Sahaj Yog #17

Krishna Prem! Nakedness is man’s birthright. Existence created man naked. Clothes are man’s invention. To deny nakedness is to deny existence. If clothes are invented for convenience, that’s fine—if it’s cold, wear something to protect yourself from the elements. But the fundamental invention of clothing is not to protect from nature; it is to hide oneself. Behind clothes there is hypocrisy. That’s why whenever someone stands naked, your hypocrisy gets hurt.

When Mahavira was naked, there was great opposition. There was even more when Lalla, the woman mystic of Kashmir, chose nakedness. But they were isolated cases; somehow we tolerated them.

In my view, nakedness should be natural and effortless. Whenever convenient, people should have the natural right to be naked. Clothes conceal—and in that concealment lies all pornography. In concealment lies obscenity. You will not find obscenity among tribals, because they are naked. The more you hide, the more obscenity you create—because hiding stimulates the imagination: perhaps what is hidden must be especially enticing!

Hiding gives birth to titillation and distortion. Whatever we hide, we become impatient to see. Let a woman pass by in a burqa or with a veil, and people crane their necks to look. The same woman without a burqa attracts no such attention. Leave women aside—dress a man in a burqa and let him walk down the street; people will get excited, follow him, drop a thousand tasks, curious to see. The burqa contains a secret. Whatever is hidden naturally invites curiosity. Imagination is born of this. So the formula of obscenity is: hide a little and show a little. Disclose a bit and conceal a bit; the revealed part remains charged by the hidden, continually stoking curiosity.

Tribal people live naked. Women do not worry about men, nor men about women. All animals are naked. Trees are naked. They cause you no difficulty. What has happened to human beings?

The Christian story says that as soon as Adam and Eve ate the fruit of the tree of knowledge, the first thing they became aware of was their nakedness. They hastily covered themselves with leaves. The story is beautiful and meaningful. They ate the fruit of knowledge. As soon as the ego arose—the fruit of knowledge gives birth to ego—and therefore God expelled Adam and Eve from Eden. Where ego is born, hiding and deception begin.

I am an enemy of all deception. I oppose all concealment. I want you to become naked not only physically, but mentally and spiritually—at all levels. Before the Divine, one must be naked at every level. Reveal yourself as you are. Hiding achieves nothing.

Look also at the illnesses that arise from hiding. On the one hand we hide; on the other, notice how we display precisely what we claim to hide. Women hide their breasts—but do they hide them or accentuate them? How many garments are invented to emphasize the breasts, to make them seem shapely, larger, clearly outlined! One side hides in clothing; the other flaunts and throws forward.

You will be surprised: in Greece and Rome, men in the past developed a similar sickness. They used to cover their genitals with a leather sheath—wearing clothes over it—so that from outside the genitals would appear larger in form. Would you call this healthy or diseased?

There is no essential difference regarding women’s breasts: the same phenomenon. False breasts are sold in the market—of rubber and foam. False buttocks are sold too. Clothes outside; inside, fake buttocks and fake breasts. One game of hiding; another of accentuating.

Yesterday I saw in the newspaper that there was some discussion in the Lok Sabha about women’s undergarments. Mohan Dharia said, “Whoever wishes to understand this properly should go to the Shree Rajneesh Ashram, Poona.”

I welcome that—let all our friends in the Lok Sabha come here. He said it sarcastically, but I say it sincerely: if they wish to understand anything about life, let them come here. Mohan Dharia lives in Poona, yet has never come. He asks everyone he meets about the ashram, but does not gather the courage to come! The gate of this ashram is not for the faint-hearted. Not even enough courage to come and see! He lives in Poona, his home is in Poona. In the Lok Sabha he invites others, but has never come himself. And it is not that he doesn’t inquire—he questions everyone connected with the ashram: “What is happening there?”

It is a long chain of hypocrisy. Because of it, the smallest things become public uproars.

The “New Delhi” magazine has printed some naked photographs from Leela, a group-therapy process. That caused a great commotion—without any effort to understand! And the pictures were stolen. The German journalist who took them is now a sannyasin. Satyananda, a German reporter for Stern, had taken those photos and Stern published them with important explanations. “New Delhi” dropped the explanations and printed only the pictures—with no context—without explaining what they are and what is happening.

This is chicanery. It is unethical, indecorous, undemocratic. It is not just. First, they stole the pictures without permission from Stern—violating international law. Then they printed them without the accompanying explanations—which is unethical. Their meaning lies in the explanation. Printing only pictures does nothing but incite people. And in this country there is such deep ignorance, such deep repression, that the smallest things incite people.

First, by wrapping ourselves in clothes we have mystified ourselves—made ourselves mysterious. I want to break that mystery. That mystery gives birth to pornography, to obscenity. As soon as a person is naked, the mystification dissolves.

You know this from experience. That is why your wife no longer interests you, nor your husband; but the neighbor’s wife does.

One day Mulla Nasruddin came home and saw his closest friend embracing his wife. He beat his head and said, “I’m amazed! Why are you doing this? I have to—but why you?”

Why does delight disappear in one’s wife? Have you found the reason? You have become familiar with her body. The mystery is gone. There is no scope for curiosity, no space for imagination to play. But the neighbor’s wife gives imagination a playground.

How long can you keep staring at a naked person? After a short while you will find the whole thing finished. After all, what can a naked person be? Whatever happens, happens in clothing. In the concealment of clothes lies the secret of obscenity.

Obscenity will not disappear from the world until nakedness is accepted as man’s birthright.

And these photos were not taken in public places. They are from experiments in group-therapy conducted in closed rooms. No one else need be concerned. Rather, one should try to understand the process behind the pictures. These are not pictures of sexual intercourse. In them men and women are naked because there is a liberating element in nakedness. As soon as you see many women and many men naked, the chronic urgency within you to see others naked dissolves. Its dissolution is profoundly liberating. When that compulsion dissolves, a certain lustfulness disappears. You become simple, easy, still. The pathology that haunted you—the naked women in your dreams, the film magazines you read on the sly—stops. A great guileless freedom becomes available, a childlike simplicity.

After all, a breast is a breast. Genitals are genitals. Buttocks are buttocks. There is nothing there—and there should be nothing there. But because of hiding, so much has been created there.

Put a sign on your door: “Peeping is prohibited.” Then not one courageous person will pass that way without peeping.

A friend of mine had people urinating against his wall. He asked me what to do. I said, “Put up a big sign: ‘Urination strictly prohibited here.’” He put it up. Five or seven days later he came back and said, “You’ve made it worse! Those who passed without urinating now feel compelled to do it.” Because when they read “Urination strictly prohibited,” an obstruction arises and at once the thought appears—even to those who had no thought, going about their business.

I hear it every day: the moment Maitreya-ji stands up to speak, I know he has stood up because people begin coughing. His voice I hear later; hearing your coughs, I understand Maitreya-ji has stood. A moment earlier you were totally quiet—no scratchy throats, no coughs. But the moment he stands, suddenly everyone’s throat becomes scratchy! You see this, you experience it daily.

Prohibition becomes a kind of invitation. Clothes have created prohibition—and therefore invitation.

I do say to Mohan Dharia: Come—and bring the rest of the Delhi crazies with you.

Here, my Western sannyasinis wear no undergarments. Indian women feel troubled. One or two have asked me to tell the Western sannyasinis to wear bodices or brassieres. But a bodice or brassiere is only for accentuating the body—worn to make drooping breasts seem not to droop. Indian women think such garments express modesty, shame, shyness. The truth is the opposite. My Western sannyasinis have given up undergarments because there is no modesty in them—there is obscenity in them. They are an invitation. They are an assault on others’ eyes. Your accentuated breasts arouse only lechery in others and nothing else.

Lecher means the desire to stare. Luchcha—the lecher—comes from lochan, the eye. As soon as someone sees your undergarments pushing up false breasts, the eye gets stuck. It is no surprise that people all over the world experience Indian women as more attractive than any other—what’s the secret? The sari, the drape, the undergarments. Hidden, veiled, modest, shrinking. The more hidden, the more attractive they seem.

The ugliest woman becomes beautiful behind a veil.

Mulla Nasruddin got married. His wife came home. As in Muslim custom, the first thing she asked was: “In front of whom may I lift my burqa?” Before this, Mulla had not seen her face; there was no custom of seeing beforehand. The first time he saw her face... his breath stopped. He said, “Show your face to anyone you like—just don’t show it to me!”

Behind a burqa even the ugliest can seem beautiful. The veil is the invention of ugly women. The burqa is their discovery.

And why do you hide behind clothes? Because they allow you to live a certain lie. Suppose you are a man and you see a beautiful woman. If you are naked, your body will reveal your attraction; your organs will declare it. If you are a woman, the same. You see a man and attraction arises; immediately your body will proclaim the truth. How to hide this truth? Only one way: put on clothes, then let anything run in the mind; the body cannot reveal it.

Remember, the body is very honest. You cannot make it lie. The mind you can falsify because it is inside; don’t let the other know, and they won’t. But the body is outside, available. If a man becomes excited by a woman, his genitals will signal it. If a woman is excited, her breasts will signal it. This becomes a great embarrassment—how to hide it? Clothes provide the trick, the cover. You keep getting excited about others, and what the body would reveal you hide behind garments. A web of dishonesty is running. I want to break this web.

These group-therapy experiments are to break that web. And I am not telling you to go do these experiments in the market or on the street. So why should anyone be concerned? For those who wish to be free of this inner turmoil, we are organizing group-therapy—voluntarily. When many women and men are naked, look into each other’s eyes, hold hands, dance, do certain energy-awakening experiments, move in circles—this is not sex; they are challenging each other’s energy. Energy begins to awaken.

Remember: when energy awakens there are two possibilities. Either sex happens and the energy is discharged, or if sex does not happen and the energy keeps rising, it begins to move upward. Either it descends or it ascends.

The photos in “New Delhi” are from a group-therapy process called Leela. Leela is an experiment in the play of energy. Seeing women, seeing men, energy flows arise in both. We challenge that flow so deeply that all the dormant sources within you from many lives awaken. And then we do not allow it to go downward; we lead it upward.

These are experiments in awakening the kundalini. They are not new; for centuries, seekers on the path of Tantra—Saraha, Tilopa, Kanha—have done them. For the first time I am attempting to give these experiments a scientific foundation. They have been done quietly. Scriptures mention them. But the common people were never informed—because the common people were never respected. I respect the common people. I say, why insult them? They too should have the opportunity for such extraordinary experiments. Why should they not know that energy has upward dimensions too? Why remain deprived? The energy that is discharged through the genitals—why should it not rise to the sahasrar so that the thousand-petaled lotus may bloom?

What has been hidden and secret, I am bringing into the open. That is my crime, my offense. For this I have endured and will endure a thousand troubles. I am not going to stop this process, whatever the result. I will deepen it. I will take it to more and more people. Whoever is ready to listen and understand, I want to reveal to them these unique experiments of transforming life-energy—how to take the downward-moving energy upward. Until now a few people did them quietly in their monasteries—this is not enough. The whole of humanity is tormented by sex-obsession. If we have a medicine and only a few use it, that is not right. The remedy should be available to all—because the illness is universal.

The photos published in “New Delhi” are of such experiments: men and women naked, hand in hand, or touching each other’s bodies, or gazing into each other’s eyes—challenging what lies hidden within to awaken. This has nothing to do with sexual intercourse. It is the very opposite direction. First the energy must be stirred—and it is stirred by the impact of the opposite. Man is positive electricity; woman is negative electricity. Only when they strike each other does energy awaken. You know energy awakens, but you repress it.

In these experiments we do not repress that energy; we support it. We raise it—as far upward as possible. At a certain threshold, transformation happens—just as at 100 degrees water turns to vapor. When your inner energy reaches its 100 degrees, it stops going down and begins to go up. You have seen water go downward; steam rises upward. A revolution has happened! And as soon as sex-energy begins to move upward, you begin to glimpse Rama—the Divine.

But only those who dare to do these experiments will understand. Mohan Dharia will not understand. He cannot even muster the courage to step inside the ashram gate. To speak without understanding is mere stupidity, nothing else.

Here a unique alchemical experiment is happening. It is for the courageous. Man is nothing but energy. And in each person both energies are hidden. In a man, a woman is hidden in the unconscious; in a woman, a man is hidden in the unconscious. This is a psychological truth. C. G. Jung’s research has verified this ancient truth in modern terms. We have known it for centuries; hence the image of Ardhanarishvara—Shiva as half woman, half man. It is a symbol. Every person, whether male or female, is half and half. It must be so—your birth is from the union of mother and father. Half from mother, half from father—you are made of both. If you are physically a man, then in your conscious mind you know yourself as male; behind it, in the unconscious, you are female. If you are physically a woman, then consciously female, unconsciously male.

These Leela experiments are experiments with energy. By using the outer woman and the outer man as supports, we provoke and awaken the inner woman and inner man. Whenever you feel attracted to an outer woman, know it or not, somewhere in a subtle way you are glimpsing your inner woman reflected in her. Otherwise why don’t you fall in love with every woman? Have you considered? Not every man attracts you, not every woman. Sometimes, suddenly, at first sight you are drawn. Why? Only one reason: that outer woman, in some way, reflects your inner, unconscious woman. She has brought her to life within you, awakened the sleeping one.

Leela-therapy uses this knowingly. Its entire process is designed so that, with the help of the outer woman, your inner woman is shaken from sleep; and with the help of the outer man, your inner man is stirred. When both your inner woman and man awaken, an unparalleled union happens—within you! A unique confluence of male and female energy takes place within. In that confluence you become whole—there is no more incompleteness.

The astonishing thing is, once this happens—once your inner woman and man unite—there remains no taste for outer women or men. On the surface, my words may seem to lead people toward indulgence. They seem so to the uncomprehending. But their words carry no value.

I am leading you toward supreme brahmacharya. The day the inner woman and man meet, that very day supreme celibacy (brahmacharya) happens. After that, you will have no interest in outer men and women—and you won’t have to run away or repress anything. A silent, peaceful revolution occurs, without noise. The inner conflict ends; non-duality is born.

Have you ever considered the meaning of brahmacharya? Conduct like Brahman—like the Divine. Merely suppressing sex does not bring divine conduct. Only when you become Ardhanarishvara—half man, half woman fused as one—does brahmacharya arise. In that union, that harmony, that music, brahmacharya is born.

Whatever is happening here has brahmacharya as its ultimate goal. But those who look only from the surface will be disturbed—and they are. Try to understand their disturbance as much as possible. But do not make their disturbance your own. Do not get entangled in it.

There is a crowd of the uncomprehending; it will continue. It will go on abusing me. Forget it. Do not take it to heart. Do not get entangled. You keep to your work. Slowly, when here stand consciousnesses established in brahmacharya, they themselves will be the real answer. No other answer can be as meaningful. I am concerned with gathering such evidence—and only you can fulfill that concern.

Krishna Prem, do not worry. When someone like me comes down to earth, much uproar arises—storms and tempests.

The second question is also related to the first:

But there are many obstacles. First of all, there is a lack of preparation. India has lived for centuries in a stream of repression. So even if I tell an Indian, “Go and join a group therapy,” he does not join—he runs away. Then he doesn’t come here again. If I want to chase someone away from here, I simply suggest group therapy; that frees me of the bother, and he too finds no way to return. There is no preparation.

Group therapy requires a psychological preparation. They don’t know what an encounter group is, they don’t know what primal therapy is, they don’t know what bioenergetics is. All this science was born in the West. I tell you, if you don’t wake up soon, the West will surpass you even in spiritual terms. In material terms it has already left you behind—because you did not wake up. You could have. Mathematics was first born in India. But then why could India not produce an Einstein? Sluggishness, lethargy. Everyone sits back, leaving it to fate. So mathematics was born in India, but Einstein—the culmination—did not happen in India; the culmination happened in the West.

India made the primary discoveries in almost all the sciences. But their final flowering did not happen in India; it happened in the West. We made the first experiments in surgery, but surgery reached its peak in the West. Whether medicine, mathematics, surgery, chemistry, or physics—in every direction India did the earliest, elementary experiments. But we stop at the elementary. We do not muster the courage, the strength, the morale to go to the ultimate.

The same misfortune is about to happen again. We experimented with tantra first, and we went very deep into it. But now the West is moving ahead of us. And if a little more time passes, just as your children now have to go West to learn mathematics and science, it would not be surprising if one day they had to go West to learn religion and meditation as well. You are falling behind even in that in which you were always the leaders. You will not remain in front there for long either. Falling behind has become your habit. You do not throw your whole strength into anything. Now you have asked why Indians are being deprived of group therapy.

First, no Indian is willing to come here and stay for three or four months. Without staying three or four months, group-therapy experiments cannot be done. An Indian comes for two days—for darshan. He says, “I’ve had darshan; all is done.” For centuries you have had this habit: you go, have the darshan of some satguru, and everything is finished. Touch the feet, take a blessing; nothing more needs to be done. Those who come from the West come with three to six months in hand. You come here for a day or two. If someone shows great courage, he comes for ten days, for a camp.

Even in the camp you meditate less and watch more—what others are doing. Your taste has become somewhat distorted. You do not want to put anything at stake.

I have sent some Indians into the therapies. I want the benefit that therapy can bring to reach Indians as well—it should. And Tapan Kumar, you are right that ninety-nine percent here are ailing; should they not be given the opportunity for therapy? I want to give it. But first, if you tell someone to go for therapy, he does not agree. Therapy cannot be forced on anyone. If a man is running away and you lay him down and operate, that cannot be. At the very least his consent is needed. Therapy can only be voluntary.

And even when I coax some and send them, they do reach the therapy, but they don’t participate. They sit in a corner. They don’t become participants. Even there they remain spectators. Because of them, those who are participating in the therapy are hindered. So Western sannyasins come to me and say, “Please don’t send Indians, because they don’t participate. They just stand there like a stone. They don’t take part in anything, and the flow that should move in the group—there a boulder gets lodged; the current is obstructed.”

So first, there is a lack of preparation—because you have been raised in the air of repression. People like Morarji Desai have been sitting on your chest for so many centuries that until you throw them off, your ailments will not leave you, your diseases will not go. Such notions have made a home in your mind that with them everything becomes obstructed.
Now you have asked, Tapan Kumar—but if I tell an Indian to go and join Leela Therapy or an Encounter group, he says: First I will ask my wife! The wife won’t agree, because there are other women there—who knows what you’ll get up to!
I once sent a friend for a massage because his body was in pain. His wife went along and stood there the whole time. She wouldn’t even let him get the massage; she stood watching to make sure nothing “fishy” was going on. If I send the wife for some therapy, the husband won’t agree. So how to send them—what device should I use?

Then the Indians who do come never tell their real illnesses. I can see them, but they talk of something else entirely. An Indian will come and ask—how to attain samadhi, how to attain moksha? If I tell him: “Go and join a course in therapy,” he’ll say, “What has therapy to do with me? I want moksha!” Moksha is not obtained through therapy—though therapy will clean out the rubbish in your mind, which certainly supports the happening of moksha. But moksha does not come directly.

You come and ask only airy, abstract questions. And then I must answer what you ask. It is not right to answer what you have not asked—you wouldn’t be able to bear it, nor would you be willing to take it in.

So understand my helplessness. I don’t want India to be deprived. But India seems determined to remain deprived. You can see it: in Poona every kind of effort is on to see that this ashram does not survive here, that it must be removed from Poona. And not only that it should be removed from Poona—it should not go anywhere else in India either. And not even that it should go outside India...

Only yesterday I read in the papers that a Muslim organization held a meeting and petitioned the government to confiscate my passport! So then I am left with no place except moksha to go to! I felt delighted—I said: Exactly! I cannot remain in Poona. I cannot go to Kutch. I cannot build an ashram in Saswad. I have a passport; that too should be seized. Then only nirvana remains for me.

And you ask why I don’t involve Indians in the therapeutic processes. Whom should I involve—Mohan Dharia, Morarji Desai, whom? They don’t even want this ashram to remain alive. It must not survive. Morarji Desai has said that if it were in his power, he would completely destroy this ashram. And it’s not that he is leaving any stone unturned in that direction—they are trying in every possible way. And why would it not be in his power? All authority is in his hands—what obstacle is there? Only one small hesitation: he feels that now he is not confined to the nation; his position is international. That makes him hesitant; otherwise where is the difficulty? Bring a bulldozer and demolish the ashram. But he knows I am not limited to India—my sannyasins are in every corner of the world. A storm will rise worldwide; if any injustice is done to me, its repercussions will be felt everywhere. I have sannyasins on all six continents. This will not be left as it is. It will not be easy. If any harm comes to this ashram, Morarji Desai will not be able to enter certain countries—wherever he goes, he will face trouble. The embassies of this country will not be able to function smoothly. There is fear of that, anxiety that an uproar will be created—then how will they preserve their democratic image? Because such action would be undemocratic.

I have broken no law. Everyone has the right to be naked in a room—otherwise all husbands and wives will have to be put in jail. I have broken no law. I am moving with full awareness on this count. There is no legal charge against me, nor against my ashram. We have taken care that in a legal way they cannot catch us. Otherwise, do you think they would spare me? If they can file twenty-two cases against Sanjay Gandhi, they would file two hundred and twenty against me. But even all the 420s together could not bring two hundred and twenty cases against me. There is no cause for a case. Hence there is a sense of impotence: what to do—nothing is within their power; otherwise they would have erased me. Still, they keep trying as far as they can.

You say: Why don’t I include Indians in these therapies? Whom should I include? Then the sort of people who do come often have other purposes—they want to go there, take photographs, and get them published in the newspapers. Whoever wants to be included must meditate, must do camps. And he must join the therapies I recommend. There is not enough patience for that; not enough capacity to go through such experiments.

First, there is a lack of groundwork. In the West, psychology has reached great heights in the last fifty years—touched great peaks. There is no sense of that here. Leave aside the uneducated—even your university teachers who teach psychology do so based on thirty- or forty-year-old books. What they studied in the university, they still teach. For them McDougall’s books are still the Vedas. They have no idea of Abraham Maslow, no idea of Fritz Perls, no idea of Janov. They have no idea what new discoveries are happening. They have no idea of Wilhelm Reich.

And this is not only about India. Reich was in America—but the American government put him in prison because he carried out experiments in the transformation of sexual energy. For his work on transforming sexual energy he got into trouble. And finally, do you know what trick they used? They could find no legal means against him, so falsely and forcibly they declared him insane. Declared insane, he was kept in prison. Wilhelm Reich died in prison. The greatest tantric researcher of this century died like a madman in a jail—killed by force. If that can happen in America, then think what the situation will be in India!

So the lack of groundwork is a major obstacle. The lack of education is a major obstacle. You ask me to let Indians enter group therapy. I want to as well—but that would be like a person who doesn’t know simple arithmetic trying to understand Einstein’s theory of relativity. He won’t be able to understand it. His groundwork must be prepared. Slowly, gradually, I am preparing that groundwork. The wide spread of my sannyas is precisely an arrangement in that direction. Slowly, you begin to agree with me, my words begin to make sense to you; slowly, you are filled with enough trust that you can undertake experiments even contrary to your old conditioning—then I can gently lead you into deeper experiments. And to lead you into those experiments, I am planning a new commune. Because with Western arrangements, group therapy will not be possible for you. For you I will have to find new ways, suited to your Indian style and social fabric.

Western therapy is expensive; though I have made it as cheap as possible. For a therapy that costs five thousand rupees in the West, I have arranged it here for five hundred. But for an Indian even five hundred is a lot. It would work only if it could be arranged for fifty rupees. In a new commune, where there will be more space, more expanse, experiments can be done more easily. Here everything creates obstacles. Here we need a soundproof room, an air-conditioned room. If it’s not soundproof, the sounds that emerge in therapy disturb the neighbors—they immediately inform the police. It must be air-conditioned for it to be soundproof; otherwise people will die in a sealed room. That makes it expensive: air-conditioning, soundproofing—the sound must not escape. It has to be built of special bricks. Everything becomes costly.

Indians do not have the means yet to spend even five hundred rupees on therapy. Then during therapy a special diet is given, because each therapy works on your energy. The food necessary for that particular energy is given—and that too becomes expensive. Which Indian is ready to pay five hundred rupees for fifteen days of therapy? And where would he bring it from—often that is more than his monthly salary. What will he feed his children and his wife for that month?

I want it very much—very much from the heart; inside I am concerned: how to make all the means available for you as well. But for that we need a very large place where there are no neighbors—then neither air-conditioning nor soundproofing will be needed.

Then there is the question of language. Right now, almost all our therapists are from the West, because I have gathered the finest Western therapists here. You will be amazed to know—there is no center on earth today with therapy this excellent. The best therapists in the West have become my sannyasins. They have understood me—understood immediately. Several therapy centers in the West closed because their founders came to Poona. Two such centers in England closed—both were major, among Europe’s most renowned centers. One was run by Teertha, one by Somendra—both came here. The best therapists from all over the world are here. But there is the question of language.

So now I am working to prepare therapists in Indian languages. Then Indians can enter therapy; otherwise language becomes an obstacle. If you cannot speak a language without hesitation, deep communication is not possible in it. And all these therapies are based on dialogue—your heart has to be brought out in its entirety. Suppose you can manage with your English when things are smooth; but if there is a quarrel, if it comes to blows, you will not be able to speak English—you will switch at once to Hindi to curse. Because no school or university teaches you how to curse in English! And then this becomes an obstacle.

There is a famous story. In King Bhoja’s court a scholar arrived and said, “I am master of thirty languages, and I challenge the jewels of your court: let someone identify my mother tongue. If anyone can identify my mother tongue, I will present one hundred thousand gold coins. If no one can, then you must present me one million gold coins.”

It was a formidable challenge. There were great scholars in Bhoja’s court—Kalidasa too. Many learned men accepted the challenge, but each one was defeated. That man was so astonishing—he spoke every language as if it were his mother tongue. In the end only Kalidasa remained. Bhoja said, “Do something, otherwise it will be a great humiliation. The world will laugh that in our court not one person could identify this man’s mother tongue.” Hearing this, Kalidasa remained silent. That day the last scholar failed. The next day was Kalidasa’s turn. Everyone was taking leave. The challenger was leaving with his one million gold coins. As he was descending the palace steps, Kalidasa gave him a shove. His bag fell, the coins scattered. The man slid down some fifty steps, fell to the ground, and jumped up swearing—a stream of abuse poured out. Kalidasa said, “That is your mother tongue. Forgive me; there was no other way to know.” And indeed, that was his mother tongue.

To love, or to curse—you cannot do it in a foreign language. Therefore, if some Indian falls in love with a Western woman, or a Western man with an Indian woman, it rarely lasts long. Heartfulness cannot be expressed; true communion cannot happen. Some gap remains. Love or hate—these feelings are so heated they need one’s own language. This is an obstacle. We don’t yet have Indian therapists. I want to create the conditions for them—but Morarji Desai does not want to let it happen. He has virtually taken a vow about Kutch—that he will not let us come there, because I will ruin his state of Gujarat. He must save Gujarat. And now he is worried about Maharashtra too—that it must be saved. Land is lying ready on both sides, but they give no decision. I have sent him a message: at least say “No,” then we can proceed. But they won’t say “No,” because they know saying “No” would be illegal. If they say “No,” I can get a court decision. So they won’t even say “No,” so that with “No” withheld I also cannot go to court. This is the kind of democracy running in this country. Jayaprakash Narayan calls it “the second freedom”!

When India became independent, Winston Churchill said words in the British Parliament that have proved almost prophetic. He said to Attlee: “Sir, you are granting freedom to India, but within thirty years it will fall into the hands of riffraff and rascals.” Thirty years have passed—and the country has fallen into the hands of riffraff and rascals.

I was a bit amazed: did Winston Churchill know some astrology? How could he say, precisely “thirty years”—and that the country would fall into the hands of scoundrels? And it has happened exactly so.

So, first: there is a lack of groundwork. Second: there is a long tradition of repression. And all these therapies are the opposite of repression. These therapies are of release, of catharsis, of purgation. Whatever is suppressed within has to be thrown out. If anger is suppressed, anger has to be released. But you have been taught all your life to suppress anger. Then it becomes very difficult—how will you let it out?

I sent an Indian young woman for therapy. She said, “Anger is there, but life-long conditioning... Even when I want to express it, it doesn’t come out. It remains stuck—stuck in my chest.” For centuries you have been taught control; in these therapies the principle is noncontrol: let yourself be natural. If there is anger, let anger be; if there is sex, let sex be. Let whatever is there flow—so the pus can flow out. These are experiments for expelling the pus.

That’s why you get scared. The pictures you see in the newspapers are frightening—“What horrible things are happening!” But these are not horrible deeds. It is the discharge of the pus the pundits and priests have suppressed in you for centuries. And when pus comes out, there will be some stench. But when the pus is out, you are clean. So the long tradition of repression is an obstacle. Still, I am experimenting slowly. I send a few Indians. Two or four have gone very deep and come out brimming with joy—their lives took on a new style.

I sent Vinod for an experiment—and Vinod proved true. He went very deep. Afterwards his life took on a new flavor, a new style, a new drunkenness of the spirit. I sent another friend. He had been insisting for a long time: “Send me. I am troubled by sexual desire—send me to Tantra therapy.” I told him, “You ask to go to Tantra therapy, but you won’t be able to enter it yet. It would be better first to do Primal therapy.” But Primal runs ten or twelve days. He said, “I don’t have that kind of time. Give me three days of Tantra.” He wouldn’t listen. I said, “All right, go.” I knew it would be useless—without going through Primal, you cannot enter Tantra. You won’t even understand. He sat there for three days, and nothing made sense to him. And the people in the Tantra group complained: “Why did you send this man? He just sits there cross-legged. His presence jars us. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t move—rigid, frightened: ‘What is happening here!’”

He came back again: “Send me again to Tantra.” I said, “Not now. First do two or three other therapies—gradually.”

Experience tells me I will have to develop somewhat gentler, lukewarm therapies for Indians. Western therapies are very hot. Western people have no difficulty. The West has gathered great courage.

Just think—young women from the West have come here, without worry, stuck in a foreign land. They tolerate all your indecencies. Every day on the roads someone shoves a sannyasini, someone pulls at her clothes, someone snatches her bag and runs. They endure every kind of harassment—yet they remain, they stay. A great courage has arisen in the West. Our people have lost that courage.

For thousands of years we have made no expedition. We have become almost dead. We have turned the country into a cremation ground. In this cremation ground I am calling you again. Some people are beginning to wake up—those are my sannyasins. Some brave ones are beginning to accept the challenge—those are my sannyasins. Very soon, as soon as the facilities are in place, arrangements for therapy for Indians will also be possible, Tapan Kumar. I want to do it—I deeply want to. India needs it immensely!

Shanta Bharti! On the one on whom my spell has taken hold, no one else’s spell can work. Let that worry go. The last word has already happened. Now where is there magic and sorcery!

What hopes and hankerings—man, what is this weeping and wailing now?
When destiny’s gaze has fallen, what magic and what spell?
So much has already happened—ah, what more remains to happen?
When one has lost oneself, what is there left to lose?
If one has bathed naked, what sense in washing and wringing clothes?
When you are houseless and homeless, why store wick and lamp?
When the sky has become your canopy, why sleep under a thatch?
When the idol of hoarding has dropped, why clutch at heaven as a toy?
You stepped out light—why shoulder burdens again?
You dropped the blanket, dropped the alms-bowl—what need of bundle and bedding?
When did you ever open a shop—what haggling over halves and quarters?
Be carefree, O wandering yogi—why sink your little pot today?

Now drop all worry. No magic or sorcery can do anything now. You are already drowned—who else can drown you? You are already gone—what more could anyone erase? No, now there is no concern at all.

And you are fortunate, Shanta, that you came straight to the ocean—without getting entangled in little ponds and puddles. One who has seen the ocean, the ponds and puddles can do nothing to him. To whom my word becomes a savor, that one should move beyond worry. The spell has worked.

Do not worry either whether the surrender is complete or not. Even one seed of surrender is enough. A single seed becomes a tree. From one seed a great tree comes to be. That seed has been sown. One drop of amrit is enough; you need not drink a whole ocean of nectar. One drop suffices—and that drop has fallen. If that drop had not fallen, no connection with me would have arisen at all.

Only a few can be connected with me. To be connected with me is itself a great test, a touchstone.

When imagination runs through a man’s fingers,
life seems to stir in the stones,
statues light up, alive.
There is a life-giving in touch.
A human touch, flowing down from the finger,
comes to dwell in stone images;
images remain alive for thousands of years—
it seems as if someone touched them just today.
And for this reason many objects of the ancient age
are pleasing, bewitching,
for even today they carry
the warmth of those fingers
that once touched them in ecstasy.

Whom I touch, I touch in ecstasy. I am possessed. The one who takes sannyas with me also becomes possessed. This is an initiation into a world of magic. Whoever bows will fill his cupped hands; sip just a little of this water and your thirst will never rise again.

One evening Jesus stopped at a well. A woman was drawing water there. He said to her, “I am thirsty; will you give me a little water?” The woman looked at Jesus. She was exceedingly poor, lowly—of a low caste. She saw that Jesus was not of a low caste—his clothes, his bearing, his face. She said, “Forgive me, traveler; perhaps you do not know that I am a very poor, low-caste woman. People of your caste do not drink water touched by me.”

Jesus said, “Let that be. Give me water—and I will give you water as well.”

The woman said, “You will give me water!” She was a little startled. “You have neither a rope nor a bucket. How will you give me water? And if you can give me water, why ask it of me?”

Jesus said, “Your water is one thing; my water is another. Give me your water—but your water is such that in an hour you will thirst again. I too will give you water—but my water is such that you will never thirst again.”

And it is said the woman gazed into the eyes of Jesus—and she became his. In those eyes she drank the water. She found the nectar.

Look into me. This is all that sannyas means: that you can come close to me; that with my possessed fingers I may touch you; that a little of what has happened in me may touch you too; that I may set your veena trembling. Once the raga has sounded, there is no other raga above it—there never was, and never can be.

Krishna Vedant, there is only one fear—death. Everything else is just a pretext. Behind every fear stands the fear of death.

A man is afraid his wealth may be lost—do you think he fears because of money itself? No. Money is security. If there is money, there is life—so he feels. If money is lost, life too is lost. If I have money and fall ill tomorrow, I can get treatment. If I have money and grow old, someone will serve me. If I have money there is some defense against death. If money goes, I become utterly insecure. That is why people cling to money: they cling because of the fear of death.

You cling to family. You think it is for the family’s sake? No. One feels afraid when alone. In aloneness one begins to remember one’s death. That is why, if you go alone at night down some road, panic seizes you. You start hearing the sounds of ghosts and spirits. Ghosts seem to be moving around… you hear footsteps. The sound of your own feet seems like a spirit’s sound! Your own shadow looks like the arrival of a phantom.

What happens in aloneness? What “ghosts” are these? They are no other ghosts. It is death itself, which you keep pressed down in the crowd—lost in the crowd it stays hidden; alone it appears.

What is there to fear in old age? Only this: that old age has come, and now the last step is death—nothing else. Old age is the doorway to death.

You say: I am not afraid of death. Perhaps because you are unfamiliar with death. No one has seen death. People have seen old age, and then have seen the unknown event of death happen after old age. No one has seen death itself; hence the direct fear of death does not quite catch hold. The fear of old age is graspable, because right behind old age must come death—unknown, unfamiliar, invisible.

Krishna Vedant, all fear is fear of death. Squeeze all fears and only the fear of death will remain.

You cling to your children, protect them, raise them. You think it is great love. You are mistaken. Psychologists say that through children you want to become immortal. I will die, but my son will remain. That is why in this country until a son is born there is great restlessness—go, worship, recite, read the Hanuman Chalisa, meet astrologers, consult the Bhrigu Samhita, do something! … Fire offerings, rituals, spells! But a son must be born! To die without a son is to die in vain. Why? Because on the basis of a son one gets a false immortality: I will not remain, but my seed will. This body will go, but some part of me will remain. Someone will be there to carry my name. Someone at least will perform my yearly shraddha. Someone because of whom some mark of mine will be left in this world.

Remember: fear means the fear of death, whatever the pretexts. In your case the mind has taken old age as the excuse. What can there be to fear in old age? Old age has its own beauty. Old age is a summit. When life ripens—when life’s experiences ripen—when the raging surge of passions has passed, when life’s hustle is finished, when ambitions have departed, when the fever of craving has gone—old age is a supremely tranquil state! Old age is very beautiful.

Rabindranath has said: Old age is like the lofty peaks of the Himalayas, upon which virgin snow has lain for centuries and centuries. In the same way, when an elder’s hair turns white… snow-clad summits!

Have you ever looked closely at the beauty of old age? Yes, I know, very few elders become beautiful. The reason is not that there is some defect in old age; the reason is that they lived wrongly all their lives, lived in vain. Then old age becomes vain. Had life been lived a little meaningfully—somewhat poetically, with some rasa, some joy; had there been some remembrance of the Divine, a little meditation; had the energy of sex been sublimated a little—then old age is a very beautiful state.

Old age is the distillation of your life, the consummation. It is your whole story.

In the wrinkles on an elder’s face the Vedas are hidden—if one has lived rightly. If one has lived wrongly, then certainly there is nothing in those wrinkles—only life’s melancholy, only life’s defeat. Then there is no glimmer of victory in those lines. But whenever someone lives rightly, appropriately, old age becomes a testimony. And for one whose season of old age is beautiful, death does not come at all. Others may see that his death has come, but for him only the door to nectar opens.

Everything can be beautiful. Childhood can be beautiful; it often is not—because teachers, parents, society make childhood ugly, cripple it.

Just the day before yesterday a young woman said to me, “Please say something to my son”—she had brought the boy with her. The boy was sweet! I asked, “What is the problem?” She said, “He makes too much noise—always dancing, jumping, running about. Please explain something to him.”

I said, “You have brought him to the wrong man. This is exactly how it should be! These are the very moments for dancing and leaping. If he jumps about a lot, teach him dance. After all, for whom are the active meditations? Teach him Kundalini. Rather than stopping his prancing, give his dancing art and skill. Do you see the difference? If you order him, ‘Sit quietly in a corner,’ he will not be able to sit. And if he does sit, his energy will die. His energy will sit down—and then it will not rise for his whole life. No—give his energy direction; do not block it. If he is bouncing around, make his bouncing a dance. Then the dance becomes beautiful. If he makes noise, for whom is classical music? Have him do alaap; transform his voice into classical music. If he cannot sit still, teach him to climb trees, take him up hills, make him swim in rivers, launch him upon the seas. This is not a moment to miss. Let him live his childhood in its full dignity, because only out of that dignity will his youth arrive. And then his youth too will be deep and intense.”

He whose childhood turns dry and arid, his youth also becomes poor and wretched. He whose youth becomes poor and wretched, his old age becomes diseased. When he becomes young, do not teach him futile sermons. Teach him the color of life, the taste of life. When he becomes young, tell him: all the colors, the whole rainbow is yours. And all the notes are yours, the whole scale is yours. Dance, live! Live to the full! Leave nothing half done. Drink each moment completely, so that, as youth departs, the race of youth and the ambition of youth and the thirst of youth all fall away through experience.

Do not teach him contentment in youth. Teach him struggle in youth. Tell him in youth: undertake as many journeys of victory as you wish—because old age will come. Then in old age sit in silence. Then in old age be at peace. Then in old age let there be remembrance of the Lord, awareness.

In this way, if life moves in order, old age is unparalleled, unique. And we have known such elders in this country. That is why we gave so much respect to the old. Old age was honored here because we had known very lovely elders. They were not old only by years; they were mature through experience. In this land only the elders had the right to be teachers, to be gurus, because they had lived life, seen all its ups and downs, seen dark nights, the new moons, the full moons; seen happiness and sorrow; picked thorns and flowers. They had known it all. They had ripened in every way.

It was to them that we sent our children, because if only the wealth of their whole life could pass to the children, the children would begin to be rich from the very outset. One becomes truly an elder only when one has truly lived the whole of life…

Therefore I say to you: drop worrying about yoga. Enjoy bhoga so totally that by the very enjoyment you become free of enjoyment. And then yoga will kindle of its own accord. The lamp will light by itself. Then there is no death. Then even death brings only one message—release from the body. Then death is not an end—only the beginning of a new journey; only release from the body. And the body is narrow. The body is as if one were shut in a prison, as if a bird were trapped in a cage. Death brings the news that the cage has broken. And now the hamsa can fly. Let the hamsa go alone! Now—to Manasarovar! Now—let us go home!

What message of death has arrived?
By whose jewel-like voice has the music of rhythm been sung?
What message of death has arrived?

The body grew tired and worn; something within went awry,
The body became unconscious; the shock of death struck;
Seeing life ebb away, the mind hung bewildered:
What is this mystery of life? Is it a clay-made illusion?
What message of death has arrived?

Two differing motions move in this world: one inert, one conscious;
Matter’s motion is a whirling rotation; consciousness is an upsurge;
When the cluster of material particles became the fine abode of consciousness,
Then the movement of evolution began within it: matter found life—
A new message of death arrived!

Those who, by dying, recognized the lovely form of eternal life,
Those who, by losing the little self, knew the pure Self,
They said that death is but a pretext of life itself—
A new message of death arrived!

The unbroken cosmic fire of life flashed forth, roaring;
Fear fled, doubt departed, the night of skepticism dissolved;
The “self” was offered into the oblation of the “Self”; the snares of “mine” were sundered;
When the mind died, then eternal life surged—
An ever-new message of death arrived!

Released from the body, one attains spiritual life. Released from the mind, the extraordinary, boundless journey of consciousness begins. Hidden in death is the message of immortality.

Today the shehnai has sounded, brother—today the shehnai has sounded,
A soft, soft resonance entered the body’s ear-holes!
Brother, today the shehnai has sounded!

With the auspicious pot in hand, Death stands at this hour of departure,
And upon the infinite, unknowable path a traceless light has been scattered;
Leaving the instruments of life, consciousness has set off alone;
The sound-waves of the Great Departure have flooded the courtyard of the mind—
Brother, today the shehnai has sounded!

From the tear-melted old clay of mercilessness
Death—the Goddess—has brought the auspicious pot;
She stands at the doorway of death, a proud noble lady—
From what far land she has brought this message, who knows!
Brother, today the shehnai has sounded!

Stop thinking and fretting; drop the bother of this town.
There will be no end, dear one, to your true being.
Break the bonds—come, drink the goblet of ecstasy!
Death is the breaking of fetters; death is not sorrow-bringing—
Brother, today the shehnai has sounded!

Dawn broke; in a moment the darkness of ignorance vanished;
Sky-queen, the dawn, smiled; the night of world-fear dissolved;
Consciousness has learned the whole tale of the Unknown;
Today it heard the unheard anklet-chime of the Unmanifest—
Brother, today the shehnai has sounded!

Nachiketa said to Guru Yama: Noble one, God is witness,
I am a seeker of liberation—do not fob me off with evasions;
The Ender, Yama, said, “Nachiketa, do not press to inquire into death,”
But when has he ever been caught in illusion who has loved the music of death?
Brother, today the shehnai has sounded!

Understand the tune of death—recognize the music of death. Listen to death’s shehnai. Do not be afraid; there is nothing to fear. You are the children of the Immortal—“amritasya putrah.”

Jagdish! Let it be so—only then is one truly a disciple. Let it be so—only then is one initiated. When such a bond is forged, such a bridge is built, such love arises… then know the knot with the Master is tied, and then all is possible. Even the impossible becomes possible. If only the knot be tied, all can be poured—whatever is in the Master can be filled into the disciple’s vessel. But if the connection is not made, if even a little distance remains, the chance is missed.
The distance is dissolving. This is good. Blessed one!

What is this love that has awakened? What is this raga that has awakened?
What are these remembrances that have stirred? What reversed fortune has awakened?

Who says the notes have come riding in on a wave from outside?
It is my songs of compassion that are filling netherworld and sky,
Yet to me they seem like strangers, though they enchant—
Alas, I, the unfortunate, am alienating my own self.
What is this raga that has awakened?

Even amid upheavals may my voice remain unmoving,
And may no revolution break the well-shaped song—
This too is my longing; yet I see my throat wreathed in anger,
And I am only weeping, singing ragas of sob upon sob.
What is this raga that has awakened?

What is this love that has awakened? What is this raga that has awakened?
What are these remembrances that have stirred? What reversed fortune has awakened?

Jagdish, the hour for fortune to awaken has come. The auspicious moment for the eyelids to open has arrived. Do not be afraid; do not be frightened. Do not be shy; do not shrink. Take the leap.

Beloved, today I am like a brimming pitcher—
I will pour my yearning at the sacred feet, offering body and mind;
Beloved, today I am a brimming pitcher!

To offer this golden body,
I have come, beholding the canopy of darkness;
For the laying down of life, that glittering illusion of the world does not befit;
Today, in the dark, the heart’s rare bud has blossomed and swayed—
Beloved, today I am a brimming pitcher!

Let this veil of darkness remain,
Let my “ego” flow away here;
I come with a step steady as the pole-star,
Drawn helplessly along my own path;
My sky is without star and moon,
My path is directionless—remove its obstacles;
Today all the compass-thorns have become dear flower-buds—
Beloved, today I am a brimming pitcher!

You perhaps are thinking within,
What calamity has come into this dense night?
Why think so, dear one, stirring a pang in this life?
Between you and me it is a friendship of ages—
Beloved, today I am a brimming pitcher!

Have you forgotten me, beloved?
I am those gathered grains of dust
Which once, by your own touch,
You made tingle and go mad;
Today that same clay doll has come, heart-surrendered—
Beloved, today I am a brimming pitcher!

Dance! Let flowers bloom; let flowers fall. This is the moment every disciple seeks. You say, Jagdish—

Why does only your love dwell in every pore of me?
Why does every scene show only your form?
Why does your name slip from my lips at every moment?
Why does the one dream of you not break, night after night?

Join—join so wholly that even the distinction of I and you does not remain! You have taken the first step; now take the second as well: let the I–you divide vanish. The moment there remains no distance of I and you between disciple and Master, in that very instant the disciple ends, the Master ends, and the Divine manifests—there and then is the vision of the Ultimate.
One step you have taken; one more is yet to be taken. The difficult step you have already taken; now the second is easy. And in just two steps the journey to truth is complete.
Enough for today.