Saravsar Upanishad #3

What is bondage? What is liberation? The answers to such questions begin now.

There are two ways, two possibilities, of recognizing, seeking, exploring life and existence. One method is analysis; and the other is synthesis. One road is of science, one of religion.

Science breaks things down to their ultimate unit — the atomic unit. By breaking, science gathers knowledge. It divides things into their final fragments. From that division the knowledge of science is born.

Religion’s process is exactly the reverse. Religion joins each unit to the ultimate Vast; the fragments to their fullness; the part to the Whole. And only when all is joined does religion come upon knowledge.

Understand it this way: there is a flower — you can take it apart. The scientist, if he goes to understand the flower, will dismantle it… into its chemicals, its elements — how much mineral, how much water, how many reagents — he will analyze by breaking, and he will be able to tell of what things the flower is a composite. But no poet will be satisfied with this; a lover of beauty will call such analysis a murder — because in the very act of breaking, the flower is destroyed; and what we have known is not the flower. What we got by dismantling may well be what a flower is built from, but the flower itself was something else. By cutting and labeling its organs we have learned what ingredients were joined to make the flower, but what the flower was — that we have not discovered at all; rather, in breaking it, the flower was lost.

So when the scientist dismembers the flower, labels the parts, seals them in bottles — then beauty will nowhere be seen; that beauty abided in the flower’s wholeness, in its totality. The beauty is not in its parts; it was in their togetherness.

Understand further: someone has written a song. We can break the song into its words. If we tell a linguist, “Understand this song,” he will take the words apart, set them out, explain how the song was made, by what combination of words, which grammatical rules came into play. But the song will be lost — for a song is not grammar. And, understood more deeply, a song is not merely the sum of words; it is something more — something plus. That “something more” is what gets lost.

Thus science arrives at the atom, knows the most subtle, recognizes the final fragment — but is deprived of the Whole; loses the Divine.

Religion says: when all join, and from that togetherness a new presence shines forth — that is the Lord, that is Ishvara.

These two approaches to knowledge are very different, even opposed — two paths of knowing.

By analysis we never cross beyond matter; we never can. No — there is no way. It is vain hope that science will one day declare God. A scientist may well say, “There seems a divine presence,” but the scientist’s statement is not science’s statement.

Einstein, at the time of death, began to feel some divine presence. But that is the statement of a scientist — not of science. It is just as if a scientist were to fall in love and say, “There is no woman more beautiful on this earth than this one.” That is not a scientific statement; it is a statement by a scientist. A scientist may look at a flower, be delighted, dance — but that dance is not the dance of science, it is the dance of the scientist.

Religious people, however, often imagine… if some scientist ever says, “Yes, there seems to be a sense of the Divine” — if an Eddington, or an Oliver Lodge, or an Einstein says so — the religious mind quickly starts thinking that science is now about to speak of God. A great mistake. These statements are personal and private; they have nothing to do with science itself.

Science will never be able to say anything of God, because the very method science employs leads to the fragment, and does not lead to the Whole. It is another matter that if one day science were to use the method of religion, it could speak of God — but then it would not be science; it would be religion.

The seer’s answer begins here.

“Atman itself is Ishvara, and Atman itself is Jiva.”

That within the human being which has the capacity to be aware — consciousness itself; that which is of the nature of Chit; that within us which knows — the knower, the seer; that which is the witness — the Upanishads call it “Atman.”

But this is an extraordinary statement. It says: “Atman is Ishvara.” There is no God other than this Atman. This is the method of synthesis. The Atman is within you; and “Paramatman” is the name of the entire existence.

You have the drop… If we ask the scientist, “What is the ocean?” the scientist will say: nothing but a sum of drops. And he is not wrong. If you were to divide the ocean, what would you get in your hands except drops? But surely — is the ocean only a sum of drops? In a drop no storms arise, no waves surge; the ocean is not simply a heap of drops — it is something more; more than the sum of drops. But science will say, “Where is that ocean? We can pull out all the drops — then no ocean remains.” They are, in their way, right.

Cut off my hand, my foot, separate my head, take apart all my limbs — what of me will remain behind? And yet I am more than a sum of hands and feet; and even if my foot is being cut off, I can remain steady in the knowing that I am not being cut. Even if my neck is severed, I can be so full of awareness that, as others are seeing a neck being cut, I too am seeing it being cut — you from the outside, I from the inside; both of us are the watchers. As you are spectators from without, so am I a spectator from within; this body which you see from the outside, I see from the inside.

Mansoor is being cut to pieces — and he laughs… Someone in the crowd asks, “Mansoor, are you not mad? You are being cut, and you laugh?” Mansoor says: “Earlier I was mad — and even a thorn pricked and I wept. Now I am not mad, because, just as you are seeing that the neck is being cut, I too am seeing that the neck is being cut — you from without, I from within; both of us are only seeing. As you are spectators, so am I a spectator; you see the body from the outside, I see it from within.”

If we ask the religious man, “What is the drop?” he says, “Ocean.” He says, “Ocean itself!”

The scientist reduces the ocean to the drop; the religious transforms the drop into the ocean. And this is a revolutionary difference; not a small one. Science links everything to its smallest part; religion links everything to its highest possibility.

This is no ordinary matter. It is not a mere play of words — whether drop is ocean or ocean is drop — what does it matter? It matters; because science analyzes, and then takes the lowest unit that comes into its grasp and declares, “This is the foundation of all life.” Cut a man and matter is what you get — bone, flesh — Atman does not come into your hands. Therefore science says, “There is nothing like Atman; there is only the sum of bone, flesh, marrow — only a sum; nothing more.”

Religion says: the superior cannot be explained by the inferior.

The reverse is possible… The ocean can explain the drop, but the drop cannot explain the ocean; the superior can explain the inferior, the inferior cannot explain the superior. There are reasons for this. If you understand this rightly, you will be able to understand the Upanishadic language.

A child cannot explain an old man, but an old man can explain a child — for the old man has been both: child and old. The child is only a child yet; he has not yet been old. From the ocean we can understand both the drop and the ocean; from the drop we cannot understand the ocean. From matter we can understand only the body and matter; from the Divine we can understand both. The Vast can encompass the small within itself, but the small cannot encompass the Vast. So the greater the conception of the Vast, the more we can understand all things through it; but through the conception of the small it is impossible to explain the Vast.

Understand it thus: science always keeps its attention on the first step, while religion keeps its attention on the last. Science is concerned with the first step; religion with the final goal — because religion says, if there is no goal, even the first step cannot be explained; without a goal, how will you even call it a first step? It is a first step only because a last step awaits in the future.

From the goal we can understand the first step; but if we take the first step as everything, then neither the goal can be explained nor, in truth, even the first step. From the end (sadhya) we can understand the means (sadhana); but from the means we cannot understand the end.

So the drop will not be able to explain the ocean, but the ocean will also take the drop into itself.

The seer says: “Atman itself is Ishvara, and Atman itself is Jiva.”

Three words are used: Ishvara — by Ishvara is meant purest consciousness — the pure Consciousness.

Then Atman. What is the difference between Atman and Ishvara?

The seer says: none at all. The difference is only that of ocean and drop. The drop is the ocean as well. Everything of the ocean is contained within it. Only one thing must be remembered: the ocean is not merely the sum of drops. When that supreme consciousness abides within the individual, it is called “Atman.”

The sun shines in the sky, and sunrays are filling your courtyard. There is no difference between the sunrays in the sky and those in your courtyard — and yet there is a limit to the rays that fall in your courtyard; the walls of your house enclose the light — limits arise.

Abiding within a boundary, Ishvara is called Atman. But truly, when sunrays shower into your courtyard, do the rays get bounded — or is the boundary only of your courtyard? Do your walls obstruct the sunrays? Can they bind the rays? The walls only confine your courtyard. But if the sunlight falling in your courtyard were to suffer the delusion: “I too am bound,” that delusion is called “Jiva.”

Within the limits of the body, the Paramount Consciousness is called Atman; but if that Atman falls into the illusion, “I am this body,” it is called Jiva. The difference is nothing at all — even if the sunray imagines, “I am bound within the courtyard,” it is not bound. A ray cannot be bound; unboundedness is its nature. Close your fist — the ray will not be caught; unboundedness is its nature — its freedom, its life. The limit is not upon it; the limit is of the courtyard. Yet delusion can arise. That delusion turns Atman into Jiva. When the delusion breaks, Atman is Ishvara. In such vast explanation religion strings the whole of life.

This chain of understanding, if rightly kept in the heart, is of great use to the seeker; because his journey too is from the courtyard — from the walls of the courtyard — from sunlight to the sun.

“Atman is Ishvara and appears as Jiva; and yet, in a body that is not the Atman, the Jiva comes to possess the ego-sense.”

By ego-sense is meant identification; that I am that which I am not. If the rays in the courtyard were to take the walls and the courtyard as their own being — such identity, such tadataamya, is ego-sense.

“For the ego-sense to arise is bondage, and for the ego-sense to fall away — that is liberation. That which generates this ego-sense is Avidya; that by which this ego-sense disappears is called Vidya.”

That which produces the ego-sense is Avidya: the method, the way, the process by which this ego-sense is manufactured is called “Avidya.” And the method, the path by which this ego-sense wanes, melts, scatters, is forgotten — that is called “Vidya.”

We all live in Avidya, for we do nothing but manufacture ego. Whether we earn money — we earn it to build the ego; or we gather knowledge — we gather it to stuff the ego; or we set out upon the long climb of positions, ascending step by step to capitals — then too, upon arriving at thrones, what do we do? You are not installed upon the throne — it is the ego that is installed; the crown is not placed upon your head — it is bound upon the head of your “I,” your ego.

Other than the ego, we acquire nothing. The entire process of our life amounts to: how can I become somebody? And how can I push other “I’s” behind and stand ahead? A hollow race! Yet it runs lifelong — from cradle to grave the same… the same race! The same race of jealousy, rivalry, competition.

What is jealousy? What is rivalry? What is competition? With whom is the struggle? And for what? There is only one basis: that I may not fall behind; I may not remain small; I may not remain poor and mean. Let there be a crown on my head too; garlands around my neck; let diamonds and jewels be studded in my ego; let me shine; let me not remain a nobody — let me become something!

From the smallest person to the greatest — the same race. And this race is so strange that sometimes it runs in reverse and yet its base remains the same. One person piles up wealth to reach the peak… the highest summit of wealth. Another kicks wealth aside, goes to the forest, practices austerity — and still the stiffness of the “I” may persist, and that man may now be collecting the coins of penance — and the stiffness remains: “There is no ascetic like me — where am I, and where is this whole world!”

The ego can even fill itself by seeking God. The ego may enter the talk of God just to say, “Not small coins in my fist — even God.”

If the process of acquiring ego is Avidya, then we are all living in Avidya. And what we call “Vidya,” our schools and universities — if the seer is understood — they are all “A-vidyalayas,” houses of Avidya; because there nothing is taught except how to stuff the ego. All education is an experiment in arousing the ego; an effort to raise ambition. The father says to the son, “Do not fall behind — come first in your class.” The father is unhappy if the boy lags; if the boy comes first, the father too feels as if he himself came first.

All must run — the same game. If this is Avidya, then our whole life is Avidya; we have no taste of Vidya at all. For the seer says: Vidya is the name of that process, that method, by which the “I” melts, is forgotten, does not take shape — and a moment comes when there is no ego, only Atman remains, only being remains. Call it religion, call that Vidya yoga, call it meditation, prayer, worship — any name; a thousand names have been given.

But the essence-thread of Vidya is one: the event must happen in which you remain, but your “I” does not; where consciousness remains, but there is no center within consciousness to proclaim “I.”

By any door, by any path, if I may lose myself. To lose does not mean to fall asleep; to lose does not mean to lapse into unconsciousness; to lose does not mean to forget oneself. To lose means: to remain utterly — awakened, full of awareness, with remembrance — and yet the “I” does not remain… only that remains which has no joining with “I.”

One morning someone laid his head at Buddha’s feet. A doubting person was also sitting nearby. He said to Buddha, “Do you not stop this man from touching your feet, because you have explained to us there is no need to go into anyone’s refuge — seek yourself. This man is going into your refuge — you do not stop him!”

Buddha said: “If I were, I would certainly stop him; if I were, surely I would stop him. And if I were, whether I stopped him or made his head bow — both would be the same. Whether I took his head and placed it at my feet, or whether I restrained him saying, ‘Do not touch my feet’ — both would be equal. But the one who would make his head bow, and the one who would stop his head — is no longer. As you saw that he bowed his head, so did I. A small mistake occurred. You saw that he bowed to me; I am wondering — to whom has he bowed down? To whom has he bowed? None is to be seen. To whom has he bowed?”

The moment which comes from any such door — the seer calls it “Vidya.”

This science of religion, I call it meditation. Whenever I say “meditation,” I am speaking of this Vidya. We all live in non-meditation. We live as if asleep. If you have ever seen someone under hypnosis, in trance — walking; or ever seen a person walking in sleep — a somnambulist… many people get up at night and walk.

Among you here too there will be many; at least seven out of a hundred can walk in sleep. At least seven! But they do not even know it, because they walk and return to bed. Eyes open, they walk. People have even committed murders walking in sleep, and in the morning they know nothing at all; they can only say, “Yes, I had some dream in which I killed someone.” People have committed thefts — and they were not at all culpable, because it all happened in sleep.

But this I am saying about a few who walk in sleep. If we look within carefully, we all walk in a little — or much — sleep. When you are doing something, where is your attention? Anywhere but there. You walk on the road — is your attention in walking? It is anywhere except in walking. When you are eating, is attention in eating? Anywhere except in eating. Yes, sometimes attention is on food — but only when you are not eating.

Where you are, attention is not. Then what is there where you are when attention is not? There is sleep. In that sleep all mischiefs happen. When you become angry — did you notice your attention was there? If attention were there, anger would be impossible. Attention and anger do not go together. If attention is, anger cannot be. For anger to be, sleep is necessary — intoxication is necessary.

That is why a man repents after anger; he says, “How did I do it? And why did I do it? What was the point?” The same man did it. And it is not that it happened for the first time; nor that he repents for the first time. Many times he has repented thus, and many times he has been angry thus. And every time he thought, “Why did I do it? What was the sense?” Then why did you do it if there was no sense?

He was not present. Only when anger is gone does he return home. He was not there when it happened. When he returns, he repents. But now repentance is of no use; now it has no meaning; now it has no point.

Some things cannot happen in attention. In fact, what the knowers have called sin — that alone is sin which cannot be done attentively. This is the definition of sin: what cannot be done with awareness is sin; and what can be done with awareness is virtue. Theft cannot happen attentively; murder cannot be committed attentively; anger cannot happen attentively. But compassion can be; love can be — attentively.

And whatever can happen attentively — all that is religion, and virtue.

That which cannot happen attentively, for which sleep is an essential ingredient, which can grow only in sleep — that is sin.

We do not live in attention. Even when we sit to meditate, sleep comes — there too! Rather, it comes even more strongly. Because we have no familiarity with it, no experience of it. The way we walk, sit, and stand — we are trained in those — they happen in sleep.

I said we do everything in sleep. I was reading the life of a man — he had a habit of stammering. A thousand devices were tried, the stammer would not leave. Psychologists psychoanalyzed him. Years passed; thousands of dollars were spent on treatment. He was the son of a wealthy man. No way out was found. Medicines went on — nothing; the stammer did not stop. Then a strange thing happened. In the village, a play was being performed, and the play needed a character who stammered. The actor who usually played that role fell ill; he could not come on stage. Someone gave the news: “In this village, So-and-so boy stammers with such skill — who else could stammer so well! Request him. The part is small, and he is present. Training someone else is difficult.” The stammering youth was brought — and the greatest of miracles happened: that night he could not stammer on stage. He tried hard — the stammer would not come. What happened?

I was in a village. A university youth came to me. He had acquired a strange habit — walking like a woman. Many methods had been tried — it would not go; at any time, suddenly on the road, he would find he was walking like a woman. There is no harm in walking like a woman — women do walk — but he had fallen into difficulty, and had become poor and mean in his own eyes.

In truth, the distribution of flesh and fat in women and men is different; women gather fat in places where men do not, hence a difference of gait naturally arises; it is a difference of fat.

But in his fat there was nothing to force him to walk like a woman, because sometimes he walked like a man. And sometimes — all at once — exactly like a woman. So he was in great trouble. I said to him: “Do one thing; now begin to walk like a woman knowingly.” He said, “What are you saying? I am plagued by this unknowingly, and you say to do it knowingly? I have tried day and night to stop it knowingly; whenever I slip, I start walking. You say — knowingly do it? Rise, and show me here by walking.” He tried hard; he could not do it. He said, “I do not know what happened today! Have you done some miracle?” I said, “Do not tell anyone this. My hand has nothing to do with it. You yourself are doing the miracle; you do not know the miracle.”

Some things cannot be done knowingly — not with awareness. Some things simply break in the presence of awareness.

Meditation is the method of Vidya. Ego too cannot be done with awareness. Try to do ego knowingly and you will come to know.

Gurdjieff used to play a game with his disciples. He would bring them into such a situation that they would have no idea they were getting filled with anger. He would say something, create such a situation that a certain disciple would be irritated, troubled, start shouting, abusing, become furious — and all was arranged, with everyone’s cooperation; it was a game — only the man himself did not know he was being played with.

And when he would reach his full storm, bind up his bundle and bedding, about to run away, cursing — at that very moment Gurdjieff would say: “Awareness! Bring awareness this instant — what are you doing!” And that man, all at once… everything within would drop; looking around he would start laughing; and he would say, “You have crossed the limit! So this was a game?”

He would try to provoke the ego — and when someone’s ego would flare up, he would shout at the exact moment: “Look inside right now — is there a ‘me’?” And the man who was exploding with ego would close his eyes, look within, fall silent… open his eyes and say, “No, I search within — there is nothing.” Then what was it that was creating such a storm?

From nothing, great storms arise. Tempests rise in teacups! From nothing, great storms arise.

Vidya is the experiment of how we may bring down the useless false shapes we have constructed within.

There are many methods of Vidya. We are experimenting here with some. Let me explain a little about the method for tonight, and a little for tomorrow’s experiments — then we will descend into the night’s meditation.

The method for the night, which we are about to do, has you gaze at me for thirty minutes — unblinking, without even a flutter; with eyes as open as you can keep them. Through the eyes you will relate to me. The eyes are the door. You have to bring your consciousness through the eyes to me; spread it to me. If it can spread this far, it can spread to the sky — do not worry too much about how far. If it reaches me, reaching the sky will not be difficult.

So for thirty minutes do not blink at all. You will say, “It is very difficult.” Not at all. You are not aware of it, but while sitting in a film you often do not blink for hours — that is why the eyes get tired. You are not conscious and the eyes do not blink — hence the fatigue. Whenever you look at anything intently, blinking stops.

There is no obstacle. The obstacle is mind-made; because as soon as the mind senses, “This is becoming dangerous — this is an opportunity for my Avidya to break — the whole net will fall if this one leap happens — finished!” — at once the mind will say, “The eyes are utterly tired; have you gone mad? Stop! Blink!” These are the mind’s tricks; be alert to them. No worry; tears will come — good; the eyes will be washed, the tears will be lightened. Do not worry. Thirty minutes — no blinking. That’s one.

The experiment will be standing! Do not blink at all; keep looking at me unbroken. Both hands must be kept raised towards the sky; because the whole effort is that the consciousness that is coming towards me may at any moment be set in motion toward the sky. So keep both hands lifted toward the sky. Look unblinking at me, keep dancing, keep jumping, and along with it, make a loud sound of “Hu… Hu… Hu…”

This “Hu” is being used like a mantra. The impact of this “Hu” strikes your inner energy — what is called Kundalini. When you say “Hu” strongly, you will notice that its blow reaches precisely your sex-center, precisely the Muladhara.

So — thirty minutes: eyes one-pointed on me, consciousness rushing towards me; the sound of “Hu” hammering your Kundalini; hands poised for the journey to the sky; and you, dancing — because in your dancing the blow will strike with intensity, and from within the energy will begin to rise, setting out upon the journey up the spine.

Meanwhile I will remain silent, but from time to time I will gesture with both hands, upward. When I make this upward gesture, you must put your whole strength into dancing, into the roar of “Hu,” into widening your eyes — you must become utterly mad. Whatever power is within you, pour it in and leap. When I take my hands completely up and hold them there — you must give your total strength. I will make such a gesture from down to up ten, twenty-five times to take you higher — at those moments do not be miserly; do not be stingy — put in your whole strength!

And when I feel… Remain seated for now — understand it fully… and when I feel that energy has begun to run in your spine, and your body has become a dancing flow of power — when I feel many have danced to the place where their supreme meeting with the power of the Divine could also happen — then I will invert my hands. When I invert my hands, you must search within and, if there is a little strength left, pour that too. And I will bring my hands downward. This will be a signal for you that, if at this moment you put in your absolute totality, then from above the power of the Divine can also descend into you.

And where these two meet, there is bliss; where these two meet, Vidya bears fruit. Where individual consciousness unites with the body, there Avidya happens; ego is born. And where individual consciousness unites with the Divine Consciousness, there Vidya flowers and the person attains the egoless state. Where consciousness fastens to the body, the Jiva is made; where consciousness meets the Divine, the Atman is realized. This is the experiment for the night.

Two or three notices more. Today… in today’s experiment I asked you for little strength so that you might become a bit accustomed; I kept the experiment a little lenient. From tomorrow the experiment will be deeper.

So from tomorrow the arrangement that will run throughout the camp, let me explain.

In the afternoon, we will do the experiment we did this morning — from four to five. Fifteen minutes of kirtan, fifteen minutes of dance, and thirty minutes of rest. From tomorrow morning we will begin a second experiment — ten minutes of intense breathing; ten minutes of dance, screaming, shouting, laughing — pouring out all energies of the body; ten minutes of the mantra “Hu” — as we will do at night; and then thirty minutes of rest.

This will be the morning experiment. What we did in the morning today will be done in the afternoon. And the experiment as we are doing at night will continue at night.