One thing I told you last night was in this context—that we may be able to give life an acceptance. The acceptance of life is a sadhana. As life is available, if we can accept it as it is, if we can see it as it is, then a revolution, a transformation begins to happen on its own. Ordinarily we fight ourselves, we struggle. And just as we struggle in the outer world, so we struggle in the inner world of the mind. I am against struggle. Let me make this clear to you at the very outset—this is our first meeting—let me make it clear that I am against struggle. I am not here to tell you to fight with your mind, to oppose it. I want to say to you: before we do anything with the mind, it is necessary to know the mind, to become rightly acquainted with it. Our education, our conditioning, our religions teach us to struggle with the mind. They teach us to fight our own mind. They teach us to separate out whatever is bad in the mind. Our education teaches us to wage war against the evil, against the sin that is in the mind. The result of such education is: we become divided into two persons. We begin to fight ourselves. Two parts arise within—one that is fighting, and one with whom we are fighting. In such a struggle, victory is never possible. If I make my two hands fight each other, can we think that either hand will win? If both my hands fight, is it possible that one of those two hands will ever win? It is impossible—because behind both hands it is my strength, my power. Neither hand will win; only one thing will happen—they will go on fighting and I will lose. They will go on fighting and my energy will go on being depleted, and I will become tired and defeated. No one will win, but I will be broken. So whenever you fight with your mind, fight with some evil of the mind, then you are breaking yourself into two persons—which is very fatal. Who will fight whom? You have heard this very often: the mind is the enemy and we must fight the enemy. This is utterly futile. If you have taken the mind to be the enemy and you start fighting it, you have not even considered—whom are you fighting? You are fighting yourself! And in fighting yourself, both sides use your energy; you alone will be depleted. Therefore, the first thing: we have not gathered in this sadhana experiment to fight ourselves. We are not to fight with the mind. And you will be surprised—if this is understood, that there is to be no fighting with the mind, then victory over the mind happens instantly. If we are not to fight, then what will we do? Early this morning someone came and said, “I try hard to concentrate, but the mind does not concentrate; it keeps running away. I try to pull it back, but it doesn’t come into my hand.” I will neither tell you to pull it back, nor to fight it, nor do I want you to suppress it by force. I am going to say something altogether different. And if you understand that other thing rightly, there will be a result. If your own pre‑made notions go on working behind, there will be no result. Our minds are so crammed with teachings and we have learned so many things that it will be very useful to put them aside for three days. There in Germany there was a very great musician, Wagner. Whenever anyone came to learn music from him, he would ask whether they had learned music anywhere before or not. If someone said, “I have learned elsewhere,” he would ask double fees. And if someone had not learned anywhere, he would manage even on half fees. People were surprised and said, “When we have learned something already, you should take less from us.” He said, “First I will have to put in half the effort just to make you forget what you have learned. Only then can your new beginning happen.” So here in this meditation experiment, in this sadhana, let me first say to you that whatever you know about meditation, please do not use it for these three days. What I am going to say is so different that if you use even a little of what you already know, what I am saying will not be of any benefit. For three days, take it that you know nothing about meditation. Whatever you have known about meditation, put it aside. And then do this experiment. You must have heard: meditation means concentration. And I will tell you: meditation does not mean concentration at all. You must have heard: meditation means to concentrate the chitta, to concentrate the mind. Meditation does not mean concentration. The chitta has two states. One state we call restlessness. The chitta jumps from one thing to another thing, from the second to the third—this we call restlessness. One thought comes, then another comes, then a third comes—this we call restlessness. The chitta remaining on one single thought—this we call concentration. And when the chitta is neither on many things nor on one thing, that we call meditation. The chitta moves from one thing to a second, to a third—restlessness. The chitta remains only on one—concentration. The chitta remains on none at all—meditation. So meditation is neither restlessness nor concentration. In meditation nothing remains on which we may be restless or on which we may concentrate. I said, the chitta has two states. Therefore meditation is not a state of the chitta. Meditation is to go outside the chitta, to go outside the mind. Imagine—seven boxes are placed, and a child is jumping on those seven boxes. He goes from the first to the second, from the second to the third—this is restlessness. The child goes on jumping only on one box—this is concentration. The child is not jumping on the boxes at all—he has come down—this is meditation. In restlessness also there is an object, but it keeps changing. In restlessness there is some object, some thought, but it keeps changing. In concentration there is also some object, some thought, but it does not change—it is the same. In meditation there is neither any thought nor any object; there is neither change nor no‑change—there the chitta is freed from the object. So, first thing: what we are going to do is not concentration. And, the result of concentration is harmful. If you forcibly hold the chitta to one thing—upon some image, some thought, some mantra, some name of God—if you forcibly stop thought, then a very strange event happens, of which you are not aware. If thought is stopped by force, in a little while, as a result of that forcing, the mind becomes stupefied. It is called auto‑hypnosis, self‑hypnosis. If you go on looking at one and the same thing for five minutes, your eyes will be utterly tired. If you still go on looking, in a little while you will find that the eyes have closed by themselves. And in that moment you will become stupefied. It is a kind of hypnotic sleep. It is not meditation. If one concentrates on anything at all, then in a little while one will become stupefied. In that stupor also there is a kind of pleasure—just as there is in drinking alcohol, and in any kind of stupefaction. When you come to after the stupor, it will seem to you there was great pleasure. There was no pleasure at all—there was only the absence of pain. Only worries, pains, and troubles were not present, because you were stupefied. After all, why is there so much attraction toward alcohol in the whole world? Only one thing: alcohol removes your worries and troubles, because you become stupefied, you are not conscious. They are not removed; they only become hidden from your eyes, because you become unconscious. This kind of meditation I call asamyak dhyan. This is not real meditation. This is a deception of meditation. If you become stupefied, you have gone into hypnosis, into hypnotic sleep; you have not gone into meditation. Meditation means: to become perfectly awake. Meditation means: to be filled with total awareness. Meditation means: to come into a state of utter apramāda—complete awareness. It does not mean stupor. It does not mean unconsciousness. That will be possible only when you do not concentrate. Then what will you do? If we are not to concentrate, then what will we do? We know restlessness; we also know concentration. We sit in temples and mosques and try to concentrate. We are going to do a third experiment in which we will do neither restlessness nor concentration. We want to do something new. And that is what I told you last night—I said to you: sit in some solitude, let the whole body be left loose, and then whatever sounds are heard around, just silently go on listening to them… Someone came and told me that he went and listened, he steadily concentrated, he listened to this sound. Remember this: only the wrong is noticed; the right gives no sign… The body—keep the spine straight, and leave the body so loose as if we had hung a coat on a peg. Upon the peg of the spine the whole body is utterly loose. The spine is straight and the body is completely relaxed—as if there were no life in it, leave it so loose. The more loose you leave the body, the more quickly the inner movement will happen. The more the body relaxes, the more the remembrance of the body begins to fade—and your inner entry becomes possible. So leave the body loose, and then take deep breaths. Do not take them with jerks so that discomfort is felt. Do not take them so strongly that you feel any strain. Do not take them so strongly that in ten minutes you are tired. Take them so gently, so rhythmically that there is no discomfort, no pain. Let the breath go in softly; let taking the breath be a joy, not a task. Take that breath with great joy, with great peace, deep—and let it go out slowly, slowly. Do not hold it inside, nor hold it outside. Do not hold it anywhere—only take it deep and release it deep. While taking, where the belly rises—keep the eyes closed and keep your attention awake at that place: now the belly has risen, now it has fallen. Just silently go on watching that point. Watching it, all the brain’s fibres will become quiet, all thoughts will become quiet; in a little while only the pulsation of the breath will remain. Then for three days we will experiment; its depth will go on increasing day by day. Also remember this: we will all sit in such a way that no one touches anyone. Clothes that tighten the belly, loosen them a little, so that they do not become an obstacle upon your belly. And if inside here you feel there is a little less space, then go into the verandas on both sides. My voice will reach there—indeed it will be even more pleasant; there will be open air and you will be able to sit in greater solitude. And sit in such a way that no one touches anyone, no one bumps anyone—spread out in this way. And if there is a little shortage of space, go outside. Do not sit inside because of the hindrance of space. These side verandas are very clean; if you come into them it will be of great benefit. Make the spine straight. Straight does not mean stretched tight. Make it straight comfortably; let it not be bent anywhere. It is better if no one leans against the wall; otherwise you will not be able to keep your spine straight. Keep the spine straight; be supported by the spine itself. And close the eyes. Let the lids flicker down gently; let the lids fall slowly; close the eyes. Now slowly take deep breaths. Very gently, very peacefully, very joyfully take deep breaths. Let the breath be felt going down to the belly. The belly will rise, the belly will fall. Let the breath return slowly. Very slow and deep breaths. Very gently, at ease. Let the breath go to the belly, let the belly rise, then let it gently return. See the pulsation of your belly—where it is happening. Where the belly is falling and rising, where the belly is trembling—with eyes closed, take your attention to that very place. Awaken right there; see that spot—see that spot with remembrance. See with remembrance the spot where the breath goes and raises the belly. See that spot with remembrance. Keep watching that spot. Quietly awaken there. Awaken your wakefulness, your remembrance, your attention right there. See there. The navel will be seen; its vibration will be seen. Let only that be seen; let only that remain. Right—deep breathing; attention at the navel. Leave the brain completely relaxed; do not take any work from it. Do not take any work from the brain; leave it utterly loose. Take no work at all from the brain; leave all the nerves of the brain loose. Only breathe. As if we are only breathing. Only breathe, and watch the navel… Perfectly right. Go on watching the navel, go on watching the navel… Everything is becoming quiet, everything is becoming quiet, everything is becoming quiet… Do not hurry.
Osho's Commentary
Ordinarily we fight ourselves, we struggle. And just as we struggle in the outer world, so we struggle in the inner world of the mind. I am against struggle. Let me make this clear to you at the very outset—this is our first meeting—let me make it clear that I am against struggle. I am not here to tell you to fight with your mind, to oppose it. I want to say to you: before we do anything with the mind, it is necessary to know the mind, to become rightly acquainted with it.
Our education, our conditioning, our religions teach us to struggle with the mind. They teach us to fight our own mind. They teach us to separate out whatever is bad in the mind. Our education teaches us to wage war against the evil, against the sin that is in the mind.
The result of such education is: we become divided into two persons. We begin to fight ourselves. Two parts arise within—one that is fighting, and one with whom we are fighting.
In such a struggle, victory is never possible. If I make my two hands fight each other, can we think that either hand will win? If both my hands fight, is it possible that one of those two hands will ever win? It is impossible—because behind both hands it is my strength, my power. Neither hand will win; only one thing will happen—they will go on fighting and I will lose. They will go on fighting and my energy will go on being depleted, and I will become tired and defeated. No one will win, but I will be broken.
So whenever you fight with your mind, fight with some evil of the mind, then you are breaking yourself into two persons—which is very fatal. Who will fight whom? You have heard this very often: the mind is the enemy and we must fight the enemy. This is utterly futile. If you have taken the mind to be the enemy and you start fighting it, you have not even considered—whom are you fighting? You are fighting yourself! And in fighting yourself, both sides use your energy; you alone will be depleted. Therefore, the first thing: we have not gathered in this sadhana experiment to fight ourselves. We are not to fight with the mind. And you will be surprised—if this is understood, that there is to be no fighting with the mind, then victory over the mind happens instantly.
If we are not to fight, then what will we do?
Early this morning someone came and said, “I try hard to concentrate, but the mind does not concentrate; it keeps running away. I try to pull it back, but it doesn’t come into my hand.”
I will neither tell you to pull it back, nor to fight it, nor do I want you to suppress it by force. I am going to say something altogether different. And if you understand that other thing rightly, there will be a result. If your own pre‑made notions go on working behind, there will be no result. Our minds are so crammed with teachings and we have learned so many things that it will be very useful to put them aside for three days.
There in Germany there was a very great musician, Wagner. Whenever anyone came to learn music from him, he would ask whether they had learned music anywhere before or not. If someone said, “I have learned elsewhere,” he would ask double fees. And if someone had not learned anywhere, he would manage even on half fees. People were surprised and said, “When we have learned something already, you should take less from us.”
He said, “First I will have to put in half the effort just to make you forget what you have learned. Only then can your new beginning happen.”
So here in this meditation experiment, in this sadhana, let me first say to you that whatever you know about meditation, please do not use it for these three days. What I am going to say is so different that if you use even a little of what you already know, what I am saying will not be of any benefit. For three days, take it that you know nothing about meditation. Whatever you have known about meditation, put it aside. And then do this experiment.
You must have heard: meditation means concentration.
And I will tell you: meditation does not mean concentration at all.
You must have heard: meditation means to concentrate the chitta, to concentrate the mind.
Meditation does not mean concentration.
The chitta has two states. One state we call restlessness. The chitta jumps from one thing to another thing, from the second to the third—this we call restlessness. One thought comes, then another comes, then a third comes—this we call restlessness. The chitta remaining on one single thought—this we call concentration. And when the chitta is neither on many things nor on one thing, that we call meditation. The chitta moves from one thing to a second, to a third—restlessness. The chitta remains only on one—concentration. The chitta remains on none at all—meditation.
So meditation is neither restlessness nor concentration. In meditation nothing remains on which we may be restless or on which we may concentrate.
I said, the chitta has two states. Therefore meditation is not a state of the chitta. Meditation is to go outside the chitta, to go outside the mind. Imagine—seven boxes are placed, and a child is jumping on those seven boxes. He goes from the first to the second, from the second to the third—this is restlessness. The child goes on jumping only on one box—this is concentration. The child is not jumping on the boxes at all—he has come down—this is meditation.
In restlessness also there is an object, but it keeps changing. In restlessness there is some object, some thought, but it keeps changing. In concentration there is also some object, some thought, but it does not change—it is the same. In meditation there is neither any thought nor any object; there is neither change nor no‑change—there the chitta is freed from the object.
So, first thing: what we are going to do is not concentration.
And, the result of concentration is harmful. If you forcibly hold the chitta to one thing—upon some image, some thought, some mantra, some name of God—if you forcibly stop thought, then a very strange event happens, of which you are not aware. If thought is stopped by force, in a little while, as a result of that forcing, the mind becomes stupefied. It is called auto‑hypnosis, self‑hypnosis. If you go on looking at one and the same thing for five minutes, your eyes will be utterly tired. If you still go on looking, in a little while you will find that the eyes have closed by themselves. And in that moment you will become stupefied. It is a kind of hypnotic sleep. It is not meditation.
If one concentrates on anything at all, then in a little while one will become stupefied. In that stupor also there is a kind of pleasure—just as there is in drinking alcohol, and in any kind of stupefaction. When you come to after the stupor, it will seem to you there was great pleasure.
There was no pleasure at all—there was only the absence of pain. Only worries, pains, and troubles were not present, because you were stupefied. After all, why is there so much attraction toward alcohol in the whole world? Only one thing: alcohol removes your worries and troubles, because you become stupefied, you are not conscious. They are not removed; they only become hidden from your eyes, because you become unconscious.
This kind of meditation I call asamyak dhyan. This is not real meditation. This is a deception of meditation. If you become stupefied, you have gone into hypnosis, into hypnotic sleep; you have not gone into meditation. Meditation means: to become perfectly awake. Meditation means: to be filled with total awareness. Meditation means: to come into a state of utter apramāda—complete awareness. It does not mean stupor. It does not mean unconsciousness. That will be possible only when you do not concentrate.
Then what will you do? If we are not to concentrate, then what will we do?
We know restlessness; we also know concentration. We sit in temples and mosques and try to concentrate.
We are going to do a third experiment in which we will do neither restlessness nor concentration. We want to do something new. And that is what I told you last night—I said to you: sit in some solitude, let the whole body be left loose, and then whatever sounds are heard around, just silently go on listening to them…
Someone came and told me that he went and listened, he steadily concentrated, he listened to this sound. Remember this: only the wrong is noticed; the right gives no sign…
The body—keep the spine straight, and leave the body so loose as if we had hung a coat on a peg. Upon the peg of the spine the whole body is utterly loose. The spine is straight and the body is completely relaxed—as if there were no life in it, leave it so loose. The more loose you leave the body, the more quickly the inner movement will happen. The more the body relaxes, the more the remembrance of the body begins to fade—and your inner entry becomes possible.
So leave the body loose, and then take deep breaths. Do not take them with jerks so that discomfort is felt. Do not take them so strongly that you feel any strain. Do not take them so strongly that in ten minutes you are tired. Take them so gently, so rhythmically that there is no discomfort, no pain. Let the breath go in softly; let taking the breath be a joy, not a task. Take that breath with great joy, with great peace, deep—and let it go out slowly, slowly. Do not hold it inside, nor hold it outside. Do not hold it anywhere—only take it deep and release it deep. While taking, where the belly rises—keep the eyes closed and keep your attention awake at that place: now the belly has risen, now it has fallen. Just silently go on watching that point. Watching it, all the brain’s fibres will become quiet, all thoughts will become quiet; in a little while only the pulsation of the breath will remain. Then for three days we will experiment; its depth will go on increasing day by day.
Also remember this: we will all sit in such a way that no one touches anyone. Clothes that tighten the belly, loosen them a little, so that they do not become an obstacle upon your belly. And if inside here you feel there is a little less space, then go into the verandas on both sides. My voice will reach there—indeed it will be even more pleasant; there will be open air and you will be able to sit in greater solitude. And sit in such a way that no one touches anyone, no one bumps anyone—spread out in this way. And if there is a little shortage of space, go outside. Do not sit inside because of the hindrance of space. These side verandas are very clean; if you come into them it will be of great benefit.
Make the spine straight. Straight does not mean stretched tight. Make it straight comfortably; let it not be bent anywhere. It is better if no one leans against the wall; otherwise you will not be able to keep your spine straight. Keep the spine straight; be supported by the spine itself. And close the eyes. Let the lids flicker down gently; let the lids fall slowly; close the eyes. Now slowly take deep breaths. Very gently, very peacefully, very joyfully take deep breaths. Let the breath be felt going down to the belly. The belly will rise, the belly will fall. Let the breath return slowly. Very slow and deep breaths. Very gently, at ease. Let the breath go to the belly, let the belly rise, then let it gently return. See the pulsation of your belly—where it is happening. Where the belly is falling and rising, where the belly is trembling—with eyes closed, take your attention to that very place. Awaken right there; see that spot—see that spot with remembrance. See with remembrance the spot where the breath goes and raises the belly. See that spot with remembrance. Keep watching that spot. Quietly awaken there. Awaken your wakefulness, your remembrance, your attention right there. See there. The navel will be seen; its vibration will be seen. Let only that be seen; let only that remain. Right—deep breathing; attention at the navel.
Leave the brain completely relaxed; do not take any work from it. Do not take any work from the brain; leave it utterly loose. Take no work at all from the brain; leave all the nerves of the brain loose. Only breathe. As if we are only breathing. Only breathe, and watch the navel…
Perfectly right. Go on watching the navel, go on watching the navel… Everything is becoming quiet, everything is becoming quiet, everything is becoming quiet… Do not hurry.