is his hidden belief. If the Quran says the same as the Gita, then the Quran too is right. If the Bible says what the Gita says, then the Bible is also right. But he only looks for the echoes of the Gita. The Gita is right; the Quran can be right if it confirms the Gita. This has no meaning. The essential unity is not being discovered. Because the Quran also says much that the Gita does not. He leaves that out entirely. And the Quran says much that is contrary to the Gita; that he omits completely!

If a Muslim were to write the same book, it would be quite different—because he would put the Quran at the base. What is in the Quran—if it appears in the Gita, the Gita will be right. His selection will be different. There is a vast gap between the Quran and the Gita. Let a Jain make selections from the Gita and you will understand.

A Jain will remove from the Gita all the portions that are valuable—because all those portions strike at ahimsa. For the Gita’s fundamental message is: fight and fear not, because death never happens—so why fear violence? Na hanyate hanyamane sharire—nothing dies, nothing is cut. Even the body cannot truly be cut; even if it is cut, that which is within remains uncut—so fear not. A Jain will be in great difficulty. He will choose from the Gita those parts that match Mahavira’s words. But the Gita’s foundation will be lost. Because this is all disturbance; it cannot match Mahavira.

I call these selections dishonest, because deep inside you assume your religion is right, and then you show some mercy toward others. You are tolerant—so you show a little kindness: perhaps there is something right in the other too. But what you select as right is precisely what agrees with you. Then you cannot search for the path.

The search for the path is possible only when you create within yourself a neutrality, a witnessing, and can look at all things from afar. The final decision must be: I will choose what is true—not what is mine. We consider what is mine to be true. The real seeker considers what is true to be his own. Keep this distinction in mind—then this sutra becomes deeply useful for the seeker.

'Search for the path.'

The fourteenth sutra: 'Return within and search for the path.'

The first sutra: search for the path. The second: return within and search for the path.

Even if you have searched outside and felt that a certain path is right—do not finalize yet. Now experiment with it within. Turn inward and experiment on this path; and until fruits appear in your life, until your own experience becomes the witness, until your heart says: yes, by my experience it is verified—until then your search for the path is not complete.

People come to me and say, this meditation frightens us. Someone says, this meditation is sheer madness; it cannot be right. I tell them: do it and see. Do not decide beforehand. It may well be madness—but try it. If your madness increases, then say so. If it begins to decrease, then don’t say it. For in my experience, even if a madman does this experiment, his madness begins to diminish.

In the West much work is going on along these lines. They say: if a mad person is given a chance to release his madness, it will lessen. Society does not allow him to release it; it blocks him in every way—so it collects inside. Then it collects so much that it explodes. We put him in an asylum. Many Western psychologists now say we mistreat the mad. We ourselves make them mad, and then we lock them up. And we do not allow them to vomit their madness. If they release it—difficult; if they do not release it—eventually they go mad, and then we begin to punish them with a thousand tortures. This whole net is strange.

And people, from a distance, will say: this is not right. Keep quiet—neither call it right nor wrong—until you have experimented within. Life is not so simple that it can be tested from a distance. You have to dive in.

If one has no experience of love and he speaks about love—what is the value? And often it happens that those who have no experience of love discuss love the most. The reason is that through discussion they gratify the mind. Since there is no love in their life, they get a little juice by talking of love.

Often the people who write love poetry are precisely those who have never experienced love. The poem is a substitute. What they would have done in love, they could not; they are doing with words. So do not go to meet the poet after reading his love poems—otherwise you will be disappointed. You will find a totally different man there.

If life could be understood by intellect alone, standing afar, then spectators would know life; there would be no need to be a participant. Then passers-by, walking along the edge, would know life; there would be no need to dive and become one with it. But passers-by know nothing. Those who stand on the bank see only the surface; what is happening within escapes their eyes.

So even when your impartial intelligence understands that a certain path is right—it is still not enough—return within and search for the path. Whatever you have found to be right—immediately bring it within; make it life; turn it into inner journey. And until experiences begin to arise there—remain silent; do not decide.

Much foolishness in the world could cease if people stopped delivering judgments without knowing. People judge so much without knowing; they do not even realize they are committing an offense. Whoever judges without knowing is utterly foolish—and not only foolish himself, he helps make others foolish.

There is no touchstone other than experience. The final touchstone is your own experience. And until you have tested by that touchstone—remain silent; do not declare: this path is truth.

And the fifteenth sutra: 'In the outer life, advance with courage and search for the path.'

What you have taken within, by experience—now let it move into conduct as well. Search for it also in your outer life. Because what is true within may be a dream. The inner truth can be imaginary. What appears true within may be a personal delusion. For there is no one there to ask; no third to rely on. There is no other touchstone; you are alone.

Suppose a light appears within. You practice meditation; you see an inner light, feel great bliss. But it may be that this light is just imagination, a projection—only the mind’s projection; that you are creating delusion within yourself. Because you have read in the scriptures that light is experienced—that seed lies in your unconscious—perhaps that is sprouting!

A strange thing: if a devotee of Krishna meditates, he sees Krishna—never Christ. If a devotee of Jesus meditates, he sees Christ—never Krishna.

So is what is being seen a repetition of a feeling lodged in his unconscious? How will you test inside? What is happening within—could it be self-delusion, self-hypnosis? Have you devised a way to deceive yourself? Then your search is still incomplete. What is within is subjective, private.

And the private has a danger: all dreams are private. The special feature of a dream is its privacy. You cannot enter even your closest friend’s dream. You cannot be a partner in another’s dream. It cannot happen that I see a dream and you see the same. That we both see it together—there is no way. Dreams are private. They cannot be brought out; they cannot be shared. So whatever you are experiencing—may it not be a dream?

Its final touchstone is this: whatever is happening within—if peace is arising within—then that peace must begin to travel into your conduct. If you say, within I feel great peace, but outside you are angry—then your peace is imagination. If you say, great bliss is coming within, but your outer life is full of lust—then that inner news is false. Because a man full of bliss cannot have vasana. Vasana belongs to the man full of misery. Vasana means: I am unhappy, I want pleasure. If I am blissful, pleasure is not in question. That would be like one who has the Kohinoor begging for pebbles—why would he?

Therefore the sutra says: 'In the outer life, advance with courage and search for the path.'

What you have known within—now move outward with courage. Great courage will be needed. Because if you bring out what you have known within, the whole network of your relationships will change.

A lady came to me. She said, I read you, I listen to you—and now an intense inspiration is arising within me to experiment with what you say—she belongs to a very large family—to experiment. But I fear—will these experiments cause any evil or harm to my family, to my household, to my marriage? I told her: there will be no evil—but many good things, and those good things too will cause obstacles. Drop the idea that only evil causes obstacles—good also causes obstacles. She said: I don’t understand—why would good cause obstacles? I said: you experiment and you will know how good causes obstacles.

If your wife is of a quarrelsome nature, you have slowly adjusted. If tomorrow she begins to meditate and her quarrelsomeness disappears—it is as if you have married again; you will have to readjust. The trouble begins anew. You will become restless again. As when you move into a new house, or bring new furniture, or buy a new car—the driver finds it difficult—new adjustments are needed. If it were entirely a new wife—not so difficult, because you would accept she is new; a little time will be needed, some friction, then things will smoothen. But if the old wife begins to behave like new—greater restlessness will arise.

And we all have hierarchies inside our arrangements. If the wife is quarrelsome and the husband is quiet—or the husband is quarrelsome and the wife is quiet—the quiet one considers herself superior and the other inferior. If the husband becomes quiet, this hierarchy changes. Now the husband becomes superior. And it is easier to endure a quarrelsome husband than a superior husband—because the ego is not hurt by a quarrelsome husband; it is hurt by a superior husband. If the husband drinks—not so much trouble. Why? Because the drunk husband is afraid, he feels guilty; he considers his wife a goddess. All drunk husbands consider their wives goddesses—remember. There is no other reason to think so. He is a frightened husband: you are a goddess; your purity is beyond words, I am a sinner. But if this husband leaves alcohol, begins to meditate, to be absorbed in prayer—then the whole relation between the two collapses. Now the wife will have to consider him a deity—which is very difficult; a great obstacle. In her unconscious the wife will feel: you were better before—unconscious. On the surface she will express great joy—absolutely right, wonderful—but inside there will be pain and sting.

So I told that woman: think again; good also creates obstacles—and sometimes even more than evil.

Hence this sutra says: with courage, experiment in the outer life. Whatever has begun within—experiment with it outside. Then the whole arrangement will change. The entire structure you built in a state of non-meditation will not work. You will have to change everything.

I once lived in the house of a friend. I was surprised: he never talked to his children, nor to his servant, nor to his wife. Even when he came home he would come quickly—if the children stood before him, he would enter the house with a straight gaze, as if not seeing them. I was puzzled. With me he would meet very lovingly—I was his guest. I asked him: I am a little surprised—why do you behave like this? The children stand and you don’t look; the servant stands and you don’t look. He said: it is very dangerous. If you look with a little love at the children, they immediately ask for money. If you look with a little love at the servant, he says increase my salary. If you look with a little love at the wife, she says a new sari has come to the market. So I have decided—don’t look at anyone with love; keep stiff. Even if there is no reason to be stiff—be stiff. Then neither children come near, nor servant, nor wife. Everything runs peacefully.

Now if this man meditates, great difficulty will arise. If he becomes loving, if the stiffness drops—the entire web he has woven will collapse. He will be in trouble.

Life is a daily arrangement. The deeper a man goes within, the more his arrangement changes daily. The more dead a man is, the more fixed his arrangement is. The more alive a man is, the more he is like a river’s current—his arrangement changes every day. Therefore everything will be thrown into flux.

So the sutra says: with courage, advance and search for the path in the outer life as well.

'He who wishes to enter the path of sadhana must use his entire nature with intelligence.'

Understand—this is very deep.

'He who wishes to enter the path of sadhana must use his entire nature with intelligence.'

His entire nature! Whatever your nature is—to cut off any part of it means you are not intelligent. Whatever you have received from nature—if you leave anything out, you will remain incomplete; you will never be whole. If there is anger in you, if there is sex-desire, if there is greed—these are given by nature. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to be worried about. They are there—nature has given them.

The intelligent man is the one who harnesses even his anger in sadhana—he does not cut it off. Who harnesses even his sex-desire in sadhana, uses it; who turns even that poison into nectar—only he is intelligent. He discards nothing. He enlists his entire natural being wholly in the path of sadhana—only he will attain perfection.

If you cut anything off, that much of you will remain cut off forever. So do not cut. Anger transforms into karuna—compassion. If you cut anger, you will be deprived of karuna forever. Kama transforms into brahmacharya. If you totally shut the doors on sex, you will never attain Brahmacharya.

These are subtle matters and very troublesome—because we think brahmacharya means: cut sex off, burn it to ashes—then brahmacharya will be attained. Such brahmacharya has never been, and can never be. Because the energy of sex is what becomes brahmacharya.

If impotence were brahmacharya, then cutting off sex would bring brahmacharya. No sadhana would be needed. A small operation would do. Then you should go to a surgeon and say: cut out my sexual organs. But what kind of man will you be then?—that is not brahmacharya.

See the difference between an ox and a bull. That’s what will happen. The ox can be yoked because he has been made impotent. A bull cannot be yoked because sex-energy is powerful. But the bull has life, beauty; the ox is dull—no beauty, no life.

So your so-called saints and sannyasins are in the condition of oxen. By cutting and destroying—that is what happens.

Transformation is needed. Do not destroy energy; let it move upward. That downward flow of vasana must become an upward flow. But the power will be the same. Whoever fights with sex will never attain brahmacharya. He will remain obsessed with sex; a part of him will always be stuck like a burden. His life will not blossom; there will be fear. Where there is fear, the flower never blooms.

The flower needs a cheerful acceptance. Only then does it bloom. And when the whole life-flower blooms, your sex-energy has become brahmacharya, your anger has become compassion, your harshness has become kindness, your hatred itself has become love. The difference between hatred and love is of direction; the energy is one.

This sutra says: intelligence lies in using all the energies of your nature.

'Each person is wholly his own path, his own truth, and his own life.'

Within you are hidden the path, the truth, the life. You are complete. But in your life the notes are present, not the music. The notes have to be arranged—this much is sadhana. As if a veena were lying there—the strings are there, but they must be tied, tightened, tuned in balance. The veena will be ready.

Each person is Paramatma—disarranged.

Like the puzzles of little children: small wooden pieces—arrange them and a beautiful statue appears, a palace appears, a boat appears. But scatter the pieces and children keep trying to arrange them. Everything is present—the whole boat is there, the whole statue is there—but the pieces are separate. They have to be fitted; brought into an order so that the chaos dissolves and form arises.

Every man is a puzzle until arranged. The day he is arranged, the puzzle disappears and Paramatma is revealed.

'And thus seek that path. Seek it through the study of the laws of life and existence, the laws of nature and the supra-natural laws. As you worship and observe them, their light will increase with steady speed. Then you will know that you have found the first end of the path. And when you find the last end of the path, its light will suddenly assume the form of infinite light. Do not be frightened or astonished by that inner vision. Keep your eyes on that gentle light; then it will grow slowly. But take help from your inner darkness. Take help even from darkness, and understand that those who have never seen light—how helpless they are, and how deep the darkness of their soul is.'

If your own path is sought; if your path is brought into experience; if your experience is brought into conduct—then within you a ray of light will arise. That lamp will be lit which later becomes the great light.

But sitting idle, it will not happen. Without doing, it will not happen. And the journey must begin at the very beginning. Do not walk on a borrowed path. If the first step is wrong, the last step cannot be right. He who goes astray at the first step—there is no way for him to arrive. Therefore place the first step very carefully. The first step is half the journey. If the first step is absolutely right, the goal is not far—because in the first step the goal is joined. It may take time—but the journey has begun.

But we are very careless about the first step, and very eager about the final goal. Bliss, God, Moksha—we are very eager. But that we might misplace the first step—there we have no eagerness at all. There we are rigidly dull: the first step is already with us; the path is already with us; everything is clear—only the final goal remains.

Search for the path. Test by experience. Examine in conduct whether what you have known is not a dream. Then the goal is not far.

The goal is always near—only the right first step is needed.