Tao Upanishad #112

Humanity has known two visions of life. One is of ego, and one is of egolessness.
The vision of ego is, in itself, a complete scripture. And so is the vision of egolessness, complete in itself. The ultimate attainment of the ego’s vision is hell — a dominion of sorrow and pain around oneself. And the ultimate attainment of egolessness is moksha — liberation, Satchidananda.

But the philosophy of ego promises to lead you to moksha, and it lures you in every way. Even on the door of ego it is written: ‘Heaven.’ The invitations of ego are deeply deceptive. They are like baited hooks: the fisherman puts flour paste on the hook — not to feed the fish, but to feed the hook. Without the flour, the hook will never reach the fish. Ego offers great temptations; it smears much flour over the hook of suffering. Lured by the paste, we swallow it. And then it is too late; you cannot spit it out. The hook has pierced; wounds have formed. And because of ego itself, even admitting that we erred becomes very difficult.

This is not only so in the profound matters of life; it happens in small things as well. While eating, if you put a hot potato in your mouth, you still will not spit it out. Your mouth burns, yet ego whispers: How can you spit this out in front of everyone? Let the mouth burn — you somehow gulp down the hot potato. It is not about potatoes; it is your entire outlook. What you have chosen — how can it be wrong? If you spit it out, you must accept you made a mistake. Do you ever accept mistakes elsewhere? So the mouth burns, and you keep a cheerful face.

There is a story: Mulla Nasruddin’s wife was angry with him. And when wives are angry they take revenge in some form. She prepared soup — so hot that when Mulla drank it he would burn. In conversation she forgot — forgot that she had made it like an enemy, to burn Mulla — and she herself started drinking. Her throat burned; tears ran from her eyes. But to say she had drunk such hot soup, to say it was made for Mulla, was difficult. If she admitted it, Mulla would refuse to drink. So the tears flowed, and she kept drinking. Mulla asked, What is the matter? Why are tears falling from your eyes? She said, I remembered my mother; she used to make soup just like this. That is why tears are flowing — nothing else.

Mulla tasted the soup. It was fire. Tears sprang to his eyes too, and still he drank on. The wife asked, What is the matter, Mulla? Why are there tears in your eyes? He said, Mine fall because your mother died — why did she leave you behind? If only she had taken you with her!

Every day, in the smallest acts, your fundamental life-vision appears. You cannot accept that you erred. Ego never accepts a mistake. For if you accept a mistake, it will not be long before you see that ego itself is the great mistake. Therefore ego denies and rejects errors; it will not accept them.

The greatest error of ego is that it sees pleasure at the beginning where pain awaits at the end. Wherever pleasure is visible at the start, know that in the end you will find suffering. Joy cannot be so cheap as to be available at the outset. Joy is the fragrance of the journey’s destination. It is not the first halt, not the gate; it is the end. Joy is attainment. Therefore wherever joy comes first, suffering will follow. And wherever sorrow appears in the beginning, if you have courage, you will find that from there the gates of supreme bliss open.

Only the one who can endure sorrow can attain joy. He who can bear suffering joyfully, on him supreme bliss will shower. But the one who says, I will not suffer; I want pleasure at the very first step — he will, lured by the dough, be caught in the hooks.

Thus the ego’s philosophy conjures the mirage of early pleasure; snares are everywhere. Once inside, returning becomes harder and harder.

Mulla Nasruddin’s son asked him, I feel I am falling in love with a girl. Do you think it is right for me to marry now? Mulla said, You are not yet mature; not yet fit for marriage. When you are mature, then ask me. The boy asked, And what is the sign of maturity? When will it be proven that I am mature? Nasruddin said, When you forget about marriage altogether — then you are mature. As long as the thought arises that you must marry, know that you are still childish, not fit for marriage. When you understand that marriage is futile, then you are mature. Then, if you still want to marry, tell me.

This seems a hard condition — but it is also life’s condition. As long as you are thirsty for pleasure, you are not mature, and you will be trapped in suffering. Everywhere sorrow wears the camouflage of joy. Otherwise who would choose sorrow? What fish would choose the hook? On the face of sorrow it reads ‘Sorrow,’ who would choose it? But everywhere sorrow is labeled ‘Joy’; the gates are adorned with ‘Welcome!’ and bands are playing.

And your ego is such that once you have crossed the threshold, returning becomes difficult because of your own ego. People will laugh: You went and came back! So you keep pushing ahead. For ego, turning back is very difficult. Thus you sink deeper into the world. You drop one misery and choose another; you go into thicker darkness. And if someone escapes from among you, you say: He is an escapist; look, he has fled. You do not let others escape either. If a house is on fire and someone goes out, you say: Escapist, deserter, coward — look, he is running away.

Not only do you prevent yourself, the crowd of egotists prevents others from leaving as well. Even if someone understands, you place every obstacle so he cannot go. Because his departure will prove that where you believed there was joy, there was illusion. His leaving will make you distrust your own feet. And one person’s escape will give courage to many: We too can leave. So you do not let even one escape.

Keep this maxim in mind: wherever you find pleasure in the first step, know it is deception. If joy were gained at the beginning, the whole world would already be happy. Joy is the final attainment, the reward, the extract of the whole journey of life. Joy is not itself an experience; it is the shadow of the maturity and awakening distilled from all experiences. Joy is the resonance of the awakened one. And awakening happens at the end, at the destination. How can you be awake at the first step?

Therefore, wherever there is pleasure, be alert. If you understand this stratagem of ego, much will clear. It is ego’s strategy. It has ensnared individuals, societies, nations, civilizations. Understand a few of ego’s strategic sutras and Lao Tzu becomes easy. Lao Tzu stands completely opposite to the ego’s strategy.

But in the world two men have been the greatest exponents of ego’s strategy: in the West, Machiavelli; in India, Chanakya. Their names differ, their minds are alike. Machiavelli says the greatest defense is to attack. Never give the enemy the chance to attack you — that is the beginning of defeat. Always you be the attacker; let the other be attacked. Once the other has attacked, half your defeat is sealed. Never allow the other the opportunity. Before anyone can strike, you strike — then victory is assured.

Why so? Because within ego is great fear. Ego is a house of sand. Either frighten the other, or the other will frighten you. If once you become afraid, it becomes hard to steady yourself. The house of ego has no assurance; inside you tremble. And if the other attacks and your trembling becomes visible, not only will you shake, others will see you shaking. Seeing yourself in their eyes, you will tremble more and fall. Better to attack first, to bring out the other’s trembling and fear, to make him panic. If he panics, he is defeated.

Fear hides within all egos — for ego is about to die. Ego is not real; it is like a rainbow, a momentary play. A fleeting conjunction: water droplets hang in the clouds and the sun’s rays pass through them at a certain angle — a moment’s coincidence. Soon the sun descends; the angle of rays and droplets breaks; the rainbow departs. Or the drops fall as rain; the clouds empty. Rays continue, but the rainbow is no more. Ego is like that rainbow — a conjunction, not truth. It is assembled by certain joinings; when the joints break, it is gone. Hence the ego is always afraid.

If the rainbow had consciousness, imagine its trembling — now gone, now gone — no trust of the next moment. Such is the state of ego. At a certain angle the body, mind, and Atman meet — ego is formed. Break the angle and the ego dissolves. In meditation we experiment exactly to break that angle. Once the angle breaks you awaken to find: you are not. There is something within you that you never recognized — the Divine is, you are not.

If the angle breaks, the rainbow of ego is dispersed; if the angle holds, it continues. Your entire effort is to hold the angle: that bank balance must not decrease; that market prestige must not fall. By any means you keep your repute intact. Even if the house within is hollow, you maintain your swagger outside. Even if you are bankrupt within, outwardly you walk like a prince. Somehow the angle must be held; a slight shake and it breaks. You hold it in every way, deceiving all. You deceive others, yes — but that is secondary. Primarily, you deceive yourself.

Ego is a coincidence; the soul is truth. Because of the coincidence you forget the soul. The rainbow is colorful; the sky is empty. The sky has no color, it is nirguna. Who looks at the sky? When the rainbow is there you raise your eyes to the sky. The rainbow is delicious — dreamlike and yet colorful. Ego too is dreamlike, and very colorful. The soul is solitary, void, formless; there is no color, no form, no definition — like the empty sky. So you protect the rainbow. You guard what is not, and forget what is. Eyes get fixed on the transient; the eternal is forsaken and forgotten.

Therefore, all supporters of ego — Chanakya, Machiavelli — say: attack first; otherwise your defeat begins. Frighten the other before he frightens you. Before anyone can make you tremble, make him tremble. Shake him so much that he is busy steadying himself and has no capacity left to shake you.

Lao Tzu is the exact opposite. The first sutra of his strategy: ‘I do not dare to be forward in attack; I prefer to be attacked. Better to retreat a foot than advance an inch.’

Which politician, diplomat, strategist will agree with Lao Tzu? But Buddha, Krishna, and Christ will agree. Lao Tzu is saying: in attacking, your ego will be strengthened; in being attacked, it may break. In attacking, you may break the other, but what is your gain? In being attacked, your own will break. What greater victory than the breaking of ego! To be shaken at the roots — nothing is more auspicious. In that shaking, perhaps your attention will shift from the rainbow to the sky of the soul.

One thing is certain: as you are, if you remain intact, you will never realize the Divine. You have to be shaken. Let a storm come and topple your house; let a gale come and uproot you; let a great tempest shatter your rainbow — only then perhaps you can awaken.

Lao Tzu says: do not attack; be attacked. If the other attacks — good; you do not attack. Because in the condition of being attacked you can awaken. In deep suffering you awaken. In pleasure you are filled with sleep. In pleasure you are hypnotized. Has anyone awakened while winning? When you are triumphing in the world, has the thought of sannyas ever arisen? When your house grows and wealth piles up, do you think of Buddha, Krishna, Christ? When everywhere there is pleasure — seems like pleasure — when victory is on all sides, when success smiles, do you remember the Divine?

You do not. There is no reason. You feel sufficient unto yourself. Who needs God? Everything is going so well that it never occurs that the boat you travel in is made of paper. When the voyage proceeds smoothly, how can the boat be paper!

Only as you drown do you discover the boat was paper. As you are erased, as you fall, you discover that what you took as support was no support. When attacked from every side, when your world is bankrupt, only then you recall that the things you trusted were not trustworthy; the supports were not supports but illusions; and what you called your own was not yours. People who were with you had other motives; in sorrow all leave. Love feels hollow. Behind attachments something else appears — greed, money — a thousand things, but not love. Only when you are totally stricken and fallen, and someone stands by you then, do you know there was love; otherwise not.

A Buddhist tale: a monk passed through a town. A courtesan saw him and was charmed. A sannyasi and a courtesan are opposite poles — and opposites attract. A courtesan is not attracted by ordinary worldly men; they are at her feet waiting to be called. She is attracted to the monk who walks as if he has not even seen her — absorbed in another dimension. She ran and stopped him. The monk stopped, but no breeze passed over his face, no glint of desire in his eyes. He stood as he was. The courtesan said, Will you accept my invitation to stay a night at my house? The monk said, I will come when there is need. The courtesan did not understand; she thought perhaps he had no need now. The monk spoke of something else. How can a monk and a courtesan share a language? Defeated, because this was the first man to refuse, she returned. But the memory remained a thorn all her life, a wound.

Age declined. How long does youth take to wane? As soon as the sun rises it starts setting. With youth, old age knocks. Soon the body wore out; the woman became leprous. Her body stank. Those who had rubbed their noses at her door, who lined up waiting, cast her out of town. Who cares for a foul-smelling woman? Beauty turned monstrous. The golden body became unwatchable, ghastly. At the sight one felt nausea. They threw her outside the village. On a new moon night, thirsty, she was dying, crying for water. A hand reached in the dark and gave her water. She asked, Who are you?

After twenty years, the monk said, I am the same monk. I told you — when the need would arise, I would come. I knew the need would soon come. How long can one consume the body? How long can one sell it? Today you are in need; I am here.

Then she understood: the need was not the monk’s need. The monk is the one who has no need. He said, Now you will be able to recognize who loves you. Those who gathered at your door had no concern with you; they loved themselves. They used you as a thing. They never gave your soul any respect. Love arises only when you respect someone’s soul.

But how can such love arise? You have not yet respected your own soul; how will you recognize another’s? Love is rare in this world — it happens when two souls recognize each other. Here, even recognizing one’s own soul is arduous; what chance that two souls recognize one another?

In success man never knows that a time of need will come. When all goes well, all strings tuned, each day you climb the steps of life — you do not realize there is decline too. Not only evolution, there is involution. Only then the circle completes. You rise and rise — not forever. From rising, falling begins. Suddenly one day you see the decline. You return to where you began. From zero to zero. Whoever recognizes this will prefer being attacked rather than attacking — for becoming zero is destiny.

This is true of the individual, and of nations. Individuals — a Buddha, a Lao Tzu — have sometimes chosen to be attacked rather than attack. Nations have not. Hence no nation is religious. People think India is religious — a mistaken notion. No nation has been religious yet. Only a few individuals have managed it with great difficulty; for a nation it is almost impossible. How will millions become religious? Nations remain political. Nations agree with Chanakya and Machiavelli, not with Lao Tzu. So in Delhi, where politicians live, we have named the quarter Chanakyapuri — whoever named it must have thought well. No other name came to mind. They are all little Chanakyas — not even great ones. But the path is the same: attack; annihilate the other.

Erasing the other gives an illusion — that I cannot be erased. Whenever you erase the other, you feel a delusion of being eternal: Look, I can erase — who can erase me? Hence the relish in attack.

But you will be erased. Napoleon, Alexander, Hitler — none survives. Then all your victories lie useless. You will be erased. In that moment, death does not care for your delusions; in death only the true remains. Death is the test. All false falls away.

Death equalizes Alexander with a common villager. Death makes beggar and emperor equal. Can you tell from a corpse whether it belonged to a beggar or an emperor? Dust unto dust — said Omar Khayyam. Dust falls into dust. The dust of rich and poor — where is the difference? The dead body does not reveal who was successful or failed. Death shatters all that you built like a dream.

Lao Tzu says: Better to be attacked than to attack.

If you master the art of being attacked, even the enemy will appear as a friend — for the one who destroys you grants you the realization of that which cannot be destroyed. Then you will thank the enemy too. As you are now, at death you will complain even of friends: as everything falls away you will feel all companionship was futile; the supports were false; we wasted time; earned nothing. But the one who consents to be attacked, who is willing to lose — and it is very difficult to be willing to lose, that is why religion is difficult — he attains that which can never be lost. The attacked one becomes the true victor. Such victors we have called Jina — Buddha, Mahavira — they conquered by losing.

‘The strategist’s sutra is: I do not dare to be forward in attack; I prefer to be attacked.’

To be erased is better than to erase. The more you erase others, the more your delusion strengthens. Let the whole world erase you; consent to being erased. Suddenly you will discover that something within remains that no one can erase. For the first time its remembrance will arise. When all that can be lost is lost, all that can be defeated is defeated, all that can be taken is taken — then, for the first time, the memory of the supreme treasure dawns that none can steal, none can erase. For the first time you turn from the rainbow to the sky.

Psychologists say: some people reached the last moment of death and were saved by chance. Their testimonies are unique. Once a man slipped in the Alps and fell — a dreadful gorge; certain death. But his head did not strike rock; he landed on soft grass and survived. Such people report: in the moment of dying they experienced supreme bliss. The little interval between falling and touching the grass — in that interval they knew the utmost joy of life. Thousands of such incidents exist. Someone was drowning; he had drowned, as far as he knew. People pulled him out, pressed the water out; he survived. Such people say: at first there was pain and panic — but soon it was certain: I am dying. They consented. Who could hear? The voice echoed, no answer. They consented. As soon as they consented, an immeasurable bliss descended — as if a curtain lifted and all sorrow vanished.

Psychologists say: this experience at death some few have had; Lao Tzu speaks of the same — be erased, be attacked. This is the essence of surrender: be erased. If you agree to erase yourself by your own hand — do not fight — Samadhi can happen this very moment. Not by striving to attain Samadhi — that too is struggle. Not by efforting for bliss — that too is battle. Agree — let life lead you. In the very agreeing, a death-like event happens; the ego dies. What remains is Satchidananda.

What has sometimes happened accidentally in mishap, Yoga, Tantra, Dharma have given a method and science. Hence Jesus says: unless you die, there is no rebirth. Unless you are erased, you cannot attain that which never erases. Therefore Krishna tells Arjuna: mam ekam sharanam vraja, sarva dharman parityajya — abandon all, come to my sole refuge. To Arjuna it feels like death. That is why he resists; the Gita is so long because he argues on every side. He does not want to surrender. To surrender means: I am erased. To surrender means: I no longer am; someone else’s will becomes my will. To surrender means: no place remains for ego.

Discipleship begins when one gathers the courage to die at someone’s feet. To say: what I was — is dead. I have no will now. Wherever you take me, however you take me, whatever you make me do, I will go. I am a shadow. I will not think; I drop all thinking.

This is death — and only in this death will you, for the first time, taste the immortal. Like white chalk stands out on a blackboard — it would not on a white wall. When your ego is dying, when the blackness of death gathers, in that darkness, for the first time, the white line of your immortality appears. Only by dying does one know the amrit; only by being erased does one know the eternal. When the transient dream breaks, the sun of the eternal rises.

Lao Tzu says: Prefer to be attacked. Do not run the ego; let it be brought down.

‘Better to retreat a foot than advance an inch.’
If Lao Tzu were heard, the earth could be filled with peace. But those whose coin circulates are Chanakya and Machiavelli. Lao Tzu’s coin does not run. Whosoever has allowed it to run has known supreme bliss. Step back. Lao Tzu has created a whole scripture of the non-ego strategy. He says: the one who steps back is worthy of honor. Our notion is inverted: we call the one who steps back a coward. These very notions have filled the world with wars. Why not say: the one who steps back is gentle? Much depends on valuations. Two men quarrel. The one who climbs on the other’s chest we garland; the one flat on the ground we do not even lift up. Why respect violence so? The one who stands on the chest is violent — like a wild beast.

Look at your wrestlers — they resemble wild animals. This is not the elegance of the body, nor health; they die of grave diseases. Gama died of tuberculosis. After forty, wrestlers falter; they have violated the body. Their swollen muscles are proof of violence against one’s own body. It is animality, not beauty. And the one who throws another down we call ‘Hind-Kesari’ — lion of India! It seems a mad world. Why respect violence? Why call the defeated a coward?

Change the values: call the defeated one humble — the whole order of life will change. Call the one who steps aside cultured; call the one who pushes ahead uncultured — life will take a new journey. Some day Lao Tzu will be heard. Because where Machiavelli and Chanakya have brought the world is no good place: wars, quarrels, throttling competition. The one who strangles the most becomes great; the one who climbs a stairway of heads to sit on the throne becomes a victor.

Your valuations are mad. Your politics is not politics but wrongdoing. The soft and humble have no place in your life-scripture. The storm comes; great trees fall fighting; the grass survives. Yet you have no respect for grass. You have not recognized the power of humility. You keep saying: better to break than to bend. Bending is suppleness; it is aliveness. The one who cannot bend is old; his bones are rigid, paralyzed.

When Lao Tzu is understood, those you honored you will call paralyzed; those garlanded as Hind-Kesari you will see as wild beasts — and the secret is already in the title: Kesari, the lion. Those you awarded Padma Bhushan or Mahavir Chakra — you will send for mental treatment. Those called Bharat Ratna — you will not wish to call them the very dust of India. A revolution of valuation happens.

Lao Tzu walks the path of humility. He says: step aside — that is grace. Give way.

‘Better to retreat a foot than advance an inch.’
Why? Because the forward march is the ego’s journey. Many have gone; none attained. Step back. Your mind will say: If I keep stepping back, the whole world will push me out. What harm? Where will you end? They will put you at the very end.

But what harm in being last? All who have known stood at the last. There is no quarrel there, no competition, no contention. When Buddha and Mahavira become beggars on the road, what is the reason? Is there more facility to find truth in being a beggar? No. They are withdrawing from competition. There was great contention; they step out. They consent to being a nobody; they refuse to become somebody by fighting. For even if you become — what have you become? By force — what have you become? They quietly step aside. They are not escapists. They have deep vision. They have seen: even if you gain by fighting, what do you gain? Where do you arrive? Those who reached the very front stand in great misery. They stepped back; dropped competition. They became town beggars. Where emperors were, they took a begging bowl — saying only: We are out of the race. Have mercy on us; we have left the field.

One name of Krishna I love dearly: Ranchhodas — the one who left the battlefield. No avatar anywhere has been given such a name. There are temples of Ranchhodasji.

Lao Tzu’s entire strategy is Ranchhodasji’s: drop the fight; step away. Wherever you find strife, slip out silently. Strife will destroy you — whether you win or lose. Strife will defeat you — whether you win or lose. If you win, you will discover you lost; if you lose, you will know you lost. Wherever there is strife, withdraw. Strife corrodes life’s energy. Strife puts rust on energy. Step away silently. As a man in the sun moves into the tree’s shade, so the wise one standing in the glare of competition moves into the shade of non-competition. There is supreme rest there. Only in that rest can you know yourself — for ego cannot survive there.

Ego lives on competition and ambition. Strife is its food; alone it cannot live. Alone it falls — it has no legs by itself. It moves by clashing with the other. Ego is like a bicycle: as long as you keep pedaling, it moves. Stop pedaling; on a slope it may roll a bit — then it falls. Ego is like that; you keep it moving.

From childhood the race begins: to stand first in class. The journey starts. Children become neurotic. To be first is a matter of honor. If not first, no respect at home. Sick parents push: be first — a training for the marketplace. If you loosen now and consent to stand behind, what will you do in life? There is a big fight. The poison is injected in the child — and for a lifetime it operates: money, house, position, prestige — competition everywhere. Someone must be thrown down.

Lao Tzu says: If someone comes to throw you down, do not trouble him — lie down yourself, flat on your back. Say to him: Sit on my chest, enjoy it as long as you want; when you are done, go.

You have stolen his very joy — for the joy was in making you fall, not in your lying down. If you do not fight, his joy is gone. He will say: Lie there; we shall find someone else. What use are you? No one will come to sit on your chest; where is the joy? You are already fallen. The joy is in defeating you — in your resistance. The stronger the opponent, the more the joy. Where is the taste in such an opponent? It gives no food to ego.

Hence Lao Tzu says: do not feed your own ego; do not let the other’s ego feed on you either — that too is sin. You entangle him in false rainbows; you are entangled and you entangle the other. Be defeated. Become sarvahara — a have-nothing.

The one who becomes have-nothing is the sannyasi. He has no enmity with anyone. Mahavira says: mitti me sabba bhuvesu; veram majjha na kenai — friendship with all beings; enmity with none. This can happen only when you learn the art of becoming have-nothing. This is the greatest art. The earth will become heaven the day this art spreads — when schools teach humility, not the pride of being first; when parents teach how to lose, not how to win; when honor belongs to the one who steps back, not to the one who pushes ahead.

An old Chinese tale: a foreigner arrived by boat. At the ghat he saw a crowd. Two men were quarrelling — both seemed to be Lao Tzu’s disciples. Great shouting, great abuse, fists raised — yet no one attacked. There was no wrath on their faces; they abused without anger. The foreigner was puzzled. He watched; then asked, What is this? So much heat — why don’t they break out? Why does the crowd watch? People said: The crowd is watching to see who attacks first; whoever attacks has lost — and the crowd will disperse. They are provoking each other to attack first. The one who attacks loses.

Someday such a world will be — where the attacker is considered defeated; then life will take a new path.

Lao Tzu says: ‘March without armies; keep the sleeves unrolled; do not hurt with direct blows; be armed without weapons.’

This is counsel not only for persons, but for nations. The weak man quickly rolls up his sleeves. In truth, the weak man is quick to anger. Anger is the sign of weakness. Anger means your intelligence has reached its limit; beyond this you agree to be a fool. Your understanding is lost; you agree to be mad. Anger is momentary madness. The difference between anger and insanity is of duration, not of kind. Anger is temporary insanity; insanity is permanent rage. The insane is aroused twenty-four hours; he has put understanding aside. You sometimes put it aside; later you pick it up and regret. But what you do in anger — only a madman does.

If you want to see yourself in anger, stand before a mirror and enact your angry expressions. Then you will know how beautiful you look when angry! Leaping, shouting, abusing, breaking things — watch yourself in the mirror. That is your anger. Anger shows you have not evolved; there is no capacity for consciousness. Anger shows you are not within; you are outside — anyone can shake you from the outside. A small thing and your balance is lost. It was never balance; you were somehow holding yourself together.

‘Keep the sleeves unrolled; march without armies; do not injure with direct blows; be armed without weapons.’

On Lao Tzu’s words an entire discipline was created — Judo. The discipline: never attack directly. The trainee of Judo, when he faces someone, does not attack; he receives the attack. The entire art is to absorb the blow — to receive it without retaliation or resistance in the body.

Suppose you punch me. The natural reflex is to set the hand against the punch so the hand absorbs the blow and protects the face. The hand becomes stiff; the bone rigid. We think the stiffer the hand, the better the protection.

Judo says: utterly wrong. Your hand does not break from the other’s energy; it breaks from your stiffness. The other hurls energy through the fist; your hand is rigid. The energy and your rigidity clash; the bone breaks because of your stiffness. You will tell people, He broke my bone. Judo says: you speak wrongly; you broke it yourself. If only you had kept the bone supple! A very fine shift: keep the hand as if the person is coming not to strike, but to embrace, to love.

You have become so distorted that even if someone embraces, you keep the bones rigid — who knows with what intention? Have you noticed, even in an embrace you remain guarded? You smile, but want to slip away. Bones remain stiff even in embrace. Hence love cannot enter you.

Judo says: when the blow comes, let your hand be soft. Then a great energetic event happens. The fist brings a certain measure of energy, of electricity. The attacker is unwise — willing to lose his energy. To punch you is to spend energy. Thus, after a few punches he will be tired — energy exhausted.

Judo says: when energy comes to you, be ready to drink, not to fight. The energy arriving at your hand — drink it, do not oppose; give space. Lao Tzu calls this the art of the feminine. As the woman drinks the man’s energy, drink this energy. Give room; stay soft. You will find the energy thrown at you becomes part of your body. There are now scientific means to verify this: the attacker’s energy does enter your body. Lao Tzu calls it defeating without striking, conquering without vanquishing. Let him strike.

But it takes ten to twenty years to learn Judo — our habits of fighting are ancient. When one has learned, you cannot defeat him. He will not defeat you — and you will be defeated. He will tire you. You will strike; he will drink your energy. In five to seven minutes you will be spent. Then a light push of his hand will be enough and you fall flat. Not even that is needed; if he is truly adept, he will tire you so that you collapse by yourself and beg him: Brother, go!

A very significant discipline — few as important as Judo, Jujutsu, Aikido — arts born in Japan and China, wondrous arts.

You have seen: a drunk falls on the road yet is unhurt. He falls softly. He does not know he is falling — how will he stiffen? You fall; twenty-five bones will break. A drunk lies all night, falls many times; in the morning you see him fresh, going to his office. He is fine. You think he should be in the hospital.

The drunk knows Judo without knowing; he is not in his senses, so when he falls, he simply falls — no fight. When there is no fight, there is no quarrel between him and the earth. When there is no quarrel, he falls as if into the mother’s lap. So bones do not break.

Small children too fall all day and nothing happens. At Harvard they tried an experiment: a wrestler followed a child for eight hours, doing what the child did — to see the child’s energy. After six hours the wrestler quit, pleading — though much money was promised. The child became more joyous, seeing someone imitate him; he jumped and the wrestler jumped; he fell and the wrestler fell. The child was not tired after eight hours; usually he would nap, but not that day. He wore the wrestler out. The child’s art? He only falls — he does not get hurt. As he grows older, he starts getting hurt. As ego forms, defense begins.

If you defend, you will be in trouble. Lao Tzu says: do not defend. This is called being armed without weapons. Accept the whole world.

Now the deeper point. This was outer. The deeper aspect: treat the inner enemies the same way. Lust, anger, greed — do not fight them; otherwise you will lose. Do not fall into duality; else you will be destroyed. With anger also, step back. Say to anger: All right, come. Let anger sit on your chest; lie flat; say: Sit. Do not fight anger. If you fight, anger will win and you will lose. Swear oaths, repent — nothing will change. Anger is your energy; fighting it is to split yourself into two. You will fight from anger’s side and also from the side of anger’s opposition.

It is madness — watering a tree while cutting its branches. You are on both sides. If you make your right and left hands fight, who wins? If you want to fool yourself, place the right over the left and think you have won; in a moment you can reverse. This is what you do — lifetimes you fight anger. Who is there to fight? Your own energy.

Do not fight. Drink the energy back. Anger means energy has started moving outward — for destruction. Be still. Say to anger: We have no quarrel. You be; you remain. Let the smoke of anger rise around you; let it gather. Do nothing. Sit silently within. Do not fight. You will find anger slowly assimilated, sinking back. It was your wave — as a wave rises in the ocean and subsides. When you learn this art — anger subsides back into you — you will find how much energy you have! You become wealthy with infinite energy.

Sexual desire arises — just watch. Do not indulge; do not fight. If you indulge, you lose; if you fight, you lose. If choosing only between fighting and indulging, then indulging is better — at least some use occurs, while in fighting none.

Therefore, if you ask me: between a monk in the Himalayas and a householder in the marketplace, I choose the householder — better. At least his energy is being used; the monk is only fighting his energy. The fighter will be in greater trouble ultimately. Fighting never brings understanding. Through indulgence, sometimes understanding dawns; through renunciation, never.

That is why God creates the bhogi (enjoyer), not the tyagi (renouncer). Renouncers make themselves. God’s understanding is clear: He creates enjoyers because He knows that out of enjoyment, some day, Yoga will be born. Passing through enjoyment, understanding matures; Yoga ripens. Therefore God creates the world; passing through the world is inevitable. If you start fighting sexual energy, you fight yourself; slowly you go insane.

It happened that in old age Mulla Nasruddin was made the village qazi, the judge. The first case came — a husband and wife quarrel. The husband’s ear was bleeding; he said the wife had bitten it off. The wife denied. Nasruddin said, This is intricate; there is no witness — they were alone at night. The wife says: He cut his own ear. The court agreed this is impossible — who cuts his own ear? But Nasruddin is not easily convinced. He asked for an hour, locked himself in the next room and tried to cut his ear — jumping, falling, bumping his head — everywhere bruised and bleeding, but he could not cut his ear. Exhausted, he lay on his back and thought: this requires great skill; practice. Several times I almost reached the ear, but missed. It is some yogic feat — cannot be solved quickly. But one clue appeared.

He came out; the court was shocked — clothes torn, bleeding. What happened? He said: First I tried to see whether the man was lying or the wife. Now check the man’s body — if he has wounds, he cut it himself. Look at me! In trying to cut, I got into this state. They examined the man; no wounds. Nasruddin said, This shows the man is very skillful — a practiced hatha-yogi. To cut one’s own ear is no small matter.

All hatha-yogis are trying to cut their own ear. Leap and twist as you will, you will not cut your ear. You cannot cut yourself; there is no ‘other’ there. Fight lust and anger — you will never win; you will always find lust and anger riding your mind. What you fight, follows you.

Lao Tzu says: assimilate.

So, if you must choose between indulgence and renunciation, I stand with indulgence. But if you can choose between indulgence and Yoga, I stand with Yoga — for Yoga is transcendence. It is going beyond, through the very experience of indulgence.

Try this: when anger arises, close the doors, sit quietly, let anger arise. Do not express it on anyone; do not repress it by fighting. Let it arise; give it full freedom to be. Great thoughts will surge — to kill someone. Let waves rise; do not worry; stay a witness. How long can it last? Soon you will see the waves are gone; all is quiet. The energy has fallen back to its source.

So too, sexual energy falls back to its source. The one adept in this art has such energy that calculation fails.

Mahavira has said: infinite virya — infinite potency. Such a person is filled with boundless energy.

Only with such wings of energy can you fly toward the Divine. Neither your renouncer flies — he is dying fighting — nor your enjoyer flies — he is broken in enjoyment. The journey is different from both. Attain Yoga within enjoyment. My definition of sannyas is: wherever you are, assimilate your energy, do not waste it. Neither fight nor fling it away. Let it be absorbed.

So when anger comes, do not move forward to fight; move back. When the lightning of anger flashes, do not set up a struggle; sit silently. Let it flash — it is your energy. Soon you will see — as I said: the weak gets angry; the powerful becomes compassionate — let me say this to you — when there is great power, anger does not arise; only compassion arises. Anger is the sign of poverty of power; compassion is the symptom of great power. When power deepens, only compassion is born.

Anger and compassion are one energy, differing in degree. Lust is the sign of small power; love is the sign of great power. When power is vast it becomes love; when it is petty, dripping drop by drop, it becomes lust. It is the same energy. When little, it becomes ego; when immense, it becomes God. When you are small and fragmentary, you have boundaries; when you overflow and break all banks, you become vast.

Assimilate energy; do not let it leak through holes. And do not fight. How long can anger last — have you noticed? How long sorrow? How long your joy? All are momentary. If you can wait a little, they come and go by themselves. You unnecessarily come in between. Step aside. Morning comes, evening comes — so sorrow and joy. Rains and summer — so anger and compassion. Spring and fall — so are the seasons of your mind. Do not hurry. All comes and goes by itself. There is no need for you to interfere. Learn to stand a little aside. A small distance — and a great revolution happens.

So for within, the same strategy.

‘There is no greater calamity than underrating the enemy’s strength. To devalue the enemy’s power can destroy my treasure. Therefore, when two armies of equal force face each other, the benevolent one, the one that bends, wins, becomes the victor.’

In outer war, never underestimate the enemy. That becomes your defeat. Consider the enemy stronger than yourself; only then you will be alert and prepared. The one who underestimates the enemy has set out on the road to defeat.

But ego does the opposite: it overvalues its own power; it always undervalues the other’s. Ego inflates itself and shrinks the other. Hence the ego is repeatedly defeated and suffers. Humility always considers the other great and oneself small. Therefore, if an egotist and a humble man clash, the egotist must lose — not because the humble defeats him, but because his ego defeats him.

I have heard: a politician was caught by a cannibal tribe in a forest. The chief of the tribe had been to the capital sometimes for national celebrations. The tribe was eager to make mince-meat of the politician and eat — they were hungry; it had been long since a man came. But the chief praised the politician: You are a great leader, the wisest in the world; you should be prime minister — people are ignorant and have not recognized you. The tribe grew impatient. One whispered: Why this nonsense? We are hungry — let us cook him. The chief said: Wait. He is a politician. First let me inflate him — he will grow bigger; then all our stomachs will be full.

Inflate the ego and it swells like a rubber balloon, unaware that the bigger it becomes, the closer it is to bursting. Ego collapses by itself; no one need break it. It is suicidal.

Lao Tzu says: there is no greater calamity than underestimating the enemy’s power — it can ruin your life’s treasure. Therefore, when two equal forces face each other, the one who is kind, who bends, who is humble — wins.

In humility is great safety; in ego, great danger. Humility cannot be broken; ego is breaking by itself — even without your help. Ego is poison; humility is amrit.

This is true of outer enemies and inner ones. Do not underestimate anger; you will be in trouble. Many have and suffered. Do not underestimate sex. Those who did are entangled. Sex is a great energy; nature’s whole current is hidden in it. It is the life-stream of existence. Do not think small of it. The world is full of small remedies. They abound.

A sannyasi came to me and stayed some days. I told him: Everything else is fine, but do not wear wooden sandals in the house — their clatter all day! He said: I must; otherwise my Brahmacharya will be broken. I said: What madness! What has Brahmacharya to do with wooden sandals? He said: You should know — my guru taught me, and it is an ancient Indian belief — between the big toe and the next toe there is a nerve; by holding the wooden peg there, pressure falls on that nerve and a man remains celibate. How small you think of Brahmacharya and sex! I asked: Have you attained Brahmacharya? He said: Not yet — that is why I cannot leave the sandals. This is the inner logic: not yet. How long have you worn them? Eight years. In eight years Brahmacharya has not come; your toe is tired; the nerve must be numb. If you want sterilization, better go to the hospital — why carry the sandal nuisance?

Do not think small of power; otherwise your measures will be petty while what you seek is vast. Many do such small things. I know a yogi who, on entering, first asks: Did a woman sit here? Why? He says: For ten minutes the feminine vibrations remain; they disturb Brahmacharya.

This is madness. A woman sat and he is afraid to sit there — and the whole earth is feminine. Wherever you sit, there is the Mother — we call the earth ‘Mother.’ How will you escape woman? You were born from a woman. Half your body is woman. A child’s body is half gift of the father, half of the mother. Every cell bears woman and man. You fear the chair where a woman sat, and you carry half a woman within. Go to the Himalayas — she will go with you. Every cell is born of the union of woman and man. If you are so afraid that even the trace of a woman disturbs you, you will not survive — women are everywhere, their waves everywhere; they are slightly more in number than men. Where will you go?

You have underestimated the enemy, thus your remedies are petty. You are trying to empty the ocean with spoons — it will never empty.

Do not underestimate inner powers. Anger is vast — hence, despite lifelong attempts, it does not vanish. Every day you resolve — and when it comes, you forget. When anger comes, all decisions turn to dust. When it passes, you are again wise and repent: I erred today; never again. You do not see how many times you have said ‘never again.’ When lust seizes you, you go mad. When it is gone, you remember Brahmacharya. You decide: This was the last time. Do you ask yourself how many ‘last times’ you have declared? After so many defeats, shamelessly you say again: Now it is the last. No shame. You do not see how often you have lost. With what face do you decide again? At least close this mouth; stop these decisions.

An old man in Calcutta told me — an unusual man. He said: I took the vow of Brahmacharya four times in life. A foolish gentleman beside him was impressed. I said: Do not be impressed; first ask — does Brahmacharya require four vows? What happened to the first? To the second? To the third? Why are you impressed with ‘four’? I asked the old man: Why not the fifth time? He said: I was so defeated that I had no courage left.

He was honest: No courage left. Four times is enough. If there is to be defeat again and again, with what face take another vow?

Do not think power small. All powers are vast — they come from God. However small the wave looks, beneath is the ocean. Anger is His; sex is His. Do not think small. Sandals will not help.

The day you see that all is His, and all is vast — that day you will not raise a fight. With the vast, what to fight? You become the witness. As soon as a person becomes a witness within — steps aside, does not fight, simply watches — whatever play of the Vast is going on, he observes it without judgment: neither calls this bad nor that good; neither sides with Brahmacharya nor with sex. Watching: what is this play? Lust arises — if you join it, the witnessing is lost and you indulge; if you fight, you take a vow of Brahmacharya. But if you only watch, neither doer this side nor that, neither for nor against — you arrive at a unique secret: the same sexual energy returns into you. It arose from you; the circle completes. You make no use of it — neither in fighting nor in indulging. No use. It returns by itself. And when it returns, such sweetness fills you, such melody arises, such deep peace — utterly unfamiliar. A music begins within when your energy, unspent in the world, returns dancing into you.

That union is Yoga. Where the energy arose, there it returns — that is Yoga. That is the supreme communion — you have enjoyed yourself in yourself. One has enjoyed one. No other is needed; you have tasted your own flavor. That flavor is so great that all tastes turn bland; that dance is so unique. When energy returns dancing into you, without becoming worldly, without becoming an enjoyer or a renouncer, when it returns dancing, you become a temple.

What happens in that moment is called Samadhi.

Enough for today.