My beloved Atman! Before setting out upon the inner journey it is necessary to become a little familiar with the path that must be walked. It is necessary to understand the doors that will have to be knocked upon. It is necessary to understand the locks that will have to be opened. The traveler who sets out without knowing the way is more likely to go astray than to arrive. Outer roads are at least visible; no inner road is visible at all. Outside there are signposts along the way announcing where the roads lead; on the inner path there are no signs, no milestones, no symbols—uncharted! No map! Perhaps that is why a person wanders far more within than without. In today’s talk it is right to recognize a few essential features of the inner way. First, understand this: the body we see is only the uppermost portion of many bodies. Inside this body there are other bodies. This is not the only body. And as soon as we begin the inner journey, one has to pass between and through these bodies. Before reaching oneself, between this body and oneself there are more bodies. Immediately behind this body—the visible body, the annamay body, the physical body—stands the prana body, the etheric body. A few things must be known about this prana body, because it has to be crossed. To cross anything without understanding it can mislead, can be dangerous, can cause harm. Right behind this body is the body of electricity, which we have so far called the prana body. It is only because of its connection that we are related to this gross body. Even when this body falls, that body remains. After death too it remains for a few hours. It longs to reconnect with this body. Those cultures that rightly recognized this prana body burn their dead quickly; they do not preserve them. Behind cremation there are deep insights regarding the prana body. As soon as the gross body burns, the prana body’s attraction to it ends. Otherwise the prana body, carrying the soul, will hover and wander around the corpse. The possibility of wandering is great. This prana body behind the gross body is very wondrous. Long before anything was known about electricity, seekers had discovered the electrical nature of this body. That is why for thousands of years the seeker has used a wooden plank, or a tiger skin, or deer skin. While passing near the prana body, if there is a possibility of electricity leaking out of the gross body, harm can occur—even death. This was noticed long ago. It was also seen that this electrical body is the true basis of the difference between man and woman. The distinctions we see in the outer body are secondary; the real difference lies in the prana body of male and female. The male prana body is positive; the female prana body is negative. The electricity of the male body is affirmative; that of the female body is negative. And this is the reason for the attraction between them. But as soon as one begins to enter meditation, the attraction, the intensity, the electricity of the prana body gradually diminishes and starts turning inward. The day the current of the prana body ceases to flow toward the annamay body and begins to flow toward the inner bodies, in that very moment the person is no longer a man or a woman. The question of being male or female falls from the mind. Buddha was practicing near a mountain for some days. It was night, a full-moon night. Some people came from the town, bringing a courtesan into the forest—for pleasure, for festivity, for revelry. Drunk, they began to dance. In their intoxication they even snatched away all her clothes. Seeing them so lost, that naked woman fled. When their senses returned a little, they were shocked and went searching for her. No one was on the path. In that forest there was no one except Buddha, seated in meditation beneath a tree. They shook Buddha and said, Monk, surely you must have seen a woman run past here, there are footprints on the path. She was naked, a prostitute. Can you tell us where she went? Which direction? Buddha said, surely someone fled past, but whether it was a woman or a man, that is difficult for me to say. If you had come ten years earlier, I could have told you. Since the male within me has waned, then unless I deliberately think of the outward woman, she does not appear to me—not of herself. Whether she had clothes or not, that too I do not know. Since I no longer even notice whether there are clothes on my own body, the question of clothes on another’s body has also disappeared. Buddha said, we see outside only that which we are within. But I ask you, friends, why are you seeking her? Would it not be better—on this quiet, full-moon night—that you seek yourselves? Who knows whether they heard or not. It is said, people are always being told—seek yourself! Who listens? We all keep running in search of someone else. And if we look very closely, this search for the other is the search of our prana body. The prana body is incomplete—either positive or negative. It seeks the other body with which it might become whole. It is half—and searches for its other half. Hence the search for the other continues. This electric body within us is joined to the gross body at seven places. There are seven contact fields, points of connection. Those points are called chakras. At seven locations the electric body touches, contacts this gross body. Through those seven doors the gross body receives energy, prana, life. A few things about these seven chakras must also be understood. For as soon as one begins to enter meditation, as soon as the inner journey begins, one has to pass by these seven chakras too. Knowingly or unknowingly one passes near them. Each person’s experience will be a little different, because in each person different chakras are ordinarily active. It is also necessary to understand these chakras because it helps greatly in understanding your own personality. You will be able to see what kind of person you are—your type. Through that understanding, entry within becomes much easier. For when we know what kind of person we are, we know where we stand. And the journey must begin from where we stand. If a man does not even know where he is, how will he travel? It is not enough to know where to go; even more necessary is to know where we are—because from where we are we shall move toward where we must arrive. These seven chakras are a most wondrous phenomenon. In the human body nothing is more mysterious than these seven chakras. They will not be found by cutting and probing the gross body. If you ask a physiologist he will say, what chakras? Where are chakras? There are none in the body. They are not in this gross body. Chakras mean this: the second, inner prana body touches this gross body at seven places. Through those seven doors the gross body receives energy and prana. The first chakra is at the base of the spine, in the tailbone—the very last part. It is a most wondrous chakra, about which we shall know something. The very first chakra is there, and the last chakra is above the head. Between them are five more chakras. The second chakra is near the genitals, near the sex organ. That chakra stirs and influences Kama, sex. All over the world, as soon as man had a little awareness, he tried to cover his genitals. For if another person can fix his gaze upon these chakras, he can influence them. Hence one felt no difficulty in leaving all other parts of the body uncovered, but the place of the most important chakra was felt to be imperative to cover—whether with leaves, or with clothes, or by any means. This second chakra, which we may call the sex center, the Kama chakra, is the most active within man. Nature needs it most. Through this chakra the body reproduces itself. Through it a person is filled with intensity and urgency to give birth to new bodies. The entire process of procreation is driven by this chakra. And in the life of the person who is under the sway of this chakra, or whose sex chakra is most active, nothing happens except sex and lust. He may earn wealth, he may gain fame, he may reach high positions, but wealth, fame and position will fundamentally be means to gratify his lust. The goal of his life will center there. I was reading the life of Anatole France, a great novelist, a great writer. At the end of his life a friend asked, what was most important in your life? Anatole France said, what I never told anyone I will tell you: the most important thing in my life was sexual desire—sex. The friend was astonished: You, such a great novelist, such a great writer! We thought literature and art and music would be important in your life. He said, those were secondary—mere pretexts. If we wish to inquire into our personality, the first inquiry should be: what is the center of our personality? Where do we live? And whatever the center of our personality is, it will indicate which chakra in us is most active and important. Also remember: the chakra that is important will become our lens for seeing, knowing, understanding the whole of life. We will not be able to understand anything else. There are the sculptures of Khajuraho. A great painter from America came to see them. A friend of mine was then Education Minister in Vindhya Pradesh. The central government instructed him to show the American painter the sculptures of Khajuraho. My friend was very frightened—so many naked images, so obscene. The American painter would be shocked, and what would he think of India’s culture—that in temples such obscene figures are carved, such erotic scenes sculpted! He was very nervous. But there was no choice; the instruction had come from above. So my friend took the American painter to Khajuraho. Trembling with fear he showed all the sculptures, afraid he might ask: Are these images your Indian culture? These are your temples? You call yourselves religious! But the painter became so absorbed in the sculptures that he said nothing. My friend kept telling him again and again that these are not symbols of our Indian tradition, not of our mainstream; some mistaken people, under some wrong influence, built these temples. When they came out the painter said, thank you very much. But my friend still had the same anxiety. He said, please do not go back to America and say that India has such obscene temples. The man said, obscene? What are you saying? I must go back again to see! I have never seen such beautiful sculptures, such majestic images. Come back with me—since you say they were obscene, I must look again. For what I just saw were the most majestic sculptures I have ever seen. We see only what we can see; we do not see what is. We see what we can see. All our vision is a projection. Whatever is within us is what appears outside us. To a lustful man the whole world will appear full of sex. To one who has attained God, the whole world will appear full of God. To an angry man everyone will seem angry. To a loving person the whole world will seem stirred with love. We see what we are. This whole world is a projection of our within. The world is a screen upon which we see reflected what is hidden in us. So if someone sees sex everywhere, he should know that in his private personality the sex center is the most active. And so it is—because nature needs it. Nature needs none of your other centers as much as it needs the sex center; only through it can new bodies be born. In animals only that one center is active—no other. In most people too, only that center is active. But other centers can be awakened. And remember, as long as only the sex center is active, there is no fundamental difference between us and animals. Potentially there is a difference—our other centers can be awakened—but they are not. Ordinarily man lives there. Look at his literature—ninety-nine percent revolves around sex. It is astonishing! Look at paintings; look at sculpture; look at films; poems—whatever you look at, you will find: why does ninety-nine percent revolve around sex? There must be something to it. The sex center is the single active center. And remember, in the discipline of Brahmacharya there is a method to render this sex center inactive. When it is inactive, lust vanishes from one’s life as if it never existed—like pressing a button and the electricity disappears. The contact—the connection—through which it flowed is broken. The discipline of Brahmacharya does not mean sitting with eyes closed; its basic scientific meaning is: the sex center becomes inactive. There are methods, techniques, ways. Centuries ago it was possible to keep a youth in the discipline of Brahmacharya for twenty-five years. Not because he could not see films; not because women were invisible, or men to women; not because he sat on oaths. None of these. Behind it was a scientific process: that center can be rendered inactive. When it is, sex vanishes; not a trace remains—until the center becomes active again. In three out of a hundred people the center is inactive from birth. Such people cannot understand why others are so mad, so possessed. It is beyond their understanding and imagination. In small children the sex center is inactive; slowly it begins to stir; by around fourteen it gains momentum. Before that they have no sense of what is happening. Only when the center becomes active is there awareness of it. If the center is not active, there cannot be awareness. Be very clear in your mind: Is my center overactive? If overactive, then before and after meditation keep repeating within that this center should become less active. Before and after meditation, take your attention inward to that center and give it the suggestion that it relax its activity. Within a few days a fundamental difference will begin to show. After that, the next center is the navel center. The navel is the center of fear. Just as the genital center is the center of sex, the navel is the center of fear. Perhaps you have noticed that whenever you are afraid, the navel unsettles and is disturbed. If you are driving and suddenly an accident occurs, the shock to your body will land on the navel—not elsewhere. If a man suddenly charges at your chest with a knife, the major jolt will be felt at the navel. The navel is the fear center. That is why, in extreme fright, someone may lose control of urine or bowels. There is no other cause. The navel becomes so active that the belly must be emptied; otherwise it cannot function. The navel is the fear center. Those whose fear center is very active must give attention to the navel. From very ancient times those trained for war were strengthened at the navel center. Fear grips there—nowhere else. Fear never grabs you in the skull; whenever fear grabs, it grabs in the belly. Women are more fearful simply because they must carry the womb in the belly; their navel center becomes continually weakened and delicate. There is no other difference between male and female regarding fear. Hence in the West, as women refuse motherhood, their fear diminishes. If for some time women stop bearing children, they will stand almost on par with men. Therefore, in those societies where women strive to be like men, they begin to refuse motherhood—because one cannot be as men so long as the process of motherhood continues; that very state fills the personality with fear. When you are afraid your digestion will go wrong immediately. If anxious, the digestion will be disturbed. That is why, because of fear and anxiety—today there is much fear and anxiety—ulcer has no other cause. The more fearful and anxious a person is, the more the entire digestive system becomes distorted. Note this: If the sex center is active, the religion such a person gives birth to or chooses will be some form of sexual orgy. The most ancient religious symbols are phallic. Like Shankar’s Shivalinga, or in Greece, Rome, Egypt, Mesopotamia, Babylon, Syria, or in Harappa-Mohenjo-daro—the most ancient images are all phallic. It seems that twenty thousand years ago, whatever civilization existed, being not far developed from animals, the symbol of God could only be the generative organ—the sex center was most active. Later, as man became a little stronger and began to surpass lust, he started thinking further; the image of God that emerged was frightening. In the Old Testament, and in the old forms of Rudra, all the forms are terrifying. It seems the second center, the center of fear, created a fearsome God. That person in the temple, folding hands in prayer, laying his head at God’s feet, trembling, crying, O God, save me!—if he pays a little attention he will see that in those moments of prayer his navel center is the most active. The more the world is educated and fear lessens, the more prayer-and-pleading religions dissolve from the earth. For they develop from the navel center; as the navel center strengthens, they vanish. In temples you see more women than men. The reason is that their navel center is more delicate than men’s. Where there is one man, at least four women will be in the temple. Women run the temples; women run the monks and saints—fear! A fear-based God appeals to them, seems meaningful. One whose life is filled with fear must, along with meditation, do a few experiments with the navel center—give it suggestions to be strong. And it is a great wonder: because these centers are pranic, electrical, they change by suggestion alone; nothing else is required. After that the third center is the heart center. It is the center of raga—attachment, infatuation—of clinging. Those influenced by the third center will be initiated into some form of bhakti—devotion—where raga, moha, the possibility of being gripped by attachment, is present. This third center must also be understood—what it can do. It too is very active. In the Eastern lands it is very active; in the Western lands it has begun to wane. Therefore family is breaking there. It cannot be stopped in the West unless scientific processes are devised to strengthen the heart center; families will continue to disintegrate. The center of attachment has been broken, or is breaking, or has become sluggish, or inactive. In the East the same is beginning. Remember too: this center is more active in women than in men. Hence it is not man who builds the family—it is woman. Do not remain in the illusion that man created the family. Man cannot create it. The family arose in spite of man—man tries to escape from it at every moment; he wants to flee. His center of attachment is not so intense. Woman has raised all of civilization. She built the family and the home. Man is nomadic by birth, a wanderer; the more he roams the happier he is. Woman wants to drive a stake in one place and settle. Wandering is difficult for her nature. Let there be some ground to cling to, a small house to sit in. Therefore, whatever the family, man is never its center; he moves on the periphery; woman becomes its center. Consider whether in your personality this center of attachment is very significant or not. For now I am only explaining what these centers do. Later we can consider what else can be done with them. After that comes the throat center. It gives voice to the personality—and thoughts too. Those whose throat center is very active often waste their lives in thinking and talking; they cannot do anything else. The discipline of silence is the method of making this throat center inactive. After that, the practice I gave yesterday—between the two eyes—there lies the sixth center, the Ajna chakra. A very important chakra. Through it one transforms one’s personality—or can. But our Ajna chakras are very feeble. We cannot give any command to ourselves. A man decides at night to rise at four in the morning. At four he finds himself saying, let it go today, it is too cold; tomorrow. Later he repents: I had decided to rise at four, what happened? Today I swear, I will surely rise; I will not forget. Again at four, and again he says, no, let it go today; tomorrow. Then he repents. What is the matter? A man gives his word and does not keep it. He decides: I will do this—and cannot. Behind all this there is one cause: the Ajna chakra—the center of resolve, Sankalp—our center of will is utterly flaccid, almost absent. Yesterday I said: during meditation keep attention between the eyes. With attention there, whatever you do will enter deeply and firmly within. The more you hold attention there, the more intensely you will be able to do whatever you wish to do. You may have noticed: whenever you must take a decision, the pressure is felt most between the eyes. Whenever you must decide, what shall I do?—the weight lands on the place I indicate—between the two eyes. Decisions are taken there; commands are received there; resolves are made there. And the person capable of resolving there finds his resolves fulfilled. What he decides there begins to happen. What he wants in his personality, differences begin to appear. It is astonishing that to change our personality the question is less of work than of resolve. Resolve is the formula for changing personality—not work. But the resolve must be total. And a total resolve is not taken at any other corner of the body, only at the Ajna chakra. Therefore all the processes of meditation revolve around, and are centered in, the Ajna chakra—for from there attention can enter deeply and move into the depths. If you ask the primitives of Africa, or the bushmen of Australia, or the tribes of the Amazon forests, you will be amazed to learn: when they first heard that other people think with the head, they laughed a lot. They said, no one can think with the head—we think with the belly. The primitive thinks with the belly—the navel chakra. They are not much developed beyond animals. For thousands of years millions believed that thought happens in the belly, not the brain. Even among us very few think with the head. All the believers think with the belly—they never think with the head. Because to believe, thinking is not required. Therefore as long as a man goes on believing, his upper chakras never develop—only the lower remain active. That is why I continuously oppose: do not have faith in anyone, do not believe anyone. Until someone begins to think for himself, his own thinking chakras will not be active. And if they are not active, the person is like a leaf wandering in the wind. He has no will of his own, no resolve of his own, no firm stance of his own—nothing of his own. He is following someone. No one harms humanity as much as leaders do. Because leaders give orders and tell you: only accept. Gurus give commands and tell people: only accept. Your own Ajna never develops. The human race appears so wretched and helpless because we keep giving it orders and do not let the capacity of command within it develop. We begin giving orders to the small child—do this, don’t do that! We never care that his own thinking, his own decision, his own discrimination might develop. The child’s Ajna chakra never develops; it remains incomplete. If the Ajna chakra does not develop, the personality itself cannot develop. We tell children—be like this, be like that. But we forget—they will never be like that. They can become—but for that the chakras from which personality is formed must be attended to. Parents and teachers who know will put their full labor into the child’s Ajna chakra. Our education is very incomplete and meaningless. It contains no contemplation of the fundamental sutras of man. If by the time children reach the university we can develop their Ajna chakra—their resolve—we will change the whole world. A new world and a new man will be born—a man with strength; a man who does what he thinks, who can do it; a man with courage, with heart, with real grit. But this cannot be in us because the chakra from which all this arises lies asleep. There was Gurdjieff in Greece, a wondrous man; a few years ago he died. He used to make his disciples do a small experiment—the Stop Exercise. He would say: stop! We are sitting here. If Gurdjieff conducted his experiment, he would say: whenever I say Stop!—stop exactly as you are. If your mouth is open to speak, don’t close it; keep it open. If your leg is lifted to walk, don’t move it; keep it there—even if you fall, even if you die. Why? What mad exercise is this? What’s the point? Those who did it with him became different people, and said, we were amazed that such a small experiment can create such a revolution! Because it takes great strength. You will try to deceive yourself—that no one is looking; the leg raised so high is giving great pain, let it down a little. If you do, you have harmed no one else, but the chakra that the exercise was meant to develop has been rendered meaningless. But if you dare and remain as you are—the eye open stays open, no blinking; the hand lifted remains lifted; the mouth open remains open; one leg raised remains raised; the waist bent remains bent—there will be much discomfort, but you must not move. Whoever stands thus is commanding himself; he is strengthening his resolve. Once Gurdjieff stayed in Tiflis, a small town in Russia, with thirty friends whom he had taken for practice. He said, for thirty days do nothing but the Stop Exercise. Whenever I say Stop! you must freeze as you are. If someone is bathing he will stop there; if someone is eating, he will stop there. Whatever you are doing, stop as if you have become a statue. Near their tents ran a canal. It was dry; sometimes water was released. One morning, all thirty were out walking; three were crossing the dry canal. Suddenly Gurdjieff shouted from inside—Stop!—and everyone stopped, the three in the canal too. Someone released the water upstream; the water rushed in. Gurdjieff was shut inside the tent. The water reached up to those three men’s waists, then to their throats. When it reached their mouths, one man leapt out. He said, he does not know—he is sitting inside—and here our lives are about to end. He jumped out. He did not know he had missed an opportunity—a moment when the whole body says Move! and only resolve can say, We will not! Life on the line—but we will not change. The dormant chakra would have awakened with a shock. But he missed; he jumped. You too would have jumped. He did no wrong. Two remained. When the water reached the nose, the second also thought, now there is danger; he too jumped out. The third remained standing. He saw the danger—he was not blind. Death stood before him. The water went over his head. But he said, whatever happens, what is decided is decided. Gurdjieff ran madly from the tent. The release had been arranged. He jumped in and pulled the man out. The man became different. Gurdjieff said, a chance came—your two companions missed it. Under such pressure, with death before you, and yet resolve unchanged—when else will that chakra start? Now it has. The man became different. Now whatever he will, will happen. He can say to his thoughts: stop!—and thoughts cannot move. He can say to his breath: stop!—and breath cannot proceed. He can say: I die this very moment!—and you will find he has died. Whatever this man wills for himself will be. In the South there was a great musician whose birthday was being celebrated—some three hundred years ago. He had many eminent friends and disciples—great kings and nobles. All arranged a celebration for his sixtieth year. Thousands of disciples brought their offerings. One poor fakir was also his disciple, who begged on the streets with a tanpura. He had nothing. Midnight had passed, all had given their gifts and gone. Then the beggar came to the door and said to the guards, let me in—I too want to offer something to my guru. His hands were empty, his clothes torn. The guard said, you seem to have nothing. He said, but I am here. The guard said, some madman—let him go, fine. He went inside. All were departing, the hall filled with gifts worth millions. The beggar bowed at the master’s feet and said, I too have brought an offering—will you accept? The master saw his empty hands. He said, but no offering is visible. The beggar said, I myself. Joining his hands he said, O God, I have nothing to give—may my life go to my guru! He said this—and his breath stopped; he fell dead there. What must have been in this man? He said, may my years… How many times have you said to someone, may my life go to you! It will not. You know it, and the other knows it. But when the Ajna chakra is attained, never even mistakenly say such a thing to anyone. People say saints never speak ill of anyone—not because they cannot, but because it could prove dangerous. Words issuing from such resolve can come true. A thought given with such resolve becomes very alive—infused with energy and power. People complain that the mind does not become quiet. We sit a lot, do much—and the mind remains restless, fickle. It will. Because you do not know that you can say to it—Stop!—and it must stop. But there must be power in the Stop! I have heard of Jesus. Jesus and two friends were in a boat on a lake. A fierce storm rose. Jesus was asleep in a corner. His friends came and shook him: the boat is about to sink, there is danger—get up!—and you are sleeping! Jesus said, let me sleep a little, I am tired from the night; if there is danger, you deal with it. But when the boat was about to sink—now sinking, now sinking—they came again, angry: we are drowning, and this man sleeps! They woke Jesus. He said, go and tell the lake—be still! They said, are you mad? Does the lake obey anyone! Jesus said, if your inner lake obeys you, the outer may also obey. But there is no trust in the inner lake—so what will you say to the outer? The story is sweet. Jesus went to the lake and said, be quiet! be still! And the story says, the lake became still; the storm vanished. Whether the outer lake did or not is not the question. Regarding the inner lake, I assure you—if once the power to command arises, and someone within turns and says, Enough!—silence descends inside. As if there is no storm, as if there never was. But we keep crying and pleading, chanting, praying, reciting—nothing happens. Nor will it. It can happen only by the activation of one chakra—the will, the resolve. That is missing. Missing, and then all we do proves hollow. Whatever we want cannot enter within except through this chakra. Therefore in meditation keep a sharp eye on this chakra. And it is a great secret that the deeper the attention there, the more quickly it becomes active. The way to activate chakras is attention—attending to them. The chakra you attend to will be the one that activates. Perhaps you do not know: if you place your hand on your pulse and count, then again place full attention on the pulse and count, you will find the pulse has sped up. Attention alone will increase the rate. Attend to the breath for five minutes and you will find the breath has deepened. With chakras it is even more wondrous: the chakra you attend to will activate. Attention is food, fuel, for the chakra. Pour petrol into the car and it runs. It won’t run on name alone. Though I have heard a rumor. Once it so happened that a man went to buy a car at a Ford showroom. The manager took the car out to show him. After five or seven miles the car suddenly jerked and stopped. The customer said, strange—new car and it stopped after only seven miles! It won’t do. The manager said to his driver, look closely—did you put petrol in it or bring it out empty? The driver said, we forgot to put petrol. It’s a new car; there is none at all. The customer was amazed: then how did it come seven miles? The manager said, that much it goes on the name of Ford. Cars may run on names—but chakras will not. Something must be done. They need fuel. And there is only one fuel. In the realm of consciousness, attention is the only food, the only power. Therefore I said: during the intense remembrance of ‘Who am I?’ attention must be at the Ajna chakra. And you will experience it. Today we will experiment for fifteen minutes. Beforehand, feel your head with your hand—and after fifteen minutes, feel again. You will find a small area has become warm—the rest has not. When something stirs within, the warmth reaches the surface. Those who have experience of chakras can place a hand on your body and tell which chakra is active. Ramakrishna had such a habit. When Vivekananda came the first time, Ramakrishna took him into the adjoining room, closed the door and said, open your shirt! Vivekananda was a little embarrassed—what is this? Why open the shirt? Luckily he was a boy; had it been a girl there would have been trouble. Ramakrishna said, first open the shirt! Vivekananda opened it; Ramakrishna placed his hand on his chest and said, it will be done. Later Vivekananda kept asking, what will be done? What did you see? Ramakrishna said, first I had to see which chakra of yours is active—otherwise I might labor on the wrong thing and spoil everything. This is very possible—in fact simple. As soon as the chakras become active, distinct points on the body begin to carry distinct meaning, distinct warmth, distinct heat. On the statues of Buddha and Mahavira you have seen large matted locks on the head. Those are not locks; they are symbols that the final chakra has become active. They are only symbols. You do not see beard and moustache on Buddha and Mahavira; they are not hair. On the head too they are not hair—only symbols. And if you count, you will find the count is one thousand—the grooves on the head. They symbolize the thousand petals of the last chakra—nothing else. The last chakra is above the head. When that chakra becomes active, you can place your hand on such a person’s head and tell—the area will have risen slightly, distinct from the skull—a small portion raised. That ultimate chakra is the Brahma chakra. After the Ajna chakra it is there; entry to it is through the Ajna. When it becomes active, the person can separate this gross body from the other body completely. Then it is known: I am not this body—I am something else. These are the seven chakras. Why have I spoken of them? So that you can sense which is your central chakra—and, with understanding, meditate. From your central chakra begin to move toward the higher ones. Above all, emphasis is needed on the Ajna chakra—for without it there can be no movement in spiritual practice. Remember: the chakras below the navel are not only below in the body; they are lower states of personality. The chakras above the navel are not only higher in the body; they are higher evolutions of personality. The higher the chakra, the higher the development. The last chakra is the proof of the highest growth. As you bring intensity to the meditation ‘Who am I?’ and continue this experiment for three or four months, a clear awareness and vision of your chakras will begin. You will start to see which chakra is utterly inactive, which is active. You will also begin to see that whatever kind of attachment, hatred, anger, illusion is active in you—that is according to the chakra that is active. Therefore, if anger is to be changed, or attachment—none can be changed directly. By making the corresponding chakra inactive, change begins. If love is to be awakened—no one can directly produce love; by activating the love chakra, the stream of love begins. If resolve is to be created—no one can create it directly. You can decide, I will not be afraid in the dark! I will not fear the enemy!—but nothing happens. You will fear the enemy, you will fear the dark. Saying I will not fear is itself proof of fear. A brave man never says, I do not fear. Whoever says so—know he is not brave. Otherwise, the thought would not even arise. One morning two young Rajput twins came to Akbar’s court. They said they sought enlistment in the army; we are two brave youths—do you have need? Akbar said, you call yourselves brave—have you brought any certificate, any proof? How shall we believe you are brave? They laughed: we did not expect that a man like you would ask this. Has bravery any certificate? And where would a brave man go to get one? If someone brings a certificate, that’s proof he is not brave. Will a virtuous man go to someone to write for him, write that I am virtuous? If virtue itself is not proof, what letter could be? They said, we can say we are brave. If the occasion arises we can show. But there is no certificate. Akbar said, then how shall we see? How know? They said, you wish to see? Akbar said, yes, we wish to see. Their swords flashed. For a moment Akbar was alarmed—what is their intent? And their swords clashed—twin brothers, dear young men, buds just blooming. The swords went into each other’s chests. A moment later both lay on the ground, fountains of blood flowing. Akbar cried, madmen—what have you done? They said, what other proof can a brave man give but dying? What other proof—than that we can die laughing, in a single instant! Death is our sport. Akbar summoned Rajput chiefs: what is this madness? They said, you are the wrong man—you do not know that one should not ask Rajputs about bravery. Never ask again. The meaning is only one: we take death as play. From these two young men you can sense what their Ajna must have been like. If they can play with death thus, they can attain God in the same way. Remember, on the path to the Divine one must be a kshatriya too—it is not the path of the merchant. It is a path for a man of courage and resolve. Hence, the less kshatriya there is in the world, the more our relationship with God fades. Today the world is in the hands of the trader, the Vaishya. We can say the twentieth century is the century of the merchant. Today the powerful is the clever shopkeeper. If we survey history, perhaps the early phases were influenced by different kinds of personalities. Now another type is dominant. Tomorrow perhaps yet another. One thing is certain: the less courage in a society, the less resolve; the less resolve, the less Dharma—for Dharma is fundamentally the expression of resolve. Therefore my emphasis is to exert wholly on this chakra—this is the door. And when we sit for meditation today, let the entire energy gather between the two eyes, so that something begins to move there, some sun begins to whirl. With full attention there, within a few days you may experience—even today—that a small sun has begun to revolve there. Its warmth will spread through the brain. A small sun whirling swiftly—as when you have seen the sun spinning through the crook of a hand—so a small sun will be seen revolving there. As the practice deepens the sun will grow larger. As it grows you will see in your personality that what you were not till yesterday you have begun to be. A strength has come; a spine has arisen; the legs have grown firm; resolve has become strong. It is by this resolve, through this door, that man enters the temple of the Divine. We will speak of that temple tomorrow. Now we will sit for meditation. Remember, merely sitting is not enough. Remember also, to repeat slowly is not sufficient. And remember this too: with so many present—if all work together—you are not working alone; you gain the benefit of everyone’s effort. Tomorrow I will tell you how this benefit becomes available. If two thousand people are sitting in meditation, the resolves of two thousand create a kind of wind, a psychic atmosphere. Waves of thought begin to move here, which will touch and strike your mind as well. Thought does not happen only within; its waves spread around you. But in India collective prayer never developed; one of the fundamental lacks in Indian religions is that no collective prayer was developed. Collective meditation has a wondrous meaning. What one person cannot do alone can become easy with all. So do not waste this occasion by simply sitting. You will sit alone at home too—but this occasion is rare, two thousand are with you. You do not know: if you run alone, that is one thing; if two thousand run with you—hands and feet brushing you, their sounds in your ears—that is another. I have even heard that military generals forbid soldiers from marching in step across a bridge; for if the feet fall in one rhythm, the bridge may collapse. They break the rhythm: let the steps fall out of time. If a thousand cross and their feet fall in unison, the rhythm, the sound, the waves generated can break the bridge. Perhaps you do not know this: if a tanpura is placed and ten tanpuras are played in one rhythm, the unplayed tanpura’s strings begin to vibrate and sound the same notes. This can happen. If two thousand sit here resolving and meditating, then among them a man who is going slowly will find even his heart’s pace becomes swifter; his resolve too grows powerful. Blows begin to fall on his mind from the air, from the waves all around. I will speak of how this happens tomorrow. But if we do it with strength—with our total energy—there is no reason it should not happen. Yesterday I explained; let me explain for two minutes—perhaps some new friends are here. First, sit with the spine straight. Interlock the fingers of both hands and place them in your lap. Let the fists be tight—ten fingers interlaced. For the more intensely you ask within, the tighter the fists will clench; they will be the evidence of how intensely you are asking within. Keep the spine straight. Then close the eyes. Close the lips. Let the tongue touch the upper palate; keep the lips completely closed. Then, with your whole energy, ask within yourself—Who am I? Who am I? Ask rapidly, leaving no gap between two Who am I?’s. Ask so swiftly that no energy remains unengaged. Ask with your entire being—Who am I? Let the entire prana tremble; let the whole lake of prana be churned; let every hair ask; let the heartbeat ask; let every breath ask. Let the whole body ask—Who am I? Let a fever, a feverish fire, spread over the entire personality.
Osho's Commentary
Before setting out upon the inner journey it is necessary to become a little familiar with the path that must be walked. It is necessary to understand the doors that will have to be knocked upon. It is necessary to understand the locks that will have to be opened.
The traveler who sets out without knowing the way is more likely to go astray than to arrive. Outer roads are at least visible; no inner road is visible at all. Outside there are signposts along the way announcing where the roads lead; on the inner path there are no signs, no milestones, no symbols—uncharted! No map! Perhaps that is why a person wanders far more within than without.
In today’s talk it is right to recognize a few essential features of the inner way.
First, understand this: the body we see is only the uppermost portion of many bodies. Inside this body there are other bodies. This is not the only body. And as soon as we begin the inner journey, one has to pass between and through these bodies. Before reaching oneself, between this body and oneself there are more bodies.
Immediately behind this body—the visible body, the annamay body, the physical body—stands the prana body, the etheric body. A few things must be known about this prana body, because it has to be crossed. To cross anything without understanding it can mislead, can be dangerous, can cause harm.
Right behind this body is the body of electricity, which we have so far called the prana body. It is only because of its connection that we are related to this gross body. Even when this body falls, that body remains. After death too it remains for a few hours. It longs to reconnect with this body.
Those cultures that rightly recognized this prana body burn their dead quickly; they do not preserve them. Behind cremation there are deep insights regarding the prana body. As soon as the gross body burns, the prana body’s attraction to it ends. Otherwise the prana body, carrying the soul, will hover and wander around the corpse. The possibility of wandering is great.
This prana body behind the gross body is very wondrous. Long before anything was known about electricity, seekers had discovered the electrical nature of this body. That is why for thousands of years the seeker has used a wooden plank, or a tiger skin, or deer skin.
While passing near the prana body, if there is a possibility of electricity leaking out of the gross body, harm can occur—even death. This was noticed long ago. It was also seen that this electrical body is the true basis of the difference between man and woman. The distinctions we see in the outer body are secondary; the real difference lies in the prana body of male and female. The male prana body is positive; the female prana body is negative. The electricity of the male body is affirmative; that of the female body is negative. And this is the reason for the attraction between them.
But as soon as one begins to enter meditation, the attraction, the intensity, the electricity of the prana body gradually diminishes and starts turning inward. The day the current of the prana body ceases to flow toward the annamay body and begins to flow toward the inner bodies, in that very moment the person is no longer a man or a woman. The question of being male or female falls from the mind.
Buddha was practicing near a mountain for some days. It was night, a full-moon night. Some people came from the town, bringing a courtesan into the forest—for pleasure, for festivity, for revelry. Drunk, they began to dance. In their intoxication they even snatched away all her clothes. Seeing them so lost, that naked woman fled. When their senses returned a little, they were shocked and went searching for her.
No one was on the path. In that forest there was no one except Buddha, seated in meditation beneath a tree. They shook Buddha and said, Monk, surely you must have seen a woman run past here, there are footprints on the path. She was naked, a prostitute. Can you tell us where she went? Which direction?
Buddha said, surely someone fled past, but whether it was a woman or a man, that is difficult for me to say. If you had come ten years earlier, I could have told you. Since the male within me has waned, then unless I deliberately think of the outward woman, she does not appear to me—not of herself. Whether she had clothes or not, that too I do not know. Since I no longer even notice whether there are clothes on my own body, the question of clothes on another’s body has also disappeared.
Buddha said, we see outside only that which we are within. But I ask you, friends, why are you seeking her? Would it not be better—on this quiet, full-moon night—that you seek yourselves?
Who knows whether they heard or not. It is said, people are always being told—seek yourself! Who listens? We all keep running in search of someone else. And if we look very closely, this search for the other is the search of our prana body. The prana body is incomplete—either positive or negative. It seeks the other body with which it might become whole. It is half—and searches for its other half. Hence the search for the other continues.
This electric body within us is joined to the gross body at seven places. There are seven contact fields, points of connection. Those points are called chakras. At seven locations the electric body touches, contacts this gross body. Through those seven doors the gross body receives energy, prana, life.
A few things about these seven chakras must also be understood. For as soon as one begins to enter meditation, as soon as the inner journey begins, one has to pass by these seven chakras too. Knowingly or unknowingly one passes near them. Each person’s experience will be a little different, because in each person different chakras are ordinarily active.
It is also necessary to understand these chakras because it helps greatly in understanding your own personality. You will be able to see what kind of person you are—your type. Through that understanding, entry within becomes much easier. For when we know what kind of person we are, we know where we stand. And the journey must begin from where we stand. If a man does not even know where he is, how will he travel? It is not enough to know where to go; even more necessary is to know where we are—because from where we are we shall move toward where we must arrive.
These seven chakras are a most wondrous phenomenon. In the human body nothing is more mysterious than these seven chakras. They will not be found by cutting and probing the gross body. If you ask a physiologist he will say, what chakras? Where are chakras? There are none in the body.
They are not in this gross body. Chakras mean this: the second, inner prana body touches this gross body at seven places. Through those seven doors the gross body receives energy and prana.
The first chakra is at the base of the spine, in the tailbone—the very last part. It is a most wondrous chakra, about which we shall know something. The very first chakra is there, and the last chakra is above the head. Between them are five more chakras. The second chakra is near the genitals, near the sex organ. That chakra stirs and influences Kama, sex.
All over the world, as soon as man had a little awareness, he tried to cover his genitals. For if another person can fix his gaze upon these chakras, he can influence them. Hence one felt no difficulty in leaving all other parts of the body uncovered, but the place of the most important chakra was felt to be imperative to cover—whether with leaves, or with clothes, or by any means.
This second chakra, which we may call the sex center, the Kama chakra, is the most active within man. Nature needs it most. Through this chakra the body reproduces itself. Through it a person is filled with intensity and urgency to give birth to new bodies. The entire process of procreation is driven by this chakra.
And in the life of the person who is under the sway of this chakra, or whose sex chakra is most active, nothing happens except sex and lust. He may earn wealth, he may gain fame, he may reach high positions, but wealth, fame and position will fundamentally be means to gratify his lust. The goal of his life will center there.
I was reading the life of Anatole France, a great novelist, a great writer. At the end of his life a friend asked, what was most important in your life? Anatole France said, what I never told anyone I will tell you: the most important thing in my life was sexual desire—sex. The friend was astonished: You, such a great novelist, such a great writer! We thought literature and art and music would be important in your life.
He said, those were secondary—mere pretexts.
If we wish to inquire into our personality, the first inquiry should be: what is the center of our personality? Where do we live?
And whatever the center of our personality is, it will indicate which chakra in us is most active and important. Also remember: the chakra that is important will become our lens for seeing, knowing, understanding the whole of life. We will not be able to understand anything else.
There are the sculptures of Khajuraho. A great painter from America came to see them. A friend of mine was then Education Minister in Vindhya Pradesh. The central government instructed him to show the American painter the sculptures of Khajuraho. My friend was very frightened—so many naked images, so obscene. The American painter would be shocked, and what would he think of India’s culture—that in temples such obscene figures are carved, such erotic scenes sculpted! He was very nervous.
But there was no choice; the instruction had come from above. So my friend took the American painter to Khajuraho. Trembling with fear he showed all the sculptures, afraid he might ask: Are these images your Indian culture? These are your temples? You call yourselves religious!
But the painter became so absorbed in the sculptures that he said nothing. My friend kept telling him again and again that these are not symbols of our Indian tradition, not of our mainstream; some mistaken people, under some wrong influence, built these temples.
When they came out the painter said, thank you very much.
But my friend still had the same anxiety. He said, please do not go back to America and say that India has such obscene temples.
The man said, obscene? What are you saying? I must go back again to see! I have never seen such beautiful sculptures, such majestic images. Come back with me—since you say they were obscene, I must look again. For what I just saw were the most majestic sculptures I have ever seen.
We see only what we can see; we do not see what is. We see what we can see. All our vision is a projection. Whatever is within us is what appears outside us.
To a lustful man the whole world will appear full of sex. To one who has attained God, the whole world will appear full of God. To an angry man everyone will seem angry. To a loving person the whole world will seem stirred with love. We see what we are. This whole world is a projection of our within. The world is a screen upon which we see reflected what is hidden in us. So if someone sees sex everywhere, he should know that in his private personality the sex center is the most active. And so it is—because nature needs it. Nature needs none of your other centers as much as it needs the sex center; only through it can new bodies be born.
In animals only that one center is active—no other. In most people too, only that center is active. But other centers can be awakened. And remember, as long as only the sex center is active, there is no fundamental difference between us and animals. Potentially there is a difference—our other centers can be awakened—but they are not.
Ordinarily man lives there. Look at his literature—ninety-nine percent revolves around sex. It is astonishing! Look at paintings; look at sculpture; look at films; poems—whatever you look at, you will find: why does ninety-nine percent revolve around sex? There must be something to it. The sex center is the single active center. And remember, in the discipline of Brahmacharya there is a method to render this sex center inactive. When it is inactive, lust vanishes from one’s life as if it never existed—like pressing a button and the electricity disappears. The contact—the connection—through which it flowed is broken. The discipline of Brahmacharya does not mean sitting with eyes closed; its basic scientific meaning is: the sex center becomes inactive. There are methods, techniques, ways.
Centuries ago it was possible to keep a youth in the discipline of Brahmacharya for twenty-five years. Not because he could not see films; not because women were invisible, or men to women; not because he sat on oaths. None of these. Behind it was a scientific process: that center can be rendered inactive. When it is, sex vanishes; not a trace remains—until the center becomes active again.
In three out of a hundred people the center is inactive from birth. Such people cannot understand why others are so mad, so possessed. It is beyond their understanding and imagination.
In small children the sex center is inactive; slowly it begins to stir; by around fourteen it gains momentum. Before that they have no sense of what is happening. Only when the center becomes active is there awareness of it. If the center is not active, there cannot be awareness.
Be very clear in your mind: Is my center overactive? If overactive, then before and after meditation keep repeating within that this center should become less active. Before and after meditation, take your attention inward to that center and give it the suggestion that it relax its activity. Within a few days a fundamental difference will begin to show.
After that, the next center is the navel center. The navel is the center of fear. Just as the genital center is the center of sex, the navel is the center of fear. Perhaps you have noticed that whenever you are afraid, the navel unsettles and is disturbed.
If you are driving and suddenly an accident occurs, the shock to your body will land on the navel—not elsewhere. If a man suddenly charges at your chest with a knife, the major jolt will be felt at the navel. The navel is the fear center. That is why, in extreme fright, someone may lose control of urine or bowels. There is no other cause. The navel becomes so active that the belly must be emptied; otherwise it cannot function.
The navel is the fear center. Those whose fear center is very active must give attention to the navel. From very ancient times those trained for war were strengthened at the navel center. Fear grips there—nowhere else. Fear never grabs you in the skull; whenever fear grabs, it grabs in the belly. Women are more fearful simply because they must carry the womb in the belly; their navel center becomes continually weakened and delicate.
There is no other difference between male and female regarding fear. Hence in the West, as women refuse motherhood, their fear diminishes. If for some time women stop bearing children, they will stand almost on par with men. Therefore, in those societies where women strive to be like men, they begin to refuse motherhood—because one cannot be as men so long as the process of motherhood continues; that very state fills the personality with fear.
When you are afraid your digestion will go wrong immediately. If anxious, the digestion will be disturbed. That is why, because of fear and anxiety—today there is much fear and anxiety—ulcer has no other cause. The more fearful and anxious a person is, the more the entire digestive system becomes distorted.
Note this: If the sex center is active, the religion such a person gives birth to or chooses will be some form of sexual orgy. The most ancient religious symbols are phallic. Like Shankar’s Shivalinga, or in Greece, Rome, Egypt, Mesopotamia, Babylon, Syria, or in Harappa-Mohenjo-daro—the most ancient images are all phallic. It seems that twenty thousand years ago, whatever civilization existed, being not far developed from animals, the symbol of God could only be the generative organ—the sex center was most active.
Later, as man became a little stronger and began to surpass lust, he started thinking further; the image of God that emerged was frightening. In the Old Testament, and in the old forms of Rudra, all the forms are terrifying. It seems the second center, the center of fear, created a fearsome God.
That person in the temple, folding hands in prayer, laying his head at God’s feet, trembling, crying, O God, save me!—if he pays a little attention he will see that in those moments of prayer his navel center is the most active. The more the world is educated and fear lessens, the more prayer-and-pleading religions dissolve from the earth. For they develop from the navel center; as the navel center strengthens, they vanish.
In temples you see more women than men. The reason is that their navel center is more delicate than men’s. Where there is one man, at least four women will be in the temple. Women run the temples; women run the monks and saints—fear! A fear-based God appeals to them, seems meaningful.
One whose life is filled with fear must, along with meditation, do a few experiments with the navel center—give it suggestions to be strong. And it is a great wonder: because these centers are pranic, electrical, they change by suggestion alone; nothing else is required.
After that the third center is the heart center. It is the center of raga—attachment, infatuation—of clinging. Those influenced by the third center will be initiated into some form of bhakti—devotion—where raga, moha, the possibility of being gripped by attachment, is present. This third center must also be understood—what it can do. It too is very active.
In the Eastern lands it is very active; in the Western lands it has begun to wane. Therefore family is breaking there. It cannot be stopped in the West unless scientific processes are devised to strengthen the heart center; families will continue to disintegrate. The center of attachment has been broken, or is breaking, or has become sluggish, or inactive. In the East the same is beginning.
Remember too: this center is more active in women than in men. Hence it is not man who builds the family—it is woman. Do not remain in the illusion that man created the family. Man cannot create it. The family arose in spite of man—man tries to escape from it at every moment; he wants to flee. His center of attachment is not so intense. Woman has raised all of civilization. She built the family and the home. Man is nomadic by birth, a wanderer; the more he roams the happier he is. Woman wants to drive a stake in one place and settle. Wandering is difficult for her nature. Let there be some ground to cling to, a small house to sit in. Therefore, whatever the family, man is never its center; he moves on the periphery; woman becomes its center.
Consider whether in your personality this center of attachment is very significant or not.
For now I am only explaining what these centers do. Later we can consider what else can be done with them.
After that comes the throat center. It gives voice to the personality—and thoughts too. Those whose throat center is very active often waste their lives in thinking and talking; they cannot do anything else. The discipline of silence is the method of making this throat center inactive.
After that, the practice I gave yesterday—between the two eyes—there lies the sixth center, the Ajna chakra. A very important chakra. Through it one transforms one’s personality—or can.
But our Ajna chakras are very feeble. We cannot give any command to ourselves. A man decides at night to rise at four in the morning. At four he finds himself saying, let it go today, it is too cold; tomorrow. Later he repents: I had decided to rise at four, what happened? Today I swear, I will surely rise; I will not forget. Again at four, and again he says, no, let it go today; tomorrow. Then he repents. What is the matter?
A man gives his word and does not keep it. He decides: I will do this—and cannot. Behind all this there is one cause: the Ajna chakra—the center of resolve, Sankalp—our center of will is utterly flaccid, almost absent.
Yesterday I said: during meditation keep attention between the eyes. With attention there, whatever you do will enter deeply and firmly within. The more you hold attention there, the more intensely you will be able to do whatever you wish to do. You may have noticed: whenever you must take a decision, the pressure is felt most between the eyes. Whenever you must decide, what shall I do?—the weight lands on the place I indicate—between the two eyes. Decisions are taken there; commands are received there; resolves are made there. And the person capable of resolving there finds his resolves fulfilled. What he decides there begins to happen. What he wants in his personality, differences begin to appear.
It is astonishing that to change our personality the question is less of work than of resolve. Resolve is the formula for changing personality—not work. But the resolve must be total. And a total resolve is not taken at any other corner of the body, only at the Ajna chakra. Therefore all the processes of meditation revolve around, and are centered in, the Ajna chakra—for from there attention can enter deeply and move into the depths.
If you ask the primitives of Africa, or the bushmen of Australia, or the tribes of the Amazon forests, you will be amazed to learn: when they first heard that other people think with the head, they laughed a lot. They said, no one can think with the head—we think with the belly.
The primitive thinks with the belly—the navel chakra. They are not much developed beyond animals. For thousands of years millions believed that thought happens in the belly, not the brain. Even among us very few think with the head. All the believers think with the belly—they never think with the head. Because to believe, thinking is not required. Therefore as long as a man goes on believing, his upper chakras never develop—only the lower remain active.
That is why I continuously oppose: do not have faith in anyone, do not believe anyone. Until someone begins to think for himself, his own thinking chakras will not be active. And if they are not active, the person is like a leaf wandering in the wind. He has no will of his own, no resolve of his own, no firm stance of his own—nothing of his own. He is following someone.
No one harms humanity as much as leaders do. Because leaders give orders and tell you: only accept. Gurus give commands and tell people: only accept. Your own Ajna never develops.
The human race appears so wretched and helpless because we keep giving it orders and do not let the capacity of command within it develop. We begin giving orders to the small child—do this, don’t do that! We never care that his own thinking, his own decision, his own discrimination might develop. The child’s Ajna chakra never develops; it remains incomplete. If the Ajna chakra does not develop, the personality itself cannot develop.
We tell children—be like this, be like that. But we forget—they will never be like that. They can become—but for that the chakras from which personality is formed must be attended to. Parents and teachers who know will put their full labor into the child’s Ajna chakra.
Our education is very incomplete and meaningless. It contains no contemplation of the fundamental sutras of man. If by the time children reach the university we can develop their Ajna chakra—their resolve—we will change the whole world. A new world and a new man will be born—a man with strength; a man who does what he thinks, who can do it; a man with courage, with heart, with real grit. But this cannot be in us because the chakra from which all this arises lies asleep.
There was Gurdjieff in Greece, a wondrous man; a few years ago he died. He used to make his disciples do a small experiment—the Stop Exercise. He would say: stop!
We are sitting here. If Gurdjieff conducted his experiment, he would say: whenever I say Stop!—stop exactly as you are. If your mouth is open to speak, don’t close it; keep it open. If your leg is lifted to walk, don’t move it; keep it there—even if you fall, even if you die.
Why? What mad exercise is this? What’s the point? Those who did it with him became different people, and said, we were amazed that such a small experiment can create such a revolution!
Because it takes great strength. You will try to deceive yourself—that no one is looking; the leg raised so high is giving great pain, let it down a little. If you do, you have harmed no one else, but the chakra that the exercise was meant to develop has been rendered meaningless. But if you dare and remain as you are—the eye open stays open, no blinking; the hand lifted remains lifted; the mouth open remains open; one leg raised remains raised; the waist bent remains bent—there will be much discomfort, but you must not move. Whoever stands thus is commanding himself; he is strengthening his resolve.
Once Gurdjieff stayed in Tiflis, a small town in Russia, with thirty friends whom he had taken for practice. He said, for thirty days do nothing but the Stop Exercise. Whenever I say Stop! you must freeze as you are. If someone is bathing he will stop there; if someone is eating, he will stop there. Whatever you are doing, stop as if you have become a statue.
Near their tents ran a canal. It was dry; sometimes water was released. One morning, all thirty were out walking; three were crossing the dry canal. Suddenly Gurdjieff shouted from inside—Stop!—and everyone stopped, the three in the canal too.
Someone released the water upstream; the water rushed in. Gurdjieff was shut inside the tent. The water reached up to those three men’s waists, then to their throats. When it reached their mouths, one man leapt out. He said, he does not know—he is sitting inside—and here our lives are about to end. He jumped out.
He did not know he had missed an opportunity—a moment when the whole body says Move! and only resolve can say, We will not! Life on the line—but we will not change. The dormant chakra would have awakened with a shock. But he missed; he jumped. You too would have jumped. He did no wrong.
Two remained. When the water reached the nose, the second also thought, now there is danger; he too jumped out. The third remained standing. He saw the danger—he was not blind. Death stood before him. The water went over his head. But he said, whatever happens, what is decided is decided.
Gurdjieff ran madly from the tent. The release had been arranged. He jumped in and pulled the man out. The man became different. Gurdjieff said, a chance came—your two companions missed it. Under such pressure, with death before you, and yet resolve unchanged—when else will that chakra start? Now it has. The man became different.
Now whatever he will, will happen. He can say to his thoughts: stop!—and thoughts cannot move. He can say to his breath: stop!—and breath cannot proceed. He can say: I die this very moment!—and you will find he has died. Whatever this man wills for himself will be.
In the South there was a great musician whose birthday was being celebrated—some three hundred years ago. He had many eminent friends and disciples—great kings and nobles. All arranged a celebration for his sixtieth year. Thousands of disciples brought their offerings. One poor fakir was also his disciple, who begged on the streets with a tanpura. He had nothing. Midnight had passed, all had given their gifts and gone. Then the beggar came to the door and said to the guards, let me in—I too want to offer something to my guru. His hands were empty, his clothes torn. The guard said, you seem to have nothing. He said, but I am here. The guard said, some madman—let him go, fine.
He went inside. All were departing, the hall filled with gifts worth millions. The beggar bowed at the master’s feet and said, I too have brought an offering—will you accept? The master saw his empty hands. He said, but no offering is visible. The beggar said, I myself. Joining his hands he said, O God, I have nothing to give—may my life go to my guru! He said this—and his breath stopped; he fell dead there.
What must have been in this man? He said, may my years… How many times have you said to someone, may my life go to you! It will not. You know it, and the other knows it. But when the Ajna chakra is attained, never even mistakenly say such a thing to anyone. People say saints never speak ill of anyone—not because they cannot, but because it could prove dangerous. Words issuing from such resolve can come true. A thought given with such resolve becomes very alive—infused with energy and power.
People complain that the mind does not become quiet. We sit a lot, do much—and the mind remains restless, fickle. It will. Because you do not know that you can say to it—Stop!—and it must stop. But there must be power in the Stop!
I have heard of Jesus. Jesus and two friends were in a boat on a lake. A fierce storm rose. Jesus was asleep in a corner. His friends came and shook him: the boat is about to sink, there is danger—get up!—and you are sleeping! Jesus said, let me sleep a little, I am tired from the night; if there is danger, you deal with it. But when the boat was about to sink—now sinking, now sinking—they came again, angry: we are drowning, and this man sleeps!
They woke Jesus. He said, go and tell the lake—be still! They said, are you mad? Does the lake obey anyone! Jesus said, if your inner lake obeys you, the outer may also obey.
But there is no trust in the inner lake—so what will you say to the outer?
The story is sweet. Jesus went to the lake and said, be quiet! be still! And the story says, the lake became still; the storm vanished.
Whether the outer lake did or not is not the question. Regarding the inner lake, I assure you—if once the power to command arises, and someone within turns and says, Enough!—silence descends inside. As if there is no storm, as if there never was. But we keep crying and pleading, chanting, praying, reciting—nothing happens. Nor will it. It can happen only by the activation of one chakra—the will, the resolve. That is missing. Missing, and then all we do proves hollow. Whatever we want cannot enter within except through this chakra.
Therefore in meditation keep a sharp eye on this chakra. And it is a great secret that the deeper the attention there, the more quickly it becomes active. The way to activate chakras is attention—attending to them. The chakra you attend to will be the one that activates.
Perhaps you do not know: if you place your hand on your pulse and count, then again place full attention on the pulse and count, you will find the pulse has sped up. Attention alone will increase the rate. Attend to the breath for five minutes and you will find the breath has deepened.
With chakras it is even more wondrous: the chakra you attend to will activate. Attention is food, fuel, for the chakra. Pour petrol into the car and it runs. It won’t run on name alone.
Though I have heard a rumor. Once it so happened that a man went to buy a car at a Ford showroom. The manager took the car out to show him. After five or seven miles the car suddenly jerked and stopped. The customer said, strange—new car and it stopped after only seven miles! It won’t do.
The manager said to his driver, look closely—did you put petrol in it or bring it out empty?
The driver said, we forgot to put petrol. It’s a new car; there is none at all.
The customer was amazed: then how did it come seven miles?
The manager said, that much it goes on the name of Ford.
Cars may run on names—but chakras will not. Something must be done. They need fuel. And there is only one fuel. In the realm of consciousness, attention is the only food, the only power. Therefore I said: during the intense remembrance of ‘Who am I?’ attention must be at the Ajna chakra. And you will experience it. Today we will experiment for fifteen minutes. Beforehand, feel your head with your hand—and after fifteen minutes, feel again. You will find a small area has become warm—the rest has not.
When something stirs within, the warmth reaches the surface. Those who have experience of chakras can place a hand on your body and tell which chakra is active.
Ramakrishna had such a habit. When Vivekananda came the first time, Ramakrishna took him into the adjoining room, closed the door and said, open your shirt! Vivekananda was a little embarrassed—what is this? Why open the shirt? Luckily he was a boy; had it been a girl there would have been trouble. Ramakrishna said, first open the shirt! Vivekananda opened it; Ramakrishna placed his hand on his chest and said, it will be done. Later Vivekananda kept asking, what will be done? What did you see? Ramakrishna said, first I had to see which chakra of yours is active—otherwise I might labor on the wrong thing and spoil everything.
This is very possible—in fact simple. As soon as the chakras become active, distinct points on the body begin to carry distinct meaning, distinct warmth, distinct heat.
On the statues of Buddha and Mahavira you have seen large matted locks on the head. Those are not locks; they are symbols that the final chakra has become active. They are only symbols. You do not see beard and moustache on Buddha and Mahavira; they are not hair. On the head too they are not hair—only symbols. And if you count, you will find the count is one thousand—the grooves on the head. They symbolize the thousand petals of the last chakra—nothing else.
The last chakra is above the head. When that chakra becomes active, you can place your hand on such a person’s head and tell—the area will have risen slightly, distinct from the skull—a small portion raised. That ultimate chakra is the Brahma chakra. After the Ajna chakra it is there; entry to it is through the Ajna. When it becomes active, the person can separate this gross body from the other body completely. Then it is known: I am not this body—I am something else.
These are the seven chakras. Why have I spoken of them? So that you can sense which is your central chakra—and, with understanding, meditate. From your central chakra begin to move toward the higher ones. Above all, emphasis is needed on the Ajna chakra—for without it there can be no movement in spiritual practice.
Remember: the chakras below the navel are not only below in the body; they are lower states of personality. The chakras above the navel are not only higher in the body; they are higher evolutions of personality. The higher the chakra, the higher the development. The last chakra is the proof of the highest growth. As you bring intensity to the meditation ‘Who am I?’ and continue this experiment for three or four months, a clear awareness and vision of your chakras will begin. You will start to see which chakra is utterly inactive, which is active. You will also begin to see that whatever kind of attachment, hatred, anger, illusion is active in you—that is according to the chakra that is active.
Therefore, if anger is to be changed, or attachment—none can be changed directly. By making the corresponding chakra inactive, change begins. If love is to be awakened—no one can directly produce love; by activating the love chakra, the stream of love begins. If resolve is to be created—no one can create it directly. You can decide, I will not be afraid in the dark! I will not fear the enemy!—but nothing happens. You will fear the enemy, you will fear the dark. Saying I will not fear is itself proof of fear. A brave man never says, I do not fear. Whoever says so—know he is not brave. Otherwise, the thought would not even arise.
One morning two young Rajput twins came to Akbar’s court. They said they sought enlistment in the army; we are two brave youths—do you have need?
Akbar said, you call yourselves brave—have you brought any certificate, any proof? How shall we believe you are brave?
They laughed: we did not expect that a man like you would ask this. Has bravery any certificate? And where would a brave man go to get one? If someone brings a certificate, that’s proof he is not brave. Will a virtuous man go to someone to write for him, write that I am virtuous? If virtue itself is not proof, what letter could be?
They said, we can say we are brave. If the occasion arises we can show. But there is no certificate.
Akbar said, then how shall we see? How know?
They said, you wish to see?
Akbar said, yes, we wish to see.
Their swords flashed. For a moment Akbar was alarmed—what is their intent? And their swords clashed—twin brothers, dear young men, buds just blooming. The swords went into each other’s chests. A moment later both lay on the ground, fountains of blood flowing.
Akbar cried, madmen—what have you done?
They said, what other proof can a brave man give but dying? What other proof—than that we can die laughing, in a single instant! Death is our sport.
Akbar summoned Rajput chiefs: what is this madness?
They said, you are the wrong man—you do not know that one should not ask Rajputs about bravery. Never ask again. The meaning is only one: we take death as play.
From these two young men you can sense what their Ajna must have been like. If they can play with death thus, they can attain God in the same way.
Remember, on the path to the Divine one must be a kshatriya too—it is not the path of the merchant. It is a path for a man of courage and resolve. Hence, the less kshatriya there is in the world, the more our relationship with God fades. Today the world is in the hands of the trader, the Vaishya. We can say the twentieth century is the century of the merchant. Today the powerful is the clever shopkeeper.
If we survey history, perhaps the early phases were influenced by different kinds of personalities. Now another type is dominant. Tomorrow perhaps yet another. One thing is certain: the less courage in a society, the less resolve; the less resolve, the less Dharma—for Dharma is fundamentally the expression of resolve.
Therefore my emphasis is to exert wholly on this chakra—this is the door. And when we sit for meditation today, let the entire energy gather between the two eyes, so that something begins to move there, some sun begins to whirl. With full attention there, within a few days you may experience—even today—that a small sun has begun to revolve there. Its warmth will spread through the brain.
A small sun whirling swiftly—as when you have seen the sun spinning through the crook of a hand—so a small sun will be seen revolving there. As the practice deepens the sun will grow larger. As it grows you will see in your personality that what you were not till yesterday you have begun to be. A strength has come; a spine has arisen; the legs have grown firm; resolve has become strong. It is by this resolve, through this door, that man enters the temple of the Divine. We will speak of that temple tomorrow.
Now we will sit for meditation. Remember, merely sitting is not enough. Remember also, to repeat slowly is not sufficient. And remember this too: with so many present—if all work together—you are not working alone; you gain the benefit of everyone’s effort. Tomorrow I will tell you how this benefit becomes available.
If two thousand people are sitting in meditation, the resolves of two thousand create a kind of wind, a psychic atmosphere. Waves of thought begin to move here, which will touch and strike your mind as well. Thought does not happen only within; its waves spread around you. But in India collective prayer never developed; one of the fundamental lacks in Indian religions is that no collective prayer was developed.
Collective meditation has a wondrous meaning. What one person cannot do alone can become easy with all. So do not waste this occasion by simply sitting. You will sit alone at home too—but this occasion is rare, two thousand are with you.
You do not know: if you run alone, that is one thing; if two thousand run with you—hands and feet brushing you, their sounds in your ears—that is another.
I have even heard that military generals forbid soldiers from marching in step across a bridge; for if the feet fall in one rhythm, the bridge may collapse. They break the rhythm: let the steps fall out of time. If a thousand cross and their feet fall in unison, the rhythm, the sound, the waves generated can break the bridge.
Perhaps you do not know this: if a tanpura is placed and ten tanpuras are played in one rhythm, the unplayed tanpura’s strings begin to vibrate and sound the same notes. This can happen.
If two thousand sit here resolving and meditating, then among them a man who is going slowly will find even his heart’s pace becomes swifter; his resolve too grows powerful. Blows begin to fall on his mind from the air, from the waves all around. I will speak of how this happens tomorrow. But if we do it with strength—with our total energy—there is no reason it should not happen.
Yesterday I explained; let me explain for two minutes—perhaps some new friends are here. First, sit with the spine straight. Interlock the fingers of both hands and place them in your lap. Let the fists be tight—ten fingers interlaced. For the more intensely you ask within, the tighter the fists will clench; they will be the evidence of how intensely you are asking within. Keep the spine straight. Then close the eyes. Close the lips. Let the tongue touch the upper palate; keep the lips completely closed. Then, with your whole energy, ask within yourself—Who am I? Who am I? Ask rapidly, leaving no gap between two Who am I?’s. Ask so swiftly that no energy remains unengaged. Ask with your entire being—Who am I? Let the entire prana tremble; let the whole lake of prana be churned; let every hair ask; let the heartbeat ask; let every breath ask. Let the whole body ask—Who am I? Let a fever, a feverish fire, spread over the entire personality.