Flowers do not ask anyone how to blossom. Stars do not ask anyone how to shine. Man has to ask how he may become that which he was born to be. To be in Paramatma ought to be natural. But man is something extraordinary: he misses where he should be, and appears where he should not. Somewhere there is a mistake. And the mistake is very simple: man is free to be, therefore he is also free to wander. Perhaps it is even so that without wandering, one would never come to know. Without wandering, we may never discover what is within us. Perhaps wandering too is a part of man’s maturity. Let me explain with a small story. Then we will sit for the experiment in Samadhi.
There was a man—he had much wealth, but no peace. As so often happens. Man chases wealth thinking peace will be found. Wealth is found; peace, which was far, goes even farther away. He had attained everything, yet no news of bliss had reached him. Now he had come to old age. So he loaded millions’ worth of diamonds and jewels on his horse and set out in search. Not to search—let it be said—he set out to purchase bliss. Whoever would give him bliss, to him he was ready to give all those jewels.
He went to many people; wherever he heard a rumor, there he went. But none had any news of bliss. People talked about bliss, of course. But he said, not talk—I want bliss. And I am ready to give everything. In many places people told him that you have undertaken such a thing that only one fakir in such-and-such a village, if he does it, he will do it; none else can.
At last he reached that village too. It was evening, the night of new moon; the sun had set. Just outside the village, beneath a tree, he found that fakir. The rich man dismounted, flung the pouch at the fakir’s feet and said, here are diamonds and jewels worth millions—give me bliss! Just a glimpse, and I am ready to surrender all!
The fakir asked, have you come with a firm resolve?
The man said, firm? I have been wandering for months, and I am desolate—my hope rests only on you!
The fakir said, do you truly want bliss? Are you very afflicted?
The man said, my misery is beyond measure; not a single ray of bliss touches me.
Even as they spoke, suddenly the rich man saw—what is this! The fakir picked up the pouch and ran!
For a moment the rich man was stunned. The rich trust only those fakirs who do not touch money. Therefore the rich worship those who remain far from money—thus they feel assured: there is no danger from them. But what kind of fakir is this—he has taken the pouch and run off! For a moment he could not even comprehend. Then he screamed, I am robbed! I am ruined! He is taking away the earnings of my whole life! You are a thief! How can you be a knower? And he ran after him. It was a dark night, silent, and they were outside the village. But the fakir himself ran into the village. And the rich man followed. Through lane after lane the fakir ran; the rich man chased, shouting, catch him! He’s a thief, a cheat! And to think I took him for a knower! I am robbed, I am ruined. I am in great grief—everything is snatched away from me.
The villagers too joined in. They ran as well. But the alleys were well-known to the fakir, and unknown to the rich man—it was an unfamiliar village. So the fakir made many rounds. At last he returned to that very bush near the tree, flung the pouch exactly where he had lifted it from, and stood behind the bush, in the dark.
The rich man arrived, panting, running, crying—I am robbed! I am ruined! O God, all is lost! He saw the pouch, picked it up, clutched it to his chest. In the rich man’s eyes, in that moment, there was a glimmer of bliss. The fakir stepped out and said, did you taste a little bliss? This too is a device to attain bliss.
The rich man said, great peace has come, great bliss! Never before have I been so happy.
But this pouch was with him earlier too. Yet he says: never before have I been so happy. He says: great peace has come. And the pouch was entirely with him even an hour earlier. What happened within this one hour?
Within this hour he had lost it. Until we lose that which we have, we cannot truly have it. Until we lose that which is within, we cannot recognize it. Perhaps that is why man has to lose himself—so that he may attain. We all have lost it. In the tale of the fakir and the rich man, we are at that point where the fakir has run off with the pouch. The fakir was kind—he flung the pouch back. Our mind too has run off with everything. Who knows whether it will fling it back or not. But it can fling it back. A little preparation we will have to show.
When did the fakir fling the pouch back? When the rich man had given up the courage to run. When the rich man was utterly exhausted, then the fakir dropped the pouch. If we too are utterly exhausted, our mind can drop the pouch. And then we can become available to that treasure which is Samadhi, which is truth, which is Paramatma. And the day we attain it, we will say: great bliss has descended. And along with it we will also say, it is a wonder—but whatever has been attained has always been mine! I had never known it.
Samadhi is the search for that which is already given to us. Samadhi is a re-membering, a remembering, a recollection of that which is ours. But this loss is also necessary.
What to do to bring Samadhi? Not much can be done. Only this much: make yourself receptive, a claimant, leave yourself open. And if truth should come—let it come; if Paramatma should come—let Him come. Do just this.
I have heard: one night a man sat in a hut, a small lamp burning, reading a scripture. After midnight he grew tired, blew out the lamp. And then he was astonished! As long as the lamp had been lit, the full moon outside remained standing without—did not come within. When the lamp went out, its tiny flickering flame vanished, the moonrays flooded in. Through door and window, through every crevice, the moon began to dance inside. The man was amazed! He said, a small lamp kept such a great moon standing outside?
We too have lit small lamps—of ego, of ‘I’—and because of them the moon of Paramatma remains standing outside. Samadhi means: blow and extinguish this lamp; let there be darkness. Erase this glow we have taken to be ‘I’, and instantly, from all sides, That comes—It comes from everywhere—That which our petty ego, our ‘I’, has been holding back.
Therefore I have told you three stages of Samadhi: darkness, aloneness, and disappearance. Let the lamp be snuffed; the light of Paramatma is received immediately.
The first stage: darkness.
If someone completes just the first stage, everything is fulfilled. If someone can be submerged utterly in darkness, he himself will dissolve—only darkness will remain. If the first stage be complete, all is done. But it does not happen completely—therefore the second must be taken up. If the second too be complete—if truly it becomes known to me that I am utterly alone—then That will be found which is alone forever. But that too does not happen; therefore the third step must be taken—‘I am gone.’ If I dissolve totally, then and there That is found, which has been sought. That joy which never came to me—because I myself was the cause of sorrow. I will not get joy—not as ‘I’. That light which I could never see—because I was the flickering lamp that blocked the great sun. That sound, that music which I never heard—let it be heard now. But the tune of the ‘I’ within is very strong, and in that tune we are absorbed. Within, we go on saying: I and I and I.
Kabir has said: Once I saw a goat, bleating ‘me-me-me-me’. Then that goat died. Someone made strings for a tanpura from its skin. And I passed that way. Upon that tanpura I heard such a song as I had never heard. I stopped the man and asked, where did you get this tanpura?
He said, did you not see—a goat here that went on bleating ‘me-me-me’? It is the same. The one who did ‘me-me’ has died. Now he has become the string of a tanpura. Now great music is arising.
But so long as the ‘me-me’ was arising, that music could not be born. That ‘me-me’ we too go on uttering within; hence we cannot become the veena of Paramatma, upon which that music may arise. But it can happen.
Kabir began to laugh: this is wonderful indeed—the living goat could not sing music, only went ‘me-me’; and the dead goat is producing music!
Kabir returned and said to his companions, would it not be good that we too die? Drop the ‘I-I’, die! I have just seen a miracle with my own eyes! A living goat never could sing; dead, it sings. So let us die too!
That is what I am saying: let us dissolve! Then music remains. The moment we dissolve, That remains.
We will take three steps into dissolving. In the first, for five minutes we will evoke a total sense of darkness. Take care—no one should be touching anyone; if someone is, move a little apart. No one should be touching anyone.
Close your eyes, let the body become loose. Let the body be loose, close the eyes. And see—only darkness, darkness everywhere… all around, only darkness… infinite darkness… in every direction, only darkness… feel it, see it, taste it—only darkness… everything is erased; only darkness remains… thick darkness on every side… experience this darkness for five minutes—only darkness… nothing perceived, nothing seen—only darkness.
And as the darkness grows dense, as it thickens, as only darkness remains, an uncanny peace will begin to descend from all sides. Into every pore, in every beat of the heart, in every breath—peace will settle.
See, experience—only darkness… only darkness… For five minutes simply look into darkness, and just by looking, the mind will become silent… Only darkness… only darkness… infinite darkness… on every side, darkness… only darkness… and the mind is becoming silent, the mind is becoming silent, the mind is becoming silent… the mind has become utterly silent… the mind is silent, the mind is silent, the mind is silent… only darkness… infinite darkness… all around—darkness… nothing but darkness… the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent…
Only darkness… nothing but darkness… and the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent… the mind has become silent—perfectly still, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent… only darkness… all around—darkness… infinite darkness… and the mind—the mind has become utterly silent; the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent. Learn to recognize this darkness well. The first stage of Samadhi: total darkness—nothing to see, nothing to think; darkness alone. And the mind is silent.
Now slowly open the eyes… As the peace is within, so it will be without. Slowly open the eyes… Outside too everything is quiet—slowly open the eyes… Then understand the second stage, and prepare for it.
The second stage of Samadhi: the sense of being alone.
Nothing is more beautiful than aloneness.
I have heard: in some land, at a poor gardener’s hut, many beautiful flowers had blossomed. News reached the emperor. He too was a lover of flowers. He said, I too will come. Tomorrow at sunrise, I will come to your garden to see the flowers.
The gardener said, you are welcome.
Next morning the emperor arrived. Ministers had said, friends had said, thousands of flowers have bloomed. But when the emperor came he was astonished—throughout the garden, on a single stalk there was but one flower!
The emperor asked the gardener, I had heard that many flowers had blossomed. Where are they all?
The gardener laughed and said, where can beauty be in a crowd! I have spared only one. For I have heard from the knowers that except for the One, beauty is nowhere.
Who knows whether the emperor understood or not; but surely that gardener was not only a gardener of flowers—he must also have been a gardener of men. Whatever is beautiful in life blooms, flowers, and becomes fragrant only in aloneness. Whatever is highest in life is born in aloneness. The crowd has given birth to nothing great—not a single song, not a single beauty, not a single truth, not a single Samadhi. No, nothing is born in the crowd. All that has ever been born was born in solitude, in aloneness.
But we never are alone. We are always surrounded by a crowd—either the crowd outside, or the crowd inside. We do not leave the crowd; not even for a moment are we alone. Hence whatever is essential in life is missed.
Only those can enter Samadhi who free themselves not only from the outer crowd but from the inner crowd as well, and remain simply alone—utterly alone, totally alone. Nothing else is—only I am alone, alone, alone. This is the truth too. We are born alone, we die alone, we are alone—but we create the illusion of crowd, that around there are many. Lost amid that crowd, we never come to know who we are.
So the second stage: the sense of being alone. For five minutes we will evoke aloneness.
Close your eyes; let the body be loose. Close your eyes; let the body be loose. For one minute evoke the sense of darkness: all around only darkness, infinite darkness—darkness, darkness, darkness. Nothing is seen, nothing appears—only darkness. Nothing at all is seen—but I am; darkness is, and I am. And I am utterly alone. There is no companion, no friend. I am alone—wholly alone. I am alone, I am alone. Let a single feeling settle into every breath, every pore of the body, every corner of the mind: I am alone, I am alone, I am alone. And as this feeling deepens, an uncanny peace will be born; within, all will become silent.
I am alone, I am alone. No companion, no friend. The path is empty, deserted. There is darkness—and I am alone, I am alone, I am alone… For five minutes, be absolutely alone… I am alone, I am alone, I am alone…
I am alone, I am alone, I am alone, I am alone, I am alone… I am alone, I am alone, I am alone… The mind has become utterly silent; the mind has become cool and silent… I am alone, I am alone, I am alone…
The mind has become silent, the mind has become utterly silent; the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent… I am alone… Dive, dive completely—there is darkness; I am alone, I am alone… No one—no one, no companion, no friend. I am alone… And as aloneness deepens, everything becomes silent…
The mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become utterly silent… The mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent… I am alone, I am alone, I am alone… I am alone, I am alone, I am alone, I am alone… And as you become alone, so you become silent… The breath has become quiet; every hair has become quiet; the mind is silent… I am alone, I am alone, I am alone… Look within—see how all has become silent, how all has become silent. Recognize well this aloneness—this is the second stage of Samadhi. Recognize well—what this being alone is, what the peace of aloneness is. I am alone, I am alone, I am alone… And the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent…
Now slowly open the eyes… As is the peace within, so is the peace without. And one who recognizes aloneness within, remains alone even amidst the crowd without. Look—open the eyes, look outside… so many people are around—and yet I am alone… Slowly open the eyes… See—so many people are around, yet I am alone.
Now understand the third experiment, and then do it.
The third experiment is: to die, to dissolve, to become a nothing.
Someone would go to Buddha and ask, where to find knowledge? Buddha would say, go to the cremation ground. The man would be startled! He would think, I must have misheard. He would ask again, I do not understand. I want bliss, I want truth. Where should I go? How should I find? Buddha would say, to the cremation ground. Then there would be no room for misunderstanding. He would think, perhaps he is joking. But Buddha would smile and say, I do not joke. Go—stay in the cremation ground for a month, two months, four months. He sent many bhikkhus to live there.
Consider: if you had to stay three or four months in a cremation ground—from morning to evening, evening to morning—let the sun rise there, let it set there; let night come there, day come there; dusk there, dawn there; darkness gather there, and light spread there. And all day people will come—people weeping; corpses will come; biers will arrive; bodies will be lifted to the fire, placed on the pyre; they will burn; and all day this will go on—and you will keep watching, watching. Is it possible that in a few days, at some moment, the thought will not arise: it is not another who burns—I am burning? There is just a little distance of time. He who burns today, I shall burn tomorrow. How difficult is it for such a thought not to arise in a cremation ground?
And to whom this thought arises—‘I too shall die’—a great transformation enters his life. Then he does not live as he lived before. And to whom it becomes clear ‘I shall certainly die’, to him it also becomes clear that that which will die must already be dead; otherwise how will it die? And to whom this thought comes that there must be something within me that will die, his search begins to find whether there is not also something that will not die. Perhaps there is; perhaps there is not—but one must find out. And how will this be known without dying? Only by dying will it be known whether anything remains or not.
So the deepest stage of Samadhi is the realization of dying—‘I am dead, I am finished.’ And the instant one sees oneself as dead, lying there, at that very moment the recognition also arises of That which is seeing. The one who is seeing himself dead—that is not the ‘I’; that is That which is. Or say it this way: that alone is my real ‘I’—that which sees, that which knows, that which, in the moment of dying, will also see: ‘I am dying’.
Socrates died. He was given poison. Having drunk it, he lay down. His friends wept around him; and Socrates said, do not weep—see, I am dying. But where had they time to see? Socrates said, see—up to my feet I have died; up to my knees I have died; now up to my knees I no longer feel the body. But listen—what a wonder: up to the knees I have died, yet I am as much as ever! Then Socrates said, up to the waist I have died; now up to the waist I do not feel anything. But hear the wonder: I am as much as I was! Then Socrates said, my hands too have grown inert; the hands have died, I cannot move them. But I am still! The one who moved the hands—he is still here! Then Socrates said, soon the heartbeat will also stop. Perhaps I will not remain to tell you that ‘I still am’. But when my feet died, I did not die; when my hands died, I did not die; when up to the waist all was finished, I did not die; and when my eyes no longer open, still I am; then perhaps when my heart too stops, even then I will be. Only, perhaps, I will not be left to say so.
In the deep realization of meditation, of Samadhi, such is the experience. It will seem: here is the body—dead. Here lies the body. The heartbeat is going on—far from me, miles away. The breath too is going on—but as though someone else were breathing. And here am I—seeing, knowing, witnessing. I am something else; and that which I had taken to be ‘I’—that I am not.
But the third experiment cannot be grasped merely by thought—it must be descended into. So now we will do the third experiment. Then in the fourth, we will gather all three together.
Close your eyes; let the body be loose. Close your eyes; let the body be loose. For one minute see: only darkness, darkness on every side. All around—only darkness… infinite darkness…. Then for one minute know: I am alone, I am alone, I am alone…. And now do the third experiment: I am dying. Feel it: I am dying. This body, this breath, this prana, this heartbeat—all this is going, all is going. I am dying, I am dying. I am dissolving, I am dying, I am dissolving, I am finishing… I am dead; I am not… I am erased; I am not… For five minutes, drown in this non-being… I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not… And as you sink, an uncanny peace will surround you from every side… I am not, I am not, I am not… I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not… And the mind has become utterly silent; the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent… I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not… The mind has become silent, the mind has become utterly silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent… The mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become utterly silent…
I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not… The mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent… I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not, I am absolutely not… The mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent… I am not—the One remains who is forever… I am not—the One remains who abides forever… I am not—the wave is lost; the ocean alone remains; the wave is lost; the ocean alone remains…
Recognize well this feeling—the third stage of Samadhi. Hold it well in your very prana… I am not, I am not, I am not… Only That remains—That which is, which is forever, which is in all…
Then slowly open the eyes… See… As always it has been seen: I was—such… Open the eyes, and look as if ‘I am not’; then from within That sees, which is appearing without. Slowly open the eyes… Look as if ‘I am not’; then That is within, and That is without—That is the seer, and That is the seen… Slowly open the eyes…
These are the three stages. Samadhi is the combined reflection, the total sum of all three. All at once—darkness, aloneness, and then disappearance. We will bring all three together. And when we bring them together, do it with totality; let go with a complete heart. Keep back nothing—let go, let go everything—so that only That remains which, even if we wished to drop it, cannot be dropped.
Close your eyes, let the body be loose, and prepare to enter Samadhi. Let the body be loose, close the eyes. If the body falls, let it fall—do not be concerned; if it bends, let it bend—do not be concerned; let it be loose, close the eyes.
First stage: only darkness, nothing but darkness—on every side only darkness… Let go—let yourself be in the dark… On every side only darkness, only darkness… The body will grow slack—let it… The body is relaxing, relaxing—let all relax… Only darkness, and all has become silent… The breath too will become slow and quiet—let it be… The breath too is becoming quiet…
I am alone, utterly alone—no companion, no friend… I am alone, I am alone…
And I too am dissolving—like a drop falling into the ocean and being lost. I too am being lost, I too am dissolving, I too am dying… All is ending—I am dying, I am dying, I am dissolving… I am not this body; I am not this breath; I am not this mind… All this is dissolving, all this is ending, all this is dying…
I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not… Let go—let yourself go completely—dissolve… I am not, I am not, I am not… And within, and within, and deeper within—let yourself go; keep no hold anywhere—be dissolved… I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not… All is silent, all is still; all is shunya…
In this very shunya, bliss awakens; in this very shunya, bliss rises. From every side it will surround you. Peace and bliss will begin to shower from every side… I am not, I am not—I am dissolved, I am finished… A strange peace, a wave of strange bliss will begin to race through you… I am not, I am not, I am not… Only That remains which is forever—That which was before me, and will be after me… I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not… The mind is silent, the life-breaths are silent, all is silent… On the lake of Atman not a ripple remains—everything is still… On the ocean of Atman not a single wave—everything is still… And recognize, see—what bliss within! Recognize—who is this within who knows, who sees? Who is this sakshi who is seeing himself dead? Who is it? Look within, further within, still further—who is it that knows? Who is it that is the knower? Who is it that is the seer? This is it—this is the truth. Atman is filled with bliss.
Now slowly take two or four deep breaths. Each breath will feel filled with bliss, with peace. Slowly take two or four deep breaths—slowly, two or four deep breaths. Each breath is filled with peace and bliss. Then slowly open the eyes. That which is within is also without.
Do this experiment at night as you go to sleep, and keep doing it until sleep comes. And do not think that because you have done it with me for two or four days, it is done—do it every night at the time of sleep. Slowly you will sink deeper and deeper. And you will not even know when you have become another man. When does a bud become a flower—who notices! When does a bird take wing into the sky—who notices! But when the wings spread into the sky, everything changes. One kind of life is to crawl on the earth; another is to fly in the free sky. And when the bud blossoms, there is no noise, no sound, none comes to know, no stir anywhere—yet fragrance spreads on every side. The flower, in its full blooming, becomes blessed; suffused with bliss, it is offered at the feet of the Lord. Slowly, do it every night before sleep; at any moment, at any time, the happening can happen.
And a note for tomorrow. For three nights we have meditated—we have understood what is to be done. Tomorrow we will do a fourth experiment altogether different. But tomorrow only those will come who have come these three days; do not bring any new friends. Tomorrow there will be an hour of pure silence—silent communication. Through words I say much, but what is worth saying cannot be said in words. For three days we have sat quietly here; tomorrow, for an hour, sit silently near me. I will not speak anything, and you will not speak anything. Yet I will speak—through that very silence! And you will hear—through that very silence! Just sit quietly, waiting to listen; become silent—as we do in meditation—just so, we will sit quietly for an hour tomorrow.
I will be present. If, suddenly, someone feels a pull to come near me, he may quietly come to me, sit near me for two minutes, then return to his place. But if someone else is coming, do not come because another is coming. If someone feels to come, let him come. And if someone feels to come, do not hesitate out of shyness—come.
Osho's Commentary
There was a man—he had much wealth, but no peace. As so often happens. Man chases wealth thinking peace will be found. Wealth is found; peace, which was far, goes even farther away. He had attained everything, yet no news of bliss had reached him. Now he had come to old age. So he loaded millions’ worth of diamonds and jewels on his horse and set out in search. Not to search—let it be said—he set out to purchase bliss. Whoever would give him bliss, to him he was ready to give all those jewels.
He went to many people; wherever he heard a rumor, there he went. But none had any news of bliss. People talked about bliss, of course. But he said, not talk—I want bliss. And I am ready to give everything. In many places people told him that you have undertaken such a thing that only one fakir in such-and-such a village, if he does it, he will do it; none else can.
At last he reached that village too. It was evening, the night of new moon; the sun had set. Just outside the village, beneath a tree, he found that fakir. The rich man dismounted, flung the pouch at the fakir’s feet and said, here are diamonds and jewels worth millions—give me bliss! Just a glimpse, and I am ready to surrender all!
The fakir asked, have you come with a firm resolve?
The man said, firm? I have been wandering for months, and I am desolate—my hope rests only on you!
The fakir said, do you truly want bliss? Are you very afflicted?
The man said, my misery is beyond measure; not a single ray of bliss touches me.
Even as they spoke, suddenly the rich man saw—what is this! The fakir picked up the pouch and ran!
For a moment the rich man was stunned. The rich trust only those fakirs who do not touch money. Therefore the rich worship those who remain far from money—thus they feel assured: there is no danger from them. But what kind of fakir is this—he has taken the pouch and run off! For a moment he could not even comprehend. Then he screamed, I am robbed! I am ruined! He is taking away the earnings of my whole life! You are a thief! How can you be a knower? And he ran after him. It was a dark night, silent, and they were outside the village. But the fakir himself ran into the village. And the rich man followed. Through lane after lane the fakir ran; the rich man chased, shouting, catch him! He’s a thief, a cheat! And to think I took him for a knower! I am robbed, I am ruined. I am in great grief—everything is snatched away from me.
The villagers too joined in. They ran as well. But the alleys were well-known to the fakir, and unknown to the rich man—it was an unfamiliar village. So the fakir made many rounds. At last he returned to that very bush near the tree, flung the pouch exactly where he had lifted it from, and stood behind the bush, in the dark.
The rich man arrived, panting, running, crying—I am robbed! I am ruined! O God, all is lost! He saw the pouch, picked it up, clutched it to his chest. In the rich man’s eyes, in that moment, there was a glimmer of bliss. The fakir stepped out and said, did you taste a little bliss? This too is a device to attain bliss.
The rich man said, great peace has come, great bliss! Never before have I been so happy.
But this pouch was with him earlier too. Yet he says: never before have I been so happy. He says: great peace has come. And the pouch was entirely with him even an hour earlier. What happened within this one hour?
Within this hour he had lost it. Until we lose that which we have, we cannot truly have it. Until we lose that which is within, we cannot recognize it. Perhaps that is why man has to lose himself—so that he may attain. We all have lost it. In the tale of the fakir and the rich man, we are at that point where the fakir has run off with the pouch. The fakir was kind—he flung the pouch back. Our mind too has run off with everything. Who knows whether it will fling it back or not. But it can fling it back. A little preparation we will have to show.
When did the fakir fling the pouch back? When the rich man had given up the courage to run. When the rich man was utterly exhausted, then the fakir dropped the pouch. If we too are utterly exhausted, our mind can drop the pouch. And then we can become available to that treasure which is Samadhi, which is truth, which is Paramatma. And the day we attain it, we will say: great bliss has descended. And along with it we will also say, it is a wonder—but whatever has been attained has always been mine! I had never known it.
Samadhi is the search for that which is already given to us. Samadhi is a re-membering, a remembering, a recollection of that which is ours. But this loss is also necessary.
What to do to bring Samadhi? Not much can be done. Only this much: make yourself receptive, a claimant, leave yourself open. And if truth should come—let it come; if Paramatma should come—let Him come. Do just this.
I have heard: one night a man sat in a hut, a small lamp burning, reading a scripture. After midnight he grew tired, blew out the lamp. And then he was astonished! As long as the lamp had been lit, the full moon outside remained standing without—did not come within. When the lamp went out, its tiny flickering flame vanished, the moonrays flooded in. Through door and window, through every crevice, the moon began to dance inside. The man was amazed! He said, a small lamp kept such a great moon standing outside?
We too have lit small lamps—of ego, of ‘I’—and because of them the moon of Paramatma remains standing outside. Samadhi means: blow and extinguish this lamp; let there be darkness. Erase this glow we have taken to be ‘I’, and instantly, from all sides, That comes—It comes from everywhere—That which our petty ego, our ‘I’, has been holding back.
Therefore I have told you three stages of Samadhi: darkness, aloneness, and disappearance. Let the lamp be snuffed; the light of Paramatma is received immediately.
The first stage: darkness.
If someone completes just the first stage, everything is fulfilled. If someone can be submerged utterly in darkness, he himself will dissolve—only darkness will remain. If the first stage be complete, all is done. But it does not happen completely—therefore the second must be taken up. If the second too be complete—if truly it becomes known to me that I am utterly alone—then That will be found which is alone forever. But that too does not happen; therefore the third step must be taken—‘I am gone.’ If I dissolve totally, then and there That is found, which has been sought. That joy which never came to me—because I myself was the cause of sorrow. I will not get joy—not as ‘I’. That light which I could never see—because I was the flickering lamp that blocked the great sun. That sound, that music which I never heard—let it be heard now. But the tune of the ‘I’ within is very strong, and in that tune we are absorbed. Within, we go on saying: I and I and I.
Kabir has said: Once I saw a goat, bleating ‘me-me-me-me’. Then that goat died. Someone made strings for a tanpura from its skin. And I passed that way. Upon that tanpura I heard such a song as I had never heard. I stopped the man and asked, where did you get this tanpura?
He said, did you not see—a goat here that went on bleating ‘me-me-me’? It is the same. The one who did ‘me-me’ has died. Now he has become the string of a tanpura. Now great music is arising.
But so long as the ‘me-me’ was arising, that music could not be born. That ‘me-me’ we too go on uttering within; hence we cannot become the veena of Paramatma, upon which that music may arise. But it can happen.
Kabir began to laugh: this is wonderful indeed—the living goat could not sing music, only went ‘me-me’; and the dead goat is producing music!
Kabir returned and said to his companions, would it not be good that we too die? Drop the ‘I-I’, die! I have just seen a miracle with my own eyes! A living goat never could sing; dead, it sings. So let us die too!
That is what I am saying: let us dissolve! Then music remains. The moment we dissolve, That remains.
We will take three steps into dissolving. In the first, for five minutes we will evoke a total sense of darkness. Take care—no one should be touching anyone; if someone is, move a little apart. No one should be touching anyone.
Close your eyes, let the body become loose. Let the body be loose, close the eyes. And see—only darkness, darkness everywhere… all around, only darkness… infinite darkness… in every direction, only darkness… feel it, see it, taste it—only darkness… everything is erased; only darkness remains… thick darkness on every side… experience this darkness for five minutes—only darkness… nothing perceived, nothing seen—only darkness.
And as the darkness grows dense, as it thickens, as only darkness remains, an uncanny peace will begin to descend from all sides. Into every pore, in every beat of the heart, in every breath—peace will settle.
See, experience—only darkness… only darkness… For five minutes simply look into darkness, and just by looking, the mind will become silent… Only darkness… only darkness… infinite darkness… on every side, darkness… only darkness… and the mind is becoming silent, the mind is becoming silent, the mind is becoming silent… the mind has become utterly silent… the mind is silent, the mind is silent, the mind is silent… only darkness… infinite darkness… all around—darkness… nothing but darkness… the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent…
Only darkness… nothing but darkness… and the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent… the mind has become silent—perfectly still, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent… only darkness… all around—darkness… infinite darkness… and the mind—the mind has become utterly silent; the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent. Learn to recognize this darkness well. The first stage of Samadhi: total darkness—nothing to see, nothing to think; darkness alone. And the mind is silent.
Now slowly open the eyes… As the peace is within, so it will be without. Slowly open the eyes… Outside too everything is quiet—slowly open the eyes… Then understand the second stage, and prepare for it.
The second stage of Samadhi: the sense of being alone.
Nothing is more beautiful than aloneness.
I have heard: in some land, at a poor gardener’s hut, many beautiful flowers had blossomed. News reached the emperor. He too was a lover of flowers. He said, I too will come. Tomorrow at sunrise, I will come to your garden to see the flowers.
The gardener said, you are welcome.
Next morning the emperor arrived. Ministers had said, friends had said, thousands of flowers have bloomed. But when the emperor came he was astonished—throughout the garden, on a single stalk there was but one flower!
The emperor asked the gardener, I had heard that many flowers had blossomed. Where are they all?
The gardener laughed and said, where can beauty be in a crowd! I have spared only one. For I have heard from the knowers that except for the One, beauty is nowhere.
Who knows whether the emperor understood or not; but surely that gardener was not only a gardener of flowers—he must also have been a gardener of men. Whatever is beautiful in life blooms, flowers, and becomes fragrant only in aloneness. Whatever is highest in life is born in aloneness. The crowd has given birth to nothing great—not a single song, not a single beauty, not a single truth, not a single Samadhi. No, nothing is born in the crowd. All that has ever been born was born in solitude, in aloneness.
But we never are alone. We are always surrounded by a crowd—either the crowd outside, or the crowd inside. We do not leave the crowd; not even for a moment are we alone. Hence whatever is essential in life is missed.
Only those can enter Samadhi who free themselves not only from the outer crowd but from the inner crowd as well, and remain simply alone—utterly alone, totally alone. Nothing else is—only I am alone, alone, alone. This is the truth too. We are born alone, we die alone, we are alone—but we create the illusion of crowd, that around there are many. Lost amid that crowd, we never come to know who we are.
So the second stage: the sense of being alone. For five minutes we will evoke aloneness.
Close your eyes; let the body be loose. Close your eyes; let the body be loose. For one minute evoke the sense of darkness: all around only darkness, infinite darkness—darkness, darkness, darkness. Nothing is seen, nothing appears—only darkness. Nothing at all is seen—but I am; darkness is, and I am. And I am utterly alone. There is no companion, no friend. I am alone—wholly alone. I am alone, I am alone. Let a single feeling settle into every breath, every pore of the body, every corner of the mind: I am alone, I am alone, I am alone. And as this feeling deepens, an uncanny peace will be born; within, all will become silent.
I am alone, I am alone. No companion, no friend. The path is empty, deserted. There is darkness—and I am alone, I am alone, I am alone… For five minutes, be absolutely alone… I am alone, I am alone, I am alone…
I am alone, I am alone, I am alone, I am alone, I am alone… I am alone, I am alone, I am alone… The mind has become utterly silent; the mind has become cool and silent… I am alone, I am alone, I am alone…
The mind has become silent, the mind has become utterly silent; the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent… I am alone… Dive, dive completely—there is darkness; I am alone, I am alone… No one—no one, no companion, no friend. I am alone… And as aloneness deepens, everything becomes silent…
The mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become utterly silent… The mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent… I am alone, I am alone, I am alone… I am alone, I am alone, I am alone, I am alone… And as you become alone, so you become silent… The breath has become quiet; every hair has become quiet; the mind is silent… I am alone, I am alone, I am alone… Look within—see how all has become silent, how all has become silent. Recognize well this aloneness—this is the second stage of Samadhi. Recognize well—what this being alone is, what the peace of aloneness is. I am alone, I am alone, I am alone… And the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent…
Now slowly open the eyes… As is the peace within, so is the peace without. And one who recognizes aloneness within, remains alone even amidst the crowd without. Look—open the eyes, look outside… so many people are around—and yet I am alone… Slowly open the eyes… See—so many people are around, yet I am alone.
Now understand the third experiment, and then do it.
The third experiment is: to die, to dissolve, to become a nothing.
Someone would go to Buddha and ask, where to find knowledge? Buddha would say, go to the cremation ground. The man would be startled! He would think, I must have misheard. He would ask again, I do not understand. I want bliss, I want truth. Where should I go? How should I find? Buddha would say, to the cremation ground. Then there would be no room for misunderstanding. He would think, perhaps he is joking. But Buddha would smile and say, I do not joke. Go—stay in the cremation ground for a month, two months, four months. He sent many bhikkhus to live there.
Consider: if you had to stay three or four months in a cremation ground—from morning to evening, evening to morning—let the sun rise there, let it set there; let night come there, day come there; dusk there, dawn there; darkness gather there, and light spread there. And all day people will come—people weeping; corpses will come; biers will arrive; bodies will be lifted to the fire, placed on the pyre; they will burn; and all day this will go on—and you will keep watching, watching. Is it possible that in a few days, at some moment, the thought will not arise: it is not another who burns—I am burning? There is just a little distance of time. He who burns today, I shall burn tomorrow. How difficult is it for such a thought not to arise in a cremation ground?
And to whom this thought arises—‘I too shall die’—a great transformation enters his life. Then he does not live as he lived before. And to whom it becomes clear ‘I shall certainly die’, to him it also becomes clear that that which will die must already be dead; otherwise how will it die? And to whom this thought comes that there must be something within me that will die, his search begins to find whether there is not also something that will not die. Perhaps there is; perhaps there is not—but one must find out. And how will this be known without dying? Only by dying will it be known whether anything remains or not.
So the deepest stage of Samadhi is the realization of dying—‘I am dead, I am finished.’ And the instant one sees oneself as dead, lying there, at that very moment the recognition also arises of That which is seeing. The one who is seeing himself dead—that is not the ‘I’; that is That which is. Or say it this way: that alone is my real ‘I’—that which sees, that which knows, that which, in the moment of dying, will also see: ‘I am dying’.
Socrates died. He was given poison. Having drunk it, he lay down. His friends wept around him; and Socrates said, do not weep—see, I am dying. But where had they time to see? Socrates said, see—up to my feet I have died; up to my knees I have died; now up to my knees I no longer feel the body. But listen—what a wonder: up to the knees I have died, yet I am as much as ever! Then Socrates said, up to the waist I have died; now up to the waist I do not feel anything. But hear the wonder: I am as much as I was! Then Socrates said, my hands too have grown inert; the hands have died, I cannot move them. But I am still! The one who moved the hands—he is still here! Then Socrates said, soon the heartbeat will also stop. Perhaps I will not remain to tell you that ‘I still am’. But when my feet died, I did not die; when my hands died, I did not die; when up to the waist all was finished, I did not die; and when my eyes no longer open, still I am; then perhaps when my heart too stops, even then I will be. Only, perhaps, I will not be left to say so.
In the deep realization of meditation, of Samadhi, such is the experience. It will seem: here is the body—dead. Here lies the body. The heartbeat is going on—far from me, miles away. The breath too is going on—but as though someone else were breathing. And here am I—seeing, knowing, witnessing. I am something else; and that which I had taken to be ‘I’—that I am not.
But the third experiment cannot be grasped merely by thought—it must be descended into. So now we will do the third experiment. Then in the fourth, we will gather all three together.
Close your eyes; let the body be loose. Close your eyes; let the body be loose. For one minute see: only darkness, darkness on every side. All around—only darkness… infinite darkness…. Then for one minute know: I am alone, I am alone, I am alone…. And now do the third experiment: I am dying. Feel it: I am dying. This body, this breath, this prana, this heartbeat—all this is going, all is going. I am dying, I am dying. I am dissolving, I am dying, I am dissolving, I am finishing… I am dead; I am not… I am erased; I am not… For five minutes, drown in this non-being… I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not… And as you sink, an uncanny peace will surround you from every side… I am not, I am not, I am not… I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not… And the mind has become utterly silent; the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent… I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not… The mind has become silent, the mind has become utterly silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent… The mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become utterly silent…
I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not… The mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent… I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not, I am absolutely not… The mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent, the mind has become silent… I am not—the One remains who is forever… I am not—the One remains who abides forever… I am not—the wave is lost; the ocean alone remains; the wave is lost; the ocean alone remains…
Recognize well this feeling—the third stage of Samadhi. Hold it well in your very prana… I am not, I am not, I am not… Only That remains—That which is, which is forever, which is in all…
Then slowly open the eyes… See… As always it has been seen: I was—such… Open the eyes, and look as if ‘I am not’; then from within That sees, which is appearing without. Slowly open the eyes… Look as if ‘I am not’; then That is within, and That is without—That is the seer, and That is the seen… Slowly open the eyes…
These are the three stages. Samadhi is the combined reflection, the total sum of all three. All at once—darkness, aloneness, and then disappearance. We will bring all three together. And when we bring them together, do it with totality; let go with a complete heart. Keep back nothing—let go, let go everything—so that only That remains which, even if we wished to drop it, cannot be dropped.
Close your eyes, let the body be loose, and prepare to enter Samadhi. Let the body be loose, close the eyes. If the body falls, let it fall—do not be concerned; if it bends, let it bend—do not be concerned; let it be loose, close the eyes.
First stage: only darkness, nothing but darkness—on every side only darkness… Let go—let yourself be in the dark… On every side only darkness, only darkness… The body will grow slack—let it… The body is relaxing, relaxing—let all relax… Only darkness, and all has become silent… The breath too will become slow and quiet—let it be… The breath too is becoming quiet…
I am alone, utterly alone—no companion, no friend… I am alone, I am alone…
And I too am dissolving—like a drop falling into the ocean and being lost. I too am being lost, I too am dissolving, I too am dying… All is ending—I am dying, I am dying, I am dissolving… I am not this body; I am not this breath; I am not this mind… All this is dissolving, all this is ending, all this is dying…
I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not… Let go—let yourself go completely—dissolve… I am not, I am not, I am not… And within, and within, and deeper within—let yourself go; keep no hold anywhere—be dissolved… I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not… All is silent, all is still; all is shunya…
In this very shunya, bliss awakens; in this very shunya, bliss rises. From every side it will surround you. Peace and bliss will begin to shower from every side… I am not, I am not—I am dissolved, I am finished… A strange peace, a wave of strange bliss will begin to race through you… I am not, I am not, I am not… Only That remains which is forever—That which was before me, and will be after me… I am not, I am not, I am not, I am not… The mind is silent, the life-breaths are silent, all is silent… On the lake of Atman not a ripple remains—everything is still… On the ocean of Atman not a single wave—everything is still… And recognize, see—what bliss within! Recognize—who is this within who knows, who sees? Who is this sakshi who is seeing himself dead? Who is it? Look within, further within, still further—who is it that knows? Who is it that is the knower? Who is it that is the seer? This is it—this is the truth. Atman is filled with bliss.
Now slowly take two or four deep breaths. Each breath will feel filled with bliss, with peace. Slowly take two or four deep breaths—slowly, two or four deep breaths. Each breath is filled with peace and bliss. Then slowly open the eyes. That which is within is also without.
Do this experiment at night as you go to sleep, and keep doing it until sleep comes. And do not think that because you have done it with me for two or four days, it is done—do it every night at the time of sleep. Slowly you will sink deeper and deeper. And you will not even know when you have become another man. When does a bud become a flower—who notices! When does a bird take wing into the sky—who notices! But when the wings spread into the sky, everything changes. One kind of life is to crawl on the earth; another is to fly in the free sky. And when the bud blossoms, there is no noise, no sound, none comes to know, no stir anywhere—yet fragrance spreads on every side. The flower, in its full blooming, becomes blessed; suffused with bliss, it is offered at the feet of the Lord. Slowly, do it every night before sleep; at any moment, at any time, the happening can happen.
And a note for tomorrow. For three nights we have meditated—we have understood what is to be done. Tomorrow we will do a fourth experiment altogether different. But tomorrow only those will come who have come these three days; do not bring any new friends. Tomorrow there will be an hour of pure silence—silent communication. Through words I say much, but what is worth saying cannot be said in words. For three days we have sat quietly here; tomorrow, for an hour, sit silently near me. I will not speak anything, and you will not speak anything. Yet I will speak—through that very silence! And you will hear—through that very silence! Just sit quietly, waiting to listen; become silent—as we do in meditation—just so, we will sit quietly for an hour tomorrow.
I will be present. If, suddenly, someone feels a pull to come near me, he may quietly come to me, sit near me for two minutes, then return to his place. But if someone else is coming, do not come because another is coming. If someone feels to come, let him come. And if someone feels to come, do not hesitate out of shyness—come.